#but given some time for things to settle?

[candycandy00]

Welcome to Christmas Island! - A Sanji x Reader Fanfic

You work on Christmas Island, where every day is Christmas! All guests get to make a wish to Santa and have it granted. When the Straw Hat pirates show up, you decide to grant the wish of their handsome blonde cook. 

Smut. 18+. Sanji x Fem Reader. Implied that Sanji is a virgin. Oral sex. Cream pie. I haven’t written Sanji in 20 years so I hope I got him right!

Dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more!

Part of CandyCandy’s Kinkmas 2024!

You’ve lived and worked on Christmas Island for the past few years, but you still get excited each time new guests arrive, especially when they’re famous. 

It was only a matter of time before the Straw Hat pirates landed on this little island, and all your coworkers were equally hyped up to meet them. You’ve all followed their exploits in the newspapers for months, becoming fans along the way. Even the owner of the island, “Santa”, admires them! 

You’ve looked at all their wanted posters countless times, but one of them stood out to you: a silly looking blonde man named Sanji. While your friends were more interested in the more “cool looking” pirates, you found Sanji charming. You know it’s a silly picture, so you’re interested in finding out what he actually looks like. 

Your chance comes when the Straw Hats arrive and check into the enormous resort that takes up the entire island. They walk in, most of them gawking at the huge lobby full of Christmas trees and twinkling lights. They’re chatting and laughing amongst themselves, and their reputation for being fun-loving seems to be accurate.

Taming your excitement, you hurry over to greet them in your candy cane striped dress. 

“Welcome to Christmas Island!” you say in your cheeriest voice. “Please come in and sit down. I’ll explain how things work here.”

They begin taking seats in the plush red sofas positioned in the middle of the room. You do a mental headcount as you watch them, trying not to seem like an overly eager fan. 

Sanji spots you before you spot him. He steps up beside you, gently taking your hand in his. “Such a lovely lady here to welcome us!” he says, placing a quick kiss on the top of your hand. “This island is a dream already!”

When he raises his face to look at you, a breath catches in your throat. He’s way more handsome than you expected! His wanted poster barely resembles him, but the blonde hair and curly eyebrow are unmistakable. 

He smiles at you and takes his seat. You give the group a moment to settle down and get quiet before you begin. 

“On Christmas Island, every day is Christmas! At this resort, you’ll each write a letter to “Santa” asking for a Christmas present. You’ll receive that gift during your stay. Keep in mind we can only grant wishes for material goods or services. We can’t give you impossible things. For example, you can’t ask us to withdraw bounties or give you skills that can’t be learned while you’re here.”

They seem to understand, a few of them nodding. You pass out fancy notecards for them to write their Christmas wishes on, along with red envelopes for them to seal the “letters to Santa” in. 

A woman you recognize as Nami looks a bit skeptical as she eyes the notecard. “How much does this cost?”

Some of the others look at you, curious about the answer. 

You smile and shake your head. “No cost at all! There’s normally a fee, but since we’re all fans of the Straw Hat pirates, even Santa said to give you all the VIP treatment at no charge!”

The group seems happy to hear that, a couple of them actually cheering. Then they all begin writing on their notecards. Once they’re finished, you retrieve them and another employee shows the guests to their rooms. They’re all given private rooms, each one beautifully decorated with festive trees and lights. 

Later, you and two coworkers are reading the notecards to begin processing the wishes. 

“Look,” your friend says, giggling as she holds one out. “The captain just wrote one word: Meat!”

You laugh as you glance at a card in your own hand that says, “A year’s supply of cola”. 

Most of the requests are fairly reasonable and fit the crew members’ reputations. But at the bottom of the stack is one that stands out to you. 

“A sweet lady who wants to spend time with me.”

Your heart nearly skips a beat. You expected something perverted from the famously horny cook of the Straw Hat pirates, but Sanji’s request is surprisingly cute. 

“Can I take this one?” you ask, a little worried that one of your coworkers might have their eye on him. 

The two women look at each other and shrug. “It’s yours if you want it,” one of them says. The other nods in agreement. 

Thank goodness! You didn’t want there to be any awkwardness with your friends, but you were prepared to argue for this. Thankfully you don’t have to. 

One of them leans toward you conspiratorially. “What if he just wrote that as a nice way of saying he wants someone to fuck him?”

You grin at her. “Actually, I’m kind of hoping that’s the case!”

The others squeal in delight and cheer you on. “You get it, girl!”

You return to your own quarters to freshen up and change into your cutest red dress, then you head down the guest hall to find Sanji’s room. You only have to knock once before he opens it. Was he waiting by the door for his “present”?

He blinks as he looks at you, then smiles. “Oh, you’re the one who welcomed us!”

You return his smile. “I’m surprised you recognized me.” There are lots of women working here who wear the same dress you had on earlier. It’s basically the uniform. 

He steps aside, opening the door wider and gesturing for you to come in. “I never forget a beautiful lady’s face,” he tells you as you walk into his room. 

The comment makes you blush, but you giggle nervously and change the subject. “Are you settled in okay? Do you need anything?”

Looking around the room, you can see the closet door slightly open, and a few dress shirts neatly hanging inside. The bed doesn’t appear to be messed up at all, and everything is in its place. On a small table with two chairs, there’s a glass ash tray that’s nearly full. 

“I don’t need anything at all,” he says as he pulls out one of the chairs for you. “But can I offer you something to drink? I’m sure you know what the options are.”

You do. There’s a small variety of alcoholic drinks in the mini fridge, plus a hot water machine with various teas and coffees. 

As you sit in the offered chair, you accept his offer, taking a cup of tea. In all honesty, you just want to watch him prepare something. His skills are quite well known.  

You watch him fix your tea, his hands moving expertly to prepare it in the perfect manner. Then he sits the steaming cup in front of you and takes the seat on the other side of the table. 

The tea is delicious of course, leaving you wondering what you’ve been doing when you make it for yourself. He seems to like watching you enjoy it, a smile practically glued to his face. 

“It’s wonderful! I can’t believe it’s from the same tea we use!” 

After a few minutes of friendly chatting, you sit down your empty cup and get down to business. “Regarding your wish…”

His smile falters, a blush creeps over his face. “It’s okay if it can’t be granted!” he says quickly. “I’ll just take some new utensils, or maybe some rare spices if you have them here.”

Does he not realize you’re his present? He seems to have the wrong idea about your visit. Just how many times has this poor guy been rejected? 

You reach across the table and put one hand on his arm. “We can easily grant your wish,” you say. “In fact, that’s what I’m here for.”

He freezes, staring at you. His stunned eyes shift down to your hand, then back to your face. “You… want to spend time with me?”

“I’d love to!”

He still seems to be in shock. “Are you sure?”

You reach into the pocket if your dress and pull out a folded paper. You smooth it out on the table and slide it over to him. It’s his wanted poster. 

He blanches when he sees it, but before he can say anything, you blurt out, “I’m a fan of yours!”

“Huh?”

Now it’s your turn to blush again. “I mentioned before that all of us here are fans of the Straw Hat pirates, but we each have our favorites. You happen to be mine.”

He’s rapidly turning red. “Really?”

You nod. “I even keep your wanted poster in my pocket at all times.”

He glances at the poster. “But it’s such an unflattering picture of me…”

“You look fun! You look like someone I’d like to hang out with. And yes, you’re way more handsome in person.”

If this were a cartoon, steam would be shooting out of his ears. He almost seems to melt into his chair. “You think I’m handsome?!”

“Of course! I was so excited to meet you, so I happily volunteered to grant your wish!”

He has tears in his eyes as he takes both your hands in his across the table. “This place really is like a dream!”

And so the two of you laugh and talk and enjoy more tea for the next hour. He tells you funny stories about their travels and you tell him about some of the craziest wishes you’ve received. 

At some point, perhaps growing bold from the friendly atmosphere, you say, “To be honest, I wondered if maybe ‘spend time with you’ was code for something else.”

He seems genuinely confused, which is adorable. “Something else?”

You lean forward, subtly showing off your cleavage. “Something more… intimate.”

It seems like a shiver runs through his body, but then he composes himself and says, “I didn’t want anyone to feel obligated to do that.”

“Oh, that’s a shame,” you say, looking as disappointed as you can, “because I was hoping it was code.”

His mouth falls open, the cigarette slipping from his lips. You can almost see hearts in his eyes. He seems to be trying to form words for a reply, but failing. 

You stand up and walk around the table to be closer to him. “I’m your present tonight, so you can do whatever you want with me.”

He swallows, looking up at you as if you’re a goddess that has come down to him from heaven. “Whatever I want?”

“Anything.”

His eyes dart about the room, as if he’s worried this might be some prank and someone else is waiting to rush out and tell him so. After a moment, he looks back at you. “Can I k-kiss you?”

You nod. “I’d like that.”

He stands up from the chair and steps right up to you. He slowly places his hands on your shoulders. So gentle! He’s treating you like a delicate little creature that will flee if he’s not careful. 

As he leans down, his eyes flutter closed, and you can see the blush across his cheeks. You feel the tips of his golden hair first, then his lips softly press against yours. It’s a chaste kiss, his hands lightly trembling on your shoulders. 

You’ve heard so many conflicting rumors about him. Some say he’s a totally lecherous horndog who fucks anything that moves. Others say he’s a sophisticated gentleman who respects women. Still others say he’s a pathetic virgin who can’t get laid to save his life. You’re beginning to suspect the truth is some strange mix of all three. 

You reach up and put your arms around his neck, pulling him into a deeper kiss. His tongue finally slips into your mouth, and he tastes like cigarettes and the tea you’ve both been drinking. 

When the kiss breaks, he looks positively lovestruck. But his arms are around your waist, holding you closer to him. You can feel the bulge in his pants, and you lightly grind yourself against it. “What else would you like to do?” you ask playfully. 

“Lady’s choice,” he says, the smooth gentleman peeking out again. “I’d love to know what youwant to do.”

You grin mischievously at him and say, “Sit down and I’ll show you.”

He moves back to sit in the chair so fast, your eyes could barely follow him. You giggle at his eagerness as he stares at you. You take a moment to pull up the edge of your red dress on one side, up to your hip. It’s enough to show him you’re not wearing panties without revealing the whole present. 

His eyes bulge, and you’re guessing something else is bulging even more now. You prance over and then lower yourself to your knees before reaching out and unbuckling his belt. You hear him breathe in through his teeth, and you look up to see his chest rising and falling rapidly with his breaths. You smile as you open his pants and slide one hand in, using it to pull out the prize you’ve been seeking. 

He’s bigger than you expected, and elegantly shaped. It’s such a nice cock, such a waste that it’s been neglected for so long. You can fix that. 

Your hand wraps around it and you slide it up and down the shaft. You can hear him breathing heavily as he watches, stunned. When you lean forward and give the tip a little lick, his hands suddenly grip the arm rests of the chair. You can hear the wood creaking under the force. 

Smiling to yourself over the fact that you can reduce a powerful, famous pirate to this state with one lick, you wrap your lips around him and take his twitching cock into your mouth. 

He groans, his head falling back and his eyes closing again as you begin bobbing your head back and forth, your lips gliding along his length. Your tongue swirls his tip, your throat tightens around him when he’s deep enough, and his panting above you makes such sweet music in your ears. 

Finally he places his hand on your shoulder and says in a strained voice, “I’m… I’m about to…”

You pull back and grin. “Please cum in my mouth.” Then your lips are around him again, sucking lightly and lapping at his tip. 

He looks torn between desire and being a gentleman, but desire wins out. With a moan he releases his load onto your tongue, and you drink it down eagerly. 

After a moment, you stand up, licking your lips. You stand nearby while his breathing slows to a normal pace. Then he looks at you. “That was incredible… you’re an angel!”

You laugh and take one of his hands, placing it atop your head as you lean toward him. “You’re supposed to pat my head and call me a good girl.”

His face turns scarlet, but he does as you wish, lightly patting your head and saying, “Such a good girl!”

You giggle at that, then look down between his legs. He’s beginning to get hard again, which is exactly what you’re waiting for. 

“So? What would you like me to do next?” you ask. 

He looks a little shy and awkward as he says, “Can we… have sex?”

You reach down and pull your dress up, all the way to your waist this time, giving him an eye full. His cock instantly becomes fully hard, his eyes seeming to turn to hearts again. “I thought you’d never ask,” you tell him as you step closer and straddle his lap, letting his lovely cock rest against your slickened pussy. That alone makes his entire body quiver. 

When you rise up and position his tip at your entrance, then sink down onto him, a gasp escapes him. His arms wrap around your body, holding you firmly but gently. You have to wiggle a bit to get free enough to begin riding him, your hips swiveling. 

Sanji groans as his own hips buck from the chair, pushing deeper inside you. Then he pauses, a worried expression on his face, and says, “I’m sorry! Did I hurt you?”

You smile, pushing your own body down to take him even deeper. “It feels good when you go deep,” you say, and his breath hitches, his eyes widening before he starts fucking up into you, slowly and deeply. One of his hands is on your waist now, the other buried in your hair. 

As you grind down onto him, his taut skin rubs against your clit, making your own breaths shallow and quick. His tip hits your cervix, and a shudder ripples through you. When you moan out his name, his cock throbs inside you, making you arch your back in pleasure. When you do, he buries his face in your chest, his tongue peeking out to lap at one pert nipple. 

He raises his face to look you in the eyes. “I’m in love with you!” he exclaims, his hands tightening their grip on you slightly. 

You smile, but don’t reply. Men always say that while they’re inside a woman, but you have no expectations. In a few days Sanji will sail away from here and you’ll never hear from him again. But you’ll treasure these memories of being with him for the rest of your life. 

He feels so good inside you, your clit is practically pulsing. He kisses you again, so sweetly. It’s a romantic kiss, the kind shared by people in love, and his hand slides down from your hair to rest softly on your neck. 

It’s all enough to push you over the edge, and you cum while still riding him, your body trembling in his arms. 

Watching you cum seems to push him to climax as well, and he suddenly pulls you tightly against him as he shoots his load into your core. 

The two of you remain intertwined for a while, both of you breathing hard, then his arms loosen around you and you slide off him, your legs partially numb. 

“I’m all yours while you’re on Christmas Island,” you say as you pull your dress back down. “Just call for me whenever you want.”

He looks at you for a long moment, then says, “Why don’t you come with us?”

You freeze. “What?”

He stands up and buttons his pants, then pulls out a fresh cigarette. “I can talk to Luffy. He’s pretty easy going about these things. You could join our crew and sail around with us. We get into a lot of dangerous situations, but we always pull through, and I can protect you.”’

You, joining the Straw Hat pirates? You’ve never even considered something like that before. But it sounds like a dream. You smile broadly at him. “I’d love that!”

He smiles back. “It really is Christmas every day here. I got more than I could even hope for!”

[mindovermuses]

I agree and kind of wish her patron had been the Whispered One instead of dragging Delilah out yet again... Even if we learned that he were using the likeness of Delilah to control Laudna, perhaps seeking a champion of his own, even in banishment.

The most exciting thing I can think of that could come about from using Delilah is that it provides a chance that some necromancer will get word that Laudna is carrying around Delilah's soul in a functional Aeorian soul anchor in her chest- because SHE TELLS EVERYBODY SHE MEETS ALL ABOUT IT!- and steal it to take on her power themselves.

Aeor clearly designed the soul anchor to hold a power source and make it easy to siphon their power... How hard would it be for a powerful necromancer to capture Laudna and cut it from her chest? Strong henchmen and an anti magic field? Imogen can't be by her side 24/7.

Then there's @thedarklordsnicklefritz's important addition.

Laudna has no real goals for just herself with everything important happening before the campaign began. Even her relationship with Imogen felt like it happened far too easily and quickly for me to connect with and root for- all of their initial bonding happened off screen. And, once they got together, it's all about Imogen's goals and a possibility that they might be together after all of this.

There's a phenomenon/curse in television that is usually attributed back to the show, "Who's the Boss?" where, once two main characters in the narrative end the will-they/won't-they dance and get together, their story together becomes less interesting to those not already obsessed with it beyond the show. This definitely happened for me with Imodna as it took me a while before I connected with any of the ships based solely on what we were given on screen. It all just rings hollow between them to me compared to other potential pairings that have popped up since.

I just wanted Laudna to have one non-Delilah based goal... Please stop beating the dead horse that is the Briarwoods! Laura can only kill Delilah so many times before I start rooting for the underdog in the fight... (Side note: I Love Laura and she 100% earned & rocked the kills she got already)

I saw someone else had posted that it would have been more impactful if Laudna hadn't been revived after the Otohan fight, and I think I agree.

I adore every macabre detail we've been given and seeing Marisha bring this character to the table has been a delight beyond words, but everything gripping about Laudna happened in the past. If she had died with the same poison used on Will, Derrig, and Eshteross and Orym had only survived because revivify was cast before the poison could settle into his system... I hate to say it, but it would have given the group a new level of agency and bonding earlier in the story that they needed.

The group could have returned her body to Whitestone for burial and to introduce the members of VM there. The difference being, it would have just seemed like short cameos for fan service instead of more powerful people they now report to like soldiers and await missions from.

Marisha could have come in with a new character with a different viewpoint of the gods and their role and insights into places they might go to find answers.

Plus, just imagine the group having a functional soul anchor going into a fight where they might need to trap Ludinus or Predathos for good...

I don’t think having connections to previous campaigns was the problem, I think centering your entire backstory around them was.

Orym has a tenuous connection to Kiki, and this manifests in knowing more about what’s happening in the wider political landscape (even if it’s just knowing who the players are). Orym is a fully functional person outside of his connection to Kiki. In fact you can remove his being a Tempest Blade from his backstory and just make him a standard Ashari and it all still makes sense.

Bertrand went to the Hells with VM, but other than being able to name drop them, he didn’t have much going on with them.

Ashton having Dunamancy Juice in his brain made for some interesting conversations with Essek, and Caleb, and the Bright Queen. But he had other shit going on between the Titans and trying to keep his suicidal robot friend alive, and finding out what happened to him as a kid, that if you took the Dunamancy Juice out there’s still something to dig into.

Laudna’s whole deal though is/was Delilah. You can’t separate her from that callback, you can’t ignore it. It’s there, all the time. And it means that on some level Laudna is a problem the Vox Machina needs to deal with, it means spending time in White Stone, it means interacting with Vox Machina. It means introducing those characters into C3 in a way that you can’t take back or move past.

And it’s funny, because the people I see complain the most about ‘Bells Hells getting sidelined in their own campaign’ are generally Laudna/Imodna stans. Your girl’s the one who opened that door, and once it was opened there was no closing it again.

[thus-wrote-mrs-zeppeli]

La Squadra x reader: How They Flirt

Yikes. They’re trying-

Content: casual flings, slight suggestiveness, creepy Melone, different relationship depending on character

Characters: all La Squadra (-Sorbet and Gelato)

Style: quick headcanons

-Formaggio: Very casual flirt, tends to walk that line that makes you wonder if he’s actually flirting with you or just being nice. And he’ll flirt with any cute thing that catches his eye, doesn’t mean he’s looking for anything serious, but giving him attention back will make him hover around a bit more. He wants to see what will happen.

He’ll offer to buy you a drink at the bar, asking if the seat next to you was taken, and if not he’ll playfully wonder out loud why. You really don’t have a sweetheart? Well he’s nobody’s first choice but if you want some company for the night, he’s a pretty good conversationalist~

He’s a natural, much more socially aware than most of his squad mates. He knows leaning forward while you talk will make you feel heard, and asking you questions about yourself will make him seem genuinely interested in you. By the end of the night, his hand’s on the back of your chair and you’re sharing drinks and laughing together. Maybe you’ve even given him your number. But don’t take it personally when the second you turn around suddenly he’s chatting it up with the next cute thing he spotted. He’s not even trying to make you jealous, he’s just having a good time, and there’s plenty of him to share. If you do actually want to get somewhere with him, make it obvious…he likes that and he’ll be willing to give you more attention for bold behavior.

-Illuso: God, he is BORING. His body language doesn’t even convey any particular interest in you, and he doesn’t even ask about you, just starts listing his appealing traits to try to convince you he’s a good time and worth spending an evening with. You suspect he just wants money from you, but he’s just not very good at flirting. He really does want you to let him take you out on the town for the night, but he’s too prideful to ask outright…it feels like begging to him. You’d be better off just asking him yourself if he wants to spend the evening with you. He has some nerve acting like he wasn’t trying for that when he says: “Well, if you insist~”

-Prosciutto: He’s extraordinarily blunt but…when you’re as handsome and serious as he is it honestly works.

Don’t try to play coy with him if he decides to approach you, he wants some companionship tonight and he’s not gonna work that hard for it. You only get one chance with him before he decides if he does or doesn’t want to spend an evening with you, so be assertive back if you think he’s someone you wanna play with.

“You want a drink on me or not?” he asks, resting his elbow on the bar and gazing at you with those intense eyes. He won’t ask again. It’s yes or no. And if you say yes he’s gonna order you whatever he thinks you want.

He’s a horribly grumpy and audacious companion…but once you get used to it he doesn’t have ill-intentions. He just wants a good time tonight, like most people who go out alone to a bar on the weekend.

-Pesci: One word. AWKWARD. He does Not know much about flirting, beyond the basics. But knowing the basics doesn’t mean he knows how to put them all together. People like compliments…but also confidence and devil may care attitudes…and how is he even supposed to know what you like…?

He didn’t mean to just. Sit there and stare at you from across the restaurant. He didn’t realize he was even doing that until your eyes meet and you awkwardly wave him over, since clearly he wants something from you.

He settles for the only thing he can think to do as he awkwardly shuffles over to your table. He tells you he likes your shoes. It makes you laugh and you ask him his name and invite him to sit with you, willing to see where this might go. You end up giving him your number, since you couldn’t deny a bit of curiosity towards him.

-Melone: He walks by your table at a restaurant and not so subtly tosses a cocktail napkin in front of you, with something written on it:

“Nice thighs~”

Signed with his number and his name with a heart next to it.

Gross, what the hell…?

It doesn’t take long for you to catch his eye, and you shake your head and glare at him disapprovingly. He just tilts his head at you, his eyes narrowing as his lips turn up into a smirk and he blows you a kiss.

GROSS. What the HELL?

You have no idea if he’s just being confident, stupid, or straight-up a creep.

You subtly text one of your friends to come pick you up so you don’t have to walk home alone tonight.

You have No idea what that guy was Expecting to get out of that interaction, but he can forget it until he improves his flirting game, if that’s even what that was-

-Ghiaccio: He is NOT the type to humiliate himself by flirting with random people. He finds it desperate, and he’s not much of a quick fling or even “romantic relationships” person anyways. If he does end up attempting to flirt with you, it’s because he’s known you for a while and truly has some sort of mind-consuming crush on you. If it didn’t literally keep him up at night, he’d probably never ask you out and just bottle it up forever.

It’s a bit terrifying to see him stomp over to you, that signature intenseness permeating his body language. Despite how naturally cold his body was, his face looks warm and he speaks especially loudly while trying to give you a kind compliment. He doesn’t beat around the bush for very long. “WOULD YOU LIKE TO JOIN ME FOR DINNER?!” he screams at you, unintentionally. Say yes and he’ll tell you he’ll pick you up at 6:30 exactly and then hurry off in a huff of embarrassment. Say no and he’ll activate White Album and escape as fast as possible and avoid you for the rest of the day, ending the evening with an apology text and insisting you both just forget he ever said anything. Please. He will DIE if you mention it again after rejecting him-

-Risotto Nero: He’s very much like Ghiaccio in the sense that he’s not interested in some sort of quick and casual thing, or relationships in general. He’s got a job to do, he doesn’t have time for dating. But if he’s known you for a while and enjoys your company…there’s a slim chance he’ll attempt to flirt, with the intent of inviting you on a date. It’s a bit awkward, and you really can’t tell what he’s going for at first when he mentions a nice, secluded spot for a private stroll. It honestly kinda sounds like a threat when he words it like that, though you’re sure that’s not his intent. But being direct with him will make him more direct with you.

Ask if he’s inviting you on a date and he’ll say yeah, that was the intention…only if you aren’t busy and actually wish to spend some time with him.

You’re sure it’ll be a bit quiet and awkward at first but…you’re flattered to be invited, and don’t have any plans that night so…may as well.

[venomwrites]

Pure unadulterated post-cannon Christmas fluff/angst to say thank you for being the best readers. On Ao3 too

Caitlyn wakes alone on Christmas morning. 

It’s not strange in itself. The room shuffling that has taken place still has her waking up every morning wondering why she is in her parents bed. Then she remembers it is her bed now. Some mornings it makes her want to cry. A lot of mornings that feeling wins. It’s not where she wants to be. She wants to be back in her room. She wants her mother and father to be in this bed. She wants to feel awkward perching on the edge of it. No, she wants to go back to the days where she refused to perch on the edge of it because that bed was where her parents kissed. But time does not allow her such luxuries. So she wakes to the grander room every morning. And every morning she wonders if she has somehow ran to her parents for comfort like a a child. But the nightmare is not when she is asleep anymore. It greets her every morning. Stretches endlessly in front of her as she looks at the thing she calls a life and wonders if it will ever make sense. 

She doesn’t even remember it’s Christmas until she smells the perfumed soap in the cavernous bathroom. Her parents bathroom is a double, massive thing. Two sinks, two showers, two toilet closets. In the center is a massive tub. It’s completely foreign to her bathroom in everything except color. Everything is settled in different corners. Which is fine by Caitlyn. She refuses to use her old bathroom. To this day, she would rather mess herself than step foot in that place. When the staff had put her things here they had nestled them in the middle, but she had immediately gravitated towards her mother’s side. Now her bottles nestle next to her mother’s. Sometimes Caitlyn mixes them, but she wants to make all those products last. Wants to keep anything her mother touched for as long as she possibly can. It’s foolish and she cannot stop. On days when it is unbearable she washes her hands in the other sink and ignores everything. 

That’s the benefit of having two of everything.

The rest is just drawbacks. 

This room is not designed for one person. Especially not one who lives most days half scooped out. She was not supposed to occupy this room until she could make it her own. And even then, she was not supposed to occupy it alone. This room was her parents, but truly it was her mother’s. And before that it was her grandmother’s. The room is a suite for the head of the house and their partner. It is designed to make the task of running the Kiramman family as easy as possible. Two wardrobes, two desks, endless nooks and crannies and cabinets. Two people are supposed to have a life in here. Caitlyn tried to bring something over to the other side but snatched it back. Her things are sparse on the side she has taken for herself. The other is just bare. Caitlyn doesn’t know who it is waiting for yet, but she cannot bring herself to touch the room and admit it may be waiting for no-one at all. 

Caitlyn dresses in her usual black and heads down the hall. She raps on the door gently but it swings open to reveal an empty room that was once hers. 

She never would have agreed to the move if not for Vi. 

She tucked Vi into her bed after the fight with Warwick and she just never truly left. During those weeks of preparation they would tangle there and talk. Vi brought such life back to the space it made it tolerable. Before that Caitlyn had just occupied a guest room, unable to bear the thought of returning to her own bed. After the fight when Vi had staggered down and walked past the ashes of at least one member of her family, when the medical team had finally released them, she had just staggered back to the bed. Caitlyn would never have given up her room for anyone else, but if Vi was willing to collapse there, then Caitlyn was willing to surrender it. Surrender was somehow the tenant of Noxian warcraft she was drawn to. So she surrendered her girlhood room. Surrendered to her father’s quiet, tearful insistence that she belonged in her mother’s old room. Pressed another key into her unworthy hand and choked out that she would have wanted to give it to Caitlyn herself. Then he retreated as he always did. 

The bare walls of her room seemed ill suited to someone like Vi. But Vi had no things of her own. So Caitlyn has dragged in things she might like when Vi is off on an endless walk or a long-fought over medical appointment. Caitlyn picks out books and pretty things and piles them on the shelves that once held her shooting trophies. She may leave one or two of those there as well. She leaves out a paint set and a ball of yarn, little things that Vi can do with her hands if she wants. Sometimes Caitlyn catches a glimpse of something moved, but she tries to give her privacy. Mostly, Vi reads. The place where she lay next to Vi has become it’s own small library of whatever she is working through at the moment. Caitlyn knew Vi could read, but she also knew she had little access to books. Vi is not fast, she does not sit for hours turning pages. Sometimes Caitlyn hears the sound of something heavy and book like hitting the ground. But then it is always picked up a moment later. 

Caitlyn doesn’t care, Vi can burn the books for all she cares. But Vi handles them with upmost care. When she’s finished she leaves them in a neat stack on the table by the door and Caitlyn makes sure they are always replaced if she is unable to do it herself. 

Today there is just a note there with a single word on it. 

Kitchen

As Caitlyn makes her way down, the hallway takes on a wonderful smell. Savory, sweet, tempting. Caitlyn has been eating when she is hungry or when it’s insisted, but she can’t remember the last time she felt her stomach rumble with want. The gurgle is almost embarrassing. But no-one is here to hear it. Actually, when Caitlyn glances around she realizes the house is shockingly empty. There is usually a skeleton staff on the holiday at least. Maybe they were lured in by the smells coming from the kitchen. Caitlyn realizes the kitchen she’s walking towards is not the polished one for entertaining but the one the staff uses more regularly. One where they can make a mess and no-one will see. It’s a large, rectangular room with an island in the middle and appliances tucked on the sides. It’s always warm thanks to the stove that hums in the corner. Caitlyn was petrified of it as a child. Even now she rarely comes down here. But she can tell that is where Vi is. 

Actually, it’s where everyone is. 

Staff, her father—everyone is gathered around a table filled with food. There’s meat and rolls and golden brown cakes with butter and syrup. But more than that there’s Ionian dishes from Caitlyn’s childhood. Congee and dark marinated eggs and green briny seaweed sprinkled with sesame. She enters and no-one looks up. No conversation stops. People glance at her but only to see her come in. It’s strange to enter a room and not destroy the sound of chatter like taking a needle off a gramophone. It just continues around her. Caitlyn swallows against the lump it brings to her throat and finds the culprit easily amongst the chaos. Mostly because one of the cakes goes sailing up in the air and she catches it in the pan she’s holding to voracious cheers. 

“Hey,” Vi says with something almost resembling a smile, “merry Christmas. I made some of everything.”

“It smells wonderful,” Caitlyn says politely as her stomach makes the rudest noise. She can feel Vi watching as she picks up one of the bowls. Caitlyn is determined for it to be wonderful, but she’s caught off guard when it actually is. Texture, flavor, all of it is flawless, “how on earth—“

“You left a cookbook,” Vi says with a proud shrug, “I just followed the instructions,” she clears her throat, “it’s gotten better though.”

“It was good from the start!” Someone calls and Caitlyn realizes much more work went into this than she thought. 

“Save some room,” Vi says as a ding rings out. She hefts a tray of scones from the oven and Caitlyn’s mouth waters at the sight. Especially when she spots the pot of blueberry jam on the table, “your dad said it was your favorite,” Vi tells her. 

“What’s yours?” Caitlyn asks. She hadn’t even thought Vi was eating, let alone that she was cooking. Vi gives her half a genuine smile and jerks her head towards the skillet on the stove, “share that with me.”

Something lights in Vi’s eyes and she nods. Vi likes her pancakes dripping with butter and syrup. There have to be at least two though, so the butter melts between them. They are tangier than Caitlyn ever remembers and completely delightful. Vi is suspicious of the scone when Caitlyn holds it out, but agrees to take a bite. She seems equally surprised and delighted by the taste and texture. Despite never making them before, she’s managed to do it nearly perfectly. People come in and out of the room through the morning as they try each other’s favorite dishes. It’s a new sensation to learn each other. Somehow it’s the easiest conversation they’ve had since Caitlyn lost her eye and Vi lost everything. Jinx’s name even slips from Vi’s lips a few times without the gut punch of emotion that usually follows it. The only miss between them is when Vi wraps some kind of cured meat around a briny pickle. Both of them immediately decide it’s too salty and choose something else from the spread. 

“Who told you to do that?” Caitlyn questions. 

“Ekko,” Vi says, taking a large sip of tea, “do me a favor and say you loved it if he ever asks.”

“Is he coming?” Caitlyn asks, looking around. 

“Here? Nah,” Vi says, “I wouldn’t bring him to your house.”

“You live here too,” Caitlyn points out. Vi shifts her weight and shrugs.

“Yeah but—“ she mumbles something that sounds like fancy.

“So bring him here,” Caitlyn says with a shrug. Vi looks surprised. Caitlyn isn’t sure why unless she considers that Vi has only witnessed people coming through the front door and being led to the sitting parlors, “you know you can bring people wherever you want, right?” Caitlyn asks gently. 

“Course,” Vi says, her finger fidgeting on the tabletop, “yeah I just figured—“

“Vi I brought you in through a window,” Caitlyn points out. Vi still looks hesitant, “you weren’t the first. You can bring Ekko into the kitchen.”

Vi is silent for a moment. Caitlyn braces herself for whatever Vi is abut to say. But her face breaks into something not miserable. Something almost mischievous. 

“That’s why the lock was broken on your window,” she says and snaps her fingers, “that’s why your mom looked annoyed.”

Caitlyn drops her head to her folded arms as Vi laughs. The sound catches her off guard, though not as much as the laugh it pulls from her own lips. The notion that Vi was able to see past the shotgun to her mother’s annoyance makes a warm feeling settle in her chest. She raises her head to see the first genuine smile she’s seen on Vi’s face in a long time. It echoes on her own as they laugh. For once Caitlyn doesn’t think about sitting up straight. She lets her head drop into one of her hands and gives into the urge to press the heel of it to her currently empty socket. It’s a constant urge, one she’s fighting not to become a nervous tick. But at the moment it feels wonderful to just sit in the warm kitchen with Vi and be comfortable. Even Vi’s posture has shifted to something more relaxed as they chuckle about her mom’s annoyance at Caitlyn bringing girls through the window. 

“It’s your room now,” Caitlyn says, “I invite you to continue the tradition of bringing people through the window,” she motions, “it will probably be easier for Ekko on that board.”

“Yeah,” Vi says and seems to perk up a bit, “maybe, yeah.”

Fully fed and pleased with this turn of events, Caitlyn picks up the gift she tucked under the chair and holds them out to Vi. 

“Since we’re exchanging,” she says motioning to the food. Vi hesitates, “I picked them out myself,” Caitlyn adds. 

Vi takes them in her hands with a mumble of thanks and undoes the red twine. Caitlyn forwent all the fancy papers and wrapped them in simple brown. She can’t help but watch as Vi tears one of the corners carefully. Her face shifts and the paper comes off the first parcel much more quickly. She turns the book over in her hands and slides her fingers into one of the dented letters, looking at the list of words that spiral across the page. Her eyes light up with a hunger that has nothing to do with food and Caitlyn feels a beat of pleasure. Vi is smart, but Caitlyn knows some of the books use words she might not be familiar with. The dictionary is the only book that has not moved from the shelf, as though Vi does not want to admit some of them are strange. But the books Caitlyn hears her throw in frustration are ones Caitlyn often needs a dictionary for. 

“I figured you needed one you could mark up,” she says. 

“This is—“ Vi swallows, “thanks,” she says and the tone is so sincere it makes Caitlyn’s heart ache. She picks up the second package and tears the paper a little more carelessly this time, but Caitlyn can see when it clicks on her face what she’s holding, “no way,” she breathes. Her head flies up, “how?”

“Abuse of power?” Caitlyn says. Vi’s eyebrows shoot up, “and Sevika.”

The name makes Vi’s throat bob but her focus is drawn back to the book. All things considered, it was a mild abuse of power. Just a bribe really to get into the Enforcer archives. It wasn’t like anyone was actually doing anything with the contraband from an old half war. She had made Sevika aware of it’s existence and she had immediately demanded access. She was part of that fight. She took most of it back to Zaun, where it belonged. Where it always should have been. Caitlyn had simply smoothed the wheels so the Enforcers didn’t kick up too much of a fuss. Sevika had almost yelled when she had asked if there was anything in there of importance to Vi. Caitlyn had learned it was a good idea to let Sevika yell first, then let her consider the request. Then she had told her she had no idea. Then two weeks later she had dropped the book on Caitlyn’s desk. She didn’t bother saying what it was, Caitlyn didn’t need to ask. It took longer to have it properly cleaned up from the dust and decay of sitting in a box. But every cent had been worth it to see Vi reverently brush her fingers over the cover. 

“What is it?” Caitlyn asks. 

“You didn’t look?” Vi says. Caitlyn shakes her head. Vi gets up and comes around to her side of the table, sitting on the seat next to hers and thumbing open the book. Caitlyn is surprised to see pictures accompanying the words, “our families would pass it around when there was a new kid,” she says, “so you could read a crying baby to sleep,” a smile tugs at her lips as she looks at the page, “when Mom said she was gonna have a baby, I was so excited because I knew it’d be our turn,” she lets out a laugh, “I think I was more excited for this than I was for Powder.”

“May I?” Caitlyn asks and moves the book before Vi’s tears can stain the pages. Vi wipes messily at her cheeks, “did you read to her?”

“No, I’m shit at reading aloud,” Vi says, “I remember telling my mom she had to show her the pictures though. I really liked those.”

Caitlyn does not know how to comfort her. She knows they are not just sad tears, that Vi’s memories usually bring them up. Risking it, Caitlyn tucks a piece of hair behind Vi’s ear. Just something to let her know she’s there. Vi sniffles and wipes again at her cheeks before looking over at her with a wet, honest smile. 

“Thanks, Cupcake,” she says, “these mean a lot.”

For the first time in her life Caitlyn helps with the dishes. 

Vi takes pity on her and assigns her drying duty. Caitlyn knows better than to point out someone else can do this. Vi won’t hear of it. Vi scrubs, she dries and then Vi directs her where things go. By the time they are done, Caitlyn half knows her way around the kitchen. That is also incredibly strange, but Caitlyn tries to commit it to memory. It wouldn’t be terrible to make a cup of tea down here every so often. Especially if this is where Vi spends a lot of her time. Vi makes sure her hands are dry before she gathers her precious books in her arms. Caitlyn has seen Vi lift impossibly heavy loads with and without the Gauntlets, but she wraps both her arms around the books like they might fall away. They both go back to their rooms to attend to various things and Caitlyn expects Vi will go on one of her long walks. There’s some silly bead of hope in her heart that maybe Vi will invite her along. But she pushes that aside. She knows those walks aren’t for her. Maybe one day, but not yet. It’s something that makes physical therapy a bit more bearable as she learns to navigate her new world. 

Still, her heart jumps when there is a knock on her door. 

“Come in!” She calls and watches Vi step into the space. 

She doesn’t spend a lot of time in the room. Caitlyn can’t blame her. She’s lucky Vi was willing to accept her old room and she half thinks that’s only because it was somewhere she could navigate to and from with minimal help. This room is worse somehow. It’s even more grand. The ceiling is set with colored glass that sends rainbows across the polished floors. It takes two fireplaces to give it any kind of heat and Caitlyn thinks when it is empty when she one day changes it, there will be an echo. The only part of the room Vi ever lingers near is the balcony. It’s still set with the small table and two chairs from when her parents would sit every morning before the day began. Caitlyn hasn’t set foot on it. Vi’s eyes sweep the grandeur and the balcony before they settle on her. Caitlyn turns to face her but Vi doesn’t cross the room. She half fidgets in the empty space, her book of fairytales clutched to her chest. Her eyes are still reddened but there’s a set in her shoulders that makes Caitlyn aware she’s come to some decision. Feeling oddly nervous, Caitlyn pushes herself to her feet and stands on her side of the room. 

“I don’t want to bring anyone but Ekko through the window,” Vi says and Caitlyn’s heart begins to race, “I know there’s a lot going on and you’re sleeping here now but—I’m not bringing anyone else through the window.”

“I’m sleeping here so you can be comfortable,” Caitlyn blurts out. 

Vi swallows and runs her fingers over the edge of the book, like she’s drawing comfort from it. They tighten on the corner and she looks almost nervous for a moment. 

“I thought I could—“ she jerks her head towards the empty shelves, “if it’s okay with you.”

“They’re yours,” Caitlyn says without meaning to. Then she realizes what she’s said and has to fight the urge to throw herself off the balcony, “I—“

“Yeah, okay,” Vi says simply. 

As if Caitlyn has not just said the most embarrassing thing. She says it as if she knows it too. Caitlyn realizes she may be the only one who was hoping and everyone else just knew. She watches as Vi walks over to the empty shelves. Caitlyn realizes it’s not just the fairytale book in her arms. There’s that one, two cookbooks and a book on cartography. Vi settles them on the shelves sandwiched between two heavy metal bookends that made Caitlyn think of her tattoo. It’s just a corner of the shelves but immediately they look better. Vi considers her handiwork calmly as Caitlyn stares at it with a pounding, hopeful heart. Then Vi takes the fairytale book from the shelf and walks over to the empty desk. She pulls out the chair and seats herself in it, shifting her weight on the upholstery to get comfortable. She winds up with a knee drawn to her chest in what Caitlyn’s learning is a comfortable position for her. She thumbs open the book as Caitlyn sits back in her own desk. Whatever she’s supposed to be doing is forgotten as she looks at Vi sitting there. Vi is aware of her gaze but is focused on the book. So Caitlyn forces herself back to her own work. 

“We can change anything,” Caitlyn says to the paperwork, “make it our own when you’re ready.”

“Thanks,” Vi says quietly, eyes still on the book, “can Ekko come through the balcony?”

Caitlyn is silent long enough for Vi to glance over at her. 

“That lock isn’t ‘fixed’,” Caitlyn says finally and Vi snorts out a laugh, “I wasn’t planning on sneaking in when I took this room!” Caitlyn defends hotly, “if Ekko comes though the balcony you’d have to actually unlock it from the inside.”

“Noted,” Vi says and turns the page. 

Suddenly the life that stretches out before Caitlyn seems a bit less impossible and a bit less scary. She tries to imagine the room with a tangle of Vi’s books and her things. Closets jumbled together because they will probably keep things like gear in the other. Mornings at the sink and night in the bed. Her throat tightens at the thought of coffee on the balcony and one day the sound of smaller feet running to their bed in the middle of the night. She’s not sure she deserves the thought of any of it, but when she glances at Vi’s half smile, she knows she probably never was worthy of it. Not with someone like Vi. But Gods, Vi is worthy of all of it. Deserves all of it. And if she wants it to be with Caitlyn, Caitlyn vows that she will rise to the occasion. But for now, it’s just nice to sit in the room at the two desks. She’s glad it feels nice. At some point Vi uses the bathroom and settles into a chair by the window. She’s a bit closer but it only takes a minute for Caitlyn to move to the neighboring chair. 

“What are you working on?” Vi asks. 

“Staff payroll,” Caitlyn says. Vi actually looks interested though Caitlyn finds it unbearably boring, “do you—“ she holds up the paper. 

“You can show me another time?” Vi offers, “if you’re busy—“

“I don’t mind,” Caitlyn says. Vi swallows but the interest doesn’t wane from her eyes. Caitlyn doesn’t know what possesses her. Maybe the books on the shelf or the fact that Vi is sitting here, “it’s a lot to learn,” she warns, “but it would be easier if we went slow,” she tries to smile against the sudden burning in her eye, “I wouldn’t recommend learning it all at once alone.”

“Cait,” Vi is suddenly half on the chair with her.

She wedges them tight together. It makes the burning worse but Caitlyn fights the urge to cry. Vi has been stupidly wonderful and Caitlyn doesn’t want to burden her. Not when Vi has lost everything and Caitlyn is only dealing with the consequences of her own foolishness. This is Vi’s first Christmas with them and Caitlyn wanted to make it special. Instead she’s fighting tears as Vi wraps her arm around her shoulders and presses her lips to her temple. 

“You’re not alone anymore,” she says in that firm, convicted way of hers. Caitlyn shakes her head, “I’m here.”

“No,” Caitlyn protests, “you shouldn’t be taking care of me,” she sets the paper down and wipes her cheeks, “I suppose payroll really does bore one to tears,” she says, fumbling for the humor even though it feels dangerously like she might sob. 

“Great,” Vi says and takes the paper, “I need to start with something boring before we get to the hard stuff.”

“But—“

“Hang on, I need to concentrate,” Vi says and tightens her arm around her shoulders. 

If she’s not talking though, then there’s nothing to do but choke on her sobs. And if there’s nothing to do but that, then at some point her body forces her simply to cry. Even though she’s been dreading it with the lack of an eye. It feels terrible, as crying usually does. The lack of an eye is worse but the feel of Vi’s arm around her shoulders is better. Somehow it puts her back even with the miserable tears that remind her she’s powerless against some things. 

“Gives us a minute!” Vi calls and Caitlyn realizes someone has knocked. But Vi holds her close so she can be tearful in peace. She somehow lets Caitlyn have privacy and let’s her know she’s not alone, “tell me how to help,” Vi murmurs into her hair when the tears have slowed, “I was gonna invite you over to the old room,” she says, “what if we stayed here?” Caitlyn nods.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Vi says, tightening her arm around her shoulders, “I’m sure.”

“I can’t believe I made us both cry your first Christmas,” Caitlyn says, embarrassment churning in her gut, “that wasn’t my intention.”

Vi gives her a long look and then tugs her upright. She guides her over to the bed and spares one fond, annoyed look towards it. Caitlyn rolls her eyes. This bed is even larger than the monstrosity in her room. Despite all her tossing and turning, the other side of the bed is completely untouched. It’s that big. Vi guides her down until Caitlyn’s head is resting on her lap. Her remaining eye still trickles with tears. Vi makes sure her hands are dry and thumbs open the book. Caitlyn realizes she’s already tucked a scrap of paper into one of the pages. When Caitlyn looks at the illustration, she can see why. Multiple girls are twirling in some kind of ballroom, but two that clasp hands are dressed in pink and blue. 

“I told you I’m shit at this, right?” Vi says. Caitlyn nods and curls her fingers around Vi’s thigh in a silent plea. 

Vi clears her throat. 

And starts to read. 

[whumblr]

Losing battles, winning wars

Crossed out - Continued from ch.11 - Prologue

-

“A visitor?”

Ava brought up her agenda for the day, pressing the phone to her ear with her shoulder. Sure enough, she hadn’t missed anything; the only thing scheduled for the upcoming hour was a quick meet with Sarah. No outside clients for today. With half an eye still on the file in her hand and the phone in the other, the name the receptionist gave her didn’t fully register through her surprise—and annoyance.

“Yes, ma’am, he is—"

“Tell him I don’t do walk-ins, Fletcher, and that he can make an appointment like the rest of the world.”

A soft rustle sounded, as if Fletcher turned away from his visitor and cupped a hand to the phone. “He says he’s police,” he whispered, “and that it’s urgent.”

Ava didn’t bother repressing an annoyed sigh. “Send him up, then. I’ll give him ten minutes.”

Police… she mused when she put the phone back in its holder, a little more forceful than necessary. Not uncommon given her line of work and the defendants they represented, but usually handled through the right networks and with the right communication. Given this deviance – and the ambush – she had a feeling she knew what this was about.

The USB drive Lucas had given her was snugly plugged in her laptop. She removed it, put it in a drawer, and closed all digital files still open. Unreasonable, she knew that, not like he was going to tell by glancing at the stick what was on it or get anywhere near her computer, but still.

A knock on the glass door interrupted her musings and she turned.

“Ava.” Her secretary, already a girl of small stature, stepped aside in the doorway, dwarfed by the man she was escorting. “Mr Mathison.”

The man gave a polite nod and smile at the girl in thanks and she didn’t seem uncomfortable in his presence.

Ava, however, put on her game-face to hide her surprise. She had seen this man before. Leading a pack of black-clad armed men into a theatre. Marching back out with a bloodied Lucas.

He was wearing the same long black coat as he had then, a white dress shirt underneath and wearing black slacks. Given his clothes, here in the business district he could pass as a cunning lawyer or business man – probably what he was going for in public – and if she’d passed him in the lobby, she wouldn’t think twice about that assumption. But his manner and poise – the at ease stance with his hands behind his back – betrayed a little something else. And, well, having seen him having a bloodied man carried out of a public theatre might skew her judgement. Despite his attempt at this ‘disguise’, it was clear up close that this man was law enforcement through and through.

Not to mention she had done her research. Or rather, Lucas’ research, combined with some searches of her own. She was well aware this was the man Lucas suspected of murder, a man in charge of a prison, probably holding Lucas in custody. Illegal custody.

“Mr Mathison,” she echoed her secretary, but with a hint of ice in her tone. Time was precious after all, especially if it was taken from you like this.

“Ms Akwebe,” Mathison returned the greeting with a slight nod, his voice a deep rumble.

He shook her hand, less firm than she’d expected, and he immediately took a step back, making sure to keep a distance. The gesture seemed polite, but to Ava it seemed calculated. A façade that he merely kept up to compensate for his intimidating presence and that now clashed with how he’d bulldozered his way in here.

“Thank you for meeting me. I understand I am taking up your time so I’d like to get straight to business.”

He sat down on the sofa without waiting for an invitation. And just before he settled down, something caught Ava’s eye and she bristled with suppressed fury.

“Mr Mathison, you’ve either got a lot of guts or a lot of issues carrying that into my office.”

She nodded at the slight bulge next to his chest, under his coat, where she’d noticed his shirt had crinkled in a way that seemed familiar.

He didn’t seem bothered, didn’t adjust his coat nor moved and merely gave a polite smile. “Well spotted.”

“Do I need to call security in here?”

“I do not believe that is necessary. After all, they cleared me at the entrance as I have a concealed carry permit. I do apologise if it makes you uncomfortable.”

While anger was a form of discomfort, bubbling up inside her chest, she would never let it show. She had remained standing behind the other couch, perhaps an unconscious manner of creating some distance between them. But before he could notice and add to her ‘discomfort’ she walked around and sat directly across from him. This was a power play through and through; showing up assuming she’d make time for him, carrying a gun into her office.

“I assume you’re here about Lucas,” she said, not wanting to give the man a way to beat around the bush. After all, ten minutes is ten minutes.

“I am,” he said. “You are his supervisor?”

“I don’t supervise, mr Mathison. I lead a team of skilled people and I need them to be competent enough to work independently, without me holding their hand along the way.“

“Maybe it you hadn’t just held his hand but actively pulled him back we wouldn’t be here.”

“I don’t like what you’re implying.”

He held up his hands. “My apologies. You are aware what the charges are against him?”

“Helping a client with some less than scrupulous advice.”

“Yes. We are under the impression that he was acting independently, so none of that rubs off on you or the other people here.”

“Which client?” Ava pressed, and she expected him to blink and go ‘what?’ in that fake polite voice of his but the man didn’t hesitate at all.

“Unfortunately I cannot tell you that. The investigation is still pending and I can’t name names. I’m sure you can understand.”

“I need to know to make sure others don’t fall for the same trap.”

“I can assure you this person will never walk into this building to seek legal or other unscrupulous assistance again. Should that change, I will be the first to give you a heads up.”

He was quite invested in this fake story. While Ava was more interested in the real story and the illegal detainment. But she was stuck there. She couldn’t ask, couldn’t hint, couldn’t press. She’d only oust herself and paint a clear target on her back. So against her principles, she had to relent and allow him a win here. She’d strike when the time was right.

“We think he acted independently,” Mathison said again when she sat back on the sofa, “but I wanted to ask you if you noticed anything… different about his behaviour the weeks before his arrest.”

How antsy he was, bolting out of the building at random times, working overtime once his regular work files had been finished – though uncharacteristically rushed –  clearly exhausted but working like a possessed man? While she’d hated him ambushing her at the theatre, at least it cleared the fog and he had finally confided in her. “Nothing unusual,” she lied.

“You were with him the day of his arrest.”

Ah, so that’s why he was here. Combed through security footage, now, had he. She could turn him away with a single word; merely as warden this man did not have the jurisdiction to get involved with any investigation. But doing so wouldn’t get her anywhere, it would only give her a mental win while what she needed were answers.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“We were at the theatre. We were seeing a movie.”

“Which movie?”

“The journey to Mars.”

“Did you plan this trip?”

“We happened to meet inside.” Close enough to the truth with him ambushing her.

“Did he give you anything?”

“Cash for my niece to get snacks.”

“Nothing else?”

“Nothing else.” An enormous headache, sure, but probably not as bad as his own when they’d carried him out, near-unconscious. A tinge of rage twisted in her stomach.

He asked several more questions and she answered with as little information as she could but still enough and being cooperative, to make sure that, first, he’d believe she was no threat, and second, to never have him ‘visit’ again for more follow-up questions. At the end, he seemed satisfied and at ten minutes sharp, he stood, thanked her for her time and left as sudden as he’d announced his arrival.

Ava dropped back on the sofa, still whirling from this force of nature that had just blown through.

A knock on the door again, this time from a welcome visitor.

“That was him?” A blonde woman, carrying a stack of files almost reaching her chin, walked into the office. Sarah, the person she actually had a meeting with and who probably had hovered awkwardly in the hallway, carrying pounds of paperwork and waiting for them to finish up.

Ava nodded and sat back with a sigh, gesturing for her to sit down. “That was him.”

With a heavy thud Sarah dropped the stack of files on the table in-between the two sofas. She looked back, as if she could still see the imposing man retreating out the door. “Seems like a handful.”

“You have no idea… What did you want to discuss?”

“You asked me to look into the financial aspects of the prison. His prison.” She nodded back.

“What did you find?”

Sarah scattered a number of files over the table and opened one of them. “Mostly what you’d expect to find. There are, however, monthly recurring transfers that aren’t from the government or charities or corporations, but from private persons or institutions. Booked as donations.”

“Is that uncommon?”

“Not in itself, but it is in this amount and usually donations are one-off. So, I looked into some of the names and that’s where it starts to get odd. I recognised some of the cases connected—” she pulled out two files from under the others and opened one, pointed at the name, “— this one, rather obvious, connected to the local mob, so that’s enough to make you wonder. But this one—” she opened the other file and tapped the name at the top of the page, “—Newport, government family who lost a son in that hit-and-run a few years back, whole thing was splashed over the news.”

“I remember. High profile case. They donated? The family?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Multiple times?”

“Over multiple years.”

“Are we sure these donations are voluntary?”

“No. But it seems they are.”

Ava furrowed a brow. “Are they donating or paying…?” she pondered out loud.

“Donating to keep their son’s killer incarcerated?”

A far reach. Something she absolutely would have dismissed before. Before she had read Lucas’ research on the prison.

She didn’t want to speculate too much. Get the facts first, they will point out a pattern and confirm their hypotheses or not. “Good find, Sarah. Run through all the names behind the donations. Double check them with the names of inmates – ask Robin for help with that, he’s looking into that – see if some are connected to the mob or rivalling factions, families connected to any crimes or victims—”

“Everything.” Sarah nodded, already ahead of her. “I’m on it.” She stood, but lingered near the door. “Any word on Lucas?”

“Nothing. All silent on the front.”

Sarah bit her lip, gave a solemn nod but her eyes blazed with determination, and turned back to her own desk.

Ava looked at the stack of files in front of her. A wry smile formed at her lips and the same determination lit in her eyes.

You may think the world bends to you, Mr Mathison, but that’s going to snap back at you some time.

Backing down was not her style, but she knew damn well when to pull back a little for the sake of winning in the long run. She wasn’t sure she’d parried all of his suspicions but even if he weren’t fully convinced they weren’t involved, he couldn’t do a thing about it. They were all involved. And they were coming for him, and coming for Lucas.

She opened the file Sarah put on top of the stack, settled in for work, and read the top line.

Newport v Georgiou.

-

Tag list: @gala1981 @chaotic-orphan @lolrpop @andithewhumper @tippytappytyping

@suspicious-whumping-egg @cherrychupachup @alexmundaythrufriday @defire @withdrawingramen

@light-me-on-pyre @treasureguardingdragon @notactuallyluska @fortunately-cool-penguin

[astracora]

The Cat Curse - MC Edition

Characters: Sylus x gn!mc (poly lads)

Warnings: Heavy hurt|Some comfort, Semi-canon compliant heart condition, Spoilers for current story release (Small mentions of Sylus bond up to 102 and all of Sylus' currently released content).

Word Count: 4170

Written: 23rd December 2024

Notes: New relationship Sylus/MC-centric but poly LADs (this time with group chat), with my personal pov of the game and lil headcanons littered in. Unnamed MC, but using my personal MC's basic appearance and adjusted backstory. I take some liberties with what the game offers me.

Now Playing: Monster, by STARSET

You've been responding to his messages, Sylus notes, but something's off. He's been away on some inane business trip, ever since you, the doctor, the fish, the prince and he had visited a new kitty cafe opening. He rarely gets to see you visibly excited, you are worse at showing your feelings on your face than he is. Whenever you're faced with animals, of any kind, even Mephisto, your eyes sparkle and you could easily spend hours upon hours sat with them. Even more so if they let you pet them.

The first time you'd seen the evol kitties, according to the doctor, you'd been unsure. They didn't look like cats. Something off and a little wrong, but they mewed at you and straight away you'd gently stroked their noses. As if unable to hold back.

Since then you would drag any of them along to play kitty cards. You didn't like the game, had no patience for strategy, but you did like petting the cats. Sitting there between every round, barely looking at the board, and tickling small whiskers. Much to the fish's distress.

While Sylus doesn't really care if he wins or loses around you, he's almost assured a win when playing with you because it's simply not something you care about. Distracted and unbothered by the game. He's only relieved that when he sprouted ears and a tail (of the caracal kind), you had been just as enamoured with those. Finally smothering him in affection in the same way, and being distracted by his tail. Though he'd never confess to competing with cats, at this point it's just an everyday occurrence.

He found he enjoyed playing most with the doctor, unlike when the man played with you, he took no soft approach with Sylus, and it was fun to butt heads with him. Stubborn as they both could be. That left you to lean your head on the fish's lap, the prince asleep against your side already, and play with cats, to a backdrop of 'You're cheating', 'I'm simply better at this than you.', 'If you would stop getting distracted-' that you mostly blocked out.

Rounds later, he paid the bill before anyone else got chance to, and picked up some cakes to take back.

Then he'd had his business trip to attend, having moved things around so on your rare day off, you could see everyone. It was never fun to drop you off, Sylus missed you anytime he could not see you, and though he was prideful, he had been honest about not being able to sleep without the sound of your voice. A confession you'd flushed at and tugged at one of the straps of your prosthetic.

He'd watched you waver over how to respond, biting at your lip, and fidgeting, as you fought against your urge to run away from him.

Trying didn't come easy, you'd told him. Honesty and openness, it got even harder when you'd lost your family, it got easier with every day you were given room to breathe by all of them, and every friend you held dear to your 'broken' heart. He didn't want to dig, or poke at old wounds, not now you were trying to live... but he often saw too much of himself in you.

Whether it was because of the way you'd grown up, or his soul inside of you, it made him even more careful and aware of offering you what you offered him.

"I'll miss you too, Sy. Call me, alright?" Your finally settled on, cool metal hand taking his in yours and squeezing. Before he'd left you, reluctant and complaining, he'd pressed kisses over your face, down your neck, and finally pushed you to the wall of your apartment building, to steal all the air from your lungs. Thigh holding you up, as he tangled his hands in your hair.

When he'd tried to pull away, he couldn't quite, leaning back in once, twice, three times, chasing the warmth of your mouth. Over and over.

You'd laughed, pushing him back to breathe, gasping, "It's a week. We'll be fine for a week."

A week... you aren't possessive enough, he thinks, spinning his pen in his hand. Half listening to Luke and Kieran talk. He feels as though he's emptied and lost, missing parts of what makes him who he is, and your messages feel... the same.

He could be reading into it... you're not exactly one to put your heart on your sleeve, or cling. You're independent because you've had to be, and he still hasn't had enough time to get you to lean all of your weight on him.

So he sends a message into the group chat without you, made in order to plan surprises or outings.

🐦‍⬛: Is everything ok back home?

⛄️: Aren't you busy?

🐦‍⬛: I'm taking a break.

They don't have to know he's tuning out his business partners, hoping they'll talk themselves out so he can leave.

🐠: lucky, some of us have r busy

🐠: [Attached photo]

🐦‍⬛: Please tell me that's not paint on my walnut table.

🐠: won't answer u then

⭐️: looks more colourful now

He rubs the space between his eyes, already dreading returning to the mess, and regretting letting the fish use his space for storing work while his studio is being fumigated. The partners at the table tense at his action, but he doesn't bother sparing them a glance, so they relax and resume talking.

🐦‍⬛: Is anyone going to answer my question?

⛄️: Is there a reason you're asking?

He hesitates, it's just a feeling, if he worries everyone, and it's nothing...

No, he didn't get this far by not trusting his instincts.

🐦‍⬛: Kitten's messages have felt off.

Two exclamation reactions are his instant response, the fish and prince. They start to type, then stop, then start again.

🐠: what way?

⭐️: have U called them?

⛄️: Calm down, they took some time off work because of a cold.

🐠: y didn't anyone tell us?

⛄️: I thought they would have asked Tara to contact you, or contacted you themselves?

🐦‍⬛:  They didn't.

⭐️: ive been on mission for a couple of days, i can stop in tomorrow when its over

He puts his phone down too forcefully and looks at the room. He's... irritated. Not like he normally is when it comes to you, a childish way where he can't have enough as he likes from you. Like you're a toy he cannot stop playing with. He's almost angry, but mostly sad.

He's been patient, surely you can at least talk to him if you feel sick?

Sylus is done with this trip, he's bored of listening to people talk nonsense, and he has no need for anything they have to offer. "We're done here, Luke. Kieran."

Waving his hand absently and ignoring protests behind him, he leaves the room, phone in hand.

🐦‍⬛: I'm coming back now.

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

Jenna had sent you home, it's not the first time she has. You're terrified one day she'll get bored of having to keep track of your health. Or you'll really let her down, and get you... or more importantly someone else, hurt.

It's probably not a normal mindset to worry so much about what your boss thinks, or to fear disappointing them like they're your parent.

It's not like you have parents to know what's that like... but gran's disappointment every time you got into fights growing up... well it was enough.

Caleb used to cover for you, within reason. He lectured you, told you to pull yourself up and figure it out. That fighting every battle against every jerk you met, reckless and stupid, would get you killed. "Come on pipsqueak, use that energy for something better. Something worthwhile."

So many reasons you didn't want to or couldn't, you wanted to tell him... a hand clenched over your chest.

You were so tired of disappointing them both though, so tired of seeing worn eyes tending to cuts and bruises. Bandaging your back, or fixing the set of your arm.

Being a hunter was that answer. If you used what little life you had in you, unsure when your busted up heart would give out finally, then you could greet Caleb and Gran with pride. Your life was a tool, to make others better.

So every day you weren't working, felt like a day you were failing them... failing to be worth anything other than the core in your chest. A vessel with no purpose or value but to hold something you hated. That could kill you.

It wasn't like you could work like this though... you'd laughed at your partners when they'd sprouted ears and tails. Especially Raffy, he'd been so disgruntled at the fate that had befallen him. This was... probably karma. Pointed, soft ears on top of your head, pinned back against your skull. Pristine white, so they at least blended into your hair.

At your back, a bristled tail, huge and furry... already having picked up some dirt to sully what had been pure white.

It hadn't settled since it had appeared, and you wondered what that said about you...

Fucked up mess. Stupid fool. Useless.

Too loud, everything was too loud. You could hear your neighbours through the walls, all the cars below your apartment, every child crying, dog barking, cat mewling.

It hurts.

You covered your ears with your hand, but noise filtered in through the new set you'd acquired.

Hurts.

You'd grown accustomed to the state of your heart. If you don't pay attention you can miss something, and you care now... perhaps you always did, just too raw like an open wound to let yourself.

It's racing and panicked. You don't need your hunter's watch to know it's too fast. 

Burying yourself into your bed, you cover your head with the duvet, grab at your headphones to shove them into your ears, turning them as loud as they can go, and bury your head under the pillows.

Your phone buzzes at your side, and you don't want to touch it. Scared to leave the cocoon you've built for yourself.

You'd begged Tara to tell Zayne you were sick with a cold, that you would be fine soon. She'd given you a heartbroken look that had made you bristle further, pity. Always pity.

You didn't want pity.

Before your fraying emotions could get the best of you, you'd fled the hunters association, hood up over your head and run home.

You can feel your tail trembling, struggling to swish under the blanket as you struggle to calm down, to at least get some sleep.

Maybe if you sleep it will go away.

Maybe when you wake up you'll feel better.

Useful.

Worth having around.

Not on the cusp of disappearing with nothing to show for yourself.

-----

When you'd woken up, tail still bristled, and newly acquired fangs digging into your bottom lip. Blood staining the bedsheet, you'd finally fished your phone out from your nest.

3am.

The world was quieter for it, and you wondered if this was part of why Sylus preferred the night to day.

You didn't remove your headphones, but you did finally open up your messaging app, seeing messages from everyone.

TaraTara💖: I hope you're ok bestie, if you need anything let me know.

Number One Lumiere Fan: Tara said you were sick, if you have time, I have a few shows you could watch to waste time. Only one is about Lumiere! Promise!

Simone (the one whose guns explode): Hey! Tara said you weren't doing so hot, if you want some company for a movie night, I make the best soup you'll ever have!

Captain: Remember to actually get some rest, take advantage of the break, alright? Everything will be fine here.

🐠cute fishie 🐠: hey cutie, wat do u think?

🐠cute fishie🐠: [Attached Image]

⭐️little star⭐️: missions going well, how are U?

⛄️sweet snowman⛄️: Tara said you're sick, I'll come over to check on you as soon as I can. Make sure you eat and drink.

🐦‍⬛pretty bird🐦‍⬛: Meetings are always more boring without you kitten, I hope you're missing me as much.

Your tail settles, curling against your side, fur flattening and you try really hard not to cry. You wish you'd thanked Tara when you left instead of fleeing, overstimulated and hurting.

Wounded like the cat you're teasingly referred to as. Feral and ready to hiss and scratch. You've spent so many years shutting people out.

Shutting Gran and Caleb out.

Shutting them out you wasted so much time until it was too late.

Why can't you learn?

You force yourself to respond, trying to sound as much yourself as you can... it's unnerving, to wear a mask over a mask. You wonder if you'll ever recognise your reflection.

You hesitate as you go to respond to your partners. You should tell them, reaching up to roughly pull the ears on your head. They'd understand, they've been where you are. Your brain says you should go to the kitty cafe, find out how to fix it this time around... but being out there, in the noise...

Instead you send some version of you're fine, and things are fine, everything is good. You're good.

You're together. You're useful. You're not a burden.

You aren't fragile and sick and useless.

You are worth keeping around, even when your heart picks up speed again, beating so hard against your chest that you fear the core wants to escape its fleshy vessel.

The straps attaching your prosthetic are digging into your skin, rubbing it raw, but you ache to even try to remove it. Fighting with the buckles and biting at the bit. You're still in your uniform, and you're sure by now you need a shower. The idea of water shooting a shot of anxiety straight into your chest, flaring up your tail, and your ears flatten as far as they can.

No water...

Maybe later.

Or you can really fill out how shit you feel with a wet wipe bath.

Caleb would kill you.

You don't want to think about it anymore. You want to let the quiet take over, or reasonably so with the screamo in your ears. Blasting the noise outside into nothing.

So you go back to sleep. Easing the pain in your heart with the only sure fire way.

---------

You can't breathe. You can't breathe.

Bolt upright in bed, hissing through your teeth, chest so tight you can feel your ribs.

You flounder, pulling at where your straps should be, but they're gone, no leather under your fingers. So you move to claw at your chest with one hand, gasping.

Hands grab you, and you struggle and you fight and you hiss. Fangs out, feral and ready to claw your way free. Arms far stronger than you pull you against a warm chest, tilt your head back and pills are placed in your mouth. You try to spit them out but a hand is on your throat, rubbing at your larynx. You swallow and then water follows it.

You splutter and cough, and you wriggle and struggle. Your head is pressed against skin, and you sink your fangs in.

Out. Out. Out.

"It's alright, you're alright, I'm here."

Blood fills your mouth and his scent surrounds you and you shiver. Blinking as your heart medication begins to do its job, easing the fractured organ in your chest. You spit, trying to clear your mouth of the taste of metal, shivering and shaking but your chest isn't constricting you now.

"Sy-" You cry outloud, he holds you, not bothered by the blood tricking down his shoulder. Of course he isn't, he heals it, the pain nothing in comparison to watching you choke on air you can't breathe. "Sorry. Sorry." You mumble against his skin, licking where you bit, crying and shaking. Wrapping your arm around his neck.

He assures you, and he rocks you both in his arms, rubbing your back and running a hand through your hair. Careful around your ears, not going far enough down to touch your bristled tail.

He hums and he rocks, and he squeezes you tight enough to ground you.

It's an hour or two later when you can finally feel any semblance of stable. You can't bring yourself to look at Sylus, he's stroking your cheek and wiping tears from your face, and all you can do is stare at the bed. You can't think of what to say.

You didn't take your medication, you hurt him... it's not the first time, but when this happened with Caleb you didn't have a cats' fangs.

Between you opening up and me prying, I prefer the former. He'd told you, after a terrible day, listing every way he would support you.

With all your sharp edge, you place your hand over his on your cheek, "I'm sorry, Sy."

He huffs, turning you in his arms so you're facing each other, but his one hand grips your hip, sturdy. Solid, strong. He doesn't hurt, but escaping would be hard. You try hard not to.

Though you can feel the... your tail swishing.

He looks at it, at your ears, then at you, red nosed and disheveled.

"Explain."

It's a command, brooking little argument, and though normally you'd refuse to take orders, you duck your head now. Avoiding molten eyes and seeking out something to focus on. The hand that was on your head, stretches out in between you both, palm up, and you take it quickly. Toying with his fingers, squeezing it in your own. Finding connection in your hand on his.

"Jenna sent me home, my evol doesn't work, I can't fight. I... it hurt. Everything's so loud."

You can't see it as he frowns, as your ears prick, then settle, seeking out all the things that hurt them. "I went to sleep, thought it would make this go away, but it didn't."

"Why didn't you tell me?" You hear it then, the pain, like he's biting down on glass. Your eyes dart up and his eyes are glassy, warm red gone dull. "You left your prosthetic on. It was rubbing your skin raw at the angle you were sleeping. There was blood on your sheets." He presses his forehead to yours and breathes you in, "Then this. Why didn't you tell me?" His voice cracks, and you want to be sick.

You twine your fingers with his and choke on the words, "I didn't want to be a bother."

He hisses, his grip on your hand almost hurts, but you probably deserve so much worse. You lied to him, to them, and you hurt him. More than just biting at him.

"You need to tell me. No matter what. No matter what I'm doing, beloved. No matter the issue." He kisses your forehead, over and over and over again. "Promise me."

You nod, and curl your pinky around his, just like you used to with Caleb when he made you promise to come to him with an injury. The words are too stuck in your throat, your voice too sore to use, but you nod. Desperately.

"You're not a burden to be carried, kitten. Ever. Do you understand?"

You don't. You want to, but it's hard. There is no part of you that feels easy or fun, but you do love him. So much. More than you thought yourself capable of. More than you wanted, on borrowed time.

"I'll try." You promise, and it feels like you've cycled back around to the start. Promising to figure things out at home, promising to aim for something. A future you're not sure you're going to ever see.

He takes it in earnest, you do not go back on your word. You are loyal and once you trust, you trust with your heart and your soul. It is yourself you do not trust.

Instead he eases you back into his lap and stands, you flinch and release his hand to grab his neck with your hand. "You need to be cleaned up, I'll help." You go to tell him no because it's water, and you're more a cat than even he teases you for, but you have your head in his neck at this angle, and his scent is so strong. Your tail flattens and begins to flick, lazy and soothed. You hear him chuckle, vibrating through his chest and through yours. "I'm not going anywhere."

-----------

Sylus eases you through steps. He's seen you injured, he's seen you with phantom pains, and he's watched you battle nightmares. Wanderers with swords through your chest, your heart stopping, an explosion you can't stop. He knows what you look like when wounded, he also knows that you fear his reaction when you are.

It takes time to heal wounds, he knows that intimately. You'd never shed your rage or anger, not really. When someone has made mention of gods you'd scoffed, when someone has talked about EVER and their many plans to help humanity, you'd snarled. You trust no king, no god, no corporation to fix the world or the people in it. He knows you're always scared but you keep walking forwards anyway, and he admires and loves you for it.

He just wishes you'd take his hand when that happens.

He has not felt fear like seeing your heart failing you in his arms before, and no matter the violence of your struggle, he would let you rip him to pieces to survive.

He has so much time, and his greatest fear is losing you too soon.

He cleans, and he dries, brushing hair and rubbing lotion to ease the burns on your skin. He helps you dress, finding clothes that don't irritate your tail, because at least he is intimately familiar with that, and then he sits you down on the couch with vegetable soup. Not handmade, though he'd rather have done so. He doesn't want to leave you alone, so he orders what he needs. Sending the twins running around. He's sure you'd like to see them, but he's worried their exuberance will agitate the overstimulation you're combatting.

Watching your ears flick this way and that, picking up too much. As though you don't already struggle with the world's input.

He almost feeds you, wanting to heal you with his own hands, like he's anything like the doctor... he's not. His skills are in bloodshed, and he is as sharp edged as you are.

Except you have made yourself a weapon, to be worth the pain, and he was made a weapon, to survive the pain.

He does not move far away, however, kneeling at your feet, and massaging your calves while you eat. You try to pull your legs away, but he keeps them held, and continues his movements. You have soothed his body before, stitched his wounds, kissed where his scars would be, and he will not have you lacking his own love and affection.

A dragon does not love lightly. Though you don't remember the depths he has gone to for you. This is an easy act of devotion.

"You need to tell them too." He finally speaks, as you clear your bowl. He's relieved to see your ears are no longer flat, your tail is not bristled, you are as relaxed as you can be. You nod, guilt written in your face, and he retrieves your phone for you on black and red mist.

Sitting at your side, he grabs your brush and begins to brush your tail. You almost leap into the air, startled and dropping your phone onto the couch cushions. "Sy!"

"Cat fur can get tangled, especially long fur." He smirks, pulling you closer, and brushing through it with long fingers, "So let me take care of it."

You flinch at the contact, stare at where his hand is in the new found attachment, then keeping your eyes trained on your phone, you nod.

He's content to let you write out what you need to, to be honest with the others, he doesn't want to have that job. It's your mission to step out of your self made cage. So he brushes quietly, the twitching tail in his hands restless, but soon as soft as you can be in your relaxed moments.

Your head hits his shoulder, ears twitching in sleep as all the pent up energy and stress escapes you. Held in long white furs in a small brush. You mutter in your sleep, words he can't understand, and whistle through your nose, little noises that make him laugh.

The best, however, is the purring in the back of your throat, broken up by sleep, and the tail that has found its way around his wrist.

He does not move you, but he retrieves a blanket and holds you against him, cheek pressed to the top of your head, against your fur ears, and keeps watch while you finally find some peace.

⛄️: Are they alright?

🐦‍⬛: They will be.

[itacats]

Grief Beyond His Grave - Mini Series

FT: Simon x Reader

Warnings: Grief, loss of a loved one, emotional content, and mentions of death.

SUM: Six months after Simon’s passing, you uncover letters he left behind, each filled with love, memories, and heartfelt wishes. As you read them, his words become your guide through grief, offering hope and strength to rediscover life despite his absence.

A/N: Grab some tissues for this one—it’s a tearjerker but worth the journey! Let Simon’s love remind us that healing comes in waves 🌧️💌.

Grief Beyond His Grave Masterlist

Letters Left Behind

The house had grown quiet in the six months since Simon’s funeral, the kind of quiet that seemed to settle into the bones of the walls and linger in every corner. It was the absence of him that haunted you most—the space he once occupied, now filled with silence, heavy and unyielding. Days bled into nights, and weeks blurred together in a haze of half-hearted movements and unanswered questions. Even the echoes of laughter that used to fill the halls had faded, replaced by the soft hum of memories, faint but unrelenting, like ghosts drifting through the house.

It was on a rainy afternoon, the sky weeping in time with your aching heart, that you finally confronted the chest in the bedroom corner. You had ignored it for so long, fearing the weight of its contents, but the flicker of curiosity—or perhaps desperation—pushed you forward. The chest was dusty, its hinges groaning softly as you opened it, revealing fragments of your shared life. Photographs, pressed flowers, and mementos lay in a tangled embrace, but it was the neat stack of envelopes atop them that drew your attention.

Each envelope bore your name, written in Simon’s distinct handwriting, along with a date. You traced the curves of his script with trembling fingers, as if his touch still lingered on the paper. The first letter was dated for your first anniversary. It felt impossibly heavy in your hands, and as you opened it, the room seemed to hold its breath.

My love,One year feels like a heartbeat, yet also a lifetime. You have given me more joy than I ever thought possible. Your laugh is the light that keeps my shadows at bay. I love you more with every passing day.Forever yours, Simon.

His words poured over you like a balm, soothing the raw edges of your grief. His voice, so familiar and tender, seemed to echo in your mind. Each letter you opened unraveled more of his love, and with every word, the memories he described came alive—picnics in the park under cerulean skies, his arms around you on lazy Sundays, and the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled.

The fourth letter struck you harder than the rest.

My love,I never thought peace was something I’d find in this life, but you’ve shown me it’s possible. You are my calm amidst the storms. If ever I am not with you, know that you are my anchor, my reason for everything. I dream of a life where I wake up beside you every day. Thank you for giving me hope in this uncertain world.Forever yours, Simon.

By the time you reached the final letter, your heart was both heavy and hopeful. The date on the envelope made you pause—it had been written just days before Simon’s last mission, the one from which he never returned. You hesitated, as if delaying the inevitable might stave off the finality of his absence.

When you finally opened it, Simon’s words spilled out in a flood of raw, unfiltered emotion.

My dearest,If you’re reading this, it means I can no longer say these things to you in person. I hate that thought. More than anything, I wish to be there, holding you, laughing with you, simply existing with you.

Remember the small things—your laugh, the way you curl into my side, the way you kiss me goodnight even when you’re half-asleep. Those moments are everything to me, and they are what I hold on to when I’m away.

I dream of growing old with you, of sharing sunsets and grandchildren’s laughter. But if that isn’t to be, I need you to promise me something: live. Not just survive, but truly live. Let yourself find joy, even if it feels impossible now. Carry me with you, but don’t let my absence steal your light.

Yours, always, Simon.

Tears blurred the words as you clutched the letter to your chest, your sobs echoing through the empty house. The weight of his love, his hope, and his absence was unbearable, yet it also grounded you. Simon had poured himself into these letters, leaving behind fragments of his soul for you to hold onto.

Hours passed as you sat on the floor, surrounded by his words and your memories. The storm outside had softened to a gentle drizzle by the time you carefully tucked the letters back into the chest. Though the ache in your heart remained, a faint thread of peace had begun to weave its way through the pain.

Simon had been right: love doesn’t end. It changes, perhaps, but it never truly dies.

As the days turned to weeks and weeks to months, you carried his words with you. They became a quiet strength, a reminder to find your way back to the world, even if it was without him by your side.

And in the still moments, when the house was quiet and your thoughts drifted, you could almost hear his whisper: Live, my love. For both of us.

Come join the follower event!!

Here's the current post schedule with some upcoming stories to look forward to!

[longlivedelusion]

Hii, I saw you were doing requests for Marauders era things... Would you be keen to do a jegulus fic? would love to see them with a neurodivergent reader or something 💞 thank you !!! Ok if not comfortable

Thank you for your patience anon, if you're still around! Inspiration finally struck as I'm currently working through my own processes with my neurodivergent & mental health things. So I felt like what better time than now to write some fic therapy? Hope you enjoy! 🤍

The Art of Trying

Warnings: some angst and miscommunication. Good ending tho. My own personal portrayal of how neurodivergency shows up for me 🤍 but I know it's a spectrum for everyone. I'm no expert, just a human existing and trying.

James knew your routine well. He'd even adjusted some of his own so it could match up with yours well, which luckily didn't take too much effort given you were both early risers. Regulus, however, was the night owl of the three of you. He only woke up well after James and you had finished your morning tasks, and would work around the house quietly at night. But despite this, you'd all found a peaceful compromise in your daily lives so that this relationship could be at its absolute best. Thriving, he would say.

That was until Regulus got a new job that required him to be out by 8am. Which meant, a change in how you all lived and did things.

For James, the change was easy. He thrived with more people around, and waking up at the same time as his other partner felt like heaven. But for you... He knew this was a lot harder on you than you were admitting.

It started off fine, you also enjoyed the extra kisses and cuddles the first day, the second even. But James could tell that as you settled down after the excitement, the reality must have set in because you stopped making eye contact with them on the third day. Avoided their touches on the fourth.

By the end of the week, your voice turned cold.

"Can I please have some room." You mumbled out with a bit of an edge. Your body sliding carefully by Regulus's but not touching him. Reggie was making breakfast, some sort of omelette situation, but that meant there was cutting boards and cheeses and utensils all around and no space.

James was sitting at the breakfast nook with his coffee, reading over the Daily Prophet when he perked up at the tone.

"Of course darling," Regulus said, wand out immediately as he tidied up. "Apologies for that. Would you like an omelette?"

You grabbed your usual bowl, your yogurt, not even looking up to answer. "No thanks." You grabbed your things, saying a quick have a good day before you left for the bedroom and closed the door shut.

Now Regulus had been aware you were having a hard time adjusting, they'd anticipated it even. So he tried his best to accommodate your needs, but at the same time he had his routines as well. And he struggled the same, if not differently from too many changed to his own routine. James could tell the cold and distant attitude was affecting Reggie now as well, despite how patient he tried to be.

"Reggie y'alright?"

"No, James. I am not alright." Reggie sighed. "I feel like as if walking on glass, and by the time I get to work my day feels ruined. They barely looks at me, barely talks. Anything I do I feel as if it's wrong and I cannot- I don't want to shut her out. I don't want to shut down." He took a shaky breath in.

James was up in a moment, wrapping Regulus up in his arms. "I know, I know." He paused, focusing on easing his partner while he thought. "Maybe it's time we talk about it again, yeah? I know we discussed the change before, but it's obviously affecting them and you both more than you expected."

Regulus sighed as he rested his head on James' chest. "I suppose your right. I miss them, James."

James' heart cracked, "I know baby, but we can fix it yeah? This is fixable."

James felt Reggie nod on his chest. "Yeah," he mumbled.

He pulled Regulus back by his arms, "Would you rather talk to them now or after work?"

Reggie paused before letting out a breath. "Now, please."

He nodded and took Reggie's hand into his own, making their way to your bedroom as James knocked on the door. "Lovely?"

"Yeah?" He heard you mumble from within.

"Can Reggie and I come in for a moment?"

There was a long pause, an obvious tell on your end that you were aware that there would be a conversation happening. He gave you space to mentally preparing, waiting until eventually you let out a soft "Sure."

As James opened the door, they found you with your bowl empty and your tea forgotten, instead your back sat straight against your bed while you twisted your fingers in the top sheet.

"What's up?" You said in a forced nonchalant tone. He noticed your gaze focus on their interlocked hands.

"We just wanted to check in for a bit. Mind if we sit?" James said.

You nodded and the boys moved to the space across from you as an awkward silence filled the air. Your hands kept twisting at the sheets nervously until you'd notice and stop. Then just started up again.

"We've noticed you've been shutting down more lately, and we're just wanting to see how you're feeling if that's alright." James started.

Your faced dropped into a mix of guilt and sadness. "I'm... Adjusting."

"We know these things take time, of course." James placated, noticing Reggie's own guilt and frustration reflecting back in his face now. He squeezed his hand. "But you haven't really talked to us much since the change in schedules, and it feels a bit like you're shutting us out is all. We're worried."

You chewed on your lip, eyes glancing about as you thought. Not once landing on them.

"I just- I'm having uh... Hard time with. The difference." You managed out.

James nodded. "How so?"

"The sounds, the space, it's... Just different. And I feel myself getting frustrated and I don't wanna get mad at you guys because it's my brain, not you. You're not doing anything wrong. So I stay as long as I can, but it's just getting harder and I-" you choked out as you crashed your head onto our palms. "I just don't wanna take it out on you, I'm sorry. I don't know how to deal with this yet."

Reggie spoke up then, his voice calmer as his hand reached out to touch the fabric in front of you. "Darling, look at me please."

You lookes up warily as Regulus scooted closer, leaving James' side. "May I?" He asked, his palm up.

You placed your hand in his.

"It's not easy, when it feels as if our brains are working against us." Reggie started. "It's as if we are not cut out for the world and the world was not made for us. We may not be able to control how our brain interprets or how our body reacts, but we can choose and train ourselves to do the best we can. To try."

Regulus's hand reached up slowly to touch your face, giving you time to pull away if you so chose. "I want to try. I don't want my own inside rules to stop me from loving you the way that I want. The way you deserve." He paused and took a deep breath in and out. "But I also need you to trust me. To talk to me. This morning, yesterday, I-"

James put a supportive hand on Regulus's shoulder. Regulus seemed to struggle with his words, so James gladly chimed in. "We just want to support you as best as we can, but we also need to make sure we're all good too. And the only way to do that is if we talk about it. Are you okay with that lovely?"

You nodded, but kept your gaze down. "I'm sorry, I know this is a lot and I genuinely wish I knew how to deal with this better. Communicate better. I'm not... I'm not gonna be perfect at it. It may come out wrong."

Regulus tilted your now tear stained face up. "It doesn't need to be perfect. Just try, okay? And I will too. I most definitely do not say the right things always, nor do I express myself very well. Yet you've always been patient and non judgmental of it. Can you trust me to be the same?"

You held his gaze, doubt blooming behind your eyes. "I trust you I just-"

"Have been hurt by plebians before who couldn't deal with honest communication," Regulus finished.

You looked down at that and nodded slightly.

"We don't want you to be perfect," James supplied. "We just want you. As you are, as youve always been. That's all we want."

You met his gaze and reached your hand out to James. It's like his body could finally relax, touching you. "I'm sorry I didn't talk to you guys about it. That I just shut you out."

"S'alright lovely. We get it." James said. "Maybe this is something to talk about with your therapist yeah?"

You nodded, "Yeah, I haven't seen her in a while. Probably should."

James couldn't help but smile at you, at how much he knew that phrase alone took you ages to get even comfortable saying. Going to a therapist and finding one you trusted. He couldn't help but feel himself fill with pride.

Regulus's voice suddenly broke the comfortable silence. "Well I also get it, but it wasn't alright. I've had to deal with work and life all without your cuddles and I've been quite remiss to be honest." James could swear a sort of pout apparated on Regulus's face as he spoke and then disappeared just as quickly.

James sees the slight amusement trace your lips, but you surprise him when you speak with such a deep sincerity and vulnerability instead. "I'm sorry Reggie. I'll make it up to you, I promise."

Regulus nodded before you leaned in for a quick kiss. Then turned to place one on James as well.

"Well! I don't know about you but that just gave me all the energy I needed today," James said with the biggest smile on his face.

You laughed, a beautiful laugh, at the same time Reggie scoffed but didn't disagree. He even went to kiss you again.

James knew that things might come up again, that it's wasn't all solved. But you loved each other, trusted each other, and that was enough.

[ajmasch]

@here4hualian kissmas day 23: kissing under...

Unfortunately, there was too much to do once Hua Cheng returned from his year-long absence for him and Xie Lian to celebrate the way they wanted. The heavenly capital had to be completely rebuilt and restructured, not to mention the increased ghost activity with the recent opening of Mount Tonglu and release of several prisoners by Jun Wu. Perhaps some of it could have been mitigated through the intervention of a supreme, but with Hua Cheng and Yin Yu both gone, control of Ghost City was relying almost entirely on He Xuan for a year, and he was barely managing that, much less helping to control ghosts elsewhere.

So, Xie Lian and Hua Cheng ended up being too busy to really focus on themselves and their relationship at first. Which is why, once things had settled down enough, they decided to take some time to themselves. Xie Lian left heaven to the newly established council, Hua Cheng left Ghost City to the recently reinstated Waning Moon Officer, and they went to travel, giving instructions that they were only to be contacted in the case of a serious emergency.

They had both been to so many places in their lives, but had mostly been alone. Now, they shared the experience with another. They traveled the mortal way, walking or occasionally catching rides on passing carts, and they talked. They shared memories, both happy and sad, eager to learn everything about the time they had spent apart.

Then, one day, they were walking through a forest when it started to rain. Hua Cheng immediately pulled out his umbrella, stepping close to Xie Lian to shelter him from the storm. Their hands instinctively reached for each other once they were close, red strings resting against each other as their fingers intertwined.

Xie Lian laughed once he noticed their position. “It’s just like the night we re-met!”

Hua Cheng grinned at him. “Not quite.” He glanced at Xie Lian’s outfit to emphasize his meaning. “Gege made a beautiful bride.”

“San Lang made a handsome bridegroom, come to steal me away,” Xie Lian replied.

“Oh?” Hua Cheng leaned in. “Was Gege admiring this one?”

“Hm, maybe a little,” Xie Lian admitted, leaning in as well to nudge Hua Cheng with his shoulder. “San Lang was so powerful, so composed–”

Hua Cheng snorted. “Composed? Gege, I was losing my mind. To have finally found you after all those years and you were wearing bridal robes? It was like every wild fantasy was coming true at once! Honestly, it’s lucky Gege tried to capture me when he did, or I would have done something absolutely ridiculous like propose on the spot…”

“Really.” Xie Lian suddenly wrapped his arms around Hua Cheng and lifted him over a puddle in the road. He set him down on the other side, but remained face to face, relishing in the stunned expression caused by the sudden display of strength. Now that Hua Cheng was caught off guard, he continued, “Would San Lang have passed that one off as a joke as well?”

“Ge–” Hua Cheng’s voice came out as a squeak. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Gege…”

Xie Lian kept going. “You know, if San Lang had waited a little bit longer then, I would have said yes.”

“You–” Hua Cheng swallowed. “You would?”

Xie Lian nodded. “Ever since you walked back into my life, you’ve made it so easy to be happy. Even on the rainiest days,” he gestured to their surroundings, “when I’m with you, none of it can touch me. No matter the state of me or the state of you, you’ve stayed by my side and given me your everything. I want to do the same for you. Hong’er, Wuming, Hua Cheng, San Lang… I want to be your husband. I want to spend the rest of eternity with you, so, will you marry me?”

Hua Cheng was speechless. Tears had begun to fall down his face halfway through Xie Lian’s speech, and it was only the need to keep holding the umbrella above his head that was keeping him from shaking and falling to his knees. Overcome with emotion, he couldn’t do anything except surge forward and pull Xie Lian into a needy, desperate kiss. Everything he couldn’t put into words, every intense feeling, he pushed them into his beloved’s lips.

The kiss could have lasted for hours as long as either of them was aware, lost to each other in the protective bubble of the umbrella. When they finally broke apart, they were both breathless and smiling widely.

“So? Is that a yes?” Xie Lian asked.

“Gege. My prince, my god, my beloved. Xie Lian. Yes, of course I’ll marry you.”

The rain slowly came to a stop. The clouds parted, and the sun began to shine, but the couple under the umbrella didn’t notice. Rain or sun, it didn’t matter. As long as they were together, it was perfect.

[lucijawriteswords]

losing it | trevor zegras

summary: you and trevor have hit a rough patch recently, with covid and him being away and all, and everything comes to a head over his tournament.

warnings: 18+ SMUT!!! kissing, oral (m receiving). grossly emotional. some fluff. once again relatively tame. once again, unedited. apologies.

word count: 3.9k

A/N: hello hello! firstly, i cannot thank you all enough for your love. i’m absolutely floored. please, continue to let me know how you feel, who you want me to write about, what you want me to write about. it’s all for you anyways. for those of you who love whiny, obedient, indulgent hockey boys, this one is for you. for those of you who prefer the other kind: be patient with me. he’s on the way and he’s worth the wait. yes, the timelines probably don’t line up perfectly. yes, the logistics of everything are off. but you’re probably not here for that ;). i invite you to enjoy this little piece of me. until next time.

18+ below the cut

Z❤️: I don’t think u should come to the tourney

your entire body stilled as you read the message banner on the top of your phone screen. you had to be seeing things. your thumb was shaky as you moved it up to click on the notification. you blamed it on the train.

and there it was. you weren’t seeing things. trevor actually said you shouldn’t go to his tournament.

now, if it was any other tournament, you would’ve probably given in. said yes, settled for just seeing him on facetime. but this was his last time playing for the national team as a junior, a team he had grown up with, a team that was his family, and by extension, yours. you and trevor had been together for years, since you were both fifteen. his friends clowned you two endlessly for it, stating that there was no way it would work out in the big picture, that it was just a teenage thing, and it would end when you guys turned twenty.

you’d never even considered their words until now.

Y/N🌹: wdym?

awful answer, but you truly couldn't figure out what he meant. or rather, if he meant it.

Z❤️: Think I made it pretty clear when I said u shouldn’t come to the tourney. We have the whole covid bubble and I’m not gonna pretend its been sunshine and rainbows w us the past few weeks cause it hasnt

Y/N🌹: ok

Z❤️: Ok? U don’t care?

you scoffed.

Y/N🌹: i care trevor i just don’t wanna argue with you about this. ur obviously pretty convinced i shouldn’t be there so i’m not gonna try and change ur mind abt it

Z❤️: Ok then

Z❤️: I love you

Y/N🌹: i love you more. can we talk more a bit later?

read 4:13pm

you laughed bitterly, trying to ignore the tears stinging your eyes. the screen above the door signaled your stop and you stood, making your way off the train. the boston air was cold, seemingly clawing it’s way through your coat and hoodie and sinking it’s claws into your already wounded heart.

you felt tears, cold on your face. you wiped them away quickly, scolding yourself mentally. get over it, it’s not like he broke up with you. it’s just a tournament. he’ll have more tournaments in his life.

your hand, already cold, seemingly rattled as it pushed the door open to your apartment building. once you were in the elevator, your keys seemed to evade you, playing a game of hide and seek in your bag. huffing in annoyance, you slung the bag off your shoulder, setting it down on the floor of the elevator and rifling through the contents harshly. finally, you located the bastards, seizing them triumphantly, trying with every bit of your being to ignore the usa hockey keychain with his initials on the back. the elevator door ground it’s way open and you stepped out as quickly as possible, muttering to yourself, “hate that fuckin’ elevator.”

the aforementioned bastardized keys jingled loudly as you shoved the correct one into the lock. you twisted it, pushing the door open with your other hand before harshly removing the jesting hunk of metal and tossing it away. the metallic thud and halting of jingling as it landed somewhere was therapeutic to your aching mind.

as you flopped down onto the couch, you realized that all you wanted was to lay down and go to bed. so what if it was only 4:30? it was cold, dead winter in boston, your boyfriend wasn’t home, and you didn’t have anything to do because you didn’t have to pack anymore. you should’ve felt relief, right? no responsibilities, half a month without in person classes, no plane tickets and masks and new, scary airport rules, no name tags around your neck and no girls giggling and groaning right behind you over trevor. but you didn’t feel relief. you’d grown to love the chaos, to understand it and want it. hockey was one of the most important things in trevor’s life, and he was one of the most important things in yours, so hockey became integral to your life too. you learned the ins and outs, befriended his teammates, went to practices and sometimes even dryland, just to see him to what he loved.

it had changed a lot over the past year or so, with him being drafted and then covid. he wasn’t playing in california yet, so there was that, but it was at the forefront of his mind, and you could tell. that’s not to say he wasn’t finding success in college hockey, but his mind was obviously elsewhere. you’d never brought it up until a few weeks ago, when he was about to leave to enter the covid bubble for the juniors tournament. it was the night before he left when you finally brought it up.

two weeks ago

“hey z?”

he lifted his head from whatever he was looking at on his phone. “mhm?”

you walked over and sat down on the couch next to him. “i just want you to know that i’m here for you and you can talk to me.”

his face immediately screwed up and you felt your stomach drop. “what? why’re you saying that? did i do something wrong?” defensive.

you steadied yourself with an inhale. “no, but i just wanted to make sure you knew. i can tell there’s been a lot on your mind recently.”

he scoffed. “yeah, whatever.” his gaze returned to his phone.

“whatever? trevor, are you being serious?”

“yeah, y/n, i am.” he shot back, his gaze fiery as it collided with yours again. “ i’m fine, i don’t know what your deal is.”

“i never said you weren’t fine.”

“no, but you said i don’t seem focused.”

you furrowed your brow and shook your head, incredulous. “i did not say that. i said you seem like you have a lot on your mind.”

“same difference. what, am i not paying enough attention to you? am i playing poorly? what’s wrong with me now, y/n? what am i failing at? god, you’re stupid sometimes.”

you were stunned, jaw slack as you took in his words. you saw the recognition in his eyes, noticed the way his mouth opened to retract his words and offer a shitty apology, the way his torso rotated towards you and he held up a hand as an ask for forgiveness as he was about to defend himself.

your response was automatic.

“i don’t know why you’re asking what’s wrong with you now because, if i recall, and forgive me if i don’t because i’m so stupid, i’ve said jack shit to you about how much attention you give me or how you play. do you honestly think i care? news flash, i don’t. i don’t fucking care how you play! i don’t care if you don’t score, or get an assist, i wouldn’t fucking care if you didn’t put a single point up all season! because i care about you. i care about if you’re having fun and feeling proud of yourself for how hard you work. i love being able to do it all with you, trevor, but if you’re going to call me stupid for caring about you, i can definitely let you do it on your own.”

it was his turn to be floored.

after a pregnant pause filled with his confused eyes searching your face and your eyes almost letting go of their tears, his voice cut through. “you’re breaking up with me?” you weren’t imagining the tremble in his voice or the watering of his eyes.

“no, trevor, i’m not breaking up with you.” you sniffled, wiping under your eyes with the cuff of your hoodie. his hoodie. “i don’t think i could do that even if i wanted to. i’m just saying you don’t get to be mean to me-” your voice faltered, tears truly flowing now. you tried to keep your sobs inside, feeling the cushion you were on dip as trevor scooted over to you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest. you let go, cried into his chest, fingers clutching the back of his sweatshirt. you felt him crying too, the way his back shook and the wetness in the crook of your neck where his head was nestled. you shifted to be on top of him, legs straddling his, but there was nothing sexual about it. you just needed to be as close to him as you could be and you knew he needed you too.

trevor cried and cried and cried. you weren’t even hurt by what he said anymore. you’d known something was bugging him, that his mind wasn’t completely in it, but the way he cried- loud and hard and full of hurt- made you sad. it made you angry.

when you started to feel him twitch and hiccup, gasping for air in between sobs, barely getting air in, you knew your time in silence had ended. “baby, can you look at me?” he just squeezed you tighter and let out another sob into your neck. “honey, please.” he sniffled, reluctantly drawing his face away from your neck. your eyes filled with tears again at the sight of his face: lips and nose red and puffy, cheeks stained with tears, his eyes swollen and bloodshot. you brought your hands to cradle his head, thumbs swiping gently under his eyes. he melted into your touch.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered, so quiet and tearful you weren’t sure you heard it.

“thank you.” you whispered back, bringing your lips to his forehead and kissing it lightly.

“you’re not stupid. you’re the smartest person i know. i’m just-“ he took a deep breath, willing the tears away from his eyes. “just been really hard lately and i haven’t had an outlet. shouldn't have said that to you. i didn’t mean it.”

“i know, baby. i’m not mad. just wish you hadn’t said it. do you wanna talk?”

he nodded. “yeah, i wanna get it off my chest.”

“i’m listening.”

“i just don’t know if i’m good enough. i’m scared i’m not gonna make it in the league and i’m not gonna do well at worlds. i’m scared i’m gonna let the school team down, scared i’m not doing enough for you or that you’re gonna stop loving me. i don’t know,” he finished with a big sigh.

your eyes searched his face as you formulated an answer. “well, one thing i can promise you is that i’m not gonna stop loving you. and you’re doing more than enough. why do you think that i would stop loving you?”

“i dunno. i’m just in my head.”

“so get out,” you joked, trying to lighten the mood even the littlest bit.

a small smile made its way onto his face. “ha ha.”

“i’m serious, trev. i’m not going to stop loving you. nothing could make me. even if, somehow, life leads us separate ways- and i don’t think it will- i will always have love in my heart for you.”

he nodded with a sniffle, absorbing your words.

while he was in a talking mood, you decided to get the other one out of the way as well. “why’re you so concerned about hockey all of a sudden? you’ve been playing great here, your coaches at camps in california had nothing but good things to say. what’s up?”

“i’m not really sure. i guess i’m just in my head again. i compare myself to other players. like, jack went fucking first overall. he’s not even playing in the tournament because he’s in the nhl. and the guys that are coming, like coley and turcs, they both went above me in the draft. i just- i don’t know. i have the same training and experience and everything as those guys but i feel like i’ll underperform once we all get to the nhl.”

you just nodded, unable to find the right words. you knew how trevor was with hockey. he got in his head and convinced himself he wasn’t good enough even though he was beyond talented.

“i’m sorry,” was all you could muster.

he shakes his head, hair bouncing. “don’t be. not your fault.” a yawn breaks from his mouth.

“tired?” you hum, placing your head into the crook of his neck and shoulder, nuzzling into him. he lets his head fall sideways and rest on top of yours, his fingers lazily trailing up your sides. he hums an agreement and without another words carries you into the bedroom, sleepy apologies and ‘i love yous’ falling from both of your lips as you drift off.

now

breaking out of your reverie, you realized you were very cold. and your phone had stopped buzzing. standing up with creaky joints, you slipped your phone onto the wireless charger on the coffee table and flipped the heat up a couple degrees, padding into you and trevor’s shared bedroom to grab a sweatshirt.

tugging the garment over your head, you grabbed your favorite soft blanket from the end of the bed and made your way back to the couch to settle in and watch something.

a few minutes into your tv show, your phone screen lit up as it regained its charge, messages and snapchats pouring in.

from one person.

you almost broke the remote with how quickly you slammed the pause button, grabbing your phone with the charger still attached and clutching it tight, immediately opening you and trevor’s messages.

5:07pm

Z❤️: I can talk now if u wanted

Z❤️: Sorry to leave you on read we had a team meeting that I didn’t know about

Y/N🌹: it’s ok

Y/N🌹: should i call u?

Z❤️: Wait one sec

your brows furrowed.

Z❤️: Ok click on this

a banner appeared at the top of your screen from the wallet app:

New Boarding Pass from Southwest Airlines

your heart quite nearly fell out of your body. what kind of joke was he playing at?

Y/N🌹: trev r u serious

Y/N🌹: what kind of joke is this cause i’m not laughing

Z❤️: I’m going to explain everything rn

Y/N🌹: um hell yes you are

Z❤️: Rawr 🐱

despite yourself, a snort escaped your nose.

Y/N🌹: stop being funny and explain

Z❤️: During practice I just wasn’t playing well and a bunch of the guys were chirping me saying ‘how can you keep that bird if you can barely keep a puck’ and other bullshit like that and it just got under my skin

Y/N🌹: t don’t listen to them they’re full of shit

Y/N🌹: you know you’re talented

Z❤️: I know

Z❤️: I miss you so much

Y/N🌹: i miss you more

Y/N🌹: but i don’t understand the ticket. that’s not that bad of a chirp

Z❤️: I just really need you to be here and I’m sorry I didn’t realize it earlier

you smiled, your thumbs flying across the screen of your phone.

Y/N🌹: what airport do i fly into?

Z❤️: It’s all on the boarding pass baby just pack whatever you need for a few weeks cause u change outfits all the time and figure out a ride to the airport

Z❤️: I can order you an uber to the airport?

Y/N🌹: no baby that’s okay you’ve done way more than enough

Y/N🌹: trevor i love you so much

Z❤️: Im not tired I wanna keep talking to you

Z❤️: Can we ft while you pack?

Y/N🌹: you’re perfect

3 days later

the noises of the airport surrounded you as you made your way through the tunnel off the plane, your overfilled carryon and heavy backpack giving your back a run for its money.

waiting by the baggage claim was treacherous. your phone was going crazy in your hand.

Y/N🌹: just landed, waiting by baggage claim

Z❤️: Ok I am outside the baggage claim door

Z❤️: I have a hat and mask on so you might not recognize my wonderful hair or gorgeous face but i have this red and navy usa hky puffer thingy on

Y/N🌹: ur such a weirdo

Y/N🌹: who taught u the word puffer miss girly girl

Z❤️: Shush

Z❤️: Just get your bagggggggggg and come out here I miss you

you smiled at your phone and shut it off, looking at the spinning track, willing your bag to come out quickly.

you bounced impatiently on the balls of your feet as the gray suitcase made its way around, grabbing the handle excitedly and hauling it off the track as it got to you.

the wheels thrummed against the linoleum as you popped the handle up and scurried your way out the door, thanking the employee standing nearby.

the automatic doors squealed on their tracks as your suitcase wheels rattled over the concrete, turning as you exited the doors in a search for trevor. your eyes searched left and right for the navy and red puffer he said he’d be wearing, and when your eyes landed on him, your knees nearly buckled.

“trevor!” you shouted out excitedly, throwing a hand up in the air and waving at him, an unfiltered and toothy and real smile breaking onto your face.

you could practically see him smile even with the mask, walked him step quickly through people until he was clear, then break into a run the last few paces.

his chest collided with you in a bone crushing, devastating hug, a hug that said i’m sorry. i love you. please let me keep loving you. your arms wound around his back, hands digging into his jacket and you buried yourself into him.

“missed you so much, honey. i’m so sorry.” he murmured into your hair, pressing kisses onto your head through the mask.

you nodded, lifting your head from his chest, your eyes meeting. “let’s go to the car, yeah?” you nodded again, following him.

the streets and parking garage were near empty, a strange phenomenon around an airport. trevor’s grip on your hand was tight as he led you to the car, squeezing every now and again, like he couldn’t believe that you were there.

once your bags were in the car and you were sitting next to him in the passenger seat, the atmosphere between you changed drastically. tension shimmered between you two like hot air rising above the blacktop. his hand found its home on your thigh, drawing light circles, making you shiver.

his gaze strayed to you, eyes brimming with something that looked a lot like love, but more like want.

“how far is the hotel?” you breathed out, your true intentions on full display. and why wouldn’t they be?

“bout 45 minutes.” trevor responds, his hand simultaneously moving further up your thigh, nearing your clothed center. you squirmed, crossing your legs, leaning towards him.

“plenty of time, then.” you murmured as you moved your hands towards his zipper, towards what you wanted. you fiddled with the zipper tag, trailing your fingernails across the seam covering his bulge. “come on baby, don’t tease me.” he ground out, taking a turn a little to sharp when you scratched your nails down his denim clad thigh.

“or what, z? what’re you gonna do to me? gonna make me pay?” how you would love for him to make you pay.

he whined, the leather of the steering wheel groaning as his grip tightened. “please, baby. please. you’re killing me. i won’t make you pay, ill be so good when we get there, baby, ill do whatever you want.” he sputtered, turning off of the main road onto some side street away for the noise of an inner city airport.

a grin snaked onto your face, finally pulling his zipper down, almost salivating at the sight of this bulge of his pretty cock in his boxers. you shimmied his pants down, fingers digging into his rigid thighs, nails leaving crescent moons in the flesh. he huffed out something between a moan and a sob, head lolling to the side. “please, baby, please, just touch me. please, i’ll be good.”

“if you insist.” you cooed evilly, trailing a feather light fingertip over him through his boxers.

incredibly, finally, you took him in your hand, pumping him through his boxers, the soft fabric gliding along him, coaxing a moan from his pretty mouth.

trevor’s eyes, which had never strayed from the road, flared and his hips lifted pathetically in the air, searching for something, anything to relive the ache in his cock.

your core clenched around nothing at the sight of him, of his pathetic and desperate thrusts into the air, at how badly he needed your touch. he was quickly relieved of his boxers as you pushed them down, the fabric bunching around the hem of his pushed down pants. the car slowed to a stop, the noise of then turn signal and his ragged breathing almost comedic, almost shameful, but so, so right.

you looked up at him, the way his jaw clenched and his adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, trying to play the role of dedicated driver to the cars in the adjacent lanes. an evil grin clawed its way onto your face before you lifted him to your mouth, taking him deeply at once, groaning at the silky, hot skin, the heavy feel of him on your tongue.

"holy fuck-" the car stuttered forward before the brakes were slammed back on, causing his cock to lurch deeper into your mouth, a pathetic whine leaving trevor's lips as he brushed the back of your throat. you just hummed around him, bobbing your head and bracing yourself against the console as the car accelerated slowly into a turn.

a murmured comment of "thank god for tinted windows," or something of that sort, caused you to let a small laugh out of your nose, the muscles in your throat constricting around him. you heard his ragged pants and the sound of his head hitting the headrest as he undoubtedly threw it back.

"baby, i'm gonna lose it, you're killing me." he whined, raising his hips off the seat, the strong muscle of his thigh pushing into your chest.

you simply grinned around his delicious length, pushing your head down till your nose almost met the soft skin at his base before pulling almost all the way off of him, tracing your teeth along the prominent vein on the underside of his cock, featherlight and torturous at the same time.

"shit." trevor heaved a sigh, chest caving in as he fought the urge to let go.

you trailed your nails up the taut muscle of his thigh, fingers splaying to anchor yourself. you felt him harden like steel and twitch in your mouth; you could almost smell the release coming over him like a wave, savoring the way his hips rolled and stuttered and finally bucked up into your mouth as he let go with a whimpered "fuck."

you moaned around him, laving your tongue over his now shuddering cock, taking everything he would give you.

"holy shit. holy shit." he whispered, one hand coming down to your head to gently urge you off him, overstimulation crashing over him suddenly and and unbearably.

you just sat back up and licked your lips, drowning in his taste.

"just wait till we get back to the hotel," you chuckled, crossing your legs and turning the radio on.

[lunarubra]

Pairing: Cillian x OC (Jiyan Fabris)

Summary: Cillian returns to find himself in an unexpected situation.

Warning: Angst and Comfort, Mention of Miscarriage, Unplanned Pregnancy, English is Not My First Language.

Words: 5395

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Chapter 5 - Contraria contrariis curantur

Cillian felt that strange, restless mix of exhaustion and adrenaline, as though he could either collapse into bed for a week or run a marathon. He’d just wrapped filming his latest project, Retreat, in a secluded house deep in the Welsh countryside. The whole week had been especially intense, with long days that kept his energy simmering beneath the surface, demanding focus and action over and over again. Now, with the project done, that pent-up energy hung around like static—buzzing and restless—while his body ached to fully unwind.

He unlocked his phone, looking for what felt like the hundredth time that day at the lock screen—a picture of Jiyan in Venice. Then, he checked his messages again. A few reminders from his agent caught his eye, mostly about the upcoming movie he was set to film in the U.S. in a few weeks. But still, nothing from Jiyan. His chest tightened, frustration and worry clawing at him. Beneath it all, he felt anger bubbling up.

This was the part he dreaded most in relationships, the moment when things started to slip out of his control. The silence stirred up memories of past breakups, times when he’d been too wrapped up in work to notice things falling apart until it was too late. But with Jiyan was different—or so he hoped. It wasn’t like her to just go silent like this; something must’ve happened. He hated the helplessness of it all, knowing he couldn’t do anything about it from here, miles away and tied down by his schedule. Being on set often felt like pressing pause on his life, freezing everything personal in the hopes that people, relationships, and emotions would just…wait. He knew that wasn’t fair, yet here he was again, hoping she’d understand.

She had told him more than once that it was okay, that she had her own life and could handle the times he had to focus on work. She’d compare it to her own moments of research, the stretches of time when she’d hole up in libraries, totally absorbed in her world. She understood the demands on his time, how sometimes when he was on set all he could manage were quick calls in the evenings or the occasional text. And still, despite her reassurances, that old fear gnawed at his stomach, dredging up the doubts he’d buried.

The cab finally pulled up outside his building, and after thanking the driver, he dragged his luggage to the front door, feeling that first rush of coming home. Inside, everything looked just as he’d left it. Though he’d given Jiyan a spare key, she rarely used it, saying it felt too empty and lonely without him there. She had even joked once that unless he got a pet, his place was far too depressing without his energy filling it up. So, aside from his cleaning lady, who’d tidied up and kept his plants alive, his house felt frozen in time, as though it too had been waiting for him to return. There was a hollow stillness to it all, a sense of both comfort and sadness.

​​Cillian dropped his suitcase by the door, feeling the quiet of his apartment settle around him like a heavy blanket. The whole place seemed to echo with his own frustration, his mind churning over the days’ silence from Jiyan. He’d been trying to keep things together, focus on his next project. The script lay on the coffee table, fresh from his agent, waiting to be dissected, practised, internalised. Yet, he couldn’t get past the feeling of tension that had wrapped itself around him tighter with each ignored call and curt text.

He let out a sigh and tossed his phone on the counter, deciding it was time to stop checking for messages that weren’t coming. Just forget it, for now, he told himself, as he swung open the fridge. He pulled out some bread and whatever toppings hadn’t yet expired. As he assembled a sandwich, he felt the sharp edge of each movement—the spread of the mustard, the familiar squeak of the fridge door closing. It was a simple enough task, but tonight, even making a sandwich felt like a half-hearted ritual meant to drown out his thoughts.

Biting into his makeshift meal, he tried to savour it, to focus on the simple comfort of eating alone after a gruelling workweek. But the quiet nagged at him. He couldn’t shake the sense that he was waiting—for what, he didn’t know. A call, a change, anything. Jiyan’s last few texts had been so short, each one giving less than the one before, almost as if she were pulling away in slow motion. And each time he’d called, she’d let it ring out, sending him straight to voicemail. He felt like he was grasping at air, trying to catch something that kept slipping away.

Halfway through the sandwich, his phone buzzed against the counter, the vibration cutting through the stillness and startling him enough to make the sandwich slip from his fingers onto the plate. The screen lit up with her name, a simple notification that sent his heart into a quick, uneven rhythm. For a moment, he just stared at it, his breath catching as he reached for the phone, bracing himself for disappointment or another clipped, impersonal reply. But this time, it was different:

Hey, are you back? Can we meet? I think we need to talk.

The words hit him like a stone dropped into still water, rippling outward and disturbing every fragile bit of calm he’d tried to build. His stomach twisted, an ache blooming that he couldn’t quite name. We need to talk. The phrase sat heavily in his mind, stark and unyielding. He read the message again, then again, as if his repeated glances might alter its meaning, soften its edges, or offer some reassurance. But it remained stubbornly the same, each word charged with quiet finality.

He could almost hear her voice—steady, measured, carrying the weight of something that couldn’t be left unsaid. It wasn’t accusatory, but it wasn’t light either. The thought of meeting up, of sitting across from her and hearing whatever she had to say, pulled at him like an undertow. Yet the discomfort settled deeper into his chest, a slow, creeping dread.

He’d been here before: the late-night conversations that unraveled into confessions, the careful silences that felt more like barriers than space, the inevitable conclusion that his life—chaotic, demanding, and all-encompassing—was too much to fold into someone else’s. But Jiyan had been different. She wasn’t just a balm for his loneliness or a fleeting distraction. With her, for the first time, he’d felt like the life he was building wasn’t just his own; it was something shared, something as important as his career. She’d seen him, truly seen him, and he’d dared to believe that what they had could endure.

And yet, here he was, staring at her words, feeling like he was back in a storm he thought he’d left behind. The sharp tang of mustard lingered on his tongue, bitter and unsettling, as he sat frozen in his chair. His thoughts churned, spiraling into every possibility of what Jiyan might need to say, but none of them brought him comfort. The silence in the room pressed down on him, as heavy as the unanswered questions hanging in the air.

Cillian’s mind raced as he typed out a quick response to her message, imagining the worst. He could practically see the whole breakup unfolding, the same way it had in every other relationship before this. He clenched his jaw, feeling a surge of anger and hurt. How could she just go silent, cut him out, like everyone else?

Grabbing his jacket, he was out the door in minutes, the cold night air biting at his face as he hailed a cab. The city blurred past him, a kaleidoscope of lights and movement that barely registered as his thoughts churned. His heart pounded in his chest, a drumbeat of frustration and dread, his mind racing with everything he wanted to say, everything he needed to hear from her. By the time the cab pulled up to her building, the storm inside him had only grown fiercer, each unanswered question fueling the fire.

He climbed the stairs two at a time, his breath shallow, the tension in his chest winding tighter with every step. When Jiyan opened the door, the sight of her gave him pause. She looked pale, her face drawn, as though she’d been carrying the weight of this moment far longer than he had. She stepped aside without a word, retreating to the corner of her small studio. Her movements were quiet, deliberate, as she sank onto the edge of her bed, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Her eyes met his, calm but shadowed with something he couldn’t yet name.

The words spilled out of him before he could stop them. “Is this how it’s going to be?” he began, his voice sharp, louder than he intended. “Every time I leave for work, I come back and you’re…you’re just gone, shutting me out! I thought we were okay, Jiyan. I thought we understood each other. This is my job, my life. You knew that! And now you’re cutting me off, leaving me to guess if we’re even still…still us.”

He stopped to catch his breath, his chest heaving. “You can’t just leave me in the dark like this,” he said, his voice breaking, softer now but no less raw. “I thought things were different with us. You said you were okay with it.”

Jiyan sat quietly, her pale fingers gripping the edge of the bed. She hadn’t interrupted him, hadn’t even flinched as his words poured out. But her eyes—wide and glistening with unshed tears—betrayed the turmoil beneath her calm exterior. When he finally fell silent, she lowered her gaze, taking a long, trembling breath. Her jaw tightened, and she blinked rapidly, as though trying to keep the tears at bay.

“I’m not… That’s not…” she murmured, her voice thin, halting. She looked up again, meeting his eyes, and in that moment, he saw the full weight of her emotions laid bare. “Cillian…” she began, her voice a whisper. “I think… I think I’m pregnant.”

The words landed with the force of a tidal wave, sweeping away everything else. His anger, his frustration, his carefully rehearsed arguments—all of it dissolved, leaving only stunned silence in its wake. The room seemed to tilt, the air thick and heavy as he tried to process what she’d just said. He stared at her, his mind grasping for something to hold onto, some way to respond.

She looked at him, her eyes glistening, her vulnerability cutting through his daze. Before he could think, he crossed the room, closing the space between them in an instant. He knelt before her, his hands reaching for hers, and as she hesitated, he wrapped his arms around her trembling form. She clung to him, her fingers gripping his shoulders, her face buried in the curve of his neck. Her body shook with silent sobs, and he held her tighter, his own breath unsteady as the reality of her words began to sink in.

He held her tightly, her familiar scent filling his senses—the scent he’d missed every day they were apart. She started to cry, soft apologies spilling from her lips between small, hitched breaths. He stroked her back, his fingers tracing gentle circles, trying to calm her, trying to steady himself. He wanted to mend the sadness he saw in her eyes, to ease the fears that he’d just unleashed in his anger.

It took a while, but eventually, her breathing steadied, her shoulders relaxing slightly as she lifted her head. Her fingers reached out to fiddle with the edge of his sweater, a small, nervous gesture that seemed to anchor her. Her gaze dropped, and in a voice barely above a whisper, she said, “I’m sorry, Cill. I wanted to answer, but I just… I didn’t know how. You were working, and I didn’t want to disrupt you with something I wasn’t even sure how to explain. You called me the night that I first thought about the possibility, and I thought giving myself time to think would help, but it only made everything harder.” When she finally met his eyes, they were filled with a mix of guilt and vulnerability.

He studied her for a moment, letting her words sink in, feeling their weight settle in his chest. He could see how much this had been eating at her, the way her fingers clung to the fabric of his sweater like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

Pregnant. The word echoed in his mind, a mix of shock and something deeper, more complicated. He didn’t know how to process it yet—how to grasp what this meant for them, for her, for him. But one thing was clear: she was carrying the weight of this alone, and he needed to take some of it from her, to steady them both.

He reached out, cupping her face gently, his thumbs brushing against her cheeks. “Jiyan,” he said softly, his voice steadier than he felt inside. “You don’t have to carry this on your own. I’m here now, and we’ll figure it out together. Okay?”

He cupped her face gently, his thumbs brushing away the wetness on her cheeks before pressing soft kisses on either side, feeling the warmth of her skin under his lips. “I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have come in so angry; I panicked when I felt you pulling away, and I jumped to the worst conclusion.”

She nodded, resting her forehead against his chest, as if seeking his warmth to calm her pounding heart. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, tracing soothing patterns along her back. It felt so right to be here, comforting her, absorbing her presence. Even though they’d only been apart a week, he had missed her with an ache he hadn’t realised until now.

After a while, he pulled back just enough to look at her, his hand moving to tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “What did you mean when you said you think you’re pregnant?”

She let out a shaky breath, dropping her gaze as she whispered, “I haven’t been to the doctor yet. I just… I don’t know what to do.”

“I…I don’t know what to do,” she murmured again, her voice so small it nearly broke his heart. “I don’t want it to happen again…” Her voice trailed off, and she pressed her forehead against his shoulder, gripping his sweater as though he might slip away.

Cillian leaned back slightly, searching her face with concern and confusion. “Again?” he asked gently, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear and waiting as she struggled to find the words.

Jiyan swallowed hard, her gaze somewhere distant as if reliving a memory. “After Samyah…after she… after her suicide…” She closed her eyes briefly, a shudder running through her. “I found out I was pregnant. I had no idea until it was over.”

Cillian’s arms instinctively tightened around her, his chest aching as he imagined the pain she’d endured, the loneliness wrapped around those memories.

“I… I lost it,” she whispered, her voice trembling as her fingers gripped his arm like a lifeline. “Not long after that, I had a miscarriage. It just… happened.” Her words faltered, a raw pain threading through every syllable. “I didn’t tell anyone—not really. I couldn’t, not then. My mum knew; she stayed with me those months after. But now…” Her voice broke slightly, and she took a shaky breath. “Now, I couldn’t face this alone. I didn’t want to go through that again. That’s why I waited. I couldn’t even take the test… not without you.”

Her words hung heavy in the air, and then, slowly, she began to share more. She told him about the miscarriage—the sterile lights of the hospital, the ache that seemed to seep into her bones, and the overwhelming grief that left her feeling hollow. “I couldn’t even call Kareem,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I let my mum do it. I didn’t have the strength, I was a coward.”

She talked about those months after, how she’d shut down because it was all too much—Samiah’s death, the aftermath, the slow unraveling of her relationship with Kareem, and then the miscarriage. Each event had piled onto the last until it felt like she was drowning. “I buried myself in university,” she said, her gaze distant. “It was the only place I felt like I could breathe again. That’s when my professor approached me with the research opportunity at Trinity. It was a lifeline, a way to run away from everything.”

He held her close, absorbing everything she’d shared, his arms a protective shield around her. The weight of her pain settled heavily in his chest, a knot of guilt and helplessness tightening as he realized how much she had endured alone. He wanted desperately to take it all away, to undo the hurt she’d carried, but he knew it wasn’t that simple. This wasn’t something he could fix with a few comforting words or a reassuring gesture—it was her trauma, her loss, and all he could do was be here now, fully present for her.

For a moment, he rested his chin gently on the top of her head, closing his eyes and letting the silence stretch between them, warm and steady. Then he pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his hands still holding hers. “Okay,” he said softly, his voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside him. He gave her hands a gentle squeeze, grounding both of them.

And then, with more resolve than he truly felt, he added, “Come on. We’re going to buy a test.”

She hesitated, a small smile flickering through her worry, blushing a bit. "I already bought two," she admitted, glancing down. "They're in the bathroom."

Cillian stared at her, picturing the past few days, the silent anguish she must've felt with the unopened tests looming on the bathroom shelf. "Alright… do you want me to…" He paused, fumbling for words. "Should we, um, go to the bathroom then?"

She looked up, a teasing glint breaking through her anxiety. "Are you asking me to go pee?"

"Well… yes?" he replied, flushing. "Kind of? Isn't that how this works?"

She shook her head, an amused smile easing some of the tension between them. Already, she felt a bit of the weight lifting, now that she wasn’t holding it alone. "Alright. It’s better if I don’t drink before, I’ll take them now, but could you make some tea, please? I want something to warm up" Her voice softened. "Apparently, it’s more accurate if you haven’t gone for over four hours."

"Why?" he asked, still puzzled by the details.

She gave him an exasperated look, both amused and serious. "The hormones are stronger if it’s, you know, concentrated. We learned that in sex ed."

"They taught you how to take a pregnancy test in school?" he asked, astonished.

"Yes," she replied, as if stating the obvious. Her look asked a silent question, like he hadn’t been in the same class.

"In Ireland, we didn’t have sex ed," he told her, grinning wryly. "We didn’t even have condoms legally till the '90s."

She stared at him as if he’d just admitted to some outrageous historical atrocity, before shaking her head. "I don’t think I’m mentally prepared for a deep dive into the consequences of a Catholic state in the Republic of Ireland. I’m going to pee on these sticks now. Please make some tea before I start freaking out again," she said, her voice both blunt and fond, leaving Cillian standing alone in the room.

He stood there for a moment, taking in the surreal weight of everything before turning to find the kettle. As he waited for it to boil, he looked around the kitchen, scanning the jars of herbs and spices—most still unfamiliar to him. Before long, Jiyan emerged, visibly apprehensive, still carrying the tension that had been coiling inside her.

"So?" he asked.

"We wait."

"How long?" he asked, uncertain if he wanted more time to process or if he needed an answer right away.

"Five minutes," she replied quietly.

He moved to her side, wrapping her in a gentle embrace, hoping to absorb some of the heaviness pressing on her heart. "I’m here," he murmured against her hair. She nodded, her head nestled against his chest, and he added, "I know I wasn’t, but I’m here now. Whatever you decide, I’m with you every step of the way."

"I’m terrified of deciding, Cill," she whispered. “I’m terrified of what is waiting there.”

"I know," he said softly, holding his breath. "I know."

“Come on, help me make your tea and remind me of how many cinnamon sticks you need."

"There’s never a ‘right’ amount of cinnamon in life—the more, the better," she teased, though he could feel the tension still in her shoulders.

They sat together in the kitchen for a while, and she told him about her night at the pub—how the smell of fish sent her running for the bathroom, and how Scott had joked she might be pregnant, a thought she hadn’t even entertained until that moment.

“I don’t even know what to feel,” she confessed, not meeting his eyes. “I’m not sure I want to keep it, I’m not sure I want to get an abortion, I just don’t want to go through all of that again.”

Cillian paused, wrestling with his own feelings. A knot tightened in his stomach at the thought of her choosing not to continue the pregnancy. He respected her choice, and he was prepared to support her either way, but part of him had already begun to imagine a future with a child, as irrational as that felt given how quickly everything was happening. He reminded himself it was her decision.

"Whatever you're feeling is valid," he told her gently. "Even if it’s… nothing right now. There are options, and we just have to plan. If you’re pregnant and don’t want to go through with it, we could go to Italy or the UK—it might be simpler in Italy."

"Wait, what?" She looked at him, completely baffled. "The last thing I want is to go back to Italy for an abortion. One miscarriage was enough, thank you."

"You can’t do it here," he said softly.

"Why? Is it because they'd recognize you?"

"What? No…" He exhaled, searching for the right words. "It’s illegal here—in Ireland."

Jiyan stared at him. Almost as if she didn’t understand him. The shock spreading across her face as she processed his words, he could almost see the gears in her brain going into overdrive. “Wait, what?” she repeated, her voice rising. “Abortion is illegal?”

"Yes," he replied, resigned.

"What…? How?! And what if someone needs an abortion?"

"Most people go to the UK," he explained.

"But what about girls who are too young or can’t afford to go to the UK? Medical cases? People that get pregnant and don’t want to?" she pressed, anger flickering in her eyes.

"Jiyan, you told me earlier you didn’t have the energy for a conversation on how Catholicism affected Ireland. Are you sure you want to dive into the government and Church’s restrictions on women’s bodies?"

She looked at him, her expression torn between exasperation and nerves, muttering something under her breath in a mix of Kurdish and Italian. "You’re right—not tonight," she conceded quietly. Her eyes drifted to the clock on the wall above the sink, the seconds ticking louder than they should. After a pause, she added hesitantly, "Could you… Could you check the tests? Without me? It’s been six minutes."

He studied her, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her fingers digging into her sleeves. "I think we should go together," he said gently. "I know this decision affects you more than me, but it’s the both of us in the end, right?"

Her gaze flicked to his, a brief flash of gratitude in her eyes, but then she shook her head, biting her lip. "I can’t," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I can’t go in there, Cill. Please."

Her words hung between them, heavy and raw, until she crossed her arms again, giving him an almost pleading look. "Could you just… peek?"

"Peek?" He raised an eyebrow, scratching his head as his gaze darted toward the bathroom. His feet felt rooted to the kitchen floor. "You make it sound like I’m about to open Pandora’s box or something."

She let out a nervous laugh, the sound fragile but welcome. "Maybe it is," she said, her voice trembling.

He sighed, his hands dragging down his face. "Alright," he said at last, "but you’re coming with me. Half a step behind. Deal?"

She hesitated, wrapping her arms around herself before nodding. "Promise you’ll look first?"

He raised his hand solemnly. "I’ll look first."

Finally, she pushed off the counter, standing just behind him as they made their way down the hall. The silence between them felt alive, every creak of the floorboards amplifying the tension. They stopped just outside the bathroom door, exchanging nervous glances.

Taking a deep breath, he reached for the door handle, his fingers brushing against the cool metal. With a glance back at her—her arms wrapped tightly around herself, her eyes wide with worry—he pushed the door open. They both held their breath as he stepped inside, his eyes darting toward the counter. She leaned in just behind him, clutching his arm like a lifeline.

“There they are,” he whispered, staring down at the two tests, side by side.

“Can you see anything?” she whispered back, her grip tightening on his sleeve.

“Um…” He squinted, leaning closer, his heart racing. “I think… wait, what do the lines mean again?”

“Oh my god, just look!” She nudged him again, her own voice wavering with nerves and a hint of a smile.

“I’m looking, I’m looking!” he muttered, bending over the tests. After a few more seconds, he turned back to her, his face unreadable.

“Well?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

“I’m really not sure what I’m looking at. Aren’t there supposed to be lines? In movies, it’s always two lines.”

“Yeah, well, we’re not in the States. Do you see a line?”

“Where?” he asked, squinting at the tests.

“Oh, dio mio, Cillian!” Jiyan muttered, stepping forward to see for herself. Then she froze.

She stood motionless in front of the sink, her hand still clutching his sleeve as she stared at the plus signs on each test. “Oh,” was all she managed, her voice faint, almost lost.

“What?” he asked gently, his curiosity blending with concern. “Jiyan, what do they say?”

She didn’t look up, her gaze locked on the counter as if willing the lines to change. “They both have plus signs.”

“Positive?” he asked, his voice catching as he tried to keep his emotions in check.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “They’re positive.”

A rush of warmth filled Cillian, flooding through every vein and reaching every cell. A baby. A child. A little piece of him and Jiyan. Before he could stop himself, a smile spread across his face. He wanted to laugh, to hold her tight, to shout with joy. But then reality struck as he looked at her, still staring at the tests, her expression frozen in fear, as though the lines might disappear if she waited long enough.

Cillian took in her fear, her uncertainty, and his heart pulled toward her even more fiercely. He took a small step closer, his voice soft. “Aji…” He used the name with gentle affection. “I know it’s huge. And terrifying. But you don’t have to decide anything right now. I’m here. I’m with you.”

She looked away, biting her lip. “You don’t understand,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I can see it in you—you’ve already fallen in love with the idea. But for me, this is real. And real is… terrifying”

He nodded, moving closer, his gaze gentle and steady. “I know it’s messy,” he replied quietly. “And I’m not expecting it to be anything else. And that it reminds you of every painful moment of what happened then, but it’s us. Me and you, I am here. It’s our life.”

She shook her head, wrapping her arms around herself as if to shield herself from the weight of it all. “I don’t even know if I’m capable of… doing this. A baby, Cill. That’s… that’s a whole person. And what if…” Her voice cracked, and she took a shaky breath. “What if I’m not… enough? What if I… if it ends in a miscarriage again?”

He closed the distance between them, pulling her gently into his arms. Not even wanting to imagine that this little life he just got to know could disappear like that, a stabbing pain went thorugh his chest and he hided his face in her curls, feling her trembling slightly. “Jesus, I cannot even imagine, love,” he murmured into her hair. “But I already know you’re more than enough, together we are more than enough. Whatever you decide… you’re enough.”

She buried her face in his chest, and they stood there in the quiet, the weight of it all pressing down on them both. She felt his hand warm on her back, grounding her, even as her thoughts spun with a thousand doubts and fears.

After a long silence, she finally looked up, her voice still edged with uncertainty. “And if… if I decide not to go through with it?”

His smile faded, and for a moment, a flicker of sadness passed over his face. But he nodded, steadying himself. “Then we’ll face that too,” he said, his voice soft and steady. “I meant what I said—I’m with you every step of the way.”

Jiyan’s eyes softened, her fear mingling with a fragile sense of relief as she leaned into his embrace. “You say that now,” she murmured, her voice laced with a faint, wry smile, a grimace.

They stood there, holding onto each other, neither one speaking, just breathing in sync, as if trying to match the beat of their hearts. Finally, Jiyan pulled back a little, brushing her fingers over his hand, still hesitant.

“I just… I keep thinking,” she began, her voice tight, “what if I’m not ready? What if… I’m never ready?”

Cillian looked at her, his gaze steady and gentle. “Jiyan,” he said quietly, “I don’t think anyone ever feels completely ready for something like this. But that doesn’t mean we can’t handle it. You’ve handled so much already.”

She let out a soft, almost bitter laugh, looking away. “Those things were… different, Cill. With those, I could walk away if I needed to. But this… this changes everything, I cannot run from this.”

He nodded, his voice tender. “I know. And I don’t want you to feel trapped by any of it. Whatever you decide, I’m with you. Not just saying it—I’m here, for real.”

She nodded slowly, her fingers absentmindedly tracing circles on the back of his hand, a small gesture that somehow steadied her. “This is… this is crazy,” she murmured, her voice wavering between fear and the faintest edge of a smile.

“Yeah, it is,” he replied, a warmth creeping into his tone. He pulled her a little closer, his thumb brushing across her knuckles. “But maybe… maybe that’s okay. I mean, life was already pretty crazy before, right?”

She looked up at him, a hint of something softer in her eyes, a flicker of hope. “You’re really not going anywhere, are you?”

“Not a chance,” he said, his voice low but certain. “One step at a time. I’m right here.”

They stood there in the quiet of the bathroom, the gravity of everything finally settling in, but with an unexpected sense of calm between them. She rested her head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart—a reminder that she wasn’t alone.

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amazing dividers from cafekitsune

[dr-chosenberg]

Finally getting around to watching! I wasn't able to join this time around but we wanted you guys to get my opinions as well! I got a little burnt out so it’s not like a play by play on every episode but it’s some highlights of my thoughts.

Gds Favorite: 

Best Christmas truly brought us one of the most impactful frames in television history, I genuinely can't think of another show that so smoothly presents it's thesis with a silent still of a character. I think it should be studied by anyone looking to make a TV show. 

Blessed: 

I wholeheartedly agree with you on Gds Chef, it's an episode that kind of separates people who can really understand Moral Orel from people who don't. BWHHAHA I loved Sena spraying you guys with the Clanielle water bottle, it’s ok you guys do the same thing to me with Holy Visage, it takes a village XD 

Lords Prayer is such a fun episode, on the surface “moralton hates people who are different from them” seems like a redundant concept, not to mention the superficial divide that christianity can cause, it’s a similar concept to what was explored in elemental orel. But the dynamic between Orel and Christina is really the star of the show, I get the sense that she’s a little closer to the maliciously compliant sassy Orel we see later on. There’s the whole concept of girls maturing faster than boys that would really make a young girl cynical.

Turn the other cheek is another example of how talented the MO staff are, we see it all the time “oh i wish so and so would be miserable forever” “kys clay” but we already have catharsis given to us through an immature lens and it’s written in a funny way that moves the story along. 

Jesus: 

Loyalty is a good example I think of knowing the rules before you can break them, the hamfisted foreshadowing as you guys put it only adds to the humor because of it's absurdity while still moving along our understanding of the story. The "you're nice" boys would have bumped it up to Blessed for me, but I'm generous LOL I agree that Gd’s Image just doesn’t make it far enough to be blessed by the angels, it’s message is muddled at some points and can be pretty easily misconstrued at others. However, it is an all around solid episode outside of that. The interaction between the Figurellis and the Christiens is required watching to me. In general but also to understand the show’s attitude towards faith and the people who practice it, similar to Gds Visage. I’m glad you guys settled on Jesus would have laughed for elemental orel, it’s another episode that’s misunderstood by…fuck I sound like a rick and morty fan, but by people who the humor and writing style of the show just isn’t for. You’re not mad at the writers for making Orel scold someone doing an obviously good deed over going to church, you’re mad at christianity. 

Good: 

Good moments but not super memorable I think was the perfect way to define this tier, Omni's moment of showing just how small Bloberta's world is (dicing and slicing) is an all time quote that you can really sink your teeth in to. 

I don’t have to say much about Bartholomew. I just wanted to note that I agree the town seems incredibly flanderized. 

Satans: 

Wow I didn't know you guys were antisemetic /j 

My fellow Moralton professors know how annoying I am about this episode but you guys in the audience may not, I personally think Holy Visage gets a bad wrap in a similar way Gd's Chef does. I will concede, however, that it doesn't have that punch towards it's message that GC packs. I am also biased as grossout is usually a genre of things I love and I truly don't think it's that serious here, lol The reason, however, I say it gets a similar bad wrap to Gd's Chef is the erasure of the importance of Dr. Chosenbergs character, so I was very pleased to see you guys actually talk about the contents of his character. The good Drs faith is as important as Orels is to the show and to his character, maybe we can get in to that when we discuss the towns racism or something 

Genuises is so boring the only episode I actively skip

The concept of the main writers not writing an episode gets brought up a lot and I’d be interested in hearing how the main writers feel about those episodes, it gets a little tricky because these scenes and episodes are still IN the show and should be taken seriously as aspects of the characters we’re being presented. Not just in the realm of presents for Gd and not just in the context of you guys analyzing the show, I mean in general.

2 AND A HALF HOUR CHRISTMAS TIER LIST

[thasdorah]

I should embrace my canon divergence entirely and say alleria got her divorce in bfa

[heywriters]

If you want to write a dumb little story with a dumb little plot and ridiculously silly characters. No one's stopping you. Genuinely, no one should be allowed to stop you. Write that dumb story with your whole heart and don't hold back.

[orcelito]

Considering the. Ahem. Ways this year has gone, I've not been thinking about it all that much, but. I did start this year with the motto of Year Of Unfucking My Life. With a few goals involved in that.

I got an official adhd diagnosis, as well as a diagnosis for PCOS. Other diagnoses in progress. Gotten adhd meds and birth control to regulate periods. I've gone back to school and I'm keeping up with it better than ever before. I've even been working on practicing driving, something I've been largely neglecting since I first got my driving permit, um... 11 years ago...

I just need to actually Get my license. And I need to get it before the end of the year. If I can accomplish that, then I'll say the Year Of Unfucking My Life was successful.

[dcggersedge]

"It's not meant to be an insult, it's...ugh." It's that he's nice and sweet and trusts her for some reason even though she doesn't think she's given him literally any reason to trust her. It's that all the royals she's talked to have been like this and she doesn't get it, doesn't understand why they aren't more suspicious and hate her.

It's fine. This is why they have retainers, right? To watch out over them? And, if she's not dying anymore, she guesses that she can be one of those watchful people too.

"All I'm saying is that the next time we start picking up random guys off the battlefield, we should maybe do at least a little bit of a background check before we let them roam around the Somniel." An interview. A questioning. Something! They were killing her here.

Another round of uncomfortable and garbled noises from her throat as he not only praises her, but reminds her again how things like being honest and open and trusting with the people around her is important. She knows! She knows and she wants to and she tries, but that doesn't make any of it easy! She wrinkles her nose and shrugs.

"He said I could choose for anyone else, but that you and your retainers had to be as soon as possible." It's not how she imagined this going (which is to say, she imagined this conversation never happening at all) but...it hasn't been bad either. "It's fine...I mean it's not ideal but it's fine. I get why he'd want that, and I can't exactly blame him when he's doing it to try and keep you safe either."

...did he tell Diamant about those security issues she'd told him about? She has a feeling she knows the answer without asking.

She laughs again. "Wow, getting the go ahead for the job is that quick, huh? This "impressing the king" shit the nobles are always squabbling about is easy." The bench isn't high enough for her to swing her feet, she settles for putting her heels against the ground and tapping her feet together.

"...maybe. We'll see. I'm...I enjoy what we're doing at the academy right now, so I haven't thought about what's after that much. It would be nice, though."

do you see what I see

return to brodia