#but also. the fact that he smells like wind and salt air and something a lil citrusy?

[synonymroll648]

"And she [Sophie] couldn't help noticing how good he [Keefe] smelled—like wind and salt air and something a little citrusy."

hey guys remember when on page 646 of stellarlune shannon confirmed that keefe is a bit fruity (/hj)

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

What do you think each of the crowd would smell like? Not to be creepy, I just want to smell like Inej Ghafa

Interesting question; I’m afraid that Inej canonically smells of nothing according to Kaz, except for during the bathroom scene when he says that she smells of the hotel soap she just used. Nina does say when on parem that the table where she healed Inej’s stab wound smells of her but it’s strongly implied that the parem gives her the ability to distinguish the scent of one person’s blood from another and it’s the leftover blood she can still smell even after the table has been cleaned and know that it was Inej’s blood.

Nina canonically smells of the perfume that’s used to falsely scent the White Rose’s flower arrangements at the start of Six of Crows, according to Matthias, and later on the Ferolind during the journey to Fjerda smells of the toffees she stashed and has been eating.

During Crooked Kingdom, Nina and Jesper (and Kuwei, if you’d like to include him) canonically smell of coffee because they’re wearing it all the time like perfume to hide from the possibility that the Kerghud soldiers can smell the difference between Grisha and otkazats’ya

That’s all the canon mentions of people’s scents that I can recall off the top of my head, but if anyone remembers any others let me know, and as for headcanons:

Wylan probably spends most of the books smelling of the chemicals he uses in his explosives, Kaz claims that the scent of smoke can cling to people’s shirt cuffs and I expect that would ring true for Wylan. Pre and post canon he probably smells of fancy soap and, if it exists in the Grishaverse, nice curl cream or other products that he uses on his hair, but even if that does exist in the Grishaverse I very much doubt he had access to it during canon.

Jesper most likely often smells of smoke and gunpowder, pre and maybe during canon he probably often had the smell of alcohol on his clothes as well, and perhaps post canon fancy soap and the tinge of engine oil.

The Barrel may smell terrible but that doesn’t mean Kaz has to reduce himself to it and he most definitely won’t; he probably smells of soap and leather most of the time, plus he clearly puts a lot of effort into his suits so you may be able to smell whatever they’ve been so well washed in. Also quite possibly blood. I’m now thinking maybe he would deliberately choose scentless soaps because I read a book where lingering perfume was recognised at a crime scene and he would want to avoid anything that might be recognisable.

We know for a fact that Hellgate was a disgusting smelling place with poor access to hygiene and clean water, but after he was freed I imagine Matthias became hyper aware of cleanliness because of this limited access to hygiene products and kept himself very neat and clean. He probably smells of soap most of the time. Pre canon I imagine there were pretty strict hygiene and general cleanliness rules for the Drüskelle so again he probably smelt quite clean, but also had something of the rugged air and cold Northern winds about him. He also may have had the scent of some kind of shampoo since he had very long hair that the smell would remain clinging to, but I expect that whatever he used was standardised amongst the Drüskelle.

At home Inej probably smelled of spices and perfumes and chalk, and at the Menagerie she probably smelled of cheap, overpoweringly strong perfume. It’s a combination of both of these factors that make me think she was actively choosing to avoid scent during the duology, hence Kaz saying “she didn’t even have a scent”, and choosing scentless soaps. Post canon she probably smells of salt and the sea most of the time, and would maybe pick up a scented soap every now again to practice testing her limits and branching out since we know she actively pushes herself with some of the smaller things like this that she finds difficult

Honestly I’m not sure if i have any particular headcanons about Nina, though I think she would avoid rose-scented perfume post canon

Thanks for the ask! This was pretty fun to think about <33

This has been another episode of DK Finally Gets It Together And Answers Her Asks Because It’s About Damn Time (Working Title), thank you for joining me, if you’d like to see the rest of the series you can find it in the tags or if that isn’t working (again 🤦‍♀️) then in my pinned post <3

[landwriter]

Hi, hello,

I'd like to hear something about the skin wip

Hi, hello! Skin is my actual Lighthouse AU after someone sent me this super funny ask registering their displeasure with my choice of fandom for the Seventies SF AU, named Lighthouses. I'm very easily encouraged. Even when being discouraged for something I'm not actually doing. I laughed about doing one and then went and wrote in Untitled 1:

Lighthouse Keeper AU - Hob is lighthouse keeper, Dream is human or else eldritch sea creature - or SEEMS human but is a selkie/changeling who will return? Either star-crossed romance or like, gothic romance - lots of gay sex and desire and the sea, old-timey language, lanterns, etc, wailing wind, Forbidden Acts Isolation, alienation from other men, being Slightly Off, loneliness, exploring where you shouldn’t Hob fucks selkie who is also Dream?? Why would Dream be lighthouse keeper? Maybe he murders them but like, Hob found his skin or something and he has to pretend to be a human lighthouse keeper Hob finding journal entries suggesting imminent and terrifying demise of former keepers, can link them to Dream in some way

I also wrote 'all dialogue should be in iambic pentameter' but we'll pretend I didn't.

What can I say about it? I think it can be best described by the fact I scrolled through the WIP as it is now, a collection of scraps and research curios and a couple half-written scenes, and came across:

Beware the shore on haar and hoolan night, beware the sea of star-lost whalers’ plight

Which I have no, and I mean NO recollection of writing, but has no results when I google it. That's sort of the energy I want for the whole thing. Gothic horror fever dream. Claustrophobia and a locked-room mystery. Men driven to terror and mad loneliness and violence. Letters that arrive too late. Thievery and suspicion and revenge. Greed and possession. Becoming/loving the monstrous.

Some of the notes I evidently left myself that don't read as unhinged at allllll under the cut, if you want to read more about it still:

Smalls lighthouse - great oak stilts slime!!! rocks!! smoking! salt water wind, stabbing kind of rain, the way wind buffets first and moisture on it secondary, white waves, seabirds hanging in the air like mobile above a crib, carving with a knife, bleeding - nicking finger, dream looking over as he sucks it - is whittling the selkie/monster form alcohol maybe something weird where dream refuses alcohol and hob finds out something wrong with their water supply - dream is just drinking saltwater hob giving season of the mists style toast sailors have used tobacco pouches made from sealskin ‘where did you put my skin? where did you put my skin?’ bonding over lost sons hob sends pigeon or message otherwise thanking for relief, noting supply shortage, or smthn. days later gets message back being like, no relief sent. protean forms - changing easily - from god proteus - a protean selkie?? Fiddler's Green is an after-life where there is perpetual mirth, a fiddle that never stops playing, and dancers who never tire. In 19th-century English maritime folklore, it was a kind of after-life for sailors who had served at least fifty years at sea. important that lighthouse is decaying, used to be nice, now is not gothic theme of ascent/descent with ladder images of death etc claustrophobic, sunless environment, action at night or in fog - no sun imagination over reason

I've never done gothic before and I'm super excited to explore it with this story! I'm going for something like, old and musty smelling, sort of The Terror, lighthouse-edition, except with less death and more monster-fucking. A sluttier The Lighthouse (2019).

[ducknotinarow]

07 Rasey - "Just say it!" - Topic: Regret

| My muse struggles with the truth...Send "Just say it!" And my muse will confess to something they don't really talk about.Bonus: specify a specific topic and that's what they will talk about!

The sound of the ocean waves was like white noise to Raphael’s ears as he was half hang over the old rusted metal railing from the dock. Eyes resting over where the waves had meet the sandy shores. Every so often he see something wash up from the water and get trapped in the side left to rest in it’s new home. A shell, a crab and bits of trash of course. Got love New York he guessed. Raphael partly wondered if he stayed here long enough maybe he would find a glass bottle with a message inside it. Like he always saw on TV growing up. It's funny how the mind wonders he things as that reminded him back when he was a kid how he wanted nothing more than to find a message in a bottle. Thinking he might come across one in the channels that run through out the sewer system.

So he would try and look for them for hours sometimes even. Always thinking if he found one it would be some kind of map that would take him some one of a kind treasure. Why he sometimes stole Don's mermaid doll and nearly threw her into the water once. Insisting she would swim and find them one of those bottles in the water. Clearly that was why pirates looked for mermaids after all. As one can assume Don? Of course wouldn't like that. And as they went back and forth on this Raph holding the doll just out from his twin brothers reach. It was only a matter time till someone stepped in. It wasn't Splinter though. It was of course, Leo.

Who stepped in and put a stop to everything getting the doll back to Don well scolding Raph despite them being the same age. That how it always went. Like Leo saw himself as above the rest of them. And yeah it got under Raphael's shell a lot even as they got older through the years. Not that Raphael held on to that anymore at least. With everything settling back down. Stoned warriors going back to rest New York was peaceful again. All the ruckus was enough to even make the usual street punks to go into hiding. Wouldn't last long but also meant Raphael had nothing to hit. Left to just watch that water and let his mind wonder. over being back home with his family finally happily reunited now that Leo was back.

So everything should go back to how it was before right? Leo was home so all their issues and problems should be over. It might sound like he was still upset with Leo. He wasn't nah he got a lot of that out when they fought. He just didn't quit feel like he should be there at the party they were holding to better welcome Leo back home. Easily sneaking out unnoticed. Well almost.

Casey seemed to find him, It was easy to pick up the sound of Casey's steps. It was a sound the turtle worked so hard learn in the first place. Slightly heavy since unlike them Casey was taught to keep his steps quite. And also due to the muscle mass they had to carry, of course there was also the fact his step was a bit clumsy on top of good thing they had a sense of balance Raphael thought as he only moved over to the left somewhat so to make space for Casey to join him. Lowering his head to rest on his arms focusing one the way the wind carried the smell of salt in to the air and particles of mist splashed against his scales. Their conversation wasn't much just a few words here and there. Casey doing what he always has done checking on Raphael. Sure he had always done that they were friends after all but it felt like he shouldn't have to anymore all things considered after all.

"Needed air." Raphael answers, Casey didn't ask but he could tell they wanted to 'what you doin'? why ain't ya wit' your bros.' Something like that. " 'm glad he's back but jus' need a second I guess." Part of him did feel enough to be annoyed that the second Leo was back, suddenly everything was fine again. Just made Raphael feel Leo really never should have left in the first place. He flicked off old peeling paint from the railing into the water when Casey spoke up asking if he was still upset with Leo.

"Nah." Cause he really wasn't. "He jus' my scapegoat if anything.” Least he had this back talking to Casey was a comfort he never knew till he no longer had it that is, he first felt it when they were talking on the roof. After Casey made it known he knew he was going around as the Knightwatcher. Raph ended up passing out on the roof next to Casey, Suddenly struck with the comfort he had been missing so much. He still missed it despite Casey being right beside him. Well cause the talks when dating were a bit different, It came with more affection, that was barren now.

“Didja follow me?” Raph asks, Casey didn’t need to follow he could find Raph no matter what he always knew where he was most likely to go after all. Casey still seeming to be fishing around in Raph’s mind for what was up with him. Maybe Raph was just suddenly hit with a million regrets. After all Raph had been a real ass with well everyone after Leo stopped writing to them. Raph mulled it over letting the sound of ocean waves crashing into to the sand sort of ground him for a moment. Raph has kind of always been a touch of a ass to his brothers. Yeah maybe he could stand to be a bit better to them but even as kids they always in the end sorted things out. “Nah none with any of them.” Raphael confesses, watching the water for a bit longer. He knows why suddenly, why he came here. Why Casey always gave him a comfort. The long blue hair and those deep pools of ocean blue they called eyes.

“Just say it!”

Casey never was one to let things go easy was he? Raphael turned his head so to rest his cheek to his arm, the tails of his mask slipping over his shoulder to freely flow in the air as he fixed his gaze on Casey. He felt guilt and remorse of course but mostly? “Dumping you. Only one I got.”

[ladyreapermc]

Fic: Closing Time (Johnny Utah x fem!reader)

Summary: You work at a clothing store, you get a last minute customer at closing time and sexy tims happen.

Pairing: Johnny Utah x fem!reader

Author’s Notes: So I’m slowly getting back to writing. I’m not gonna say I’m fully back just yet, but for this week at least, there will be content! Huge thanks to @toomanystoriessolittletime and @meetmeinthematinee​ for being cheerleaders and giving me early feedback on this! 

Wordcount: 3125

Warnings: smut. oral sex (F! receiving); dirty talk; unprotected sex with strangers (don’t do this kids!); sex in inappropriate places.

Most days you quite enjoyed it when there was barely any movement at the store. It gave you the opportunity of just being by yourself, reading a book, or enjoying some music or studying for college, things that you didn’t always have the privacy of doing at your dorm because your roommate seemed to always be around. Even during the summer and what was up with that? Didn’t she have better things to do?

She wasn’t like you, who actually had to work to put yourself through college and took some extra jobs during the summer so you could have some savings for the following term when all you managed to get were part-time jobs that you had fit in between classes and paid shit.

Fortunately, at the shop, you had some peace and time for yourself. It was a tiny, hole-in-the-wall sort of place around Venice Beach where tourists could get some shirts and other knickknacks to take back home and locals surfers could find cheap clothing and supplies for a day out on the beach. Most days, you worked from 9-5 and after your shift, you could head to the beach, spread your towel on the sand and enjoy the gorgeous Californian sunset. However, as the summer winded out and the fall winds blew the scalding hot weather into simmering heat, your boss let you close a little early, especially on Tuesdays, when most tourists had already headed home and the new arrivals hadn’t landed yet so there were barely any customers around.

Your plan today had been to finish your reading for class and start the new crime thriller you picked up at the used books store on your way to work. Except, today you were just too restless to focus. You must have reread the same paragraph of your textbook twenty times before you gave up and set it aside, giving the other book a go, but it was just as unsuccessful at holding your attention.

So instead, you moved around the cramped space, adjusting the decoration items, dusting off shelves, and refolding every single shirt in the display until it was perfectly symmetrical while you willed time to move faster so you could end this day. Maybe it was the heatwave that had made an appearance turning the air in the shop stifling and all you had to help you was an old and slow fan that made more noise than blow air. The A/C was busted and your boss still hadn’t called someone to fix it.

Another possibility was the fact that you had to keep the glass doors opened to help circulate a little air and every time any kind of wind blew or someone walked in, it brought with them the crisp smell of salt and sand that always made you ache for the ocean and fight against the temptation of just abandoning everything and heading for the beach so you could cool off taking a dip in the deliciously cold water. Either way, you kept checking the slow ticking of the clock hands, counting the seconds before you could turn the closed sign.

When the minute hand finally hit twelve, you let out a cheer, jumping off your stool and taking a step towards the door. You always locked the doors first to discourage most last-minute walk-ins while you closed the register, put away the money in the back office safe, and slipped out of the store through the back door, taking any garbage with you to throw in the dumpster outside.

Before you could move from behind the counter, a man stepped into the store and you groaned low in your throat. Of-fucking-course! It was like they stood in wait to come in at the precise moment you were about to head out.

“Hey, you’re still open, right?” He asked, pushing the overgrown dark hair back from his forehead and offering you an unsure smile. You felt the urge to lie and say that no, you were closed and he should come back tomorrow.

“Yeah, sure.” You said instead placing your best and most fake seller’s smile. “Feel free to look around and let me know if you need help.”

“Thanks!” He replied, flashing a wider smile that showed a small dimple, before moving towards the shirts in the display while you made your way to the main entrance, flipped the sign, and locked the door to bar any other walk-ins.

You hung back while the guy browsed the options, taking a moment to assess him. He didn’t look like a tourist, but also not fully like a local. Most Californian guys that you knew had the most horrifying hair cuts or bleach jobs you had ever seen and that was not the case for the man in front of you.

His hair was dark brown, a little shaggy from too much exposure to sun and salt and it flopped a little over his forehead, just above his eyes. He wore a grey cropped t-shirt that had definitely seen better days and struggled to contain his broad shoulders, showing a peek of toned abs. His jeans were ridiculously tight and hung low on his slender hips, the light-wash of the denim accentuating the perfect bubble butt and for the love of God, you needed to get laid. Badly.

“Excuse me,” he called, startling you and you prayed he hadn’t noticed the way you were checking his ass just now. “Do you have this one in black?”

“Yeah, sure.” You moved towards the drawers. “What’s your usual size? Medium or large?”

“I think large should be good,” he replied and when you turned around with the requested shirt, he was just standing there, barechested, his top hanging from his shoulder and you hoped your gasp wasn’t as loud as it sounded in your head.

“Here you go,” you croaked, offering him the shirt. “We do have a fitting room…” you gestured towards the small cubicle to the rear of the store.

“Oh right!” He glanced over as he pulled the shirt on. “Do you mind if I try them out here, though?”

“Not at all,” you forced your voice to sound somewhat normal.

“Awesome!”

Damn! He wasn’t just fucking hot. He was also cute, the wide grin he just flashed giving him a boyish look that was only enhanced by the almond-shaped chocolate-colored eyes. Biting your lip, you watched as he turned side to side in front of the mirror, checking himself out.

“It think is a little too big,” he said, meeting your gaze. “What do you think?”

“Well…” you cleared your throat and moved closer so you could look at him through the mirror. “If you want it more fitted, then yeah, probably a smaller size would be best. Want me to get it?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Once again, by the time you turned back to him, he was shirtless, the garment he had just tried neatly folded and resting on the shelf as he took a look at some other shirts, his attention snapping at you when he noticed you coming closer to hand him the new shirt, giving you a glimpse of a pale, sunken scar running down his abs that stopped just above his belly button and that drew attention to the small trail of fine dark hairs that disappeared under the waist of his jeans and holy shit! He was bare beneath those jeans.

“Bike accident,” he commented as he took the shirt that you offered and you met his eyes in confusion.

“What?” You asked, mouth suddenly dry.

“The scar,” he clarified, putting on the shirt and his lips were tilted into a slight smirk. “That was what you were staring at, right?”

“Right,” you agreed, feeling your face burning. “I’ll just head to the register and give you some privacy.”

I don’t mind,” he shrugged, turning to the mirror. “This is better. What do you think?” He turned towards you, giving you a full view of the cotton fabric covering his muscles, looking almost as if painted on him.

“Sure...” you swallowed hard, trying not to stare. “If you prefer it more fitted...”

“I do,” pulling the shirt off and once again giving you the glorious view of his torso. “I’ll take it.”

You took the shirt to the register and he followed, pausing only to pick up his own, which he had discarded on a nearby hanger. You were expecting him to put it back on, but he just threw it over his shoulder, reaching for his wallet as you registered the sale and tried not to stare.

“Is that the only camera you have around here?” He asked, gesturing to a point above your left and you glanced at the object before nodding, exchanging the money he gave you for the paper bag with his purchase.

“Yeah, why?”

“So basically...” he started, taking a step to the side, closer to the fitting room. “I’m completely out of sight over here?”

“Basically, yeah,” you frowned a little, stepping away from the counter. “Why? Are you planning to rob the place? Because let me tell you, there’s not much worth...” You trailed off with a surprised squeak as he tugged on your hand, pulling you over to the blindspot and nearly pressed against his strong chest.

“Because honestly, I never really gave a fuck about the shirt. I just thought you were beautiful and wanted to ask your number when I walked in, but you looked kind pissed so I got cold feet,” he confessed with a rueful smile.

“So you decided to just get mostly naked in front of me?” You snorted, shaking your head and he shrugged.

“Needed to make sure you might be interested and considering the way you were eyeing me earlier, it looked like you saw something you liked.”

“You’re really sure of yourself, aren’t you?” You arched an eyebrow at him, not ready to concede just yet. Even if the heat of his body and the smell of sea breeze whiffing off his skin were driving you crazy.

“Only when I’m right,” he flashed you a lopsided smirk and just waited, gazing into your eyes, making it clear that the next step was yours.

Part of you screamed that it was crazy to even consider hooking up with a guy that just walked into your store, no matter how hot he was, but it had been a ridiculously long time since you last had sex and he was so fucking hot, the scent of his golden skin intoxicating and his heat was making you dizzy with want as you looked him up and down, noticing the volume pressing against the denim of his pants.

“We might not have cameras, but the windows are see-through, so get your ass to the fitting room while I finish closing up.”

He flashed a victorious smirk and nodded, heading towards the back while you rushed through the steps of securing the store before joining him.

Your heart was pounding with anticipation as you made your way towards the back, pushing away the curtain that blocked the small space of the fitting room and finding him perched on the low stool that you kept there so customers could put down their things, facing the full-length mirror, legs spread, jeans undone, revealing the bush of dark hairs surrounding his long and thick cock.

You nearly whimpered at the sight, your center pulsing in want as you leaned against the doorframe, watching him as he run his left hand up and down his shaft, head tilted back, breathing hard, eyes hooded. He was such a beautiful and debauched sight that you felt the urge to photograph him, capture that sensuality.

“Are you just gonna stand there and watch?” He asked, eyes meeting yours through the reflective surface.

“You seemed to be doing fine on your own,” you teased stepping into the tight space, fingers itching to touch all that glorious skin.

“I did not just spend most of my afternoon at the corner diner, drinking burned coffee just to jerk off in front of you,” he declared, standing up and turning your way.

“Ohhh, so this was premeditated?” You asked, kicking off your sneakers as he reached for you and you stumbled against his chest.

“A little bit, yeah,” he admitted, large hand hot against your hips and you wanted to feel it against your flesh. “You probably don’t remember, but I was here last week and you had to bend over to get something from one of the lower drawers...” he let out a soft groan, hands moving to your ass and squeezing lightly. “Fuck! I don’t think I ever popped a boner so fast in my life. I had to get out.”

You vaguely remembered that. There was so much coming and going in this place, it was hard to keep track of faces, but customers just taking off after asking to see something usually caused an impression. If you weren’t about to get fucked after six months, you would be more pissed.

“So you decided to come back when I was alone and seduce me?” you asked, running your hands over his chest and abs, scratching it slightly and goosebumps rose in his skin as he hissed.

“Yeah,” he spoke in a low voice as his hands move to the button of your jeans. “I’ve been thinking about you all week,” he slid your fly down and your breath caught in your throat. “I thought about bending you over that counter and fucking you until you’re screaming.” His fingers skimmed over your cunt, just a soft touch, but you gasped and arched your hips forward, holding onto his arms to steady yourself. “I thought about it eating your pussy and your ass until you’re begging me to fuck you.”

Those words were whispered right against your ear, before he changed your positions, crowding you against the mirror and pushing your jeans down to your thighs before he once against skimmed his fingers over covered sex, making you ache for him.

“What do you think about that?” He asked, lips brushing your cheek in an almost chaste kiss, completely opposed to the lewdness of his hand exploring your cunt. “Do you want it?”

“If you’re as good with your tongue at eating pussy like you are at talking dirty, then I maybe I do,” you declared, tired of his teasing and you felt his smirk as he gracefully slid to his knees in front of you.

You didn’t manage to get another word out before he shoved your panties down to join your jeans and his lips firmly connected to your clit. He gave it a sharp suck and you groaned, burying your fingers into his hair to keep yourself on your feet as your brain short-circuited and your knees turned to jelly.

He was very good at eating you out, especially because he was very attentive to every sound you made, every tightening of your grip on his hair, and roll of your hips to nudge him into going faster or slower, harder or softer... It wasn’t long before he reached that perfect alternation of fast flickering against your clit and slower and broad strokes of his tongue over your entrance and lips, a combination that drove you crazy.

You were whimpering and moaning, legs quaking with the alternating urge to close them around his face to keep him trapped there pleasuring you forever or spreading them wider so he could have more space to work, but the edges of your jeans were digging into the lower part of your knees, signaling you that that was as far as they could go.

As if reading your thoughts or maybe he just realized he would need more room, he shoved your pants down and helped you to kick them off so you could be completely free of the garment. And didn’t you two looked like a mismatched pair, with you standing there wearing only your top while he knelt in front of you, his jeans still on.

Once your pants were off, he hooked your right thigh over his shoulder, pressing his mouth even harder against your cunt, flickering his tongue over your clit before dipping it in between your lips, gathering the juices soaking your sex like a starved man.

“Fuck! I’m so close...” you hissed, rolling your hips, seeking more because that tight knot deep inside you was about to snap and from the way you ached and shuddered, your muscles tensing, you knew it would be a hard one.

“Yeah?” He mumbled against your core, his breath against your overheated skin making you shiver as he pushed two fingers inside you. “Gonna cum all over my mouth?”

He pistoled his fingers in and out at a fast pace, crooking inwards with every down motion, his tongue matching his rhythm against your clit and it was that made you snap as you bit down on your fist to stop yourself from shouting as your body was flooded with pleasure and all you knew was the unbelievable bliss that surrounded you. Stars bust behind your closed lids, the air came out of your lungs in short gushes as you fought hard not to slide down to the ground because your legs felt like jelly.

“Ok?” he asked, making you finally snap your eyes open to look at him.

He was sitting on his heels, face still glistening with your orgasm, his lips swollen and red from the abuse. His cock was rock hard, red, and leaking and you really wanted to return the favor.

“Way better than ok,” you replied with a gasp. “My turn?” To your surprise, he shook his head and got to his feet.

“Tonight, the only place I’m cumming is in that pussy,” he announced against your ear and shivered with anticipation. “So let’s get out of this fucking store and go to my place?”

“Fuck yes!” you grinned breathlessly at him as you reached for your jeans and he buttoned his over his hard cock and that couldn’t be comfortable.

“I’m Johnny, by the way,” he said. “Johnny Utah. Just in case you want to know what to shout when I fuck your brains out later.”

You rolled your eyes at his cheeky smirk and moved closer to him, once fully clothed, the only evidence of your recent climax was the sweat cooling on your skin and the stupid grin that refused to leave your face.

“I think I like you more when your mouth is busy with something other than talking,” you declared and before Johnny could manage a reply, you silenced him with a kiss, tasting yourself in his tongue.

xxx

If you enjoyed this work, please consider reblogging and/or commenting please. Feedback gives life to us writers!

[pixiemage]

Through a Crack in the Void

Part 10 / ??? [ Previous | Next ] [ Chapter List ]

[The feeling of freedom isn't something that can be defined simply. It's a culmination of little things. It's being able to fly without restraint, or eating quality food, or feeling the sun at your back, or watching the moon rise on a clear night...or being treated with kindness that doesn't feel like a trap.]

{This story can also be found on Archive of our Own}

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

There was something indescribably freeing about being airborne - truly airborne - for the first time in years. Grian had rarely been allowed to fly while with them, and even when he had it was…different. Flying in the void was worlds apart from flying in the overworld. Literally. There were almost no air currents, the air was stale and thin, and really, when no matter how far he flew he would always end up right back where he started whether it was his intention or not, flying had lost so much of its draw over the decade or so Grian had been trapped there. The frenzied flight he had taken during his escape - the first time in a long time Grian hadn’t felt the pull of their magic keeping him chained to their corner of the realm, an opportunity he knew he might not get again - was the most work he had put his wings through in years. The fact that he had only been using a third of his wing power (a third of his wings) surely didn’t help. It was no wonder he had been so sore and so exhausted the second he had landed at Hermitcraft’s spawn.

But now - oh, now–

Grian pushed his wings a little harder than they were probably ready for, but he didn’t care. He rose to build height, passed it, glided just above the clouds for a few beats of his heart - then with a slow, deep breath and a smile of absolute bliss, he tucked his wings tightly against his back and dove. Wind whipped past him, the chill of the high altitude nipping at his skin. The smell of sea salt began to reach him the lower he dropped, crisp air flowing between his feathers, and with the warmth of the sun at his back he had never felt more free.

Mumbo’s starter island grew larger below him, and from a distance Grian could see its occupant standing on the shore with his face turned skyward, a hand above his eyes to try and block the sun. Grian was sure he was giving Mumbo a heart attack with the ever-increasing speed of his dive, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He was having the time of his life and he wasn’t about to give it up. Below him the churning blue of the sea grew closer and closer, Mumbo’s expression growing clearer and more strained the nearer Grian got. He waited until the very last second before letting his wings unfurl to catch himself, the air buffeting against his feathers with a snap as he curved them expertly to control his swooping turn, muscle memory guiding him despite years without proper practice. He pulled up just before he hit the ocean and flew level with the crashing waves and he couldn’t really help himself when he reached out with one hand to trail his fingers through the cool water below him.

Water. Fresh water. Another thing the overworld had that the void had lacked. He loved it.

Grian banked left toward Mumbo’s island, smirking cheekily as he made a direct beeline for the mustached man standing on the beach. Mumbo seemed to register what Grian was doing a moment too late, because by the time he was reeling back from the water’s edge Grian was already swooping to a sudden stop directly in front of him and assaulting him with a flurry of wing-powered wind. Grian tumbled onto the sand in a barely-controlled roll, flopping onto his back at Mumbo’s feet and grinning up at him with an absolute windswept joy illuminating his face.

“Void I’ve missed that,” he sighed, grinning like a loon and letting his wings sift against the sand. (He would need to preen again after this, he knew it, but that was a problem for Tonight Grian. Or maybe even Tomorrow Grian.) Above him, Mumbo was attempting to fix his hair that Grian had messed up, chuckling all the while at his friend’s antics.

“I can tell,” he commented, his mustache twitching upward with his smile. “Just don’t push yourself too far, yeah? I know False gave you the okay to fly, but–”

“Mumbo, Mumbo,” Grian rolled his eyes, sitting up and shaking some of the sand from his feathers. “Keep your mustache on, I’m fine. Honestly, you’d think I was made of glass the way you go about fretting sometimes.”

“Because I know you, Grian, and I know you have a bad habit of not knowing your own limits.”

Grian scoffed at that, but he took Mumbo’s proffered hand nonetheless. Once he was on his feet again he tossled a hand through his hair to try and fix some of the windswept mess it had become, shaking sand from the back as he did so.

“Nonsense, I know my limits just fine,” he said, brushing past Mumbo and letting one of his wings thwack him in the face. (He pointedly ignored Mumbo’s protests at having to fix his hair again.) When Grian spun around to face the disgruntled redstoner, there was a cheeky grin lighting up his face, brilliant and teasing despite the red of the burns still marring his features. He folded his hands behind his back and leaned forward, tilting his head mockingly. “C’mon Mum-bo, quit being a mother hen. Don’t you trust me?”

“Frankly, mate, I think that’s a complicated question when it’s you we’re talking about,” Mumbo huffed, and Grian let out a bright cackle of laughter that made Mumbo’s eyes crinkle in amusement.

“I’d be offended but I think that might be the smart answer.”

“I’ve seen your pranks, Grian. It’s definitely the smart answer.”

Grian’s smile flickered slightly at the mention of pranks, but the moment was so brief he was sure Mumbo had missed it. It was a good day. He could dwell on painful memories another time, when he wasn’t still reveling in his first flight in the sunlight in years. He brushed the looming shadow of a distant thought aside.

“Who’d you say was coming by today?” he asked instead, turning away from Mumbo and traipsing off across the tiny island toward the lone oak tree left growing in the grass. He leapt for a low branch, his wings giving him that last boost he needed to reach it, and he was walking his feet up the trunk when he finally heard Mumbo’s footsteps approaching him.

“Er…Cleo and Bdubs,” Mumbo said. “You haven’t met them yet. I’m a bit surprised Bdubs is coming, actually.” His tone turned thoughtful. “I didn’t think he was on the new server just yet. He left middle of last season to deal with some personal stuff, and last I heard he wouldn’t be back for a while longer.” With a sniff and a shrug, Mumbo came to a stop beneath the tree and tucked his hands in his pockets. “Anyway. Bdubs said Xisuma asked them for some clothes for you, since you don’t have any spares with you. They should be here soon.”

Grian, who had finally managed to swing himself up to straddle the branch he’d been clinging to, leaned forward to lay on his chest along the branch. His wings hung down on either side of him and he tried to use the tips of his primaries to mess up Mumbo’s hair for the third time in as many minutes. Mumbo simply stepped beyond his reach with a sly smirk, much to Grian’s disappointment.

“Some clothes?” he repeated. They were bringing him clothes? It was such a small gesture, but something about it gave him a sort of warm-fuzzy feeling in his chest. “Why?”

“Because people need clothes, Grian,” Mumbo rolled his eyes. “And no offense, but the purple pajamas you showed up in are looking a little rough, and the shirt Iskall gifted you is decidedly not your size.”

…he had a point. The oversized green shirt was comfortable and it didn’t irritate the remaining bandages still wrapped around Grian’s chest, but he’d had to tuck it into his pants to keep the overly long garment from getting in the way. Not to mention - Grian glanced down at his hanging legs, at the gilded purple fabric of his trousers - a part of him had been itching to get rid of the clothes the Watchers had given him since day two. The only thing that held him back was the fact that he had nothing else to wear in their stead.

Only now, that might not be the case.

“...what are they like?” he asked, cocking his head to the side and looking down at Mumbo again.

“What, Cleo and Bdubs?”

“Yeah.” Grian sat up and perched on the branch beneath him on the balls of his feet, slowly standing until he could reach another branch. He carefully worked his way up and around the tree, his wings helping to balance him and Mumbo following him around the trunk from below as he talked.

“Well - hm. Bdubs is very high-energy. He’s an excellent builder too, something you’d appreciate I’m sure.” There was a knowing tone to his words. “He’s a bit chaotic and he makes everything into a much bigger deal than it ever has to be. Honestly, I think you’d get along fairly well.”

“You say that - ngh–” Grian pulled himself up onto another branch with a grunt of effort, then straddled it so he could look down through the leaves at the redstoner still on the ground. “You say that about every Hermit.”

“Well–” Mumbo spluttered, “–well to be fair, the ones you’ve met have all been people you would get along with! That’s not my fault!”

“Is there anyone you think I’d butt heads with?” Grian chuckled.

“Er…” Mumbo seemed to ponder this, his gaze dropping for a second or two before he searched for Grian again among the leaves. “Maybe Doc? Though that’s the case for anyone who meets him at first. He’s an acquired taste. Joe’s a bit of an odd bird as well, but he’s friendly enough that you’d be fine. Keralis perhaps? I’m not sure. He’s either your friend or your enemy, but his ‘enemies’ are often treated with a playful sort of competition rather than actual disdain, so…”

“So what you’re saying is, the Hermits are all amazing people and you’re all a big happy family and they’ll all accept me with open arms?”

Grian heard a distant snort of laughter from his friend.

“Well yes, actually, that sounds about right.”

Grian gaped at him.

“Wh–...I was joking!”

“Well I’m not!”

Climbing back to his feet again, Grian rolled his eyes.

“I still feel like you’re exaggerating, but sure, if you say so.” He sidestepped around the trunk to an adjacent branch, his wings pulled tight to his back so they wouldn’t catch on anything. “What about Cleo?” he called down. “What’s she like?”

“Oh, Cleo’s a wildcard,” Mumbo said immediately, pulling a surprised laugh from the avian far above him. “She’s blunt and she’s opinionated, but she’s also the kind of person who’ll stick by you forever once you’re friends with her. She’s got a dry sense of humor. She’s creative too. You should see the outfits and puppets and dolls she makes. The things she can do with a needle and thread–” Mumbo let out a low whistle, one that barely reached Grian’s ears from where he was now perched near the very top of the tree.

As if only now realizing how high Grian had gotten, Mumbo took a few steps back from the tree with a hand above his eyes to block the sun, letting out an exasperated huff at the sight before him.

“Mate, you’re mad, you know that?” he called up to Grian, who was now standing on his newfound perch, one hand gripping a smaller branch above him as he leaned out away from the trunk. He grinned, cheeky and mischievous - and then he let go. “GRIAN!”

Grian shoved away from the tree, away from the mess of branches and leaves he would rather avoid becoming entangled in, and let his wings carry him in lazy circles as he descended. He alighted on the ground with an innocent smile on his face, biting back a laugh at the long-suffering expression on Mumbo’s face.

“What? Is there a problem?”

“I take it back,” Mumbo muttered. “You’re not mad. You’re a menace.”

“Aww, you say such sweet things,” Grian cooed, finally breaking into a laugh when Mumbo threw his hands in the air in defeat.

“LAND HO!”

Both of them turned toward the call of a new voice. There was a boat approaching the shore from the direction of the mainland, two occupants sitting inside it. Cleo and Bdubs, Grian assumed. The boat hadn’t even reached land yet when one of the two - a dark-haired player in a plain white long-sleeve shirt and dark jeans - leapt out into the shallow water, splashing through calf-deep waves to the front of the boat to pull the second player ashore.

“Bdubs, we could have just paddled the last few feet,” the woman in the boat told him with a sigh, but all the same she took his offered hand with a small smile of thanks and let him help her step down onto the sand.

This, Grian realized by process of elimination, must be Cleo. The one thing Mumbo hadn’t mentioned earlier was the fact that she also seemed to be a zombie or zombie hybrid of some kind, her skin pale and green-tinged and stitches visible here and there. Her dark blue blouse was about as ragged as one would expect from someone who was undead, but based on the near-perfect condition of her shorts and socks and shoes, Grian supposed it was a stylistic choice more than anything.

“Well yeah, we could’ve,” Bdubs was saying now, “but I wanted to be a gentleman.”

“I wasn’t aware gentlemen came in such small packages.” Mumbo piped up, waving with one hand in greeting when they turned his way.

Bdubs immediately went red-faced and started spluttering, much to Cleo’s and Mumbo’s obvious amusement.

“Very freaking funny!” he spat out finally. “Says the guy who’s a freaking skyscraper! I’m a perfectly average height, thank you very much!”

“You know, he’s got a point Mumbo,” Grian mused, turning to give Mumbo a dramatic and thoughtful once-over. “Are you sure you’re not part enderman somewhere in there?”

“Er–” Mumbo blinked, slightly taken aback by the one-eighty Grian had delivered, and down by the shore Cleo bit back a burst of laughter.

“Goodness me,” she sighed, amusement in her words. “We’ve been here for less than a minute, and already you’ve begun insulting each other. This is going excellently.”

“Is this normal for Hermitcraft?” Grian asked her as she and Bdubs abandoned their boat in favor of joining the island’s residents near the tree.

“Well, it’s normal for Bdubs,” she told him, lowering her voice conspiratorily and leaning closer to Grian. (He did his best not to shy away from the sudden proximity.) “Etho started making jokes about his height while they were part of the nHo last season, and at this point the gag has kind of stuck.” She gave Bdubs an obvious calculating stare over her shoulder. “I’ll admit, it’s not exactly unfounded, but–”

“I’M NOT SHORT!” Bdubs blustered, his fists clenched at his sides. “I’m taller ‘n Impulse and Joe! And Wels too, as a matter of fact!”

“Mmm, I dunno…” Cleo squinted at him, sizing him up. “I spend a lot of time around Joe, and I reckon he’s still got you by a few inches. And if you’re not taller than him, you’re definitely not taller than Wels.”

“CLEO!”

“If it makes you feel any better, you’re definitely taller than Grian,” Mumbo put in, and Grian laughed.

“Well, he’s not wrong,” he agreed, smirking. “I’m perfectly gremlin-sized and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“You guys are the worst,” Bdubs grumbled, shoving up his shirt sleeves and refusing to look at any of them.

“Alright, alright, we’ll lay off.” Cleo nudged his shoulder lightly. “Mumbo brought it up. If you need to blame someone, blame him.”

At that, Mumbo had the decency to look sheepish and apologetic. He rubbed the back of his neck with a weak smile.

“That’s true actually, I did. This is the first time I’ve seen you in months and that’s what I decided to start with. Apologies for that.”

Bdubs rolled his eyes, still looking a bit miffed, but when he glanced in Mumbo’s direction there was a sparkle of mirth in his eyes.

“It has been a while, hasn’t it?” he asked, smiling softly. “It’s good to see you guys again. I’m not actually staying for long, sad to say. I’m still dealin’ with some stuff back home, but Xisuma caught me at a good time and I wanted an excuse to come say hi.” His expression lit up and he finally let his focus fall on Grian. “Oh! Right! You’re the new Hermit, aren’t you?”

“Er - I dunno about ‘Hermit’ just yet,” Grian shrugged, his wings shifting against his back. “But I’m certainly new around here. I’m Grian.”

Grian held out a hand after a moment of internal hesitation and Bdubs was quick to take it, his handshake as energetic as the rest of him.

“Nice to meetcha Grian! Name’s B-double-O, though most folks just call me Bdubs. Welcome to Hermitcraft!”

It was so enthusiastic and genuine, so full of a friendly and eager excitement at the prospect of a new neighbor, and Grian felt a grin split his face completely unbidden. Maybe Mumbo hadn’t been exaggerating after all. Maybe the Hermits really were just one big (slightly insane) happy family.

“Not to cut this introduction short,” Cleo interrupted, squinting skyward, “but would you mind if we move this indoors? If you recall, the sun doesn’t exactly agree with me, and I’d rather not burn through my fire res any faster than I have to this early in the season.”

“Oh, right!” Mumbo jolted, immediately starting toward his little starter house and gesturing for them to follow. “Sorry, should’ve thought of that sooner. Come on in! It’s not much yet, but lord knows we’re all just starting out right now.”

Cleo snorted.

“Oh, come off it Mumbo, you know full well you’ve probably got the best starter base of the lot right now. You had Scar helping you on day one and we all know what he’s like.”

“Wait, Scar helped you?” Bdubs asked as Mumbo held the front door open for all three of them. “Is he living here too?”

“Nah, just me and Mumbo.” Grian grinned and dropped down onto one of the two chairs in the room, straddling it backward and letting his wings droop a bit behind him. He would never admit it to Mumbo, but maybe he had pushed himself a little far during his flight this morning, and his muscles were protesting it ever-so-slightly. “See, ol’ Mumbo Jumbolio here chose to take in an injured bird right off the bat, and Xisuma decided we weren’t allowed to hunker down in a dirt hut on our first night like the rest of the plebeians on the server.”

“Ohhh…” A look of understanding crossed Bdubs’ face and he looked to Mumbo, who had just closed the front door with a soft click. “Dadmin mode?”

“Dadmin mode,” Mumbo agreed. He shrugged, as if to say ‘What can you do?’ Bdubs nodded sagely.

“I think he’s still in it, seeing as he was askin’ for spare clothes.” At those words, Bdubs summoned a bright blue shulker box from his inventory, one that had Grian perking up. The moment it was placed down Bdubs was crouched beside it, opening it and rifling through its contents. “I only brought a couple of things from my home server but surely something’ll fit. If not, Cleo can fix ‘em up for ya.” He withdrew a few folded stacks of clothes, some basic pants and shirts and a jacket or two. As he started separating them out Grian found himself leaving his chair behind, gravitating toward the folded fabrics and crouching near Bdubs.

“...you brought all of this for me?”

The question left him before he could really stop it, the soft astonishment in his voice far too audible to his own ears. Bdubs stilled and looked up at him, a few different expressions flitting behind his eyes before a softer version of his bombastic grin appeared on his face.

“‘Course I did. It’s not like I’m usin’ all this right now. If someone else needs it, why wouldn’t I help out?”

Grian let out a breath, his eyes raking over the…the gifts that Bdubs had brought to his door. It wasn’t exactly a foreign concept so much as an unpracticed one, something he had gotten so used to going without that the sudden shift back to normal player practices was almost jarring. The same had happened almost a week ago, the first time Grian had tasted food that wasn’t made up of magic and void particles, and then later that same night when he watched the moon rise in the star-strewn sky through the fencepost-windows of the bedroom. All things that he had experienced before, all things that were familiar, but all things that he had been away from for so long that being reintroduced to them felt like brand new experiences for the first moment or two. It was like his first taste of true freedom all over again.

Grian’s eyes danced over the fabrics and colors and materials before his eyes fell on something still sitting in the bottom of the shulker box, left behind while Bdubs went through clothes.

“What about those?” he asked, nodding toward the black sneakers. Bdubs followed his gaze.

“Oh! Yeah, Etho bought me those last season to replace mine that got all messed up in the jungle, but they’re a bit too small. I never got around to returning ‘em. I didn’t know if they’d fit you or not, but I figured I might as well bring ‘em.”

Grian reached into the shulker and withdrew the shoes, turning them over in his hands. They looked like they might fit. He sincerely hoped they would.

“So whaddaya say?” Bdubs asked, and Grian looked up to see a bright smile on the other player’s face. “D’you wanna try some stuff on?”

“Is it fashion show time?” Cleo piped up from where she and Mumbo had been chatting in the corner. “Oh, please tell me it is.”

Grian glanced between them, their excitement infectious, and he grinned right back.

“Let’s do this.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

[A/N: Bdubs and Cleo! Ayo! So, while writing this, I learned that Bdubs (the creator, not the character) actually took a break from Hermitcraft that started in Season 5 and ended partway through Season 6. I just about had a literal slams-head-on-desk moment when I realized it, because I'd already written Bdubs into a previous scene with Xisuma messaging him, so I didn't want to CHANGE it. Sooo we get this instead! A visit from a wayward Hermit! I know the real-life reason Bdubs had to take a break, but I don't know if he gave a "canon" reason his character was gone, so I'm being purposefully vague about it here. Fill in the blanks on your own if you'd like. ;) REGARDLESS, I had a ton of fun writing him, and in writing Cleo I realized I will one day get the chance to write her interacting with Joe...and oh I can NOT wait for that!

We see also tiny glimpses of how Grian is handling his newfound freedom in this chapter. It's something that has bugged me in certain Watcher!Grian fics before, where he has just escaped from this place devoid of life and humanity and yet he returns to being a player as though he never left. But there's a level of adaption and transition that would happen, right? So we're seeing some of that here. Other than that...I wonder if anyone can guess what might be coming up in the next chapter? I didn't exactly hint at it, but it's something a little iconic, so I'm curious if anyone will think of it before I've written it...?]

[ Previous | Next ] [ Chapter List ]

[link4eva]

Kiro’s Mind’s Quest: Infatuation Play Translation Part 2 [CN]

Hey! Here’s Part 2 of Infatuation Play. Here is Part 1 if you haven’t read it yet.

Enjoy~ 💛

*Spoilers for future content below!*

[Chapter 4]

MC: It seems I’ve put too much salt in the seasoning….

MC: If it’s salty…. add more water!

Kiro: Haha. 

Kiro was amused by what I said, and he shook off a piece of beef and tasted it.

Kiro: Good to eat!

Kiro also gave me a piece, the evening light leaked in from the window, reflecting a small layer of fluff on his face.

In the steam, the spicy and delicious smell seemed to dispel the previously unremarkable smell in the house.

I took a sip of soda and brought up the topic from before. *Changed some wording*

MC: By the way, in addition to encountering the big challenge of an actor’s career, filming NG….

MC: Is there anything else that left an impression on you?

Kiro looked down and thought about it seriously.

Kiro: Does scaring a crying kid count? 

MC: Of course!

Kiro smiled when he saw the eagerness on my face to hear the story.

Kiro: This scene is also related to entering the character state.

Kiro: In order to maintain this state, I kept myself bored in the hotel room for a long time….

Kiro: Probably because of my routine, no one reminded me.

Kiro: Later, I didn’t know the exact time anymore. When I came out, I felt that I had been in the dark for a long time.

Kiro: I realized that I was a bit too immersed, so I went to buy a bottle of soda to take a break.

Kiro: Then I met a kid in the crew…. I didn’t do anything, he just saw me and then cried. 

Kiro’s voice was very low, and the hot pot gurgled.

I think of Kiro’s immersive performance on the screen, and then I dig a little deeper into what he said just now-- *Changed some wording*

It was as if he had a bitter fruit in his heart, and he desperately wanted to hide it from me. The more bitter it was, the stronger the taste.

In the end, the fruit still found its way into my heart.

I sniffed and couldn’t help joking.

MC: From another perspective, that kid got to watch a scene for free.

Kiro raised his eyes, and I continued with a smile.

MC: I want to watch the exclusive performance of the big star Kiro too!

MC: Thinking about it this way, I feel a little jealous.

I took his hand and his fingertips quivered slightly.

Kiro: Don’t you think I’m not doing well enough? As a professional actor, I shouldn’t be in this situation. 

I shook my head.

MC: Remember, you asked me before if there was anything interesting about this business trip.

MC: In fact, in the city where I was on business, there would be lively gatherings at night on the street next to the hotel.

MC: Looking down from the balcony, there are clusters of lights, and everyone sits on the steps and chats casually.

MC: When I saw it, I was thinking, “I must bring Kiro here next time. He will love the sparkling cider here.”

I looked at Kiro brightly. He seemed to be imagining the scene I described with slight waves in his eyes.

MC: I want to share with you all the good and bad, brilliant and lonely times.

MC: You can be imperfect, you can have lonely and dark moments because I will be with you. 

MC: We share each other’s lives. No matter what life it is, as long as we experience it together, it is enough.

Those blue eyes staring at me seemed to be lit by some kind of warm light for a moment, filled with soft emotions.

I paused and asked him softly.

MC: I remember that every time you acted in a play, you would bid farewell to them at the end.

MC: You said that you were lucky to participate in a period of their lives and experienced their emotions.

MC: So in the end, you have to bid farewell to the partners you have been working with….

MC: Looking forward to another time and space, they will continue their lives.

MC: Did you say goodbye this time?

Kiro looked at me and suddenly reached out and wiped the oil stains on my lips.

The boiling of the hot pot sounded and there seemed to be some fragments of emotions in his eyes that had melted silently.

He paused, turned his head and raised the bear cup on the table. He raised it in the air, the emotions in his eyes were clear and calm.

Kiro: Americano is still too bitter, I prefer to drink soda. 

Kiro: The hot pot made by Miss Chips is delicious. As long as you are with her, even the little things like walking your dog to the supermarket are worth remembering.

His gaze flickered over the neatly coded script on the sofa, and there was a sense of relief in his voice.

Kiro: What you didn’t find, I did.

Kiro: In the time and space I don’t know, you will definitely find what you want, and come back to shine on the stage again.

Kiro: Now, it’s time to say goodbye to you.

The starry sky is gentle, and the steam from the hot pot rises, almost like a response. The wind blows the curtains and the room is full of starlight. *Changed some wording*

We are both covered.

(Cut to the living room)

MC: What’s going on with Cello lately? She seems to be more irritable.

MC: Not only did she knock over the sunflower vase in the living room, but also bit her tail….

I pet Cello who was being held in Kiro’s arms and spoke tentatively.

It is said that the mood of pets will be influenced by the owner. Is Cello….? 

Kiro looked away with a guilty conscience. 

Kiro: Maybe it’s because the season makes everyone more irritable.

Kiro: [coughs] Just leave her be, save the sunflower first.

He found a new vase in the cabinet and handed it to me. I trimmed the sunflower’s branched and leaves that had been bitten by Cello.

Kiro sat cross-legged across from me and stared at me without blinking. I was a little embarrassed to be stared at.

MC: What are you looking at?

Kiro tilted his head at me and his blond hair swayed slightly. It was obviously a naughty action, but the smile in his eyes was very gentle.

Kiro: Of course I was looking at Miss Chips. 

Kiro: Looking at your actions, expressions, the flower in your hand, and…. 

Kiro’s tone was stretched out and I followed his gaze to see the light-coloured hairband on the side of my head.

The soft end of the hairband slid down my neck and onto my skin.

MC: KI-RO! 

I blushed for a moment and when I was hurriedly trying to retie my hairband, my hand was suddenly grabbed.

I looked up and under the frivolity of the sun, I didn’t know when Kiro got so close to me that I could see the creases on his lips.

His gaze fell on the end of my hair. He tucked the hairband lightly and winked at me.

Kiro: Miss Chips, let me help you.

Without waiting for my answer, he took a strand of my hair and maneuvered his hands dexterously, rubbing my earlobes with his fingertips which caused a burst of scorching heat.

The hairband is like a streamer that can be held in his hand, and he is the creator of beauty.

The mood is changing silently at this moment as we stay so close. *Changed some wording*

No matter how difficult the moments we encounter are, they will definitely be healed in the accompanying time.

After a while, Kiro held my face and looked at it with satisfaction.

Kiro: That’s it.

I reached up to touch the hairband and couldn’t help but smile. *Changed some wording*

MC: You even tied a small bow! 

Kiro: Of course, this is the exclusive mark of Kiro.

Kiro picked up the end of the hairband and looked down at me tenderly. His blue eyes were like a vast and boundless sea and I willingly indulged in it.

(Cut to morning)

The morning light was in the room and the sound of the phone vibrating awakened me from my sleep. I picked up the phone and pressed the answer button.

MC: Kiki? What’s wrong?

Kiki: Boss, the project you flew abroad to talk about has passed!

Kiki: Anna received the letter of intent last night, and the person in charge there said that he hoped the date of the contract signing could be confirmed today.

Kiki: Where are you now? Come and visit the company!

MC: Okay, I’ll be there.

I hung up and turned my head, Kiro’s sleeping face came into view.

He seems to be having a good sleep and his lips are slightly upturned, he looks particularly meek. *Changed some wording*

MC: ….

It looks like he is still a little sick. *Changed some wording*

The lack of sleep made my brain work a little slow, so I shook my head in an attempt to wake myself up a bit.

Just as I was hesitating whether to go, Kiro woke up with a hint of sleepiness in his eyes. He was startled when he saw my neatly dressed look.

Kiro: [cute sleepy voice] Is something happening at the company? 

(If you pick “No”)

Seeing Kiro’s still pale cheeks, I shook my head and smiled at him.

MC: Nothing, I was just talking to Kiki.

But Kiro looked at me and suddenly smiled.

Kiro: Miss Chips, you should go do more important things first.

Kiro: I will wait here for you to come back.

Seeing him look at me quietly, I nodded gently.

(If you pick “yes”)

I was conflicted for a moment and then nodded honestly.

MC: There is a little situation that needs to be dealt with, but….

Before I finished speaking, I saw Kiro stretch out lazily with a slight smile in his tone.

Kiro: I will wait for your return.

He looked no different from what I was familiar with. I hesitated for a moment and finally nodded gently.

[Memory Silhouette]

MC: Hahahahahaha! This episode is so funny!

I laughed so much that my cheeks hurt and I had to lean against Kiro’s arms. He opened his arms and caged me in them.

Kiro: Is the way I eat mustard so funny? 

I lifted my head and looked at him as he asked me. 

The sun was shining on us warmly through the French windows, Kiro’s milk fragrance also wrapped around the tip of my nose. I couldn’t help but squeeze his cheek with my hand.

MC: No, but I like it.

MC: Didn’t someone say that if there is a person who can keep you smiling, then he must be an important presence in your life.

MC: You make me laugh without even thinking about it, your existence turns cloudy days into sunny ones. *Changed some wording*

As if he had accepted my theory, Kiro no longer struggled with his expression about the variety show, so he clicked the button to continue playing. 

Kiro: Okay, I agree with Miss Chips. 

This variety show has Kiro as a guest appearance. When he participated in the show, he had not yet joined the cast to make a movie. The show was as bright as a little sun.

In the space between the advertisements, I quickly glanced sideways at the person next to me.

Over the past few days, I can feel his gradual relaxation.

It’s not that I’m always vigilant, telling myself that I have to be happy in front of him, but because when I’m with him, I can relax and smile.

I liked this relaxed and soft Kiro.

MC: But speaking of it, in this variety show, I see you in a way that I don’t usually see.

MC: Planting seedlings, bargaining with the owner of a small shop, and making mosquitos nests by yourself.

MC: So Kiro turned out to be a secret master of life?

MC: So when I was making homemade cranberry cupcakes, a certain superstar asked me to teach him how to beat the egg yolks?

After being questioned, Kiro gave a cheeky “um”.

Kiro: That’s because, in the cast, I need to play the image of SuperHero. This is my job. 

Kiro: But in front of Miss Chips, I can be willful and not so perfect, can’t I? *Changed some wording*

He looked at me with a smile in his eyes, like an afternoon orange soda full of refreshing taste.

MC: You said that…. I can’t refute it. 

Although I said that, I couldn’t help but laugh.

MC: But two people mixing the egg yolk batter together is always more interesting than doing it alone.

There was constant laughter on screen. I looked at Kiro who was always smiling on the screen and couldn’t help but lean into his arms.

His chin rested on my shoulder from behind and his warm breath brushed my neck.

It’s always a good time to need each other and be together. *Changed some wording*

MC: Next time, teach me how to make a mosquito net.

MC: Maybe in the future when we go on a trip, it will be useful.

Kiro: Okay, let’s make a big and beautiful mosquito net. 

MC: Huh? Why does it have to be so big?

Kiro: It can be used as an open-air tent. If you watch the stars at night, you don’t have to worry about being bitten by bugs.

I couldn’t help being amused by Kiro’s serious tone.

MC: Okay, let’s do it together.

Time is moving slowly and quietly, walking forward with a lazy pace. The lazy rest is close to the not-so-perfect Kiro.

Put together a cupcake with a honey-flavoured centre. *Changed some wording*

[Chapter 5]

When I had walked halfway towards the company, I decided to pull out my phone and call Kiki.

MC: Kiki, there are some things on my end that I can’t get away from. You can help me with the people from the other company and change the meeting to a virtual one.

MC: The contract has been sorted out, I will send it to them later. You are responsible for monitoring the online meeting.

Kiki: Mhhm, okay. Sounds good, boss. 

After temporarily solving the company’s problems, I returned to Kiro’s house.

In order to avoid disturbing Kiro, who might still be asleep, I opened the door very quietly.

But when I entered through the door, I saw Kiro sitting cross-legged on the floor with his back facing me.

Kiro: Cello, don’t move. 

A cat’s tail came out from his side, swinging back and forth uncomfortably, but was caught by Kiro in the next second.

Kiro: A few days ago, I didn’t play with you, which made you unhappy with me.

He was talking to himself, then sighed slightly.

Kiro: From now on I will play with you every day, but you are not allowed to bite your tail.

Kiro: If you bite your tail bald again, I will confiscate your dried fish!

Hearing what he said, I couldn’t help but laugh.

Kiro turned around when he heard the sound and when I saw Cello resting in his arms, I opened my eyes wide.

MC: You made a small flower for her bald spot.

A small flower made of pink wool is tied around Cello’s tail, which was probably taken from Kiro’s clothes. It covered most of the bald spot.

Kiro: Miss Chips, why are you back so soon?

Kiro was a little taken back, but because of my presence, there was an unconcealed smile in his eyes.

As I walked to Kiro’s side, I creased my eyes and opened my mouth.

MC: Because the witty Miss Chips changed the meeting to an online one, if it is synchronized with the time abroad, it will not start until the evening.

Kiro touched his chin thoughtfully.

Kiro: In other words, before the meeting, you still have a lot of time alone with me. 

MC: You can think of it like that.

Suddenly I saw the familiar sly smile in his eyes. I was stunned for a second as I realized something and then took a step back cautiously.

Kiro smiled innocently and brilliantly.

Kiro: Miss Chips can’t run away, you came back to me by “getting caught” by my net. *Changed some wording*

In the next second, he hugged my waist and his presence hit me overwhelmingly.

Cello jumped to the ground, licked her paws, and curiously tilted her head to look at everything in front of her.

Kiro led me to the sofa where I sat in his arms, my heartbeat still a little fast.

Kiro chuckled.

Kiro: Why does Miss Chips look like as if I’m going to do something bad?

His palm touched my bare back, arousing a shudder.

He looked down at me, but there was nothing else in his eyes other than like. 

I think of his unusual moments these past few days and my heart can’t help but feel moved.

The next second, I reached out and hooked my arms around Kiro’s neck. Kiro looked at me in a daze.

MC: Kiro, all the things that happen to you, I want to be the first person to share them with you.

I paused.

MC: Just as happiness and sadness are all the flavours of life we must experience;

MC: I want to be together in those bleak moments that must be experienced.

MC: Because--friction generates heat.

MC: So next time if you feel empty, let me stay with you.

MC: Let me fill your time.

Kiro���s eyes seemed to have a small sparkle of light in them after hearing my words.

After a while, I was pulled by Kiro and fell back into his arms.

Following his movements, my bag fell to the ground and a clear sound rang out. Kiro turned his head and glanced, leaning over and picking up a lipstick.

I reached out to take the lipstick, but Kiro grabbed my wrist.

He looked at me and suddenly put some on his lips slowly.

In the small and charming space, all his movements seemed to be slow and carefully planned, which made me suddenly think of the fragments I saw in the lens. 

Kiro: While eating hot pot, Miss Chips said that she regretted not being able to see my exclusive performance. 

He paused for a moment and gave a grin.

Kiro: Well now you can.

He raised his hand and the hot red in his palm brushed my hair and then letting it fall onto my back, bringing the smell of spices.

It’s like a light kiss.

I stiffened for a moment, only to feel that the spot touched by him was burning like fire, making me want to get closer.

MC: Kiro….

I muttered Kiro’s name softly. As if receiving some kind of response, he suddenly took my hand.

Then he lowered his head slightly and pressed his warm lips to my wrist.

Kiro: I’m here.

There was a warm touch from his skin and Kiro’s lips were still pressed against my wrist, but he lifted his eyes to look at me.

I blushed suddenly and wanted to lower my head and look away. The next second, I was firmly grasped with his other hand.

He held my hand and guided my fingertips past his lips.

His look was seductive, like a fairy falling into the world, unknowingly attracting me.

But perhaps, he knew it.

Kiro: Now I am sure that you have filled the most precious time in my world.

His blue eyes are as gentle as the sea and there is only a small me inside of them.

He looked at me and got closer, hot breath fell on the side of my neck accompanied by a soft voice.

Kiro: In fact, there have always been many temptations and difficulties on the way to becoming an actor.

Kiro: It’s a small boat called “Kiro”, sailing on the waves of the world. He often encounters danger, gets injured, and breaks.

The soft touch lingers from the side of my neck to my earlobe, and the breathy whispers fall on my ears very affectionately.

Kiro: But this one person, she found the boat on the boundless sea and repaired his damages.

Kiro: She then stayed on the boat and sailed the world with him to see glaciers and lakes.

Kiro: This person is called Miss Chips, and she is-- the beacon that guides me through the world. 

His voice is like falling petals; quiet and soft with the ultimate sincerity. *Changed some wording*

Kiro: In the play, Kiro’s emotions belong to the stage.

Kiro: But Kiro outside the play, his world, everything about him belongs to you.

The scorching temperature left my neck and he looked at me earnestly with undisguised emotions in his eyes, like the surging ocean tides.

I couldn’t help but hug his neck back.

MC: Kiro, you made me the best Miss Chips in the world.

MC: Let’s go to farther places together, see glacial lakes, and sail the world together….

MC: Nothing can make me leave your side.

The sunflower grows enthusiastically and his golden hair is soft and brilliant. The world is flourishing and beautiful, just like himself.

If I were Kiro’s beacon for sailing the world, then let me be that tower that illuminates him.

Because-- he is also the most indispensable part of my world.

End

[sumsebien]

by design pt.1//Prince Friedrich

prologue // series masterlist

summary: the journey from london to sanssouci is long. what will y/n and friedrich do with all this free time?

word count: 3.4k

warnings: none

a/n: hello i am sorry for being so late with this one. the next ones will also be a little further apart than you’ve come to expect from my last series but i think this quality-wise will be improved (hopefully)

The carriage was spacious enough so that Friedrich could sit without bumping his knees against whoever sat in front of him. Right now, that was you. Heinrich was next to Friedrich, briefing him about the itinerary for the day. And Friedrich tried to pay attention. He really did but his eyes kept landing on you every couple of seconds. 

You sat quietly. Your face turned away from them as you gazed out of the windows. But then, he heard the faintest of sniffles. He turned to Heinrich. His valet stopped talking. 

And then, he heard it again. This time, Heinrich heard it as well, laying the map down in his lap. Their eyes directed towards you. 

You were crying. 

The two men gave each other a look. 

Friedrich hadn’t a clue what to do. He could not recall the last time he had had to comfort someone in distress. He figured it was because a Prince was not the most ideal person for people to confide in. 

Heinrich, on the other hand, had three little sisters. Therefore, he was way more knowledgeable. He nudged the Prince’s shoulder, tipping his head towards your figure and mouthed ‘Do something!’

Friedrich shrugged. ‘What?’

‘Just do something!’ 

The silent conversation and stern looks Heinrich threw him forced a few words out of his mouth. All of them formed without any forethought. “My lady, would you like a handkerchief?”

His voice startled you. You quickly wiped the back of your hand under your eyes and shook your head. “I’m alright. Just something in my eyes,” you said, a weak smile on your face. 

“Are you sure?”

You nodded, a little bit too quickly for someone who was actually telling the truth. “It’s just been a long day. That’s all.” 

You thought they didn’t notice or perhaps at the least would ignore it if they did. You obviously thought wrong. How you wish you could swing the window open and flap away. 

It was a completely normal thing that all girls must go through at one point. You should be thinking of yourself as lucky even. The ladies of the ton would happily die to be you right now, moving to Prussia with your husband, the Prince. That was what you kept telling yourself.

Tears began to prick at your eyes again as you thought about a life that was foreign in every sense of the word. 

Maybe life in London was not all that bad. Sure there was a certain face you had to keep up at all times but at least there was your best friend Olivia. You never thought you could ever miss the horrible balls and tea parties, the cruel gossip and the contemptuous looks. But as London disappeared behind you, the thought of never returning frightened you. 

You inhaled a shallow breath, afraid of alarming the Prince and his valet. They probably thought you weak and pitiful now. 

“Shall I get you a blanket? We still have quite the journey,” said the Prince. 

You shook your head, not even dreaming of requesting anything from him. “I will just admire the countryside for now. Don’t worry about me.”

You promised yourself that you would stay awake. One of the things your mother managed to say to you in the carriage ride to the abbey was to not fall asleep as “it might put your husband off” in her exact words. She always made it a point to tell you just how ungraceful you looked when you were sleeping. And perhaps you should take her advice. The last thing you would want is for your husband to find you ungraceful just after your wedding ceremony. 

Of course, not long after that, you fell asleep. 

When you woke up, everything was pitch black. The last thing you remembered was trying to keep your eyes open. But the repetitive sights and the quiet droning of the Prince’s valet made it too difficult to resist giving in to the heaviness weighing on your eyelids. 

As you blinked and regained your vision, you noticed that you were alone in the carriage. The blinds had been drawn on all windows. You felt yourself panic. Was something wrong? Where was everyone? 

As you began to think up millions of ways the trip could have gone wrong, the possibility of a raid came up.

You drew a shaky breath and moved. That was when you realized that you had someone’s coat covering you this whole time. You held it up to the little sliver of light peaking through the curtains and recognized the navy blue color. It was the Prince’s. 

Just as you were holding the coat, the door was opened. You nearly froze when you saw Heinrich on the other side. 

“Your Highness,” he bowed, “you’re awake.”

The title threw you in a bit of a loop in your drowsy state. It took you a moment longer to realize that he was referring to you. It was going to take a while to adjust. 

You masked the initial shock by clearing your throat. “Yes. What time is it?”

“It’s 9 pm, ma’am. Would you like to board the ship now?”

You nodded, picking up your skirt and making your way down the steps. He took the coat for you and held your hand to help you. 

“You should wear this, your Highness. It’s a little bit cold.” 

The night breeze sent goosebumps up your arms and you carefully draped his coat back on, now noticing the citrusy scent clinging onto it. You held onto the lapels of the coat and followed Heinrich. 

The sailing ship was anchored just by the dock, a couple of steps away from where the carriages stopped. It was an absolute beast with towering sails for wings, a strong body made of wood and a long pointy bow spirit as a fearsome horn. The sails flapped in the wind, wanting to stretch free of its frames and fly off into the night sky.

As you and Heinrich made your way up the stairs to the main deck, you could hear the commotion happening before you could see it. Thumping footsteps, shouts and grunts as the crew got ready to set sail. 

They did not care that you were here and you liked that. Being invisible was nice. Heinrich, however, did not enjoy it as much. He seemed a bit anxious to have you witness all of this and quickly led you away from all the noises down one flight of stairs. You could still hear heavy footsteps but they were muffled, less prominent than before now that you were one floor below. 

The air heavy with moisture and salt filled your lungs as you made your way down a lengthy and narrow hallway. Not too far away stood two ladies. Heinrich confirmed that it was in fact your room. 

“These are your lady’s maids-Lea and Ilse. Should you need anything, they shall help you.”The girls curtsied at the sight of you and each nodded at the mention of their names. 

You studied their faces, trying to cling to certain features so that you would not forget their names. Both of them had perfectly combed blonde hair, although instead of just a simple bun, Ilse’s hairdo was a little more intricate with the way she wrapped her hair. Lea was a little taller and seemed a little tougher than Ilse with her strong eyebrows and tall gait. Ilse, on the other hand, was bright-eyed and more youthful, reminding you of Olivia. 

“Thank you, Heinrich.”

He nodded and bowed his head. But before he could walk away, you called him, prompting him to spin around again. 

“May I ask where the Prince is?”

“His Royal Highness is speaking to the captain of the ship, ma’am. Should you like me to call for him?”

You shook your head firmly. “No, thank you.”

When he was out of sight, you suddenly remembered you were still wearing the Prince’s coat. But he had gone too far for you to call him back again now. 

You sighed quietly, turning to face the door. Reaching out your hand, you were just about grab the doorknob but found that Lea was already there too. 

“Oh, I’m sorry!” you held your hands up to your chest, allowing her to open the door. 

“It’s alright, your Highness,” she said with a smile. 

You took a moment to admire the room before you. Almost everything was made from walnut wood-the walls, the floors, the furniture, covering the whole room in a rich chocolate brown color. The candles washed the room in a soft orange glow, accentuating the warm earthy tones and setting a completely different mood from the shivering wet deck. 

You wandered inside, running your hand along the wall panels, delighting in the little crevices on the surface. 

“I hope you don’t mind. We’ve drawn you a bath, your Highness,” Ilse said. 

You shook your head. “No, of course not. Thank you.”

“Would you like us to assist you with your dress, ma’am?”

You shook your head. “I shall be quite fine. You can take your break now, ladies.” 

You expected the two of them to leave right away. After all, it had been a very lengthy day and even though you intended on getting to know the both of them, now was simply not the time for sharing childhood tales. But they lingered on by the door, prompting a “Yes?” from you. 

“Would you like supper brought to you, ma’am?” Lea asked. 

“I can do that?”

Both of them nodded, probably finding you the oddest lady they had ever served. 

“Well, if it is not too much trouble, I’d love it.” 

The girls curtsied and left the room. 

Now completely alone, you let out a long, tired sigh. It was a terrible habit of yours and you were well aware. You always thought too much whenever amd wherever you could, especially when you were left on your own. Your mind instantly ran over every little detail, picking out anything that might have left a bad impression on your new husband and staff members. 

There were simply too many. 

With a sigh, you shrugged the coat off of your shoulders, carefully placing it on the bed. If you must admit, you missed the comforting weight of it on your shoulders and the faint smell of orange and cinnamon. You then thought of him. The Prince. 

For reasons unknown, you felt intimidated by him. So far he had been nothing but kind and he had done nothing that could warrant such a feeling. 

Something inside you just wished you would not disappoint him like you did your parents. It was difficult because you had no idea what his expectations were of you. All you knew was that Miss Bridgerton was who he really wanted. And if that was the goal, you found yourself far from ever reaching it. You might have been born into a higher born family but you lacked the charm that she had. She was always the older ladies’ favorite when they were small. Even now, she had the favor of everyone she met. 

You prepared different conversational topics for when he would come into the room eventually. There was nothing less attractive than a tone-deaf lady and you made sure political icebreakers were left far far away for the night. Maybe you could talk about the weather or music. They seemed to be perfectly proper matters of discussion for a lady. Far better than overly formal issues currently happening.

The bath you took wasn’t as relaxing as you had hoped for. Not even the slight sear of the water and the faint lavender scent could rid your mind of thoughts. You decided not to sit for long, your legs growing a bit restless in the water. Just as you finished tying your dress robes, you heard a knock and a voice from behind the door. 

“Your Highness! We’ve brought you supper!” 

“Yes. Come in!” you called. 

At the sound of approval, your maids brought in a tray with silver dish covers on top. They opened the covers for you, revealing a piece of steaming roasted salmon and pudding. You then realized that you were starving. The piece of bread you managed to shove into your mouth earlier today was definitely long gone. 

“Would you like some wine, your Highness?” Lea asked. 

You shook your head. All you wanted was to sit down and eat everything. And as helpful as they had been, their questions at this moment was not. “No thank you. This shall be perfect.”

“Should we bring you more food?” Ilse added. 

“No. I am happy with this. Thank you.” 

They finally left. But you had barely sit down when there came another knock on the door. You groaned to yourself. Again? 

“What?” you poked your head out, expecting your maids and more questions. But the last time you saw them they didn’t wear blue and there were certainly two of them. 

Oh crap. 

 It was the Prince of Prussia. 

Blush crept onto your cheeks as you became aware of your curtness. “Your Highness!” 

He had his brows raised at the curious sight of you poking only your head out, leaning against the door rather inelegantly. He stepped away almost immediately. “Oh, am I interrupting you? I apologize-“ 

“No! I apologize, your Highness. Would-would you like to come in?” You stood up straight, opening the door a little wider. Your heart thumped loudly in your chest, wishing to break free from your ribcage.

He shook his head. “I am just here to ask you if everything was alright.” 

He didn’t want to come in?

“I am alright. Thank you for asking, your Highness.”

He cleared his voice. “Good. Well, it’s been a long day for you. You should get some rest. There will be a lot more traveling for tomorrow.” 

“Oh thank you. So should you. Oh-and before I forget.”

You disappeared into the room. In the meantime, Friedrich managed to catch a quick glimpse of your room. He had assigned the largest one to you, his was half the size. But it did not matter where he was. After all, he wanted the best for his bride, no matter who she was. 

You appeared again moments later, thanking him for lending the coat to you. He held his coat in the crook of his elbow. “Good night.”

You leaned against the door, your back landing on the surface with a dull thump. You were relieved that he didn’t come in because you were not ready at all. Yet, you could not help but feel the clouds of dread forming over you. Was he being thoughtful or did he want nothing to do with you? 

...

The next morning when Lea and Ilse came into the room, you could practically hear their thoughts. 

Lea was a bit better at hiding her surprise while Ilse had to look away, turning to the curtains for an escape. As they got you ready, they distracted you with their millions of questions about what you would like for your hair, your dress and your food. But what all three of you were thinking about was the reason why you were alone on your wedding night. 

“Do you know where the Prince is?” you asked, finally tired of dancing around the topic. 

Ilse gasped, no longer brushing your hair. “Your Highness, was he not here?” 

“Ilse, I mean no offense but you are a terrible liar.” 

Your comment made Lea choke back a laugh. Meanwhile, Ilse’s face grew bright red as she began to comb your hair again, laughing quietly. “I apologize, your Highness. I just cannot see why he wasn’t here with you. You’re beautiful!” 

“Well, I don’t think he likes me very much.”  

“I don’t think that is the case, your Highness. Maybe you just don’t know each other,” Lea added, putting on a diamond necklace for you. “You still have plenty of time for that until you arrive at the palace.” 

Perhaps she was right. But whether right or wrong, you felt some weight lifted off your shoulders. You felt that way with Olivia too, back in London. It gave us great comfort to know that at the very least you and your lady’s maids would get along perfectly fine.

“Will you two be with me then?” 

“Of course!” Ilse assured you, placing the comb down, happy with how your hair looked. “Right, Lea?”

“Yes and there will be another lady too. Your chief of staff.” 

You had finished getting ready but your appearance was the last thing on your mind right now. You turned in your chair, curious as to how the Prussian court worked. “Oh?” 

Ilse was more than glad to pass around the gossip. “Rumors have it that the King had someone in mind for you. But we left before he made the decision. I bet Heinrich knows.” 

...

It was definitely not a good time to ask questions. 

When you and your maids got off of the ship onto French soil by noon, there were new carriages that awaited you. Just as you were marveling at the beautiful paintings on the side of the carriages and the gold ornate trims on the wheels, your attention was quickly drawn to the people standing next to the largest carriage at the front. 

It was the Prince and Heinrich.

They were in quite a heated discussion when they noticed you looking and promptly paused their conversation. 

“Your Highness,” Heinrich bowed. 

You looked between the two of them, sensing the tension but did not dare ask for the reason. The Prince offered his hand and helped you into the carriage wordlessly. 

Outside of the window, Heinrich got on horse, charging away before your carriage even began to move. It was awfully curious. 

“Did you sleep well?”

You tore your eyes away from the window, deciding to focus on him instead. Inside of the carriage, the Prince was a completely different person than he was a mere second ago. He was sighing, his brows knitted, his hands waving about as he spoke to his valet about very important matters surely. But now, he had a friendly grin on his lips, his gaze soft as he engaged in small talk with you. 

“Yes. Thank you for asking, your Highness.”

That made him laugh. You did not know just what it was that he should be laughing about though. “You know, you do not have to call me that.”

“I-I don’t?”

He shook his head. “Call me Friedrich. We are husband and wife, after all.”

You nodded. “Well, then, please call me Y/N.”

“We have a deal.” 

Silence fell on the two of you after that. 

Friedrich looked out of the window, observing the French countryside in the distance, the sound of waves crashing ashore was mere memories now.

You had always been a little impatient in these awkward pauses, never quite sure what to do. You had been rehearsing for this moment in the bathroom yesterday. But perhaps going by a first-name basis gave you the boost of confidence you needed to be the one to break the silence, without the help of scripted conversations.

“Is Heinrich not joining us?” 

Friedrich shook his head. “He will meet us at the train station. There was just a little something that needed to be checked.” 

As soon as he said it, he regretted it. 

“Is there anything wrong?” 

“Just a mix-up with the train schedules. No need to worry though. We will just have to switch the rooms around a bit.”

That was a lie. And you’d find out the truth eventually when you got to the train station. Heinrich seemed pale as a ghost when he saw you and Friedrich emerge from the carriages, rushing towards the both of you. He did not seem to mind that you were there to listen, frantically speaking. “Your Highness, the state train is not coming.” 

“When did this happen?”

“I just checked. Apparently, they cancelled it from Potsdam.”

You had no idea what was happening but from the sigh leaving Friedrich’s lips you knew it was not good news at all. 

“So we’ll take the standard then?”

“I am afraid so, sir.”

It was exactly what he had feared. 

His father was mad and now that they were about to enter Prussia, there was no escaping his wrath. Friedrich did not mind, in particular. He was quite used to his father’s tantrums by now.  

Whenever his father lost, he would make sure no one could win. 

When Friedrich made the decision to marry you in England, he had prepared himself to face the King once they arrived at the Berlin Palace. He just felt bad for you having to get the wrong end of the stick because of him. 

“I apologize,” he said, “I am afraid there is no other way.” 

You waved your hand. “It is fine. I don’t think it is a big deal at all. I shall be good with anything.”

“Heinrich, see to it that you book her highness the room. I’ll sit where ever.”

You held up your hand. “Wait, excuse me?”

“There is only one room on the standard train, ma’am.” 

“I-I will sit with my maids. I can’t-”

Heinrich looked to the Prince who was looking at you, his lips parted. 

He shook his head furiously. “You are the Princess of Prussia. I will not allow you to sit in the back.” 

There was only one solution. 

Simple and straightforward to all of your current troubles. Friedrich did not want to suggest, he knew you were forced into this mess as much as he was. He was not going to make you do anything. And he was quite ready to sit with his staff, giving you your privacy when out of the blue...

“Then-then we’ll share the room.” 

taglist: @awesomebooklover17 @oopsiedoopsie23 @milkbaer @vampirestookmydoubts @5hundreddaysofsummer @km-98 @mikeys-thighs @lunas1x1 @albeeox @darkestbeforethedawn16 @defffcc @sarcasm-n-insomnia @urie-bowie-mercury @babydidoy @cvpidsletters @mmmh-i-cant-help-myself @fanaticalfantasist @heartofrosecoloredglasses @truly-insatiable

let me know if you’d like to be tagged

[wintersongstress]

Can I request a head canon for Arthur please?

With: 🌸💟

Of course! I did add a little bit of smut to this. I hope you like it! ♥

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Female Reader

Prompt: romantic headcanons

Tags: fluff, mild/implicit smut

♡ — If Arthur is sweet on you, being the focus of his kindness and attention is endearing and impossible to resist. What begins as timid flirting between you blossoms into an inevitable relationship, and every chance he has to put a smile on your face, he takes.

♡ — In the beginning he indulges in doting on you. Showing you his affection starts as small gifts—wildflowers tucked behind your ear, drawings left in your coat pocket, chocolate bars in your saddlebag—until your little fling evolves into something more.

♡ — On the days you are too exhausted or in a bad mood, Arthur will do your camp chores for you without asking. He brushes down your horse and will take you into town for dinner, helping you onto and off your mount—fully knowing you can manage by yourself—and holding the door open for you as well.  

♡ — If men at the bar ogle you, Arthur is quick to put a stop to it. Not in a manner that is possessive or predicated on jealousy, but as response to demanding you be treated respectfully. He is not beyond squaring up to a rowdy cowhand, though, and will throw punches if his words are ineffective. Afterwards, when you kiss his cheek in gratitude and stroke your thumb across his hand tenderly, his coarse demeanor dissolves in a blush.

♡ — Speaking of physical touches, it takes Arthur time to warm up to receiving them. He tends not to focus on what he wants and puts others’ needs above his. Undoing his old habit of self-deprecation requires pulling out the roots of turmoil in his past, which will be heart-achingly painful, but it opens a new doorway of intimacy and leads him to be more amorous with you than before.

♡ — Soft and full of disbelief, your first kiss together is the product of a thousand dreams of doing so, with none of them able to compare. The way he melts into you, breathes in deep and pulls you in close by the hips leaves you breathless and dazed with bliss. At the perfect warmth of his embrace, you sigh and hold onto his jacket, the fur of his coat collar soft as a lamb’s ear to the touch. Upon departure he thumbs your chin, and those eyes of his open; soft as September skies, swaying with green, clouded with blue, dilating at the sight of you. In that moment, without him having to say it, you know how beautiful you are to him.

♡ — Arthur loves spending time with you. He makes good company on walks and likes to join you for mid-afternoon naps beneath the shade of an oak tree. Lying with his head in your lap, an hour can pass without a word as he sketches the landscape in his journal. You are more than happy to relax with a book, running your fingers through his hair until the heat of the day abates. Watching sunsets together also becomes a favorite pastime. He hugs you from behind and kisses your temple all the while, content to stay that way until long after the sun sinks beneath the horizon.

♡ — When he has to spend the day away working he makes sure to make it up to you, regardless of the reassurance of your understanding. He brings you coffee in bed, traces his knuckles along your cheek and kisses the tip of your nose to wake you. The sight of his handsome face and the longing in his expression is one you are loathe to see go, but you cup his stubbled cheek and needlessly remind him to be careful.

♡ — During his travels, Arthur comes across countless secluded and tranquil spots in nature. Creeks winding within aspen groves, meadows of wildflowers, hillsides patched with poppies and daisies, ponds ringed with water lilies and surveilled by herons—he finds so many places he wants to share with you.

♡ — Once in a while you get the chance to spend the night with him away from camp, having each other all to yourselves. Arthur will bring you to one of the placid places he has found: a lake nestled deep within a forest of silver spruces, where the cool waters glimmer with moonlit ripples and stars salt the clear sky. He builds a fire and pitches his tent, your bedrolls unfurled beside each other. Dinner consists of seasoned game meat and canned goods, and afterwards you share a bottle of gin to unwind. Childhood stories and your joining laughter fills the night, and before long you wheedle Arthur into dancing with you on the lakeshore.

♡ — With all that troubles him, the simple comfort of holding you in his arms and swaying to the tune of the nightfall chorus of wind and still waters sinks him into the deepest state of peace he has ever known. Closing his eyes, smelling the pine needles and the enchanting perfume of your skin, an overwhelming wish fills him to never leave—to take you away from the life you both lead. As he clenches his hands in your clothes and lays his cheek upon your head, he hopes you feel the same. By the sigh you hum against his chest, and the way you snuggle closer to him, his doubts vanish. The stars glisten in your eyes when he holds your head in his hands and you await the three words on his tongue. But you say them first.

♡ — He says your name in the gentlest way, and nothing else. What begins as sweet and reverent transforms into heated and hurried as you kiss, an urgent need swelling between you as you shuffle inside the tent. Always so gentle, Arthur’s hands are delicate as he lays you down, drifting over you as dreamily as the clouds in a silent summer heaven. Warm against your throat, his mouth seeks the fact of your pulse and presses against it indulgently, your sighs spurring him to venture farther. Downwards from your collarbone he trails, lips and touch, to the opening of your blouse, undoing the buttons with deft fingers. The dividing of your thighs around his hips lures his hands to your waist and brings his darkened eyes to yours, silently asking if you wanted him, this—truly.

♡ — All it takes is a nod. He thumbs the line of your smile, a tacit and an infinite implication of his gratitude, and descends, his mouth warm against the parting between your breasts. In the night your arms wrap tight around him, and all of the spaces between you fit together and fall into place harmoniously, like bits of colored glass in a kaleidoscope. Surrounding you, completing you, at the height of it all he tells you how beautiful of a dream you are to him and you are lost. The way he looks at you, sees you, feels like no one ever has before him.  

♡ — In the morning he wakes before you to the peace of birdsong and a turquoise sky. Lying beside you, he admires the softness of your sleeping figure, embedding the image of you in his memory. He leaves you to your rest and fishes for trout. The humming of a familiar tune and the stirring smell of breakfast in a pan draws you from your dreams, flitting your eyes open to the sight of Arthur squatting by the fire in his undershirt, his suspenders dangling. The shadows of the treetops fall over him and waver in the wind, the sunlight catching the glint of gold in his hair. Pine and wood smoke hangs in the air, and the surface of the lake ripples with the splashes of fish and a gliding string of ducks. What makes the picture perfect to you is Arthur, his posture relaxed and at ease. Never before had his face looked so young and carefree.

♡ — When you emerge from the tent flaps in his shirt, he greets you with a smile, handing you a plate and gesturing to the coffee. But you stoop down and tip his chin, melding your mouths in a long, lingering kiss lush with affection and ripe with a promise. His lashes blink at you dazedly as you pull away with a smirk, asking if he slept well. His response pulls your heartstrings tenderly, because as few as the words were, you knew how infinitely much they implied.

♡ — “I can’t tell which part of the night was the dream.”

[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.” 

 TAG LIST

@featherymalignancy

@sleeping-and-books

@my-fan-side

@hearts-of-persephone 

@witchling13

@theoverlyenthusiasticwriter

@typicalmidnightsoul

@sezkins79

@thebitchupstairs

@fourshizzle149

@monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies

@yikesitsmaddie

@jjellybean

@thronesandstars

@mis-lil-red 

@rhysandsdarlingfeyre

@cf-mist-and-fury

@breezy-freezy 

@dayanna-hatter 

@anishake

@candid-confetti 

@goldbooksblack

@impossiblescissorspeachpaper

@justgiu12

@twansy17

@caotica-e-quieta

@singinginthedarktimes

@carebear1339

@keshavomit

@januarystears

@bookstantrash 

@illyrianshadowhunter

[yukidragon]

Our Life Snippet - First Sight

Hey all, I’m in the mood to share another clip of my Our Life: Beginnings & Always novelization’s first draft. This time it’s from the start of Step 1, with Cove and Jamie as teeny 8-year-olds having a most unexpected encounter that would change their lives forever.

Thanks, as always, to @gb-patch​ for the lovely game and for fueling so much inspiration in me!

...

Sighing, Jamie realized that she just had to accept the fact that she wasn’t going to come up with a clever solution to sneak in through the back of her house. She had no real option but to find a good hiding spot on one of the hills and wait. Either her moms would come looking for her, or the stranger would wander off to do other suspicious things, and she could sneak in through the front door when he was gone.

The hills were quiet, save for the chirping of crickets hiding in the tall grass. Jamie visited the place nearly every day, so it wasn’t scary being out there by herself, even at night. It was fairly bright for nighttime as well thanks to the full moon that slowly rose over the horizon. Still, it was hard for her to relax completely, knowing that some tall creepy stranger might still be hunting for her.

It was likely because Jamie was so on alert that she felt as though she wasn’t actually alone in the hills that night. She turned her attention away from home and safety to scan her surroundings carefully before quickly finding that she was right.

Sitting atop one of the hills, mostly hidden among the tall grass and white poppies was a boy around her age. His hair was green, which offered a perfect natural camouflage that was completely ruined by the neon pink cast wrapped around his left arm. He sat curled up, knees tucked against his chest with his face buried against them.

The boy hadn’t noticed Jamie. He sat facing away from her and the houses. His focus was instead on some point far off in the distance.

The view from the hills was spectacular, and it was something Jamie liked about playing here, but she got the impression that this boy wasn’t really here for that. As she drifted carefully closer, she saw the sad frown he wore along with the lost look he had in his blue-green eyes.

In the moonlight, the boy’s eyes seemed to glow behind the large glasses he wore. It was almost magical and Jamie couldn’t help but stare. The feeling of observing him was like stumbling across a deer in the wild, or maybe a fairy.

Above those enchanting but sad eyes were a pair of upturned wavy eyebrows. Jamie had never seen anyone have such a distinctive feature, but they somehow suited this new boy. They also went well with the waves of his pretty, short, seafoam green hair, which delicately fluttered in the breeze around his face. The clothes he wore were ordinary enough in comparison to his more striking features - a white tank-top and brown cargo shorts with long white socks and black sneakers - with only the red glasses and bright pink cast standing out.

As pretty and magical as the new boy appeared, Jamie couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to make him so upset.

Although Jamie tried to be quiet in her approach, she failed in her attempts to be stealthy for a second time that day. Those aquamarine eyes that reflected the moonlight so enchantingly turned their focus on her, and she froze.

Slowly, Jamie raised a hand in a small wave and put on her best smile, not wanting to scare the sad boy away. “Hi.”

…

Cove Holden was lost, and he didn’t want to be found.

This place was all wrong. It wasn’t home. Ever since they got there, his dad kept pointing out all the good things this place had, including things that he already had at home, but it wasn’t the same. Nothing was familiar and so many little details were simply just plain wrong. Even the beach was all wrong. The sand wasn’t the right color, the smells woven with the salt in the air were strange, and even the plants near the beach were different than what he expected to see.

If the beach was so wrong, then how did his dad expect anything else in this place to seem right to him at all?

The worst part of all was that his mom wasn’t there. His parents fought all the time; he didn’t remember a time when they didn’t. Sometimes one of them would leave home for a long time because a fight was particularly bad. Even when one of them screamed at the other not to come back, they always did, eventually.

This time was different. This time Cove had to leave too, and he was never allowed to go back home again.

No matter how Cove cried, pleaded, or even yelled, there was no changing their minds. His dad forced him in the car with some boxes and they drove and drove and drove until they were here in this place his dad now called home.

This wasn’t home. This would never be home. It couldn’t be. Nothing made sense anymore. How could this whole day be anything but the worst nightmare of his life?

Cove was sick of it. He was ready to wake up back in his bed. He wouldn’t even mind if he woke up to the sound of his parents yelling again this time. He just wanted to be back home.

That was why Cove ran away the moment his dad wasn’t paying attention. It was just in time, too. He didn’t want to see all the things wrong about the house his dad kept insisting was “home” now. Just the outside alone had been too much.

With no idea of where to go except “away,” Cove kept running until he reached a place far away from everyone, where no one would find him until he finally woke up. Eventually, he found himself in some overgrown hills dotted covered with white flowers. It reminded him of his hill from back home, but of course it wasn’t right either - his hill never had flowers on it.

The hills were as wrong as everything else in this place, but Cove had been too tired by that point to keep running anymore. He collapsed in the tallest patch of grass, completely drained of everything but his tears.

There Cove sat and shut out the world, hunched up on himself. He didn’t notice when the sun had set and the moon had risen to take its place. The only thing he could do was wish to finally wake up from this nightmare.

A rustle in the grass, louder than any caused by the wind, pulled Cove out of his revere. He turned his gaze towards the source and froze.

A little girl was standing there only a few feet away from him, staring at him with wide blue eyes as dark as the night sky and glittering with starlight. She looked to be about his age, with skin as pale as moonlight and long hair the color of deep water drawn up into two pigtails to create the illusion of twin waterfalls. Despite the ordinary clothes she wore - a teal and white floral sundress, matching shorts, and a pair of flower-themed flip-flops - she didn’t look like a real person. No one had eyes like that. It was as if a piece of the world around him had turned into a kid his age.

For a moment, Cove could only stare back at this unreal girl standing beside him. Then she tilted her head ever so slightly and smiled at him as she raised a hand.

“Hi,” she said. Her voice was soft and sweet, but that one word alone was enough to send a jolt through Cove’s entire body. “Are you lost?”

Despite Jamie’s best efforts to appear friendly, the sad boy went on the defensive immediately. He jerked up and was on his feet in seconds, balling his hands into fists at his sides, as though getting ready to run or maybe fight.

Cove said nothing as he stared at the unreal girl. He didn’t have a clue what this nightmare had in store for him now. Was this a good thing or a bad thing?

Now that the boy was facing her, Jamie could see the faint streaks of tears on his cheeks and that his red-rimmed blue eyes shined with the promise of more to come. His clothes were dotted with wet spots, especially on his shorts around his knees. It was clear to her that he had been crying for quite a while.

The thought made Jamie feel sad for him.

Maybe this was the “Cove” boy the creepy stranger had told her about. Children were a rarity in Sunset Bird after all. Jamie felt a little guilty at the thought that the man might have actually been telling the truth about Cove being a real person after all. Maybe Cove had been crying because of what his dad was doing to try and get him friends.

There was only one way to be sure though.

“Who are you?” Jamie asked. “I’ve never seen you before.”

Cove had to take a moment before he could answer, sniffling away his tears as best he could as he rubbed his flushed cheeks. “My name’s Cove,” he said, his voice rough and shaking a little from his earlier crying. “I’m…”

Cove trailed off, hesitant and unsure about talking to this dream girl. His eyes slipped away from her to their surroundings. There was no one else around - not his dad or any other adult. When he looked back, he saw she was waiting patiently for him to continue, still wearing that gentle smile.

Maybe this was a good thing after all.

[subbing-for-clones]

She Who Walks the Line Between Part 4

Maul x GreyJedi!Reader

Word Count: 3103

WARNINGS: Child abuse, night terrors, fluff

PREVIOUS         NEXT          MASTERLIST

       Six weeks had passed since your ship went down and Maul 'rescued' you. Thanking him with a kiss to his cheek that neither of you mentioned after that night. Since he was rebuilding muscle that used to be there rather than starting from scratch, he built himself back up fairly quickly. Especially because you were constantly nagging at him to eat if he didn’t take the initiative to do it himself at least three times a day. His face was fuller and his arms and chest much more prominent under his trademark deep v tunics. His thighs were also thickening up quite nicely you thought often to yourself. His eyes still glowed gold but it was a honeyed glow like a sunset, so much softer than they once were. No longer bloodshot and raging.

    Some days he would push his progress much too far and require soaking in an unbelievably hot bath. You would’ve been almost frightened if he hadn’t told you his core temperature was much higher than yours. You always offered massages to which he would try to turn down but you never really let him refuse. You could tell he wanted them. His entire demeanor would change if you only brushed against him let alone actually dedicated time to rubbing the strain from his muscles. Whatever horrors he dealt with as apprentice to a Sith Lord he had no comfort to turn to before, that much was apparent. Followed by a decade of forced solitude, you always made him melt with ease.

    He was a worthy sparring partner to say the least. Despite having new legs, he was incredibly nimble. His muscle memory was powerful at worst, awe striking at best, but he was still easily flustered which was his downfall. Every. Single. Time. Just recently you dodged a swing of his crimson Saber by dropping into a split and throwing your head backwards. The sight of it caused him to lose his footing. One of the goats bleated at him like she was laughing which of course sent you into a giggle fit of your own as you stood back up to your feet clutching your sides.

    Today you two would be doing something different though, assuming he would accompany you, which was a safe assumption. The two of you sat at your small table by the kitchen drinking caf, Maul was eating waffles you had freshly cooked while you flipped through an encyclopedia you yourself had written on the planet.

"What are you looking for?" He asked, trying to see what you were reading from the other side of the table.

    Leaning back in your chair you took a long drink of your caf, finishing the mug with a sigh. "Well, there's a particular ocean species that lives here that migrate through this side of the planet once every few years. If I remember right, because I can't find my notes..." You stood and walked to refill your cup. "If I remember correctly, they should be passing right by us today or tomorrow or… sometime soon. Honestly I don’t know why I write anything down if I can’t look back on it when I need it.”

Maul suppressed a smirk. He had come to realize that with all your brilliance and various talents you could be unorganized and forgetful. Just the other day he caught you frantically looking for a seventh goat, having to remind you that you only had six. Six goats, seven chickens, one rooster.

    Still wearing your dangerously short sleeping shorts and with your back to him, Maul had a moment to admire your legs without threat of you noticing. "What creature is it?" He asked while eyeing a scar on your inner thigh he hadn't noticed before following the curve of your backside.

"Well, they don't have a name, from what I know anyway but they look a lot like the Purgill that live in space. Not nearly as big cause, you know, space is a lot bigger than the ocean here." You stirred cream into your brew and sat back down crossing your legs.

Now he leaned back in his chair, shoulders shaking lightly with a silent chuckle, “you know I did know space was bigger than the ocean here.”

You playfully pointed your spoon at him in a mock warning before smiling and continuing.

"I'm gonna go down to the beach and see if I can find them. They're one of my favorites on this planet. We're nearing the mating and migration time of a few species actually so wildlife is gonna be more apparent around here."

"I'll have to flip through that book of yours and study up." He smiled at you.

"Well you're lucky you have someone like me who knows this planet pretty damn well. Even if I can’t find my notes." You flashed him a returning smile and stood. Your hand ran over his scalp affectionately as you made your way to your room to get dressed for your adventure.

 ~~~~~

      Maker, did she realize exactly what she did to him he wondered. He swore he could still feel her touch after she had left. He was indeed lucky to have her, not just for her knowledge of this strange world. A now familiar knot grew in his belly once again, the same one that never failed to show up when she touched him. He wasn't sure what it was.

    He stood and cleared the table, washing the dishes from their breakfast in the sink. The first time he did this she had actually flustered almost embarrassed 'thank yous' saying she had meant to do them herself. Since that moment he made it his job. After all she did everything else for him. He ran fingers over his hearts down to his belly and gripped where the invisible knot formed. Most of her books were educational, breeching just about every topic at least fundamentally. She did however have a small collection of fiction. One of which he had read that held a romantic theme. Was this what love felt like? Happiness? Is this what Lord Sidious had kept from him his entire life? Or was it simply admiration?

    Not ever having felt anything like it before he couldn't say but one thing he did know for a fact. He hoped against all hope that in a way he'd never 'fully recover' fearing once the scale she talked about was perfectly balanced again she'd send him away and continue her life of solitude. She had sought this out. She had chosen this life. This planet, purposefully unpopulated with sentient life. As far as he knew and saw she was the only person here.

    His brows furrowed and as if she could sense his distraught increasing, he heard her call to him. "Darling," she mewled just loud enough for him to hear. Possibly too quick he made his way to the door of the fresher where he heard the water running. Darling he thought, he had never heard her call him that before, he was sure.

"There’s a pack hanging from the door, could you fill it with snacks for us? It'll probably be a while on the cliffs." He silently carried out her will, obsessing over the name she had called out from the shower. Thoughts of her naked body dripping with warm water, calling out to him filled his mind. He had to physically shake his head to focus. Just as he finished packing the last Meiloorun she entered the room wearing her usual training garb, barefooted as usual when she dressed in it.

    He watched as she added her encyclopedia and another small notebook to the pack along with a pair of electrobinoculars and a blanket. Swinging it over her shoulder she beamed at him obviously excited to see this strange creature.

    Once they were out the door she started sprinting calling out "race you!" Maul smiled and gave her a few more seconds head start greedily watching how her body moved so gracefully before taking off after her. Allowing himself to fall into the role of a hunter once again. This however being the only prey he ever really wanted to catch. This was his element. This is where he was most comfortable, chasing, hunting. His legs propelled him forward while his arms pumped at his sides, feeling the wind push him onward towards his goal. It was a long race but her speed never let up, she was incredibly fast but not so fast that she could escape him. Just before she reached the cliff's edge preparing to jump, he darted in front of her and caught her in his arms, spinning from the velocity alone. His arms latched tightly around her waist and hers wrapped around his neck pulling his face to that sweet spot just below her ear.

    They sat like that for what felt like only a second but also an eternity before a shaking hum rang through the air. Remembering what she had come for she pulled away excitedly.

"I thought we would be early but maker we made it just in time!" He released her and she jumped off the cliff, falling 200 feet before using the force to slow her fall lowering her safely to the sand below. Maul followed suit and met her where she stood, her toes wet with the tide rolling in over the sand before pulling back out to sea. Salt was heavy in the air but he could still smell her. Making her way back to the rock and clay cliffs she laid out the blanket and took a seat, spreading out her books and setting the food to the side. He joined her, sitting where he hoped wouldn't be too close.

    Before his mind could roam too far, she gasped and pointed to the sea clutching his arm in excitement. Breaching out of the depths a giant creature almost took flight but just for a moment, calling out in a singing hum. They had massive heads and rounded teeth with four tentacles that trailed behind them. They were all painted in the same deep blue but had uniquely shaped and colored markings. Unlike their space brethren they didn't have bioluminescent streaks on the inside of their tentacles.

    Maul watched in amazement as the creatures sang to one another, jumping and diving back down below like they were dancing for Y/N and his eyes alone. Looking through her electrobinoculars with one hand and sketching furiously with the other in the smaller of the two notebooks, never taking her eyes off of the Sea Purgill, she was entranced.

 "Have you ever seen such a beautiful, mysterious creature," she inquired utterly enthralled.

    Now he was watching her, smile plastered on her face, cheeks rosy with excitement and salt flecks sticking to her hair. "I can honestly say no, I have not in all my life witnessed such a beauty." She closed her notebook and put away the electrobinoculars, pivoting her head to look into his eyes again; softer than she had ever seen them.

    She scooted closer to him so their hips touched and leaned her head against his shoulder. Cautiously, he snaked his arm around her waist, pulling her closer and rested his cheek on the top of her head. Together they sat like this for hours, not moving, not speaking, simply watching the mighty creatures frolic through the waves on ahead.

~~~~~

    You didn't want to move from this spot. He hadn't touched you since he pulled you from your crashed shuttle yet you found every excuse to make fleeting contact with him. Now, with his strong arm wrapped around you, hand gripping your waist, your head nestled into his chest you could hear his tandem hearts beating. Beating hard, it both soothed and excited you. Falling for this tattooed warrior was not on your original agenda. Falling for anyone at all was never something you craved or saw yourself doing. Not because of the same reasoning as the Jedi you had tutored under. No, you didn’t fear attachment. It had always just looked like a distraction or a nuisance.

    Yet you found yourself falling for him nonetheless. Selfishly you had hoped that the scales would never again be balanced because once they do, once he is completely and utterly healed... he would leave. Wouldn't he? Why would he want to stay here on this unpopulated world with you and you alone? He had been forced into his solitude while you had searched for yours. You no longer craved silence; no longer did you wish for the seclusion of this lovely planet. All you wanted was to listen to the velvety melody of his voice, to feel the almost impossible heat he radiated.

    If you asked him to stay, would he? If he would ask you to leave with him, would you? You didn’t think you could leave. Not with the war raging across the galaxy. This was the only place where you couldn’t hear every scream of every person torn from life by mindless violence that wasn’t supposed to happen in the first place. Feel every tear through the fabric of the force every time a Jedi either fell to the dark side or was killed. You can’t leave, and if you can’t leave for him; how could you ask him to stay for you?

    The sun was starting to set and the creatures' appearances became less frequent. A realization dawned on you. Sensing your change Maul lifted his head to look at you, brows furrowed.

"The night of every migration a storm follows these beings. We should head back, whether it's rain or snow or wind it will be brought down on us soon." You watched him stand and extend a hand to you, taking it, he pulled you into a tight embrace. Both arms around you securely he whispered a thank you, lips just brushing against your ear. You didn't ask him what he was thanking you for, simply returning the hug with an equal fervor.

    The two of you quickly packed up, leaping up the cliffs and making your way back home. Just as the cottage was in your eyeline the dark sky opened. Temperatures plummeting, snow fell from the heavens with a savage determination. Running now, you locked your animals in the barn and cranked up the heat. Power was hard to come by here with only the infrastructure that you had installed yourself, allowing only one heater for your homestead. Giving it to the animals was an easy decision.

    Maul took your hand and ushered you inside, 6 inches had already stuck to the ground and your exposed skin was cold to the touch. Your bare feet no exception. He lit the hearth himself to take the chill off the room and wrapped you in a warm blanket. Before you could even think to ask, he brought you a hot cup of your favorite tea. He glowered over the fact that you still shivered.

    He took your blanket and gathered you up into his arms, draping the blanket around the both of you. Holding your freezing feet in his hand. The heat he put off was almost burning against your form but you were more than grateful, sinking into him. You both fell asleep in each other’s arms but the dreams you had that night weren't your own.

 A darkly hooded figure stood tall above a scarlet whimpering child. Tears streaked the red and black face of the young boy until the figure spoke. "Did I say you could eat yet?" He asked calmly but with venom in his tone. "N-no master I'm sorry I'm just... so hungr..." the boy was cut off when bolts of electricity shot out of his master and punished the boy. He screamed in agony, his cells burning. "YOU WILL NOT TAKE FROM ME APPRENTICE!" eating in front of the starving boy he screamed and continued to shock him. "YOU WILL KILL AND EAT WHAT YOU ARE HUNGRY FOR!" The boy still screaming managed to reply. "Yes master... I'm sorry master... Forgive me... PLEASE." He begged. He was attacked until his body started smoking "WHAT ARE YOU!" His master demanded as he finally released the child. The boy's claws dug into his forehead until he bled, sobbing. "I said WHAT ARE YOU?" his master demanded, shocking him again.

"I AM HUNTER... I AM FEAR... I AM FILTH... I AM NOTHING!" Screaming in torment he fell over, silent. He was tossed out carelessly onto a burning terrain surrounded by fiery pits of lava.

    You awoke first, tears falling from your own eyes and you looked upon the man that lay next to you. He was still asleep but he was shaking, whining, nails digging into his own arms. You took his wrists and begged him to wake up.

"Maul... Maul darling please wake up!"

     His eyes shot open blown out in fear and snarling, sitting up ready to kill until he focused on you. You softly pushed him down on the couch so he rested on his back. You leaned over him, wrapping your legs around his waist and running your hands soothingly over his body. Peppering his face in kisses whispering "you are safe... you are cared for... you are my joy... you are cleansed... you are everything." Tears welled in his eyes threatening to spill over. He gripped you with bruising fingers as if you would disappear should he let go. "I have you... you're with me... he can't find you here.." you continued to sooth him between tender kisses.

    He looked up at you with those shimmering gold eyes, one hand entangling in your hair, he pulled your lips onto his with a desperation. He needed proof that he was in fact awake and not in a different dream. You brushed one of your hands against his cheek and gripped the back of his head, horns between your fingers and deepened the kiss. He slightly opened his mouth in a pleasured moan; eyes rolling back. Taking it as an invitation you glided your tongue over his teeth and against the tip of his tongue which he immediately responded but not the way you expected. He broke the kiss and pulled your body even closer to his as if to turn the two of you into one. For the rest of the night, you held one another, he had never been so thankful for his night terrors.

[bnhayyy]

The Call (8)

Chapter Title: Catalyst

Wordcount: 3.2k

Fic Tag: Click

Ao3 Link: Click

Chapter Summary: Ymir and Historia make a dangerous discovery.

Notes: I'm one day late in posting, but this is my response to day three of @mikannieweek ! The prompt was fight, so you best believe you're getting a fight. I know that neither Annie nor Mikasa actually appear in this chapter, but since it's very plot-relevant to the fic as a whole, which is very much a Mikannie fic, I say it counts. 

 Celadon is on vacation this week, so thank you to Rinky for betaing for me! Also, if you haven't already, you may want to read Caution and the Inverse before reading this chapter. It's a Yumihisu one-shot taking place in the same universe as The Call, and while it isn't necessary to understand this chapter, it does add some extra context.

Sleep was a tenuous thing for Historia. Sometimes she could get through the night just fine. Sometimes she would toss and turn, barely dozing off during the night and waking up to another morning where she'd have to put on a pleasant face and pretend that everything was fine.

The worst nights were the ones where she woke up screaming.

Sleeping with Ymir's arms wrapped around her helped keep the nightmares at bay. However, even she could not ward them off completely. There were still times when Historia woke up in the middle of the night with visions of Frieda screaming and snarling demons and shattered church windows flashing behind her eyes. In those horrible moments, the lie that was Krista Lenz felt like it was wrapped around her with the intent to suffocate rather than protect.

Ymir helped. But not even Ymir was truly invulnerable, for all that her strength and bravado tried to lull her into thinking she was. Historia had taken steps to protect her girlfriend after the encounter in the club. She had told the college that she was sick and holed up with Ymir in her apartment, where they had set up hidden cameras around the apartment building and made umpteen plans on what to do if the slayers broke in. Or if they forced them out. Or if they ambushed Ymir when she eventually went outside, because for all that Historia would be happy to make daily visits to the butcher's for the rest of her life if it meant keeping Ymir by her side, she knew that couldn't happen.

She couldn't even manage to keep her inside for two weeks.

Ten days. She only managed to remain inside for ten days, Ymir gradually growing more stir-crazy and Historia more anxious, before they broke. And it was all Historia's fault.

With the threat of the slayers breathing down their necks, the nightmares had increased. She had woken up screaming for seven of the past nine nights. When, on that tenth night, she woke up thrashing in Ymir's arms, concerned eyes staring down at her and the alarm clock on the nightstand reading three A.M., she finally gave in.

It was a short distance from her apartment to the river, and one of the few things that could reliably calm her nerves after an episode like that was going for a walk by the water. That evening, when Ymir caressed her hair and gently suggested that they go for a walk, Historia didn't have it in her to turn her down.

It was risky. There was a chance that one or both of the slayers would have found a reason to be by the river. However, Ymir swore up and down that Mikasa was almost always at the graveyard at three A.M. on weekdays and, Annie, who had been following her around like a cat with a mouse, would likely be there as well.

Historia still made Ymir check the cameras to make sure that the slayers weren't waiting for them outside the apartment. When she couldn't catch so much of as a glimpse of them, they set out.

Walking down the shoreline and breathing in the cool autumn night air, Historia couldn't say she regretted it.

Beside her, Ymir shoved her hands into pockets and glanced up at the sky. "So," she began, extending the word in a drawl. "Want to talk about it?"

Historia shrugged. "There isn't really much to talk about," she admitted. "I don't remember much of it. Just..." She swallowed down the lump in her throat and turned her head to look at the water. "Just that it was about Freida."

Nightmares about Freida weren't exactly uncommon. Most of them featured her in one way or another.

Silence hung over the pair for a long moment. It was broken by Ymir saying, "Well, if it helps at all, I think she'd be proud of you."

Historia glanced over at the vampire and raised an eyebrow. "You sound pretty confident for someone who never met her," she said.

There were many additional statements beyond that comment, things that she couldn't bear to delve into. Maybe someday she would. For now, however, she was content to act like they weren't even there.

Now it was Ymir's turn to shrug. "She sounds like she was the soft, sappy type," she said.

"As opposed to you," Historia countered.

" Exactly, " Ymir said. "You understand me so well, Historia! I really am going to need you to marry me one of these days." She shot her a wide, glowing grin and reached over to ruffle her hair. Historia ducked, but wasn't quick enough to avoid getting several locks of hair brushed out of place.

"Ymir," Historia groaned. Her girlfriend responded by lapsing into laughter, and a smile began to form on Historia's face in turn.

"What?" Ymir teased. "I can't help it if you're-"

Ymir froze, her grin faltering before fading away in place of pursed lips and narrowed eyes. She reached out and grabbed Historia's wrist not a second later.

"Ymir?" Historia whispered, her heart already beginning to quiver in her chest. She forced herself not to pay attention to it. If something was happening, then the last thing she needed to do was give in to panic and fear.

It was a good thing that she was already practiced at pushing those feelings down.

"There's someone up ahead," Ymir hissed.

"One of the slayers?" Historia asked.

She knew she was wrong even before Ymir responded. The gleam in her eyes, the tenseness in her muscles - neither of those things would be quite the same if it was the slayers. This was something that she thought might pose a threat to Historia. Then she slowly shook her head, and the confirmation came soon after.

"A vampire."

Historia nodded slowly. "Is it a stranger, or..."

Ymir took in a deep breath through her nose. She closed her eyes for a moment as she focused on the scent. When she opened them, there was a new fire blazing there. "You know him," she said. "I've caught his scent on your clothes before, when you come back from art class."

Art class? Historia didn't even have to stop and mentally run through the list of her classmates. Her mind immediately zeroed in on the immediate suspect, the vampire Ymir suspected of possessing the legendary gem of amara.

"Reiner," Historia breathed. 

Ymir stepped back and tugged on Historia's arm, gentle but insistent. "We should get out of here," she said.

Faintly, Historia realized that Ymir probably had the right idea. However, she could not deny the idea that was beginning to formulate within the depths of her mind... or the dull ache of anger behind the theory that fueled it.

"Wait," Historia said, voice pitching low. "I want to talk to him."

Ymir shot her a startled look. "Are you nuts?" she hissed. "Historia, I smell blood!"

"No," Historia said. "I have an idea."

Ymir hesitated. As she did so, Historia pulled her wrist out of her grasp, grabbed her hand, and looked into her eyes. "I trust you to protect me," she said. "Now trust me on this."

A long moment passed as Ymir stared at her. Finally, the vampire let out a long breath and nodded. "Alright," she said. "What's this plan of yours?"

Historia smiled. "Stay out of sight and follow my lead," she said. "I think it will become clear pretty quickly."

Ymir was once again reduced to staring at her in silence. For a moment, Historia worried that she might go back on her word. However, after a few heartbeats had passed, she nodded and gestured for her to go ahead.

Historia offered a smile that was meant to reassure her girlfriend rather than express any of her own emotions. Then she resumed walking down the shoreline while Ymir wandered off to the side, disappearing into the darkness.

It wasn't long before a figure came into view. Historia slowed her breathing and stepped more carefully, as if her attempts to be quiet would be any real help against a vampire worth their salt.

Except Reiner didn't react as Historia drew closer. Eventually, she drew close enough to make out the shape of a body in the sand beside him, but Reiner didn't move a muscle. He was just standing there, staring out at the ocean. Historia furrowed her eyebrows. There was a chance that he was just faking her out, but she suspected that wasn't the case. She supposed that it might be in part due to the fact that the wind was blowing away from him and toward her. However, she also couldn't help but note that he seemed rather distracted.

Fine. She could use that to her advantage.

Historia drew even closer, drawing forward and closer to the river with each step. The patchy grass beneath her sandals eventually gave way to sand, automatically making her steps fractionally louder. It didn't matter. Reiner still didn't notice, a fact which became a little less surprising when she got close enough to realize that he was talking to himself. She couldn't quite make out the words, but she could see his lips move and make out the low, soft cadence of his voice.

More importantly, she could make out the body beside him. 

It was a dark-haired, pale-skinned woman who looked like she was in her early to mid-thirties. Historia didn't recognize her. She stared blankly for a few seconds, feeling next to nothing. There was a faint sense of sorrow that someone had died at all, but no true distress or grief over a random stranger. Historia knew all too well that people died all the time. If she cried over everyone who met an undeserving fate, she would never be able to stop.

Frieda would have cried. But Historia was no Frieda, no matter how hard she tried. 

So she stood there and stared for a few seconds. Then, steady and inevitable as the tide, her existing, tepid anger began to rise and grow into ice-cold fury. It probably wasn't fury for the right reason, but if the alternative was no strong feelings at all, she would take it. Especially considering what was at stake. 

Another person was dead. That would be another death that the slayers blamed Ymir for. Another reason for them to want her girlfriend dead.

Historia didn't have anything against Reiner. It was horrible that he was killing people, but frankly, as long as he didn't hurt anyone she cared about, she wasn't sure that she'd do anything about it. Reiner was pleasant company, and while she wouldn't help him, she wasn't going to risk the few things she had come to love to bring him to justice. But if it was between him and Ymir...

There weren't many things left that Historia loved in the world, and it had taken her a while to find them. But now that she had them, she wasn't going to let them go for anything.

So Historia plastered a concerned, fearful expression on her face and stepped up to the vampire. "Reiner!" she called. "What are you doing?"

Reiner jolted , and when he turned around, there was genuine surprise in his expression. "Krista," he said. "You're..." His gaze wandered over to the dead body beside him. "I didn't expect you to be here," he finished.

Here. Where he was dumping the body, he meant. Now that she looked, she could see weights attached to the body's hands and ankles.

The river was deep in places. If he handled this right, there was a good chance that the body would never be found again. Which explained where all the other bodies went. And oh, how much easier it became to let someone else take the blame for your crimes when there was no body to tie it back to you.

Not that Krista was supposed to catch on to all of that so quickly. Instead, she looked up at Reiner with large, watering eyes, and asked, "What is 'here'? Reiner, that's a body. We need to do something! We need to call the police or... or..."

She trailed off. Reiner was looking off to the side and running his hand through his hair, his jaw gritted and tension in his shoulders. It was probably safe for her to "realize" now.

"Did you do this?" Historia whispered, coaching her expression into one of dawning horror.

"Shit," Reiner said. "I'm sorry Krista. I didn't want you to get pulled into this."

A warm flame of vindictive triumph flickered in Historia's stomach as she took a step back and held a shaking hand up to her mouth. "Reiner, are you the one behind the disappearances?" she asked.

"Yeah," Reiner said, his expression hardening. "And I'm sorry, but I can't-"

He was cut off by someone fast enough to very nearly be a drill running up and punching him in the chest, sending him flying down the shoreline. "Thanks for the confession," Ymir snarled.

Reiner managed to land on his feet and was back upright in seconds. He looked at Historia, hard eyes meeting her flinty ones, before looking over at Ymir. "Ymir, I'm guessing."

"I'm surprised you didn't catch on," Ymir said, placing her hands on her hips. "I thought the slayers would have told you about us."

Reiner smiled unhappily. "The consensus is that Krista's being manipulated," he said.

"I'm not," Historia said, voice stony.

"Yeah," Reiner replied. "I'm getting that sense."

As Reiner began drawing closer, Ymir took a nigh-unnoticeable half-step back toward Historia and tapped her wrist. A sign to back off. Historia frowned, but reluctantly began stepping back, only stopping when she was several yards away from the other two. 

"What I'm wondering," Reiner continued as he took a slow step forward, voice level and suspicious, "is how you knew about me."

"You don't recognize me?" Ymir asked. Her eyes were gleaming the way they did when she was about to do something dangerous, and her feet shifted into a more solid fighting stance. "I'm surprised, seeing as I killed your friend and all. Marvel, or something?"

Reiner froze. A shadow fell over his face for half a second, then melted away as his eyes flashed yellow and his face morphed into the snarled visage as a vampire. "You're lying," he spat.

"You seem awfully upset, if I'm just supposed to be a liar," Ymir remarked.

"Marcel was killed by the slayer."

"Sorry to disappoint." Ymir shrugged. "But hey, he's gone and you're here, so I'd say it worked out pre-"

Reiner charged at her. Ymir lunged to the side but was unable to avoid his blow completely. She let out a hiss and staggered, knocked off-balance as his fist grazed her shoulder. Reiner swung around to aim a blow to her head, but Ymir quickly ducked, raising her arms and aiming a kick at his stomach.

But Reiner pulled his punch and grabbed Ymir's leg before she could make contact. Historia’s stomach wrenched at the sharp crack as Reiner pulled Ymir's leg in two directions. At the same time, Ymir twisted around to grab Reiner's shoulders and flipped herself up and out of his grasp. As she twisted, Historia noticed her grab a stake out of her back pocket.

Historia barely even had a moment to wonder at the fact that her vampire girlfriend was carrying around a stake before Ymir plunged the offending object into Reiner's back, right over his heart.

Reiner gasped and jerked forward.

Ymir pulled the stake out and took a step back.

He should have turned to dust. Instead, Historia watched as the hole in his back instantly closed, leaving only a hole in the back of his shirt.

Reiner took a few steps away from Ymir before turning around. There, the pair stared at each other for a long moment, Reiner's hand hovering over his heart and Ymir leaning heavily on one leg. Finally, Ymir's gaze flickered down to Reiner's hand. "Nice ring," she said. "Wonder how you'd fare against me without it."

"I don't plan on finding out," Reiner said, smiling grimly.

Reiner charged at Ymir, but she lunged forward and grappled him, pivoting on her uninjured leg and using his own momentum to fling him into the river. He hit the waves with a splash and sank like a rock, although Historia knew that it wouldn't keep him down for too long.

Ymir knew it too. She raced over to Historia, or at least, moved as fast as she could in her condition, and moved to pick her up.

Historia wriggled out of her girlfriend's grip and hissed, "Ymir, your leg!"

"Will heal no matter how badly I fuck it up," Ymir said. Historia might have even bought it if her gritted teeth didn't give away how much pain she was actually in. "But you-"

"-Can move faster than you right now," Historia interrupted. "Let's be smart about this." With that, she manhandled Ymir’s arm over her shoulders and all but dragged her girlfriend back up to the path. Once they were on even cement, she picked up the pace and began walking as fast as possible while aiding Ymir. 

For her part, Ymir was forced to slump and clearly reluctant to actually lean on her. However, once Historia started speeding up, she gave in and allowed her to bear some of her weight. Historia might have smiled if it weren't for the dire situation.

"Is he following us?" Historia asked.

"No,” Ymir said. "He isn't gonna. He still has to take care of the body. He's gone this long without a corpse being found, it'd mean a lot of trouble if one shows up now. Besides..." Ymir let out a pained laugh. "I staked him. He knows he’d be dead without that ring. He'd be an idiot not to let us get away."

Historia nodded and tried to swallow down her unease. She wasn't about to slow down and gamble on Reiner's willingness to let them escape, but it was good to know that she probably didn't have to worry about a furious vampire attacking them from behind. Even if there were what felt like a million other things that she did have to contend with. Such as...

"I'm sorry I got you hurt," Historia murmured. Since her car was now in sight, she allowed her gaze to drop for a moment before fixing it dead ahead once more.

Ymir laughed again, this time a little less pained and a lot more triumphant. "Hey, don't worry about it," she said. "What you got us is a lot more useful than an uninjured leg. Speaking of which... do you think you could get me a few phone numbers?"

Historia didn't even need to think about it. Being Krista Lenz, warm, kind, and so very involved with her school, came with a lot of benefits. However, she did pause as she led Ymir over to the passenger side door. Once her girlfriend was secure, she walked around to the driver's seat and climbed in. As she buckled her seatbelt and put the key in the ignition, she said, "Of course."

"Good," Ymir replied. A grim smile spread across her lips. "It's about time Ackerman and her friends found out who they're dealing with."

[magalidragon]

n°7 - “Is there some space left in that bathtub?”

In the “Heat Wave” universe, pretty please!😊

YES! Love these beans! 🔥🔥🔥 And  because I also got another ask for this same universe, I’ve combined it into one Drabblish-ish (2700 words, not 2500, lol).  And THANK YOU FOR THE MOODBOARD DARLING!  Enjoy!

Smutty One Liner Prompts

7. “Is there some space left in that bathtub?”

10. “Jealousy seems to be a great motivator for you.”

Bliss, that's what this was, Dany thought, her eyes still closed, her breathing even, and her skin tingly and warm.  She sighed, exhaling out any worry she might continue to have—there was no more worry now that she was out of the Hell House and living in Heaven's Hall—her body nestled in a soft, fluffy mattress with thick quilt and soft flannel sheets covering her.  She smiled, serene, and opened her eyes slowly, peering up at a set of red eyes, watching her.  

She smiled wider, quirking an eyebrow up.  "That's really creepy Ghost."

Ghost said nothing, licked his chops, and then her face, and hopped away from his nighttime stalking.  She chuckled, sitting up on her elbows, glancing at three faces underneath one of the throw blankets over the bed, all of her little dragons purring contentedly, no doubt thankful she had relocated them completely.  She wiggled her toes, returning feeling to them, and scanned the room, which was empty.  

The snow had eventually stopped, the wind fading away, and now the sun was out, but to her surprise, she must have slept through most of the day.  Bloody cold, she cursed inwardly, for she never got sick.  She had slept most of the last couple of days, interspersed with coughing fits, cranky moments of letting Jon take her temperature and pour soup and tea down her throat, and the occasional "I am not sick, so you can totally fuck me, I promise I won't pass out" debates.  He had refused, tucking her into the big bed in his room, saying that she was his patient now, and one did not take advantage that way.

"You're too honorable for your own good," she bitched, the last time she'd tried to suggest a little nookie.

"Sue me."

"Hmm, I might."  

He simply kissed her nose, told her she was adorable with her pouting, and she fell asleep before she could reply, cursing her body for succumbing to this strange Southern cold during this strange Southern storm.  

It was almost sundown; the light fading overtop the trees cocooning the house on the mountainside.  She blinked at the reflection of the snowy treetops in the huge windows and felt good.  Good enough to get out of bed, she figured, sliding free of the sheets, the huge Night's Watch hoodie falling over her hips to her knees and sleeves over her fingertips.  She shuffled in her thick wool socks—also stolen from Jon—to the bathroom, flicking on the light and taking stock of her reflection.  

Her nose was chapped from blowing into Kleenex, her eyes slightly blood-shot, and her hair was a nest of epic proportions, she wondered if there was a dragon living in it.  She scrubbed her cheek with her palm, shaking her head, and glanced at Ghost, who looked up at her curiously.  "Do you think I'm sexy Ghost?"  She put on a fake pose, thrusting her hip to the side, pretending to look cute in the oversized sweatshirt and nothing else.  

Ghost did not indicate one way or the other.  He just wandered off towards the sunken tub, hoping into it and then put his paws on the other side, tail wagging and gazing out the floor-to-ceiling windows.  She wandered over, sitting on the edge, and followed his gaze, smiling down at Jon, who was moving firewood from the deck into the house.  She scratched Ghost's head.  "Thank you for keeping me company, I'm sure you'd rather be with him."

She ran her fingers as best through her hair as she could, wincing at tangles.  "Ugh."  A shower was necessary.  She shivered; it was still chilly, even with the heat returning, the pipes back to working order.  

Somewhere in the bedroom, her phone dinged.  She left Ghost to his watch, getting off the bathtub edge and went to pick it up from the nightstand, staring at the email notification from Tyrion Lannister.  

Thank you for your message, Lannister Properties is currently closed due to significant weather activity, we will respond in due time. She scoffed, opened up one of the emails that had been sent immediately after and saw that indeed, Tyrion had replied.

Ms. Targaryen, I was sorry to see your negative review of our property.  As you know, significant weather activity is possible, and while we cannot compensate you for any destruction caused by Acts of the Gods, we would like to offer you a 20 percent discount on your next Lannister Property rental.  A Lannister always pays their debts, and we would like to no longer be in debt to you!  Thank you, Tyrion  P.S.  Our insurance investigator will survey the property damage and be in touch regarding your payment options.

Her mouth dropped.  "Fuck you!" she shouted at the email.  She would definitely be handling this stupid little lion herself.  After drafting a very strongly worded email with tons of legal jargon she hoped would have the Lannister quaking in his boots, she dropped her phone, a muscle twitching somewhere in her shoulder.  She rubbed at it, scowling at the dragons, who were watching her from where they now were seated on her pillow.  She shook her head.  "Fucking Lannisters."

At least she had Jon, she figured, and picked up her phone again, sending a quick message to Missandei.  Despite the weather, the plague, and the shitty rental, I'm feeling much better now.

Her phone buzzed almost immediately.  She smirked at her BFF's reply:  Yes, I've heard endless banging can do that to a person.

After saying that she was not endless banging Jon-- they'd had to take a break because of the plague after all-- she put the phone on silent, charged it up, and then padded back into the bathroom, because now she well and truly needed a hot, long, relaxing shower....or...maybe...

Her eyes landed on the tub.  It had been used just to store water those first couple days without power, but a week later....she swished her lips around and decided.  She deserved a soak.  Just like she wanted when she first saw it.  She leaned over and tugged on the taps, letting the hot water pour in, steam instantly rising.  It was rather deep, like a small pond, and she puttered about looking for some candles, finding a few in another bedroom and even some bath salts.  They smelled divine, lavender and eucalyptus, perfect for relaxing and also shaking loose any remaining crap in her nose from the cold.  

She watched the bubbles foam, fluffy and cloudlike, almost resembling the snow that pillowed along the windowsills outside.  The sun had fully disappeared behind the trees, the stars peeking out.  It was rather breathtaking, maybe even something she might have seen if she'd been up at the Wall with Missandei and Grey instead of down in Dorne, when she had planned to just watch sunsets over red sand dunes and mountains.  Go figure, she was getting the North and she didn't even pay for it.

Stripping out of her hoodie and her granny panties— Jon had thankfully not continued to make fun of her for their use while she was sick—she slipped into the tub, hissing at the first touch of the hot water on her skin, and then moaning in delight, her dragonblood positively singing.  Her brothers jokingly referred to her as "the Unburnt" because for whatever reason she did not feel pain with heat.  Barely even flinched when fire flicked her fingertips as she loaded the fireplace with wood, to Jon's shock.  

It was straight out of the Heavens of Valyria, she thought, sinking fully under the foamy bubbles, the lavender soothing her dry skin, the eucalyptus filling her lungs, crisp and healing.  She reached to adjust her knotty hair, piled on her head, and closed her eyes, groaning happily the deeper she sunk into the tub.  The lights off, the candles all around her, it was how she wouldn't mind spending another power outage.

Ghost was not one to leave her out, his head on the edge of the tub, accepting wet scratches now and then on his head.  She chuckled, opening an eye to peer at him.  "If you want in here, you're welcome to it, but I'm not dealing with that wet dog smell later."

He huffed, annoyed.  

The only thing truly missing, she realized, after an undetermined amount of time later, was some music, a glass of wine, and a very attractive, very sexy, very naked Jon Snow.

"Well look at you."

Eyes springing open, she turned her head sideways, spotting Jon leaning against the door frame.  His sweaty curls slicked at his neck and temples, his t-shirt and sweats damp from the snow and exertion of moving all the firewood around.  In his hands, he had a bottle of beer and a glass of wine.  She smirked.  "Which one is for me?"

"Which one do you prefer?"

"Gimme."

He already knew her, handing her the Dornish red, while he sipped at the Northern ale.  He glanced at Ghost, who was scowling up at him.  "What?  I'm not giving you a bath."

"Am I in his tub?"

"Yes, he likes baths."

"Your dog is very weird Jon Snow."

"Don't I know it."  His eyes darkened, the candlelight shooting off the gray irises in sparks, his lip curling over his teeth in a wry smile.  "In fact, I have to say, I'm a little upset with you."

She smirked, flicking some bubbles at him.  "Oh yeah?"

"Aye, you're sharing bathtime with my dog and not me."

Ghost stuck his nose into the bubbles, blowing them up into the air and snatching them with his teeth, until some went up his nose and he sneezed, rubbing his nose into the rug.  She sat up, peering over the edge of the tub, laughing.  "Oh Ghostie!  You alright prumia?"

The Valyrian for 'my heart' had begun slipping easily when it came to the fluffy dog, who whined, rubbed his nose with his paw, and accepted her kisses, even if some of the water dripped from her arms and shoulders when she leaned over to reach him.  She fell back into the tub, once Ghost had finished with her, and wandered off, the door banging shut after him.  She frowned, about to ask, but Jon answered the unspoken question.

"Aye, he closed the door.  He also likes giving people privacy."

As he had kept to himself, hiding off away from them during those couple nights on the floor in front of the fireplace, she had to thank the dog for that.  She smirked up at Jon, who looked a bit annoyed, and was toeing off his socks, the beer now on the edge of the tub.  She sipped he wine, surveying him appreciatively, the black t-shirt falling to the floor.  She purred, recognizing the gleaming lust in his eyes.  "Who knew jealousy was such a powerful motivator for you?"

"Jealous?" he scoffed.  "No way."

"Hmm."  She disagreed.  

“Is there some space left in that bathtub?”  

When she opened her eyes, she found that he was naked, the sweatpants joining the t-shirt and his socks.  She licked her lips, shifting and gestured; there was more than enough room.  She smirked at him, as he stepped in and yelped.  “Careful, it’s hot,” she cooed.  Gathering some bubbles, she piled them in front of her, annoyed that they shielded her favorite part of him from her gaze.  She had an ulterior motive of course, for hiding her body from him, smirking as he scowled back at her, no doubt mad he couldn’t see beyond the lavender scented shield.

He sank back into the tub, his head popping over the side, leaning on the other edge and his feet sliding along her legs, before they stopped on either side of her arse.  She slipped her leg along his, the salts and soaps giving her skin an added slickness.  He narrowed his eyes on hers and she smiled, innocent, as her foot moved over his calf, his thigh, and then pressed between them, her brows arching.  “Hmm,” she murmured.  “Such…hard work out there.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I was alone in bed when I woke up,” she continued.  She sniffed, hoping her voice didn’t have the added thickness to it from her cold.  She was trying to be sexy, scooping up a handful of bubbles and blowing them towards him.  

A little pillow of bubbles landed on his head and he smiled, eyebrow lifting.  “Cute.”

“You do look cute.”  

“I don’t usually like baths.”  He flicked some bubbles away from her chest, scowling again at them.  “They’re blocking the view.”

“Well that’s too bad.”

“It really is.  Makes things…inaccessible too.”

“And what are those?”  Her foot was still sliding along his cock, her toes tickling along the hard, thick length, and suddenly it fell to the side, as he lunged towards her, a wolf with its prey.  Water splashed around them, bubbles everywhere, and before she knew it, his arms were around her thighs, hoisting her up to the edge of the tub, and splaying her legs out.  A wicked grin shot up at her, his sinful lips twisted, and eyes black.  She cried out, before she even knew what was happening, and he tugged her forward, arms wrapped around her legs, which fell over his shoulders, and he dove down.

The first thing she felt was his tongue, spearing straight into her.  “Fuck!” she screamed, clenching around his head and grabbing at his wet curls.  She moaned, long and low, her head falling backwards, smacking against the foggy windowpane.  She kept a hand on his hair and her other fell back as well, grappling for something to hold, and eventually found the edge of the window itself, holding tight to the wooden frame.  

He feasted like a man starved, his tongue slipping in and around her folds, which had already been damp at the sight of him and had grown increasingly slick with her need for him as he teased her and stripped in front of her. She panted, Valyrian babbling with “Jon” and “fuck” and “yes”, everything he did in response to her body’s craving.  His tongue was pure magic, lips suckling here and there, and his hand breaking free of her leg to slip between them, a single thick finger sliding inside, crooking at just the right angle to find the spot inside of her that had her whining, high-pitched, desperate to come.  

Flicking his tongue around her entrance, he gathered up her wetness with it and carried it to her clit, nibbling and sucking the little bud, alternating between giving it the attention she wanted and sliding it back into her, a second finger now joining the first.  He let go of her other thigh, since she was holding herself up and his other hand pressed above her pubic bone, at the exact moment his fingers pressed to that magic spot, the pressure too much for her to bear.  

She was coming, the flame already flickering, and stoked higher and higher.  She gripped his hair so tight; she almost tore it clean from his skull, and when her eyes pried open long enough to meet his, that devious, devilish look that told her he knew exactly what he was doing, she couldn’t take it.  It shattered her, the flame exploding into thousands of tiny ones, engulfing her.  

Hand falling off the window, smearing finger tracks down the condensation, she thrust her hips aimlessly into his mouth, her body clenching, spasming around him.  He carried on, careful of her sensitivity, and kept moving, fingers slipping along, this thumb tapping and circling, and tongue angling through, drinking up her sweetness.  She came again, her body quivering, exhausted.  

It all felt so good, so fuzzy, and she slipped back into the tub, water splashing out over the edges, her head almost falling straight under the top of the still steaming water.  He caught her, turning so she was draped over his chest, the bubbles fading away around them.  His cock was still hard, pressed between his abdomen and hers, and she lifted her hips enough to trap him there, teasing her and him both.  “Soon,” she sighed, eyes closed.  “Give me a minute.”

He brushed his lips over top her hairline, damp now with sweat.  “Feeling better?”

Rising over him as best she could, at the awkward angle, bathwater and bubbles still coating her skin, she reached her hand around his head to pull his mouth to hers, groaning at the taste of herself she still felt on his tongue.  “Oh Jon, you have no idea how good I feel now.”

“Glad to hear it.”  

[ggtwrites]

Call of the Sea (v2)

selkie!Dawon a selkie is a magical creature said to be able to shapeshift between the forms of a seal and a human [includes angst] word count: 2920

a/n: This is a repost of a favorite fic of mine - I made some edits and I think it’s definitely better, and I’m glad I took the time to make some changes. Most of the changes are in the 2nd part, but there are some in the 1st part as well. I hope you enjoy this fic if you read it!

Today was going to be a day of relaxation. You had hauled all your beach gear down from your hotel room, carefully arranging it into the perfect set up. With your chair positioned under your umbrella and a soft sea breeze cooling the warm air, everything felt perfect.

However, just as you were opening your book, settled comfortably into your chair, a strong gust of wind blew down the beach, pulling your hat off your head and sending it sailing away. “Hey!” You yelled indignantly, scrambling up to chase after it.

You ran, praying desperately that it wouldn’t land in the water. Your hat angled towards the ocean, the wind intent on forever separating you from your beloved sun hat. You didn’t have the speed to catch it before it reached the water, your loss of hat seemed inevitable.

Fortunately, your hat did not meet a watery fate. With a deft arm movement it was in the hands of a stranger. His back was facing you, so all you could see was what looked to be a leather jacket, but it was gray, dappled with black spots. As he turned towards you, you were greeted by the sight of a handsome man with curly black hair. Your eyes met his and he smiled. His smile seemed warm, but there was a look in his eyes that promised mischief.

“Is this yours?” He asked as you jogged up next to him. You nodded, trying to catch your breath, and he placed it carefully on your head. “You’d better keep a hand on it, the winds around here can get pretty intense.”

You laughed, still a little out of breath, “Yeah, it would certainly seem so. You must come here often to know that.”

The stranger shrugged, a small smile on his face. “I do come around the area now and then.”

“Well,” you said, your hand on the brim of your hat to keep it from blowing away again, “thank you for saving my hat, I would’ve been sad to see it lost in the waves.”

“It was no problem, I was happy to help such a lovely person in distress.” While normally a comment like that might lead to an eye roll from you, there was something about the way he said it that made it seem like a joke, and you were beginning to realize that the twinkle in his eyes was very alluring.

“I’m Dawon,” he said as he stuck his hand out, “it’s nice to meet you, and save your hat of course.” As you shook his hand you told him your name. He repeated it, his lips curving up into another wonderful smile as he spoke it.

As your hand fell back down to your side you added, “It’s nice to meet you too, I haven’t seen many people around here, it’s nice to find someone to chat with.”

His smile widened, “You’re right, about there not being many people around. It’s a pleasant surprise for me to meet such a pleasant person here on the beach.” You looked down, not sure how to take his words, but he simply continued to talk. “So what brings you here? I don’t think I’ve seen you around before. If you don’t mind me asking of course.”

“It’s fine, I don’t mind saying,” you said with a shrug, “I wanted to have some time to get away from my usual life and I decided that this was the place to do it. How about you?”

Dawon shrugged his shoulders, just like you had moments before. “I enjoy coming here every now and then, it’s easy to get to and a peaceful place to think.”

“Oh, I see!” You said with a nod. “It does seem like a good place for some peace, at least for me, the sounds of the beach, especially the waves, are very relaxing.”

Although you weren’t exactly sure why, this statement seemed to please Dawon, as his face lit up with a bright smile. “I’m glad you think so, it’s nice to find someone who feels like I do about the beach.”

“It sounds like you really enjoy the beach.” You commented.

With a laugh he said, “Yeah you could say that, but I like the ocean even more.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued by his statement. “What do you mean?”

“Without the ocean, I couldn’t enjoy the beach the way I do. It’s the crash of the waves, the smell of the salt in the air, the feel of the cool water on my feet that makes me enjoy the beach, and all of that comes from the ocean.” As Dawon explained he looked out towards the ocean, a far off look in his eyes.

But like flipping a switch his focus was back on you, a twinkle in his eyes. “Hey, want me to teach you to skip stones so well it looks like magic?”

Your eyes lit up with interest and you nodded. “Yeah, that’d be great! I’ve never had a chance to learn how to, and looking like magic sounds pretty cool.”

As it turned out, Dawon was a good teacher, and you picked up stone skipping quickly. Soon you were skipping stones eight or nine times before they sunk below the waves. He was even better though, with one particularly well shaped rock he was able to skip it fifteen times. There was something magical in the way he skipped the rocks, the way they skimmed perfectly over the waves.

After you’d both had your fill of rock skipping, the two of you took a break in the shade of your beach umbrella. As you settled onto your blanket, Dawon doing the same, you turned to him. “Aren’t you hot wearing a jacket like that in the summer?” You asked with a curious tilt of your head.

“No, this jacket is like a second skin to me, I’d feel odd without it.” He smirked as if something in what he had said was amusing. “But that doesn’t matter, let’s talk about how great a teacher I am when it comes to rock skipping.”

You laughed lightly, nodding your head in agreement. “Yeah, you are pretty great.”

“Pretty great?” He huffed, “that’s it?” Dawon looked at you with a pout, but you could see that joking sparkle in his eyes that you were quickly growing very fond of.

Tapping your chin you pretended to think. “Hmm, I suppose I could say you did excellent. Would that be good enough to satisfy Mr. High Maintenance?”

The look of mock indignation on his face made you double over with laughter. “I’ll have you know I am not high maintenance. Stop laughing, it’s true.” But you couldn’t stop laughing, even as he continued, “In fact, I might even say I’m low maintenance.” This statement was given a snort in response and the frown on his face only made you laugh more because of the smiling eyes that went with it.

With you laughing the way you were, he couldn’t keep up his act and soon he was laughing just as much as you were. His laugh, his smile, his eyes directed at you, your heart almost couldn’t take it. The wind blowing your hat to him had truly been a blessing.

Over the next few days you got to know Dawon better, but there was always a part of him that felt so distant. However, you grew to love the parts of him he let you see, especially his teasing and silliness. The two of you grew close, and it felt so natural that when he asked if he could hold your hand you agreed without hesitation.

There was something about him that just felt right, and you wished your time with him could last forever. As you walked down the beach, your hand in his, a question occurred to you. “Is Dawon really your name?”

“No.” He responded with sparkling eyes and a mischievous smile. “You like asking questions, don’t you?”

You shrugged. “Not always, but you’re a mystery to me, and I want to know more about you.”

The sincerity in your words seemed to shock your curly haired companion. He stopped and turned to you, a look you couldn’t describe in his eyes. “You’re quite the person, you know.”

“As it happens, I do know,” you said with a giggle.

“Good. It would be a shame if you didn’t know, you truly are something special.” He bumped his shoulder against yours as he smiled down at you. This smile had more warmth than any you’d seen before, and despite all his teasing it felt like he truly meant what he said this time.

Without even noticing the two of you had paused. As you gazed up at Dawon, you became lost in the depth of his eyes, the dark browns swirling around his pupils tugging at your heart. There was a warmth in his eyes, and beneath all the mischief you knew there was sincerity. But there was also something else in his eyes that you couldn’t put a name to.

“Hey,” he said quietly, letting go of your hands as he reached out to brush your windswept hair out of your face, “can I kiss you?” There was no longer any mischief in his eyes, and the warmth was being overtaken by an intensity that made it hard for you to breathe.

Caught up in his eyes all you could do was nod, your whole body filling with warmth as he leaned towards you, one hand gently lifting your chin as his lips met yours. He tasted like the sea in a way that was strange and yet enticing. As his soft lips brushed against yours your whole body felt alive.

You found yourself clutching the front of his shirt for support. It felt like you were being overwhelmed, Dawon’s presence was like a wave crashing all around you as he kissed you softly. And then, it was over. He pulled away from you, his hand dropping to his side and your hands let go of his shirt.

The two of you simply stood there, staring at each other with wide eyes, unable to say a word. He regained his composure first and with a laugh he said, “Wow,” which summed up your feelings as well. All you could do was nod, your mouth hanging open.

You felt his fingers on your chin as Dawon closed your mouth, a smirk now on his face. A shiver went down your spine as his fingers brushed against your chin as he pulled them away. Your eyes were still wide as you tried to manage coherent thought, but you weren’t able to.

“No questions for me now, huh?” He asked jokingly. “Maybe I should kiss you more often then.”

Spluttering indignantly you were finally able to speak again. “Hey!”

Dawon laughed as he leaned forward and kissed your forehead. “I’m kidding, sweetheart. You know I love your questions.”

You huffed and turned away, but when his hand reached out for yours, you let him take it. Turning around you were faced with a warm smile from him, his eyes soft as he gazed at you. You smiled back, giving his hand a squeeze and the two of you continued your walk down the beach.

Seven Years Later

Shaking off the sea water that still clung to his hair after the transformation, Sanghyuk made his way up the beach that had become etched into his mind. The years had passed so achingly slow, but finally he was back.

If he had known the way the tides of oceans and the magic in his veins would prevent him from stepping on these sands until now, would he have gotten close to the person he had met all those years ago? Yes, without a second thought. Over the years he had treasured his memories with them like precious pearls.

He knew it was a long shot to even try and find them again, but there was a small part of him that held onto hope. Even though Sanghyuk never had the courage to tell them, he had truly loved them. He had loved their beautiful eyes, their curiosity, the softness of their features when they were surprised, and more than anything, the way they made him feel at home.

The idea of feeling at home out of the ocean had both excited and scared him, but he had embraced the feeling, enjoying every moment with the person that had captured his heart. However, Sanghyuk was pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of laughter further down the beach.

Turning his head towards the sound his heart lurched as another person laughed, and this laughter sounded like a distant dream. As he spotted the source of the laughter his heart stopped, and he felt like he was being stabbed in the heart.

Although the two people coming down the beach were too far to see clearly, his aching heart led him to believe that one of them was the person he had longed to see for so long. They were holding hands. His breath shortened as he began to notice more details the closer they came. The look in their eyes, the closeness, everything about the pair walking down the beach he noticed came with a stabbing pain in his heart.

Caught up in the hurt he barely managed to hide behind an outcropping of rocks as they got closer, too close, close enough they might have seen him. He knew it would be completely unfair to expect that person to wait for him, and it still wasn’t clear what their exact relationship was, but none of that could stop the pain and loss crashing down on, all reason like sand trying to stop a tidal wave.

He glanced towards the water, the pull to throw himself into the ocean and lose himself in the waves calling to him, but the aching to know and the fact that they might see him caused to stay still, immobilized by all the thoughts and emotions racing through him.

As he waited for the pair to pass he heard a voice he wasn’t sure he’d ever hear again. “Did you see that? I could have sworn I saw a person right here.”

They were right on the other side of the rocks. So close. And yet, it was like they were on the other side of the ocean from him.

The person they were with responded and Sanghyuk could hear the affection in their voice, even as they answered such a simple question. “No, I didn’t see anything. Are you sure it wasn’t the light off the water playing tricks on your eyes?”

“I thought… For a moment… Are you sure?” There was something both hopeful yet sad in their voice, many complex emotions just in the voice, he thought he might cry if he saw their face at this moment.

“Still looking for your mystery man, even when I’m standing right here?” While their voice was playful, there was an edge to it that made Sanghyuk tense up.

There was a sigh, a lovely sigh, and then, “You know I’m over Dawon,” his heart stopped, his breath stopped, everything stopped as he heard the name he had given to her all those years ago, “I can’t help but look for him, for closure. I never found out what happened to him, but you know my heart belongs to you. I may have had feelings for him at one point, but it’s been seven years, and I can’t imagine my life without you.”

There it was, what he had been dreading since they had started talking in front of his hiding spot, one he was regretting the more he heard, but it was even worse than he had thought. While he had always wished for their happiness, a part of him had held onto the hope that their happiness might be with him, no matter how unrealistic that might be.

They sounded happy, they had someone, and it wasn’t him. His heart shattered to dust as the couple continued walking down the beach, their conversation becoming faint. Crumpling to the group there was nothing left in him but tears, he was empty, a void in humanoid form.

Coming back had been a mistake, his desire to know a curse destroying him from the inside out. Would he have been better off not knowing they were happy but with someone? Did the reassurance outweigh his grief? Maybe it would in time, but in that moment all he felt was despair.

Finally able to stand he made his way back towards the ocean. He waded in until the water was up to his knees, standing in front of a drop off. Closing his eyes he sighed and let his body fall into the ocean, the embrace of the cold salt water welcoming him into its depth. As his body sank beneath the wave his skin began to ripple and he was surrounded by bubbles.

Soon in the place of the man with curly hair was a seal, its gray body dappled with black. Although he was in the ocean where he felt most at home, a part of him was forever lost to the beach, to that person he had longed for all those years. In the pieces of his heart, still shattered beyond repair, he knew he could never leave the sea again.

[marmotish]

🎄👻 Duncan Christmas SQ 👻🎄

Part 3. The Crossing

(~2500 words under the cut)

The bus ride down to Cairnryan was awkwardly silent, with neither Duncan nor Freyja really ready or willing to discuss what had happened. Less awkward than actually speaking to each other though, from an outsider’s perspective.

Not a word was spoken until they had boarded the ferry, with the exception of Duncan hissing “one ticket!” when Freyja initially asked for two at the port.

With most passengers choosing to enjoy the onboard amenities, it was reasonably empty up on deck. No surprise though, given it was late December. The winds coming off the water were chilly to say the least, and the overcast sky did nothing to improve the scenery. But they would have to speak eventually, and better it happen out in the open, away from a larger crowd. That was when Freyja decided it had been long enough avoiding the subject.

“So what was it like?”

“What?”

“When you were inside -“

“DON’T SAY IT.”

Freyja stopped talking, and returned to watching the ocean. Looked like the blunt approach wasn’t the best way to start. But the question was still hanging in the air, unanswered. It was now up to Duncan to resume the conversation. But when? Who knew. Minutes ticked by without another word being spoken.

Well, if he wanted to spend the next couple of hours in silence then that was fine. Nothing was stopping her from enjoying everything else the ferry had to offer. If she got moving now, she could -

“It was really quick, I don’t know...”

OK, forget that.

“I didn’t even know what was happening, but then everything kind of hit me at once. The smell of the street, the cold air on my face, the clothes on my body, the ground under my feet... well, your face and all...”

He hesitated, as though he might have said too much. Freyja waited for him to continue, watching his face carefully.

“It was almost like - being alive again.”

Well FUCK.

Freyja didn’t know how to respond to that. Duncan had always seemed more life-like, more alive than any of the other ghosts she knew. The way he moved through the world was reminiscent of a living person.

Not like Professor Binns, who acted like he didn’t even know he was dead. Quite the contrary, Duncan was more than aware of the fact that he was dead. That was just the problem.

Sure, he floated around like any other ghost, but it was little things that Freyja noticed while they were in Glasgow that kind of set him apart. He never took shortcuts through walls, he moved through the appropriate doorways and corridors. He stuck to moving along the sidewalk. He waved away car exhaust even though he couldn’t smell it. When it had started raining, he pulled up the hood of his cloak, even though he couldn’t get wet.

All these behavioural quirks told of someone who was trapped in an existence they didn’t want, who was instead trying to hang onto any threads of humanity, of a real existence. But pretend as much as he like, he would never be able to replicate the feeling of really being alive. And he had never come closer to being alive than for the few seconds he had taken over Freyja’s body.

Choosing the blunt approach again, Freyja broke the silence with another question.

“Would you do it again if you had the chance?”

“What?!”

Duncan leapt back, putting plenty of space between them. Freyja raised her eyebrows in question, waiting for a reply.

No, it was a terrible idea. As much as he wanted to feel almost alive again, he didn’t know if he would be able to handle it. He barely made it to 5 seconds before.

“You know,” Freyja shrugged her backpack off her shoulders. “I’ve been up for almost 30 hours straight, and I’m just now starting to feel it. I wouldn’t mind switching off for a bit.”

Duncan almost imperceptibly shook his head in confusion, watching as Freyja pulled out an impossibly large blanket and sets it on one of the boxy seats on the deck.

“Think I’ll have a rest. Might be my only chance before we reach the port.”

“Up here on deck? In the cold?”

“well I could sleep inside, but then you wouldn’t be able to smell the salt in the air, or feel the wind in your face. Anyhow, this blanket’s thick and heavy enough to keep you warm.”

“You keep saying ‘you’, but -“

Freyja settled down on the seat, pulling the blanket around her shoulders while Duncan hovered from a safe distance looking understandably perplexed.

“Though you’ll probably fall asleep before too long. If you were able to feel what my body felt before, then you’re going to feel tired too. Think of it like we’re 2 drivers of the same car, my body being the car obviously. If the car runs out of petrol, it doesn’t matter who’s driving. It’s not going anywhere.”

“JUST GET TO THE POINT.”

Freyja glared at him. “Oh NOW you want the blunt approach.” Rolling her eyes, she continued. ”Fine. I’m saying if you wanted to try the possession thing again, then that’s fine with me.”

OK. She really said it. He wasn’t really expecting her to.

But possessing someone just to fall asleep? What would be the point in that? Then again, it would be less intense than possessing a body that was being fuelled by pure adrenaline. Surely something like falling asleep should be enough for him to handle. God knows he was emotionally exhausted. Not being able to sleep and spending every moment with your own thoughts would be enough to exhaust anyone. Who knew that would also be the case after death?

“Why would you let me do that again?”

Duncan was wary. On one hand, he was tempted to take up the offer. But this didn’t seem to be an offer made from the goodness of her heart. From the past year, he’d come to realise that Freyja rarely did anything seemingly selfless without some kind of underlying motive. That or she was just bored, and he didn’t know which one worried him more.

Freyja shrugged. “Why not? Besides, I’m curious. I want to know if the theory about cars and drivers is right. I have two conditions though. One, that you get out before we hit port. Two, if you’re somehow able to cart my body around, don’t lose my blanket or any of my other stuff . That includes money. I’m on a budget.”

With that, Freyja dropped her backpack onto her lap and hugged her knees up towards her chin, enveloping herself in the blanket. She watched and waited for Duncan’s response.

He was grabbing at his own sleeves, unsure about what to do. It was strange to see him look so uncomfortable, and he was silent for so long that Freyja regretted ever making the offer.

“Hey, forget it-“

“I don’t even know if I can do it again.” Duncan started, rubbing his arm. “But - I want to try.

“Alright?”

“And I don’t want you watching me.”

Freyja nodded. “Fair enough.” She slumped a little further down on the seat and closed her eyes.

Duncan shut his eyes as well, and took an un-necessary deep breath. He took a moment to steel himself, then peeked out of one eye. Freyja’s eyes were still closed, but her legs were jiggling under the blanket. Impatience or anticipation? Hard to tell.

Screwing both eyes shut, he flew forward, meeting a sudden feeling of warmth followed by a shiver up his spine. Gasping, Duncan opened his eyes. He brushed a silver fringe out of his face. Seated in the deck chair now, he observed the world from this borrowed body. Steadying his breath, he closed his eyes, focusing on each new sense in turn.

Now, having spent more than a few moments in this body, he could also feel Freyja’s consciousness at the back of his mind, and it was slipping steadily towards sleep.

Well, she was right about two things. One, he could definitely feel the exhaustion from this body. It was a wonder she kept going this long. He could feel his eyelids drooping, try as he might to keep them open.

Two, this blanket was undoubtedly warm enough to keep out the winter chill. It was heavy though, weighing down on his body. Not that he minded, it was a comforting weight, like being held in a warm embrace.

He pulled the blanket up to his ears, slowly breathing in the salty sea breeze, feeling the gusts of winter wind across his face. Wrapping his arms around himself, he allowed the sounds of the sea to lull him to sleep.

---

The sounds of screaming (laughing?) children running across the deck jolted both Freyja and Duncan awake, with the latter being suddenly ejected from the former’s body, practically hurtling over the railing.

“Are we there?”

Duncan reeled himself back in on deck before taking a look ahead. “Not far off, the port’s further inland.”

“Ok, ok that’s good.” Freyja rubs sleep from her eyes, stretching herself out. “You have a good rest?”

Duncan turned his head sharply in Freyja’s direction, ready to catch any hint of mockery. But if she was being anything other than genuine, he couldn’t tell by her face. “it was fine.” He answered.

Freyja wandered over to the railing next to Duncan, carefully bundling up her blanket to avoid tripping. He waited for her to interrogate him about the possession, but she didn’t press further. She didn’t even look at him. Rather, she kept her gaze fixed on the water’s edge, taking in the sights. “Can’t wait to see the city.”

Again, Duncan tried to gauge Freyja’s tone. Was she being serious? Sure, a relatively neutral zone like the city centre was nice enough by comparison, but surely she knew the state of things once you ventured past the ring of steel. “You keep up with Muggle news, right?”

“If you’re talking about the situation over here, then yes, I’m aware.”

“I kept up with the news while I could, and I wrote to Gran while I was away as well. But I get the feeling she downplayed a lot of the stuff that happened when I wasn’t there.” Duncan shifted his gaze towards the approaching port. “Now I haven’t been able to write or keep up with the news since ... you know. But I can’t imagine things are much better than when I last came here.”

Freyja took a deep breath before answering. “It’s not the kind of thing that just blows over in a few years.”

“You know what was ironic though?” Duncan let out a mirthless laugh. “My parents told me it would be safer here with my Gran.”

Freyja frowned, but didn’t say anything. Duncan continued. “You know the First Wizarding War started not long after I was born? My family was scared shitless, and they didn’t even see the worst of the attacks, if you can imagine. Muggles were copping the worst of it at that time, and not just from the Death Eaters.”

Duncan’s jaw clenched, and he appeared to be gripping the railing tightly. “sometimes I don’t think my family ever stopped to consider what was happening outside their magical little bubble. Hell, they barely even paid attention to me until I started at Hogwarts. Then they saw that I could be a valuable, contributing member of the magical community.”

The children from before came running and laughing past them again, momentarily filling the silence that had fallen.

“Whether I was at home with my parents or with my Gran, it made no difference to me, safety-wise. There was no escaping what was happening out there. It’s funny - it all seemed so normal, I thought everyone’s childhood was like that. I guess if you never knew any different, you didn’t realise just how messed up it was. “

“By the time the Wizarding War ended, I was already at Hogwarts. I hadn’t been allowed to see Gran since First year. When we heard that You-Know-Who had been defeated, the first thing I did was run off to write a letter to my Gran telling her it was over. Asking if I could come over again.”

“But she said the same thing she’d been saying since I was 11. Not now, we’ll wait til it’s safer.” Duncan sniffed, his expression darkening. “It probably killed her to know that after all the effort she put into protecting me here, I died in a fucking explosion anyway...”

Oh God, things weren’t meant to get this heavy. Freyja had been silently pleading for him to stop talking. But it just kept coming, and she could say nothing. But what could she possibly have said? What input could she have given?

Like Jacob, Duncan’s childhood had been constantly shadowed by the War. Unlike Jacob however, Duncan was unfortunate enough to be caught between two different conflicts from two different worlds. It must have been confusing for him as a small child - not knowing where one finished and the other began.

Freyja racked her brains for something appropriate to say, when the arrival announcement sounded, alerting passengers to gather their belongings and prepare to disembark. Grateful for the interruption, she quickly moved back from the railing and started to fold up her blanket to pack it away.

She stopped mid-fold and ventured a look back at Duncan. He hadn’t moved from the rail, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.

“Duncan, I -“

“Don’t bother hurting yourself trying to squeeze out an emotion, that’s not what I was going for.” Duncan turned to face her, his usual fed-up expression back in place. “But I do want to say that... I appreciate what you’re doing. I know Belfast isn’t exactly one of the top tourist destinations for Christmas right now.”

Freyja nodded in acknowledgment, continuing to pack up her blanket.

“Are you scared?” Duncan asked.

Her head snapped up, fixing Duncan with a stern gaze. She tightened the loops on her backpack with a little more force than necessary, and swung it over her shoulder. “An outsider walking into a decades-old sectarian conflict? Should I be scared?”

“Outsider or not makes no difference if you’re in the wrong place at the wrong time. You’d be stupid to not be scared.”

Bristling, Freyja jammed her hands into her jacket pockets. She knew perfectly well that being from out of town wasn’t going to be her get-out-jail-free card. She knew that waving her wand around wasn’t going to be any help if she was outnumbered. But part of her just wanted to know if she could do this. A stupid, selfish, insecure part of herself. The same part that reared it’s ugly head when Jacob once again dismissed her as some sort of unnecessary baggage in the Portrait Vault last summer.

“And I know you’re not stupid. Bloody Ravenclaw, and all.”

“My stupidity runs deep, don’t let the blue and bronze fool you.” Freyja grimaced, studiously avoiding eye contact. “but I’m not so stupid to believe that this is going to be a walk in the park.”

The other passengers were filing past now, a more insistent cue for the two of them to get moving. It took two shoulder collisions to bring Freyja out of her reverie, and shake her head clear of nagging doubts. She looked up at Duncan and gave him a decisive nod.

“Come on. We’ll make sure the only one of us who gets back to Hogwarts dead is me, ok? There’s no way I’m sharing my bathroom with you for the rest of eternity.”

---