#jasmine isn't here anymore but it's her fic

[goldenpinof]

why the fuck am i reading a 2016 fanfic with a Book of Mormon in it? a few days after PJ told us about Dan singing a song from it? no fucking way, you, stupid universe!

[duskandstarlight]

A Golden Opportunity: Part Four

Nessian [Modern AU]

Notes: Wow, long time no speak, no post, no write. But I'm back - maybe, who knows (hopefully). It turns out this little fic is the thing that made me want to write again and it's been so fun rediscovering my Nessian babies.

No idea if anyone is reading this anymore (@simpingfornestaarcheron tells me the Nessian fandom isn't as active on here anymore so I live with no expectations) but here's an update anyway - and it's also on A03! Big thanks to @noirshadow as always, for being my champion and for getting out her red pen for me despite being absolutely slammed at work.

Oh, and this is angsty AF I am sorry.

PS Sorry, this taglist is most likely HUGELY out of date but it's all I have. Shout if you are under a diff name / don't want to hear from me anymore - TY.

Part Four - Cassian

Cassian didn’t hear from Nesta for weeks. She didn’t turn up to brunches or family events where he was in attendance. And, of course, she didn’t text him. That conversation remained entirely untouched, like a lone tombstone; surrounded by overgrown grass and weeds, some abandoned flowers brown and crumbling collected with a dirty ribbon at its feet.

If it had not been for the subtle nods to Nesta’s continued existence, Cassian might have thought she’d been entirely erased from the planet. But there were name drops from her sisters, mentions of meeting for coffee, of having her over for lunch. At dinner the previous week, Cassian had overheard Elain confiding to Feyre that Nesta had seemed out of sorts. And Cassian, who had been straining to overhear the conversation, had felt both pained and filled with some a stark sense of hope that if she’d at least let him go, at the very least, she might be mourning him, too. 

Maybe, he thought fatuously, she cared too much. Maybe, she was still mulling them over, weighing the pros and cons. 

Maybe, by some sort of miracle, she would come to the conclusion that he was worth it.

But that hope dwindled as the days continued to pass and Cassian still heard nothing from Nesta. At some point, he knew he needed to take her silence as a no. Knew he would need to follow through on his side of the bargain. Allow that line to be drawn beneath them, the flame snuffed out until there was nothing but ash.

As the weeks passed, Cassian’s spiky irritability fell into a flat sadness that physically ached. He continued to run every day despite his protesting knee. He continued to work himself until he just couldn’t anymore and tried not to think of her. 

But Nesta crept through the gaps in his mind anyway - snatches of her, always beautiful, always sardonically cruel in their torture. Jasmine and vanilla. The smell of her skin as he buried his nose into her neck. Wisps of golden-brown hair escaping from a braid. The glint in her eye, the upwards tilt of her chin as she accepted a challenge. 

The taste of her mouth, the sound of her sigh, her breath whispering across his cheek. 

A hint of a smile - then better, the sound of her laugh. A true one, just for him.

And on and on it went with no reprieve—

“Is that the amended timetable for next week?”

Anyone else might have jumped, but Cassian was used to Azriel’s ability to sneak up on him. 

The thought of Nesta vanished in a wisp, like smoke rising from an extinguished candle. And despite having spent the past few weeks trying to forget her, Cassian found himself irrationally disgruntled that Azriel had interrupted the vision.

Leaning back in the leather desk chair that resided in he and Azriel’s shared office, Cassian grunted in affirmation.

“Boxing needs to be at six thirty if you want me to take that class,” Azriel replied. “I’m in a meeting at the Sangravah site until four.”

Cassian made another noise in the back of his throat. Scribbled out the timetable with a little too much outward frustration and acknowledged, not for the first time, how tired he was. 

But regardless of the fact that his eyelids were actually burning due to a severe lack of sleep, the problem still remained that whenever Cassian tried to rest, his mind did the opposite. 

And then he was thinking of Nesta again. Of the way she stared dead ahead during their car ride, unable to face him as he laid his feelings bare - how he’d always felt right from the start.

Not that it had made any difference. 

And then there was his mum, too. 

She was always at the forefront of his mind at this time of year. The blurry shape of her, the edges of her fading into shadow, time slowly eating away at her frame until she threatened to disappear completely. 

Soon, all that would be left of her would be the cavernous space where she should have been. And Cassian knew that would haunt him too - worse, even, his mourning growing even more acute. 

For now, he was lucky enough to still hear the crackle of his mum’s laugh, feel her chapped palm warm against his as they walked hand-in-hand down the street. He could even scent the shampoo of her hair as she hugged him close, her hair tickling his nose. Could remember how, whilst his chin always met her bony shoulder, Cassian always felt like they fit just right. The two of them, together - always. 

But now it was just him, alone. 

Reaching for the red pen atop the surface of his desk, Cassian intended to tackle the timetable for good. But then his laptop pinged with a notification.

Lifting his eyes to the messaging app open on his browser, Cassian expected to find his one thirty pm client cancelling on him.

But what he saw had his fingers diving for the keyboard.

Nesta 🧙‍♀️: Where are you?

Cassian felt his heart beat with such force that it lurched upwards, tearing through pericardium to lodge itself impossibly in his throat. 

His fingers moved before he could command them. Had hit enter before he could even read his response.

Cassian: Work. 

Cassian’s thoughts began to race, his anticipation a tempo to the rapidity of his pulse. Did she finally want to talk? Had she finally made a decision on them? Was she going to end it all without even looking him in the eye, a hastily typed dismissal to match the original message she’d sent to cancel their first date?

He couldn’t bear waiting, couldn’t bear that Nesta was not typing. But then, as the wait became a little too long, something crept along the back of his neck. A feeling. A premonition. An omen that something was off.

“What is it?” 

There was a rare frown that accompanied the usual chill to Azriel’s voice. 

But Cassian didn’t have time to tell his brother to kindly fuck off and stop reading the conversation over his shoulder. 

Instead, he was typing, his fingers moving at a speed he hadn’t known possible - terrified that if he was not fast enough, that she might disappear on him.  

He hammered his fingers into the keys, asking what he, somehow, knew to be true. What’s wrong?

Three dots appeared. Then disappeared. Then came back. 

Cassian found he was holding his breath without realising. And when the answer finally came, his heart seemed to thud to a stop in his throat, as if it were too horrified to beat.

Nesta 🧙‍♀️: I’m at Kaffe at the corner of Bone and Salt. Tomas is here.

Cassian’s office chair roared as it wheeled back across the hardwood floor - straight into the granite planes of Azriel’s stomach before rebounding back into Cassian’s knees. 

Not that Cassian registered it. He was already leaning back over the oak desk, firing off the question he needed an answer to. 

Cassian: Has he seen you?

No. The cursed three dots appeared again, but this time they didn’t take long to disappear as Nesta’s reply materialised on the screen. I don’t think so, he shouldn’t know I live near here. But I can’t leave. I’d have to walk straight past him.

Cassian: Stay there.

Blindly, Cassian reached for the jacket he’d slung over the back of his chair, for the mobile in his jeans’ pocket. 

When he turned towards the door, Azriel was already there, car keys in hand. 

“Kaffe?” he asked.

The downwards jerk of Cassian’s chin passed as a nod. “On the corner of Bone and Salt.”

“Let’s go,” Azriel said as Cassian’s mobile buzzed again in his hand.

Another notification from Nesta. And when Cassian read what she’d typed, he knew just how it sounded. Small and unsure and so unlike his Nesta that Cassian wanted to beat something—a very particular someone until they didn’t stand again. 

Nesta 🧙‍♀️: Cassian? 

Cassian: I’m coming to get you. Don’t try and walk past him, ok? Promise me, Nesta. 

For a moment, nothing. Then:

Nesta 🧙‍♀️: How long will you be?

Cassian: Fifteen minutes if the traffic is good. Can you wait that long?

Not that Cassian could change the shape of time to get there sooner. But what he meant was: can you survive? Can you keep it together until then? Because Cassian had witnessed Nesta scared around her ex and it made someone who was usually perfectly composed, wild and unpredictable. He had no idea what Nesta she’d be today. Whether she’d suddenly bolt, her fear overriding her ability to be inconspicuous and grabbing Tomas’s attention in the process. Or whether she’d freeze where she was, paralysed with fear, unable to move. 

The rear lights of Azriel’s Tesla flashed through the drizzle as they exited via the back entrance of the gym.

Cassian didn’t remember tugging on his seat belt or the soft chime of the infotainment system as Azriel brought the car to life. 

All he was focused on was the screen, his conversation with Nesta as she told him, Don’t let him see you.

That was something Cassian knew all too well. 

In the time Cassian had had the displeasure of knowing Tomas, the male had been consumed with the idea that he and Nesta were having an affair behind his back. On that count, he’d been wrong. But there was no denying to anyone who knew him that Cassian had taken one look at Nesta across the room at Feyre’s birthday party and known that his gravity had just shifted, his world tilting even further on its axis.

Cassian: He won’t.

Nesta 🧙‍♀️: He won’t?

Cassian: He won’t. I’ll be there soon, ok?

After that, no answer came. Every second on the road was torture, but thankfully, despite the spitting rain darting patterns on the windshield, the traffic was on their side. Azriel streamlined along the road, smooth as butter and for a while, they remained in silence.

Until finally, Azriel asked, “What do you need?”

So, Cassian told him. Together they formed a plan. Together, they stepped out of the automatic doors and into the small parking lot at the rear of the coffee shop, ready to step into their assigned roles.

After all, he and Azriel had always been a team.

Yet, it all seemed to take too long - especially as Cassian waited uselessly in the alleyway out the back. Feet eating up the rain-soaked tarmac, pacing back and forth, past the foul smelling bins that lined the concrete wall and the employee entrance to the coffee shop opposite.

Too much time had passed when the back door finally opened with a loud clank. 

A girl stood in the entryway, the heavy industrial door propped open with an outstretched arm. She was wearing a coffee-stained apron, her hair haphazardly piled atop her head.

She looked unsure. “Are you Cassian?”

Together, they walked down the short echoey corridor, the vinyl floor squeaking too loudly beneath the wet soles of Cassian’s shoes.

“There’s a door through that closet,” the girl told him. She pointed through the doorway, into the darkness. “If you open it you’ll be at the back of the shop.” 

Cassian stepped over a mop and bucket, passing cleaning supplies and endless stock that lined the shelves: takeaway cups, stirrers, and sugar packets.

Then the door was there. The light from the shop on the other side shining through the cracks, beckoning him. 

It was like stepping into another world, out of a vacuum. Immediately, the quiet from the storeroom was swallowed up by the noise of the shop: the chatter, the moving bodies, the background music coming from the speakers on the walls. 

The mid-morning rush was a relief - a shop bustling with customers made it easier to be inconspicuous. After all, it was exactly that which allowed Azriel to slip away from the front counter and out the entrance, a baseball cap angled low to shield his face from view.

They’d meet at the car as planned - once Cassian had extricated Nesta from the shop.

Easing the door shut behind him, Cassian scanned his surroundings. It was no surprise that his eyes immediately snagged at the sight of Nesta’s golden head. She was not sitting too far from where he’d entered, her laptop balanced on the tabletop in front of her. 

The tension knotting her shoulders, her neck, her ramrod spine, were as clear as day. In fact, the utter stillness emanating from her could only be described as inanimate - that of a statue.

And Cassian knew what had caused it, had been prepared for it, but when he saw the evidence before him, it still struck hard. 

Ahead of Nesta, only by a few seats, was Tomas Mandray.

He was leaning back in his chair in the way Cassian had learnt to expect of Nesta’s ex-partner: taking up more space than he should for a male who was neither wide or tall. Slouching practically sideways in his chair, Tomas was scrolling mindlessly on his phone. One foot was stretched out so it was slap bang in the lone aisle that separated the two halves of the shop. The calf of his other leg rested atop it, the sole of his shoe sticking out so anyone wanting to get past him would have to ask for him to move - Nesta included.

Anger flared inside of Cassian, fresh and salt hot. It tasted like blood, smelt like it, looked like it, but Cassian made himself push back the colour red as he began to make his way down the aisle.

Nesta didn’t sense him coming. Nor did Cassian expect her to. He hadn’t messaged her since he’d first entered the car and it had been a decision he’d weighed up the entire rest of the ride.

But in the end, both he and Azriel had decided that if Nesta knew the intended plan and it went sideways, she might panic enough to do something rash.

It was a choice Cassian came to regret the moment he opened his mouth.

“Nesta.”

It didn’t matter that he’d had purposefully moulded her name into something soft: Nesta jumped a mile. Then, two things happened at once. The first was that her head turned so fast Cassian wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d gotten whiplash. The second, was that the shock of seeing him sent the mobile in her hand flying.

Cassian didn’t have a moment to think, but his reflexes never failed him. His hand shot out to catch the phone at the same time that Nesta’s did. The mobile missed the table by a breath and tumbled into her lap where they trapped it, their fingers tangled. 

Nesta’s grip was so white Cassian could see the straining tendons. Breathing hard, he raised his eyes to meet hers only to find that they’d already snapped back to Tomas.

Cassian had seen that look of fixation in people plenty before. There was flight or fight but there was also freeze — and Nesta was definitely in the latter. He needed to get her attention for long enough that he could convince her to leave, but with her eyes so saucer-wide that he could see the whites of them, her pupils blown, skin bloodless, breathing shallow, Cassian knew it was going to be easier said than done. 

“Hey sweetheart.” The affectionate term came out in a low rumble that did nothing to penetrate Nesta’s steadfast attention. Cassian sank into a crouch beside her. Tried again, “Nesta.”

This time there was enough quiet command in his voice that her eyes finally dragged to look at him. It was fleeting. A scant acknowledgement that he was kneeling beside her, but it was all Cassian had to work with so he seized it. “Time to go.”

But it was too late. Nesta’s attention was already back on Tomas and she was drawing herself in, shrinking back into her chair until she looked so small and so unlike the Nesta Cassian had come to know, that his heart cracked on her behalf.

It physically ached, that fissure. Threatened to snatch Cassian’s breath as he teetered at the edge of it - a depthless cavern, jagged like a lifeline.

For years, Cassian had watched as Nesta glued herself back together. He’d seen it all. The grief of who she’d been, who she’d been forced to become when, on her knees, she realised the shattered pieces of her identity didn’t fit back together. Splinters were missing, core fragments of her personality had changed shape so monumentously that she finally realised they would never slot back into the past version of herself. 

And she’d weathered it. Mourned it, yes, but then Nesta had gritted her teeth and fought it. Discovered the new pieces of herself, acknowledged the changed, filled the gaps until she’d drawn together into someone who was stronger, more resilient yet intrinsically still Nesta. 

Cassian would not let that battle go to waste. Would not let a male with a small dick and an abusive temper ruin someone who, quite frankly, was the most amazing person he’d ever met.

Shifting his weight onto his better leg, Cassian ignored his throbbing knee and said, “We don’t need to walk past him. We can leave out the back—”

But Nesta was shaking her head. When she finally spoke, her confession was a hoarse whisper. “I can’t do it, Cassian.”

In all the time Nesta had known him, she’d barely ever called him by his name. He’d imagined her saying it like it was a habit, for sure. But he hadn’t thought it would come out with a confession, in a crackled, broken whisper. 

Gently coaxing Nesta’s phone from her vice-like grip, Cassian slipped it into his jacket pocket. Then, before her fingers could ball into fists he slowly threaded their fingers together. “Yes, you can. I know you can. I’ve seen you do it before.”

Cassian had dared to hope that the contact would pull her attention back to him, but it didn’t work.

So slowly, Cassian raised their hands, pressed them into his cheek.

For a fleeting second, he had her. Nesta’s eyes snapped to him - to the warmth of his skin. But then they darted away, back to Tomas who was now talking on his mobile.

Nesta's grip on him tightened at the sound of her ex-boyfriend’s voice, locking down so hard that Cassian knew if he were to look at their threaded fingers, they’d appear bled dry.

Hoping that Nesta was still listening, Cassian continued, “There’s a door out the back. It’s how I got in. He won’t see you but we should go now whilst he’s distracted.”

And then Cassian took the biggest risk of all. He lifted their hands to his mouth, pressed his lips to her fingers.

That’s what did it in the end— it was like a summoning. Nesta tore her eyes away from Tomas. It took effort, Cassian could tell because her eyes darted back and forth until finally they stayed with him. Long enough for her to confess her greatest fear around the tightness in her throat. “He might.”

“Not today.” 

Carefully, Cassian stood, ignoring the painful tweak in his knee as he did so. 

Tomas was still on his mobile. Somehow, he was leaning back even further in his chair, commanding the space. His voice was so loud and obnoxious that the woman at the table next to him shot him a glare.

Cassian didn’t care. Tomas was busy and that was how they wanted him.

“We’re going to get you out of here, but I need you to get up. You can do this, ok?”

There. A hesitation. A belief that dared to creep in through the cracks of Nesta’s fear and tell her that there might be hope.

After that, the adrenaline kicked in. Nesta fumbled for her bag, her belongings. By then her hands were shaking so badly that she nearly dropped her laptop, but Cassian swooped in, swept everything into her satchel and shouldered it. 

“This way,” he coaxed, summoning every ounce of restraint not to touch the small of her back in encouragement. He had a feeling if he did that all the adrenaline coursing through her veins would make her startle.

Somehow, they made it out. The moment Cassian closed the closet door behind them, shutting out the coffee shop, he could breathe a little easier. Didn’t worry so much when Nesta stumbled over a bucket, the sound ricocheting around the storeroom as she righted herself. 

The fresh air that hit them as they stepped outside was bracing. It snatched the breath from their lungs. But to Cassian it tasted like nothing but relief. He barely noticed the fine fuzz of rain that immediately coated his clothing, wet his face, his hair.

And clearly neither did Nesta. For the second the back door shut behind them, Nesta met his eyes. And then, without any adieu, she bent over double and vomited onto the tarmac.

The suddenness of it all was so unexpected and so violent that Cassian moved on instinct. He forgot that he was supposed to be keeping his distance. Forgot that he was trying not to spook her.

In hindsight, during the long night that followed, Cassian replayed the following scene over and over in his head trying to make sense of it. And each time, he came to the same conclusion. Nesta - whose body was hyper-vigilant beyond belief - clocked him leaping towards her out of the corner of her eye and catalogued him as a threat.

Nesta startled like an animal running for its life, jerking away from him before he could reach her.

But whilst Cassian had paced up and down the alleyway for a good five minutes before Azriel had sent the staff member to the back door, Nesta was unacquainted with her surroundings.

Bent over double as she was, she didn’t see the wall until it was too late. Straightening and twisting away from him at the same time, Nesta collided into the pebble dash with a crack.

“Shit,” Cassian panted, eyes wide, hands up as he hastily backed away from her. “I’m sorry, Nesta. I didn’t think—”

He abruptly stopped speaking as Nesta lurched forwards again, the movement jolting and ugly, and retched.

The acrid scent of bile mingled with the odour coming from the trash cans - old food and stale coffee and the wet mulch of cardboard intermingling with damp rain - the latter of which was coming down harder now. 

But now, neither of them noticed. 

All Cassian could think of was Nesta. He watched her straighten, her hands now clutching at her head as if that might physically hold in the shock of the collision. 

And all Cassian could do was stand there, his chest heaving as if he’d run a marathon but the rest of him frozen in place. His palms, which had flown up on instinct when she’d thrust away from him, were still facing her, as if she had him at gunpoint. 

He was too scared to move, too frightened that he’d do something else idiotically stupid and cause her more harm.

For a moment, they stared at one another wide-eyed. Cassian could feel his pulse hammering in his throat, trying to burst out of his skin. 

Nesta swiped at her mouth with the back of her shaking hand. When she dropped it from her bloodless face, her lips parted as if she were planning on speaking but then they shut again, her mouth a thin, brittle line.

He watched this happen again, then again. After the third attempt to speak, Cassian watched her give up. Watched her press the heel of her palm to the exact spot where her head had collided with the wall, her brows knitting in confusion, as if she didn’t understand where the pain had suddenly come from.

When her fingers came away, Cassian was alarmed to see that they were red.

It took everything he had not to step towards her, to see if she was ok. But he didn’t dare risk it after he’d terrified her so badly. 

Instead, his punishment for being so idiotically stupid was to watch this play out. To watch her lower her trembling hand so it hung limply at her side and watch a trickle of blood escape down her temple.

Nesta didn’t seem aware of it. Instead, she just continued to stare at him in disbelief.

Then, her expression rippled. A tremor, violent before it was trapped and smoothed out.

A beat passed. 

“Sorry,” she said hoarsely - finally, when she clearly thought herself composed. But her voice wavered as she spoke, and the sound of it seemed to be the breaking point.

Cassian balled his hands to stop himself from reaching out to her. Slowly, he took a discreet step backwards, granting her more space even though all he wanted to do was to pull her to him and swathe her in his arms.

But the action didn’t go unnoticed. If anything, it was the finger on the trigger, the foundational straw pulled out from beneath her.

There was a shaky, high-pitched rush of breath, a last attempt to keep the tears at bay - but it was too late. Nesta’s face crumpled and then words were toppling out between gasped sobs.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why he’s here. He shouldn’t be here—”

“I know.” There was a crack in Cassian’s voice now, a maelstrom of emotions. The aching sadness of seeing her like this, the angry truth of it all, the stark, terrible reality. And then there was the fury of his contribution to it. Him, the male he had hoped she might come to trust, ruining it all. The sound of her head hitting the concrete. “Please. Let me take you home—“

“Is everything ok here?”

A voice interrupted Cassian, smooth as always and deliberately tempered down to be soft. 

Nesta startled anyway. She scrambled away but when she realised she was too close to the wall, she halted in her tracks, panting.

Cassian didn’t need to turn to see who it was, but when he did, his arm outstretched to tell his brother to stay put, he found Azriel in the mouth of the alleyway. 

In his left hand, the car keys dangled.

Azriel did not take a step forward. Instead, he kept his eyes on Cassian. Said, “Tomas is still in the coffee shop, but we should make a quick exit if we want to be safe. He looked like he was readying himself to leave and I’m not sure if his car is in the parking lot.”

Later, when Cassian was back at home he marvelled at how they managed to get Nesta into the car. He supposed the threat of her ex was enough to make someone who was currently very afraid of men shut herself into a car with two hulking ones.

Striding ahead, Cassian opened the rear door for Nesta before backing away. Heart in his mouth, he got into the passenger side, opposite Azriel at the wheel, keeping his gaze locked ahead, not wanting to spook her, not wanting her to second guess a thing. 

In fact, Cassian didn’t feel like he drew a breath. Not as the rear door shut, as fabric rustled, the seat belt pulled across a body, the click as Nesta buckled herself in.

Even as Azriel eased them onto the main road, the rain coming down harder now, Cassian starved his lungs of air.

But when the coffee shop disappeared from view, Cassian allowed a breath to slowly rush back in.

He turned to Azriel. “Head to the hospital—”

“No.”

The response was forthright and quick while at the same time having a quiet incorporeal quality to it - as if it caught in mid-air and retracted into itself before it established itself.

Turning in his seat, Cassian looked at Nesta.

She was staring vacantly out the window, her body moving with the car as it turned in the same way

a puppet followed the command of its strings. “I don’t need a doctor.”

“You’re bleeding, Nesta.”

Absently, Nesta raised a hand to her temple, stared at the red glistening on her fingertips. “It’s superficial.”

“You don’t know that.”

Nesta let her hand fall into her lap, discarded. “I do.”

The seconds that followed felt as if they were swallowed by the gaping maw of silence. Two simple words threatening the imagination as it conjured images Cassian didn’t want to see. A body being thrown around, bruises and fractured ribs, a broken nose and two black eyes. Fell down the stairs, tripped over my own feet. The crack of a nose being set back into place, hiding away to protect a monster. I can’t come tonight, I’ve got a book deadline to meet. I’ll see you when I'm done.

All of it unravelling behind Cassian eyes, in his head, overtaking his senses - everything. 

“Where should I drive to?”

Azriel’s voice cut through the images, abrupt, like a full stop thrown into the middle of a sentence. 

Cassian didn’t stop looking at Nesta. She was still staring fixedly out the window, but he could tell she wasn’t seeing anything at all. He watched her slip farther away, the distance growing and growing, a cavernous feeling, vast, empty.

He turned back in his seat. A plan was already unfolding in his mind. 

Cassian’s hand dipped into his pocket, his fingers closing around the cool metal of his mobile. 

“Mine.”

***

“I need a bowl of warm water.”

A snap punctuated the end of Mor’s request as she stretched the fingers of the disposable rubber glove she was fitting to her hand. 

The action came with the precision of someone who spent her days taking them on and off. Of the doctor who worked at the female health clinic in the less affluent districts and saw things she wished she didn’t.

There was no familiar warmth in his friend’s voice as she spoke. In fact, Mor didn’t even look at Cassian. Instead, she seated herself back atop the coffee table and began to rifle through the personally engraved medical bag he, Azriel and Rhys had gifted her for Winter Solstice last year.

Opposite her, curled up small in the corner of the couch was Nesta, pale in every sense of the word. Pale in pallor, pale in expression, pale in existence - as if she was fading from the room. 

The distance that Cassian had felt growing between Nesta and the world had quadrupled since their car journey home. Wraith-like, Nesta had followed him into his apartment and sat mechanically onto his couch without really seeming to take any of it in. Nor had she touched the mug of chai he’d left on the coffee table in front of her.

That absence, that space, had seemed to worsen since Mor had stepped through the door five minutes ago. 

And Cassian knew that bringing Mor into the equation was not something Nesta would take lightly. But he had been at a loss for what else to do. Nesta had refused to go to the hospital to be checked over and the only person Cassian knew could help - and who would be discreet - was his best friend. 

And Mor, despite her rare day off, had dropped whatever she had been doing and driven straight to him.

Ceramic clinked against the wood of the coffee table as Cassian set down the bowl beside where Mor was seated.

Mor straightened, a small pocket torch in hand. 

She clicked it on.

“Thanks. We’ll be a few minutes.”

It was a firm dismissal and Cassian didn’t dispute it. 

He had already turned to leave when Nesta spoke—

“He can stay.”

Slowly, Nesta slid her gaze away from the tears crying down the window pane, locked them onto Mor in a way that was both absent and wholly fixated at the same time.

Nesta’s eyes were the same slate colour of the sky — no hope of blue within them. 

Mor simply stared back, unfazed, undeterred - strong. “When I’ve performed the initial examination he can come back in. But not until then.”

“No.”

One word. Simple. Defiant despite the disembodied quality to it. The most emotion Nesta had displayed since he’d found her. 

It was enough to tell Cassian that his Nesta was still in there fighting - even if she looked like hell. 

Mor’s lips flattened into a grim line. “That’s my policy, I’m afraid—”

“Then change it.”

The aftermath of Nesta’s order crackled with static. Like a radio before it tuned into the right station. A gear grinding into fourth.

During the whole interaction, there had been no change to Nesta’s expression. It was as if her body had almost shut down, but as Mor searched it, really looked, her serious honey brown eyes scanning Nesta’s face, she seemed to see something in the depths Cassian couldn’t. For she straightened, looked from Nesta to Cassian with a grim sort of understanding, before shifting her attention back to Nesta.

Mor held up a gloved hand. 

“Follow my finger,” she instructed.

***

The snap of rubber and then the subsequent rustle as they nestled amongst the other discarded items in the waste paper basket signalled the end of the examination. 

“It’s a nasty bump but it looks worse than it is,” Mor told Nesta as she began to stow away items into the open medical bag. “No need for stitches and no major concussion from the looks of it. But you’ll have significant bruising, I’m afraid.”

Cassian shifted on his feet from where he stood by the dining table. He had strategically positioned himself by the dining table, which had allowed himself to observe Mor’s assessment of Nesta without crowding the scene. But now, he was unable to stop himself from voicing one of his concerns. “And the vomiting? Nesta was sick right after she hit her head.”

“And before.” Nesta’s reminder was scratchy and resigned, as if Cassian was fussing for nothing. She leant backwards farther into the couch, the cushions threatened to swallow her up. “I just need to sleep it off.” 

She tugged the blanket Cassian had draped over her knees higher over her body, towards her chin. Cassian wondered if she was consciously trying to create a barrier between her and everyone else in the room.

Cassian didn’t know what last time meant, but Mor didn’t press Nesta for more information as her head swivelled back to face her patient.

“The vomiting is most likely from the acute shock of—”

But Nesta wasn’t interested in hearing more. For the first time, her face showed a ripple of what she was feeling: irritation, her patience clearly as threadbare and worn as her body. “Can I sleep now?”

Seemingly unaffected by Nesta’s directness, Mor nodded. “It will do you good. But—” she held up a hand, as if anticipating resistance. “—you will need to be monitored every few hours just in case you do have a light concussion. Is there anyone who can stay with you?”

Nesta stiffened. “I live alone.”

“Emerie? Gwyn?”

Nesta’s gaze shifted past Mor’s shoulder, back to the window. There was a stretched out pause as if the hypnotic stream of water falling down the glass had taken Nesta out of his moment, this room. 

When she spoke, her voice seemed faint, like an echo. “Emerie’s on a business trip. Gwyn has her National Counselor Examination exam tomorrow.”

Mor looked to Cassian. “And you?”

“Done for the day.” Cassian lied, watching Nesta’s face closely in case it betrayed any further feeling. “Nesta can stay here.”

***

When Cassian emerged from the bedroom, Mor was waiting. Leaning against the corner of the kitchen counter, her hip propping her up, she watched him discerningly as he quietly closed the door and came to join her.

A soft rattle sounded in Cassian’s ear as he flipped on the kettle switch. Turning his head, he found Mor shaking a small round bottle at him. “Found these painkillers in the bathroom cabinet. Give these to Nesta every four hours if she wants them - they’ll help with the headache until she’s feeling better.”

Cassian arched an eyebrow but didn’t bother to berate Mor for rifling through his cabinets. Mor sometimes had a tendency to rummage around his one-bed apartment as if she lived with him, helping herself to whatever she needed. Cassian didn’t really mind. Growing up, he’d never had a sibling. He’d always been a lone child.

Now, he was fortunate to have two brothers and a best friend who had eventually evolved into someone he considered to be a sister. 

He was never going to complain about her feeling comfortable in his home. 

So, instead he took the bottle from Mor and asked, “And the nausea?”

“If it’s the result of physical shock, it should disappear soon. Sleep will certainly help reduce the stress and adrenaline in her body. Emotional shock can take longer.”

Now, Mor’s eyes turned sharper as she moved to face him fully. Even as she feigned casual, planting her freshly manicured hands behind her on the counter and leant backwards. “Nesta has had quite the day.”

The kettle clicked off, steam rose from the beak and billowed outwards, spreading like fog. Cassian poured hot water over the tea bag, the familiar scent of green tea momentarily assaulting him. 

When he realised Mor was not going to continue without some sort of response, he made an acquiescent sound in the back of his throat.

“Not like Nesta to get into an accident like that,” Mor continued carefully. “She’s always so composed.”

At that, Cassian turned his head and simply looked at his friend, not speaking. Steam rose between them from his mug. It felt damp on Cassian’s face, but he didn’t blink. He knew what Mor was trying to get at. Had been well aware that when he’d called her over here that she’d know something was up. That, even as she was trod carefully, that this wouldn’t be a subject she’d let lie.

“Cassian,” Mor tried again, her voice low now, “does Nesta need to report someone for the bump on her head? I see it all the time at the clinic and the shock she’s in goes beyond physical.”

The gentle clunk as Cassian set down his mug was enough to disrupt Mor. “Not unless you want to report me.”

Mor grew very still. “What are you talking about?”

“She was scared and I startled her.” Cassian hadn’t planned to confess this - and he still would never betray Nesta by mentioning Tomas - but the guilt that had been rotting inside of him since the incident in the alleyway was now pouring out of him. He couldn’t stop it.The responsibility of causing her more harm when he had supposed to be rescuing her. 

Scrubbing the heel of his palm hard into his forehead as if that might rid the headache of the utter shit show that had been today, he continued, “It was so stupid of me, Mor. So stupid. She threw up and it was so sudden that my head just emptied of sense. Instinct overtook me. I moved towards her, to help or to comfort her, I don’t know and she bolted. Ran headfirst into a wall trying to get away from me.”

There was a careful look to Mor now. The frown that had been marring her forehead whilst he spoke evened back out. But Cassian knew her well enough to see the thoughts sliding behind her irises as she tried to connect the dots. “You didn’t scare her initially.”

“No.”

There was a brief pause whilst Mor processed the information. Then, she stepped towards him sombre-faced and slipped her hands around his waist. She hugged him tight. She smelt like she always did — of cinnamon and citrus, of home. 

“Don’t punish yourself too harshly. It was a mistake.”

Mor’s voice was muffled, almost swallowed by his jacket.

Clenching his jaw, Cassian rested his chin atop her head. “I made things worse.”

Pulling back to examine his face, Mor kept her arms looped around his waist. “But your intentions were good. You are good, Cassian.”

Cassian just clenched his jaw.

“Are you going to be ok?” Mor asked after a beat. When he didn’t reply, she gave him a final squeeze and, minding the mug of boiling water he still held in one hand, extracted herself. “Silly question, I suppose. Want me to stay?”

“No, I won’t be much company. Plus,” he continued, raising an eyebrow at her subtly elevated outfit that sat just above casual and the undulating waves of her freshly-washed hair that Cassian knew had been painfully crafted in front of a mirror, “it looks like I’ve already interrupted your plans for today. Are we dating again?”

Rolling her eyes, Mor hefted her doctor’s bag off the counter and onto her shoulder. “Call me if you need me. I’ll be at home anyway.”

“Thanks.” Deciding not to press her for more details, Cassian trailed his friend to the door. “I think it goes without saying that I owe you.” 

But Mor just turned. Gripped Cassian’s shoulders until he met her eyes. “Friends don’t owe one another, Cass. Ring if you need me, ok?”

***

Despite the gravity of the day, time continued to pass - albeit slowly, torturously. 

Nesta slept and Cassian worked from the dining table in the living room, trying to work but ultimately failing, his eyes more often than not trained on the bedroom door. 

He’d pushed it ajar as soon as Mor had left, unable to stop worrying that something could happen to Nesta and he might miss it.

Cassian knew he was overreacting and if Nesta hadn’t been so scared of him earlier, so on edge, he might have worked from the armchair in the bedroom itself. 

But the dining table had to do. From his vantage point, Cassian could just make out the curled up figure beneath his duvet, the shadowy tangle of hair draped across his pillow.

And it wasn’t like he hadn’t been instructed to check in on Nesta every few hours. To ask her mundane questions like: What’s your name? Where are you? What day and year is it? Spell ‘world’ backwards? 

But each time, when it finally came to wake Nesta, Cassian found himself full of a sort of dread that felt akin to chunks being taken out of his chest every time she opened her eyes. 

It was not least because the depth of Nesta’s sleep was so vast and weighty that it made it hard to rouse her in a way that didn’t feel violent. But also because each time Cassian managed to haul Nesta out of it, she startled. 

The first time had been the worst. Cassian could have sworn that he’d scented her fear before she wrangled it under a forced sort of control that did nothing to hide the panic lingering beneath it. All the while, Cassian knelt beside her as unthreateningly as possible, trying not to loom, cursing the breadth and height of his frame.

Six hours on and Nesta’s reaction to him had thankfully weathered into an apprehensive wariness, as if her body and mind had anticipated what was happening in an attempt to save her from further stress. Opening her eyes, Nesta would tiredly answer whatever Cassian asked of her before she let sleep drag her back down again to its murky depths.

Nesta’s fatigue was not a tiredness Cassian recognised. Instead, he had come to understand that this was Sleep. An entity that yanked at you with taloned hands, snatching you back down so body and mind could restore itself. 

The buzz of an incoming call pulled Cassian’s attention away from the bedroom door. Quickly, he plucked the device from the table so the vibrations wouldn’t wake Nesta and took long strides down the hall.

Putting the door on latch, Cassian stepped into the hallway.

“Emerie,” he said.

Relief surged through Cassian as Emerie’s voice, complete with the soft curl of her Illyrian accent filtered down the speaker. “Why have I got the feeling that I’m not going to like the reason why I’ve got six missed calls from you and a text to ring you as soon as I can?”

“Because you’re right.” Cassian cleared his throat, readying him to elaborate, but Emerie got there first.

“Is it Tomas, Cassian?” 

Emerie’s voice was so gentle that Cassian suddenly felt as if he might choke.

He fought the sensation, swallowed. “There was a close encounter today,” he admitted, and he felt the noose around his neck loosen at the confession. He might not have been able to tell Mor, but Emerie knew everything - more than him - and he hoped that she would know how to best help Nesta - even if she was currently in another state on a business trip.

Emerie remained quiet as the day’s events poured out of Cassian. But when he finished and her silence continued - the faint sound of traffic in the background the only indication that she was still with him - he began to worry.

But then Emerie sighed. It sounded sad, the noise trailing out until it hung between them. Finally, Emerie said, “The tiredness is normal. When she left Tomas, she slept for days. The same happened after the court ruling.”

“That’s what Mor said but—”

“Mor?”

“I—” Cassian broke off with a sigh at the high-pitched and disbelieving tone of Emerie’s voice. Running his free hand exasperatedly over his face, before tugged at the knots in his hair, he said resignedly, “She wouldn’t go to the hospital. Mor was the only person I could think of who would be discreet.”

Emerie snorted. “And how’d that go down with Nesta?”

“I wouldn’t know. Badly, I suspect. She’s barely said a word since we got her in the car.”

A lull followed his words and Cassian gave Emerie the time she needed to ask what he knew she’d been wondering the moment he’d disclosed what had happened. “D’you think Tomas knew she was there?”

“Didn’t seem like it. Nesta didn’t seem to think so, either. He was only a few tables ahead of her and didn’t turn round the entire time.”

Emerie loosed a relieved breath. “Well, that’s something at least. Tomas is a manipulative, masochistic misogynist, but he’s stayed away since the restraining order. He doesn’t even live in town anymore.”

Cassian swallowed. He hadn’t known that, but he just said, “Right.”

“I can come and get Nes tomorrow. She can stay with me for a few days, but I don’t land until ten tomorrow morning—”

“I’m not trying to get rid of her—”

Emerie snorted, a faint playfulness ghosting back into her personality. “I know that, you oaf.”

But Cassian ignored her jest. “I just thought she’d be more comfortable with you. She startles every time I have wake her and she wouldn’t let me try Gwyn—”

“—because of her exam tomorrow,” Emerie finished. 

“Right,” Cassian said again.

There was a pause 

“You ok, Cass?”

“Besides making everything worse, you mean?”

Emerie barked a laugh. “I sincerely doubt that.”

“She was bleeding from the head, Emerie. She thought I was going to hit her—”

And I teach self defence for a living. Cassian wanted to finish. He, of all people, should have know better. He’d witnessed the way his mother suffered. Had watched it all.

“Well, Tomas did - hit her, I mean.” 

“She told me.”

There was a pause as the reality of it sank in all over again. Cassian had known Tomas had beaten Nesta, of course he had, but today had made the truth of it even more harrowing - something he hadn’t thought possible. 

When Emerie continued, her voice rang with the confidence that came with delivering an unvarnished truth, “If it hadn’t been you, it would have been someone else, Cassian, trust me. I’ve seen Nesta after she’s had an encounter with Tomas. Everything becomes a threat, even things that don’t exist. Once, Gwyn took Nesta by surprise as she came out the bathroom and Nesta threw her mobile at Gwyn’s head.”

“I—” Cassian began but he broke off, not sure how to continue. Finally, he found his voice, “Will you tell Nesta you’ll be coming or shall I?”

“I’ll tell her, but I’d mention it as well when you can. Her memory gets patchy when she’s been through something like this - best to repeat it until you know it’s sunk in.”

“Ok.”

As if sensing Cassian’s discomfort, Emerie added candidly, “Look, what Nesta needs right now is not to be in an empty apartment - which you have covered. If she wants to stay with you when she wakes up rather than go back to her apartment - which I doubt is going to be a no, by the way - let her stay. And whatever you do, try not to scare her. No creeping up on her, ok?”

“Ok,” Cassian repeated. And then again, as if he reassuring himself. “Ok.”

“Good,” Emerie said. “See you tomorrow, Cass.” 

So, with a pep talk tight under his belt, Cassian hung up and returned to the apartment. 

Sat down in front of his laptop, not seeing, not doing and waited. 

***

When Nesta finally emerged from Cassian’s bedroom, it was late. Cassian was still sat at the table staring mindlessly at the rota on the screen, which remained unconquered.

At first, Nesta was so quiet he didn’t notice her. But then there was a movement in the corner of his eye, a whisper and sigh of fabric and then Cassian only saw her.

It was a cruel irony, Cassian thought, that he had been waiting for Nesta to emerge this entire time. But now she was standing in the doorway that connected his bedroom to the living room, her hair mussed and pillow creases imprinted into her cheek, Cassian found that he wasn’t prepared at all.

It took Cassian a moment to recover his voice. And when he did, it came across too rough, too abrasive from lack of use.

“Hey.” He caught his wince a fraction too late, but he cleared his throat gently in a bid to disguise it. “How are you feeling?”

Nesta swayed a little in response, throwing out a hand to right herself against the doorjamb just in time. Cassian did his best to remember Emerie’s parting instruction: slow, purposeful movements. 

Essentially, under no circumstance was he to jump across the room to Nesta’s aid only to startle her all over again.

What Cassian really wanted to do was walk over to her. Raise his fingers to her face, touch her skin, check she was actually there, blood pulsing slowly through her body, warming her skin, rather than a spectral manifestation.

Scrounging up every inch of his willpower, Cassian remained seated. Watched her instead and tried not just to conjure the illusion of calm but feel it too — a place of safety where Nesta could come back to herself. 

“I feel like I’ve been asleep a long time,” Nesta replied hoarsely - distantly. Evading his gaze, she cast a look to the dark windows, to the night sky and the grey blanket of clouds blotting out the stars. “Can I use—”

“The bathroom?” Cassian interjected smoothly. “Towards the front door on the left.”

Cassian tracked her every step as she made her way up the hall. Usually, Nesta floated in a way that was purposefully untouchable. But now, she seemed untethered and unstable, as if she didn’t have control of her body.

It was a while until Nesta emerged again. In that time, Cassian tried to suppress his worry by busying himself in the kitchen. 

The hot water was running when he finally heard the lock turn, the door creak open. 

Purposefully, Cassian did not turn. Instead, he carried on with what he was doing. Plunged his hands into the suds in the sink and began to wash the dishes, purposefully ensuring they clinked softly together so Nesta could guess his location. 

“What time is it?” 

Nesta’s voice emerged from somewhere behind him. Slowly, Cassian turned his head to glance over his shoulder and there she was, the kitchen counter safely between them, her skin as cool as the moonlight lancing through the window. 

“Just gone midnight.”

This elicited a blink and a tiny frown that Nesta kneaded with the crook of a finger before retracting it with a wince. “I didn’t realise I’d slept that long.”

She didn’t elaborate but Cassian read it for what it was: an apology for what she viewed as imposing. “It’s good. You clearly needed it.”

Unhurriedly, Cassian reached for a dishcloth to dry his hands. When he turned to look at Nesta properly, he was careful to modulate the speed of his movements. 

What he was not expecting, was for everything to shatter. But it did. The instant their gaze connected and Cassian saw the vacancy in her eyes, whatever he and Nesta had been trying to be, broke away, unravelling until it was nothing.

It felt like a hand was fisting at Cassian’s intestines, twisting tighter and tighter as they continued to look at one another.

And the more they looked, the more Cassian knew with devastating surety, that this was not their time.

Nesta didn’t need a love interest. What she needed was support. For the people around her not to terrify her so much that she ended up causing herself further harm. 

Cassian swallowed in a bid to rid himself of the lump in his throat. 

Between them, the silence stretched, almost mesmeric in its intensity. 

There was so much Cassian wanted to say, but he realised that what he really needed to do was to not say anything of consequence at all.

The only thing that mattered was that Nesta was going to be ok. That she was here and breathing. And hopefully, in time, she would heal again. 

And in the meantime, Cassian would be here if she needed him. 

It took everything in Cassian to feign casual. It felt like shards of glass had taken up residence in his throat, cutting every time as he spoke. “Want some chai?”

It was not what Nesta had been expecting him to say and Cassian had known that. The surprise of it dragged her back to him, the smallest of lights flickered faintly in the depths of her eyes, cracking through the trauma. “Chai?”

Cassian nodded to the saucepan atop the stove. “I made a fresh batch earlier. Thought you might want some when you woke up.”

Nesta’s eyes followed him as he slowly went through the motions of pouring two cups, using a sieve to catch the cinnamon sticks, the star anise, the cloves. 

When he was done, Cassian slid the mug across the counter to her, careful to keep his distance. 

Together, they drank. Neither of them broke the spell of silence between them, not until Nesta’s mug had been drained to the dregs. 

Then, Cassian dared to ask, “Are you hungry?”

An answering grimace. 

Cassian made the corner of his mouth tug up into a smile. “No appetite of a baby dinosaur today, then?”

No reaction — nothing. Nesta just watched him, the grimace fading away until her expression was yet again vacant. 

“You look like you could still use some sleep,” Cassian told her carefully. “Why don’t you go back to bed.”

The alarm that fissured through Nesta’s expression took Cassian by surprise. Her gaze snapped to his and every muscle in her body pulled taut. Suddenly, miraculously, and to his surprise, Nesta was fully present. “Where will you be?”

“The couch pulls out.”

The tension that had come so suddenly to Nesta’s shoulders unspooled slightly, but she didn’t say anything.

Cassian pretended he hadn’t detected her unease. Was she worried that he’d leave or that he’d be around the apartment whilst she slept? Did he make her uncomfortable? Did she think he’d insist on sleeping in his bed with her?

Not for the first time, Cassian felt horribly out of depth. But he tried to continue as normal, tried to  get her to engage with him. “Want something comfy to wear?”

Nesta fisted the sleeves of her jumper. 

“There are t-shirts in the second drawer down if you do,” Cassian continued. “Toiletries are in the cabinet beneath the bathroom sink or the one above it - a new toothbrush, toothpaste. Take what you need, ok?”

Later - eventually - when Cassian slept, there was no escaping the day. He relived it all - yet another awful nightmare. Nesta’s bloodless face, her vice-like grip on his fingers. The sound her body made as she struck the wall. Her wide, terrified eyes. The blood glistening on her fingers. 

When Cassian woke the next morning, he didn’t need a moment to remember why he was sleeping on the pull out couch. 

And he certainly didn’t need to remind himself that the secret hope he’d been harbouring, the foolish optimism that he and Nesta might still be something, had been thoroughly stamped out. 

Tags (let me know if you want to be added/removed): @arinbelle @superspiritfestival @sayosdreams @perseusannabeth @mylittlebigplanet @biggestwingspan-az @bellsqueen @ekaterinakostrova @bookstantrash @prophecyerised @rainbowcheetah512 @wannawriteyouabook @lovelynesta @melphss @a-trifling-matter @thalia-2-rose @champanheandluxxury @swankii-art-teacher @lavendergoomsltd @princessofmerchants-reads @imwritingthesewords @nestable @inejbrekkxr @silvernesta @amelie775 @helen-the-weirdo @pizzaneverdisappoints @wishfulimaginings @trash-for-nessian @my-fan-side

[coweye]

Commitment Issues - Part 8

Pairing: Benjamin Miller x Reader

Words: 2.7k

Summary: When you try and take your friends with benefits relationship to the next level, Benny’s response isn’t quite what you were expecting.

AN: So I lied - I'm so sorry for the wait! Recently, writing hasn't come as easy to me and although it's almost a year late I hope you enjoy, this isn't the final chapter - I lied twice.

➢ fic masterpost

PREVIOUS PART

28th April 2022 - 37 weeks pregnant

Life playing host to the parasite that was soon to be your daughter had only gotten worse. Hard to believe, I know.

The gift that kept on giving made sure that you’d suddenly without any warning whatsoever have the overwhelming urge to vomit. 

There was no rhyme or reason to her neat new little party trick but at any given moment your stomach said nope and you bought up whatever you happened to have eaten or as the case may be; be eating at the time. 

Honestly, you weren’t a negative person by nature, but these agonizing eight months had taken it out of you. 

Hell, you were in the process of drafting an eviction notice if this kid didn’t get out of you in the next two weeks. 

Long story short, between this and the Benny situation you were not exactly the best of company, right now. 

The boys and Val had all learnt this early on and for the past eight days, you had given up all pretense of a brave face, now you were bleeding and letting everyone who would listen know about it.

When Santiago, who had decided to stay in town until the birth of your baby, suggested a stroll around the mall, you had fixed him with the stare that would have had a lesser man running back to Colombia with his tail between his legs. Until, of course, he had sweetened the deal with fried chicken, his treat and coincidentally the only meal that you had yet to regurgitate. 

So, here you found yourself with Santiago and William and a six piece bucket to yourself.

The change in company was a welcome distraction from dwelling on your non-existent love life at home with the love of your life. 

After the thorn in your side that was Jasmine, reared her ugly head at the baby shower, you had pulled back into your protective bubble of distant and cold. 

Benny, though confused about the message, received it loud and clear as he returned to the swing to find you inside and talking incredibly heatedly to Valerie. In the eight days that followed, he yet to confront you about it. Apparently old habits died hard.. 

The camaraderie that had come hand in hand with your truce had dissolved. You weren’t actively unpleasant, but you didn’t melt into his side, or nap on the couch with him anymore. 

You had established boundaries, resolving yourself to the simple philosophy of anything you wouldn’t do with Frankie, you wouldn’t do with Ben. 

It was simple… well kind of, every one of your moves was carefully calculated and exhausting.

For example, lying on the couch watching a movie with a leg rub? Acceptable. 

Frankie would do that for your swollen ankle joint, hell, he had done.

However, lying on the couch with his body sandwiched against yours as you fall asleep, the hardness of him pressed into your backside; well… that was quite clearly a no, but I digress! 

Boundaries were established and what almost was, had been completely and totally healthily avoided at all costs, creating the exact tenuous home environment you'd spent so long trying to avoid. 

So, here you found yourself in the food court, slamming some fried chicken trying desperately to forget your woes.

“She’s too clingy…” Santi huffed in between a bite of his burger, talking mostly to Will as you had yet to peak up from behind your bucket. 

“Maybe she just likes you and wants to spend time with you, god forbid someone shows interest.” You grunted irritably between bites, looking for a fight. 

Both men turned to you in surprise, the whites of their eyes visible as they feared your outburst. 

Santiago strategically paused as he searched for the right words before he began to speak again. 

“You’re right … Maybe I’m too harsh.” Pope placated as he fixed you with a look of reproach, however, that only served to enrage you further. 

He watched for your reaction as if you were an angry bear or a child throwing a tantrum. Truth be told, you weren’t strictly unlike either of those things at that precise moment. 

Your brows narrowed, ready to unload and tell him all the reasons he was a dick before a cramping pain in your bloated abdomen overwhelmed you. Your eyes clenched shut as you breathed heavily through your nose, your ringed fingers gripped at the circular table in pain. 

It was impossible for you to judge how long went by before the pain finally passed. 

You took a further second or two to even your breathing before you resumed eating, succinctly dropping the subject that had injected fire into your veins merely moments before. 

With a fry in your mouth, you glanced up to find both men watching you. 

“What the fuck?”

“Are you okay?” They questioned in unison. 

A moment passed as you swallowed your mouthful before you concisely answered your comrades. “I’m pretty sure I’m going into labor.” 

“And … you don’t think we should be actively doing something about that?” Santiago pressed, looking as if he was ready to bolt.

“Labor can take hours and I won't be able to eat once it gets going…” You shrug, picking up another piece of chicken. 

“What’s wrong with you?” Pope breathed, eyes wide before he palmed in his eye sockets in frustration, attempting to rub the stress you induced away.

Will had dragged his chair to your side, his eyes focused on his watch.

“Don’t worry so much… the book said until they're ten minutes apart … there’s no point going …  to the hospital!” You explain in between bites of greasy chicken. 

Your words do little to quell their panic as both men look as if they're ready to pull their hair out with worry. 

“I’ll ring Ben.” Santi groaned as he stood up and reached into his jacket pocket before fishing out his phone. He turned dramatically with a finger pointed in your general direction. “You get her to hurry up - I swear to god, Y/N. If you’re eating when I get back, pregnant or not, I’ll drag you to that car. You’re not having your baby in the damn food court… estúpida, obstinada…” The man continued grunting curses at your expenses as he stalked off for somewhere quiet with cell reception to call the father of your child.

The silence that extended all of three minutes was too good to be true as Will watched your face as you ate for any sign of distress. 

“Whilst giving Pope a coronary is always a good time… don’t you think we should go and get your bag and meet Ben?” Will’s voice was soft, the kind of soothing tone you’d seen him use to talk down shell shocked soldiers - it was both unassuming and laced with copious amounts of compassion. 

You’d be damned if it didn’t just piss you right off. 

With a quick shake of your head, you dropped the empty bone into the bucket with the rest of the carcasses and took a long sip of your drink. 

“I’m good here … I can meet you guys there if you like?”

The pinch in his brow was quite simply incredulous, his concern was quickly outweighing his patience. 

“If you think I’m leaving you both here, you’re insane.”

Chewing on the straw of your drink; your eyes locked with his. They were brimming with a concoction of confusion and concern, which if the clench in his jaw was anything to go by, was slowly morphing into exasperation at your lack of compliance. 

“I … just need some time.”

“Y/N. All you’ve spoken about for the past week is how you want this to be over, wish granted - she’s coming and she’s coming now.”

“That’s what he said…” You uttered half-heartedly under your breath as you broke eye contact, no longer able to face his look of bewilderment. 

On the red tray in front of you was a lemon scented wet wipe hidden among napkins and sauces, you tore open the former and gratuitously began scrubbing the grease off of your hands, actively ignoring the perplexed stare of one of your closest friends. 

“Y/N, we need to get moving… will you just stop and listen?” Will snapped finally as he grabbed the wipe from your grip as you passed over your digits for the third time. 

Your own patience had reached its end as his hand gripped your elbow, his intention to make good on Santiago’s threat and drag you out, clear and present in your mind.

The devil in question was making his way back to your table, all quick strides as he dodged the food courts clientele.

You wrenched your arm from his grip huffing in annoyance at the well meaning Miller. 

“Fine. Let's go and get my bag, maybe we can grab an iced tea on the way to the car…”

Will nodded but you knew the mother hen would never allow a diversion from the mission at hand. 

All was going well. 

You were compliant as you strode through the mall, both men flanking you like a high priority asset as you clambered into Santi’s rental truck.

Hell, you were goddamn amenable as you unlocked your front door and grabbed the hospital duffel bag from the cubby under the stairs. 

However, your cooperation waned somewhat when heading to the maternity ward as  the guys tried to wheel your chair past the hospital's Starbucks. 

Your palm, lightening fast, caught the break on the chair causing it to veer left right into Santiago’s shins.

“Ice Tea!”

“You’ve got a baby about to shoot out of your hoo-hah and you're stopping for tea?!” Santi huffed incredulously as he rubbed his shin.

“My contractions are 25 minutes apart, when they’re 15, I’ll consider joining the panicking cry baby club.” 

“Panicking baby- huh!” Santi huffed rubbing his forehead. “You are not well, Y/N/N! You’re having a baby - Go and have it and then I’ll bathe you in fucking tea!” 

“I’ll come back down and grab you one-” Will placated before Santi bent to remove the break on the chair, allowing Will to move all of two steps, before you slammed it back on, the rubber tyres screeched against the tile floor of the hospital lobby. 

“Tea. First.” You huffed much like a troublesome child. 

This time it was Will who leaned down to remove the break, having clearly decided you weren’t in your right mind.

So, you did the only thing you could; you threw your baby bag off of your lap. 

“Y/N, stop being a goddamn child!” Will huffed, you had clearly pushed him to the edge, not that it had been particularly hard. 

Ignoring him, you began to stand. They both watched on in horror as you slowly ambled your way to the end of the queue. 

Leaning against the drinks fridge, you sighed. 

Your spine was aching something awful. The poor timing of this kid resumed as a contraction wracked your body, sharper than the others, it felt longer but you had no way to be sure. 

Will was at your side the second it overcame your body.

“Twenty minutes apart, please, Y/N. Come on.”

When finally the pain dissipated, your aching back remained. You weren’t proud of the weight you were placing on Will but the floor was the only other option. 

“y/n?! … Y/N!” You heard Benny hollar before you saw him, his eyes were wild with panic as he rushed to your side. He patted his brother on the shoulder, before taking his place. “Baby, what are you doing? You need to get into bed.”

“I want… my … tea.” You huffed, breathing not yet evening out. 

“Fine, we get the tea and we go straight up. How far apart are they?”

“Twen-”

The gush of amniotic fluid leaving your body cut the older Miller off, soaking through your jeans and unfortunately onto Benny’s shoes.

“You just pissed, she just pissed!” Santi cried in disbelief, his hands an almost permanent fixture in his disheveled curls at this point. It was hard to believe this man was a pressure player.

“It's not piss, it's her waters. We need to go, I’m sorry baby, you can have all the ice tea you want when it's safe for you both.” He bent down and caught your sodden legs, picking you up in one sweep. 

If you weren’t currently covered in amniotic fluid, that story book firefighter carry would have set your loins ablaze. 

Who were you kidding? 

You were absolutely drenched in amniotic fluid and your loins were practically smoking. 

Between writhing in pain as your uterus contracted to eject a literal watermelon and lusting over your baby daddy who you had spent the last eight days practically snarling at every time he dared advance, the journey to your delivery suite had been all but a blur. 

Somehow all three men surrounded you, having coerced their way through the midwifery staff with their nefarious charm. 

“How ya’ doing champ?” Santi questioned as you huffed on the oxygen inhaler handed to you by your midwife. A thumbs up was all you could offer as you groaned through the contractions that were now give or take five minutes apart. 

“How about we use a bit of gravity?” The woman in control of the drugs questioned. A suggestion you were only more than happy to try.

Following her instructions and with minor assistance from Ben you were now on all fours, frantically inhaling the gas and air. 

“We’re going to need to clear the room, anyone who isn’t the father needs to leave.” 

You were so far gone, you didn’t care if they saw the business end of your cervix. All you knew was uncontrollable pain that wracked your body every five minutes like a sadistic egg timer. 

Ben wiped at your forehead with a damp towel as tears escaped. 

“You can do this, baby.”

“UGNGH.. It feels like I’m shitting a knife!” You cried as another contraction wracked your body. 

“Not long now, gorgeous. Then we’ll have our baby.”

“I’m not ready.” You cried burying your face in the reclined back of the bed. You couldn’t look him in the eyes.

“You are-”

“No. We’re not ready. Things were … supposed to be fixed… I promised her.”

“Wha-”

“ you stupid fucking idiot. I want to be with you; I have done for like ten years…  smitten with you from the second I heard your tone deaf ass singing that … crappy hick song on base. Ungh… And everything is so broken because I don’t want you … to just stay for the Bean, I want to be with you … because you want to be with me.” You cried, tears wracking your body as uncontrollably as the contractions.

“It’s all broken… I promised her and I fucked it all up. You … and Jaz can just live happily ever-” You cut yourself off with a low wail as another contraction wracked your body. It seemed to knock Benny out of his stupor as his hand rubbed your lower back.

It was a moment before you leveled out and remembered you were divulging your innermost thoughts but a moment ago, though you couldn’t find it in you to care. 

Bigger fish to fry, and all that.

“I adore you, even if you are the goddamn most stubborn fuckin’ idiot I’ve ever met. You're the mother of my baby, yeah. It scares the crap outta me. Caring for you. Damn near spent three months thinking up all the reasons we couldn’t be together cause it scared me so bad.” He huffed, stroking your hair. He helped you reposition on your back, as you breathed in another wave of oxygen. “I- I don’t do this. I don’t do relationships … because this feeling in my stomach when I think of you is fuckin awful. Sure I get the tingles when you smile at me or stroke my arm. But ninety-nine percent of the time, fucking nightmare, I worry if you’re happy, if you’ve eaten and now we’re adding an whole ass entire other person into this fucking clown show.”

“Gee… thanks.” You huffed in between breaths of gas and air. 

Ben chuckled as he pushed the sweat sodden hair back from your brow. He leaned forward, pressing his mouth against yours, the kiss was brief and nowhere near what was needed but it was all you could manage. 

It was enough, you thought at that moment.

The promise, that everything wasn’t lost, there was hope ahead, it carried you through.

Next Part

@sixshooter665 @queenie-b- @rambling-in-purple @anaaaispunk @miraclesabound @kravitzwhorehore @ahsokathearcher @xoxabs88xox @heresathreebee @psychadelichue @marauderskeeper @tanzthompsonn @mermaidxatxheart

[imaginingbleach]

im a little selfish for the bleach ask one, but can i know 1-22 😭😭

Bleach Ask Meme

Oh my goodness gracious that's a lot LOL.

1. Who are your top three favorite characters and why? (It can be arrancars, espada, humans, soul reapers, zanpakuto spirits, souls, visoreds, fullbringers, and of course I can’t forget the quincies)

It's my answer and I'm breaking the rules! >:0

Top 3 of each:

Arrancars: Nel, that little doggy, Ulquiorra (since he didn't make the espada list)

Espada: Grimmjow, Halibel, Nnoitra

Humans: Orihime, Tatsuki, Riruka (and Ichigo's teacher for being so chill)

Soul Reapers: Ichigo, Sosuke, Rukia

Zanpakuto Spirits: Zangetsu :>

Souls: Kukaku.

Visoreds: Shinji :>

Fullbringers: Riruka

Quincies: Masaki, Bazz B?, Meninas?

2. Who is/are your least favorite character(s) and why?

Central 46. (or Yammy lol)

3. Favorite minor character?

Answered here!

4. Favorite zanpakuto?

My OC's--- LOL sorry; I'd have to say Sode no Shirayuki. So pwetty.

5. Favorite shikai?

Katen Kyōkotsu

6. Favorite bankai?

Sakashima Yokoshima Happōfusagari / Tensa Zangetsu / Hakka no Togame

7. Favorite kido? (It can be bakudo, hado, or kaido)

Bakudo: Tanma Otoshi

Purely for this gif (linked to the wiki where I found it):

Hado: Sōren Sōkatsui

8. Favorite squad?

Have a soft spot for 5 & 10. :)

9. Favorite captain?

Shinji Hirako 💙

10. Favorite lieutenant?

Renji Abarai / Nanao Ise

11. What’s your favorite opening theme from the series?

Answered Here!

12. What’s your favorite ending theme from the series?

Answered Here!

13. Favorite manga panel?

Oh jeez, I don't know since there's so much I haven't read o_o

14. Most heart-wrenching death?

Senna still gets me 😭

I'm not sure otherwise.

15. Favorite arc and why?

As far as I know the arrancar arc. Let's be real, it gives me Shinji 😭

16. Favorite movie and why?

Answered Here!

17. Favorite piece of merch that you own?

I've had to move so much I don't have any Bleach merch anymore ;^;

18. Do you have any tattoos?

Not Bleach related, but I've got... several >~> All cat related.

I've got "Luna" with her birth year and d.o.d. with a little pawprint, Izaya next to Luna in a similar way with a little cat resting with a halo, on my other arm I have Sprinkle with a sleeping kitty, Wedge with a kitty tilting it's head;;; on my left shoulder I have five paw prints that are "inverted". They're filled in black with letter cut outs. S, A, R, J, and a star symbol. They're a little memorial for Sampson, Akasha, Ravina, Jasmine, and Star.

Izaya and Luna are memorials as well, Sprinkle and Wedge are just because they're my babies. :3

19. If you’re a fic writer, who do you write for?

Answered Here!

20. If you are an artist, do you have a favorite character to draw?

I don't draw much, so definitely no Bleach characters I've drawn ;^;

21. If you could be in the Bleach universe would you be a soul reaper, visored, human, quincy, espada or arrancar?

Weird question, idk. I would say soul reaper but my health/knowing my luck... uh probably end up being a plain human.

22. Free space to ask whatever you want that I missed or talk about something that isn’t mentioned!

THIS ISN'T A QUESTION I CAN ANSWER BECAUSE well

uh

[jarofmayonassey]

HIII HI HIIII HII ITS ME IM OP HIII THANK YOU FOR READING MY FIC HIIIII I WANTED TO DO SOME DIRECTOR COMMENTARY ON SOME OF YOUR POINTS CAUSE YOU HIT THE NAIL ON THE HEAD

-going down ur list here, there is major symbolism of the play being little shop! since little shop was kinda the granddaddy of musical sci fi and very much an inspiration for be more chill/the squip itself, I felt it was only fitting ! but even more than that, ophios gradual progression of convincing the boys that its fine and normal was similar to twoey convincing Seymour that its fine and normal as more and more fucked up things happen.....

-as per ofio being niceys-- yes!!!! Yes he is doing little magic tricks and being nice and polite in order to give them a false sense of security!!! Ophio as a character is a lot more self aware than his canon counterpart, he's fully aware of outside opinions and how others perceive him, so navigating that isn't hard for him. Hes also EXTREMELY patient and kinder than you'd expect-- because he has the *power* and leeway to do so. It takes a lot to make him snap and get aggressive like we see at the end of the fic: in fact, the only reason he GOT all hivemind and scary was BECAUSE of the twist at the end: he knew he had won already, so he didn't need to hide or make nice anymore.

-the building that is Ophiuchus Secondary is a real highschool, it was My highschool which is why I picked it (I knew the layout so I wouldn't make continuity errors while writing it). If you message me I will send you images of this fucking school it is actually intimidating and eerie.

-Jasmine! I picked jasmine as part of the horror element because I remember one day randomly smelling jasmine outside and going 'huh that was weird. Itd be cool if that was scary'. Something i really really love writing is making something completely innocent into something terrifying and dreadful with the right context. Entries into this list that my friends will recognize: the word "spoilers", the word "made", the nickname "ace", the two of wands, the smell of seawater, ect ect ect.

also something I didn't know while writing this was that one of my friends has a MASSIVE JASMINE BUSH IN HER YARD. she didn't know they were jasmines either. i have unintentionally made them very scared of their yard. my bad homie

-When it comes to the school tour being catered to the boys-- abso fucking lutely. Beyond the surface level positive takeaways of each room, you also get some deeper stuff in each area. In the computer lab, you get their video game interest catered to-- but you also learn that the squip is purposefully taking the less convenient route because its better for their hosts. In the wood shop, you get ophio joking around and buying expensive tools for the shop-- but you also learn hes willing to bend the rules for the greater good and let you in on his secrets. (That's a big one. Feeling like you're in on a secret is a huuuuge and extremely effective manipulation tactic that i write into like, every squip). And in the art room, on the surface its everyone getting along-- but underneath, its everyone getting along *with MICHAEL.*

-qhen it comes to hivemind stuff, I wanted to write it very much ambiguous. Theres a very clear insect-like structure, yes, but its very unclear how much ophio is ACTUALLY in control of everything. a big question during the fic is "is he lying and is this all a facade", which the answer kind of becomes 'yes' during the chase sequence. I kept the real answer super ambiguous because I wanted the audience to draw their own conclusions on if ophio was lying or not .

(However there is a correct Answer and the answer is actually No. The answer is actually that ophio was in fact telling the truth the entire time and does not control his hive at all times. i consider the students to be separate characters. he does in fact ask permission before possessing his hosts-- which isn't really a point when you realize that not only did he spike all the cafeteria food and then lace every unsquipped student within ONE WEEK, and also subconsciously manipulated the student body to be more accepting of his presence. hes kind of a freak but hes my freak. heart emoji)

-fun fact! the mystery of ophio high started as (and still is) a roleplay scenario! the finished storyline was a combination of about 4 different "runs" of the tour storyline. one of them had leon Kennedy from resident evil 4 in it. that shit was crazy

about to go on a flight. i downloaded the mystery of ophio high to read (since i drew the SQUIP for that au) so ill update yall on my thoughts abt the fic after!!

it actually seems SO cool

[kinglivv]

Love for the Lonely

Dhawan!Master X Reader

Summary: The reader is scared of commitment, always treating them and the Master's relationship and replacable and meaningless. The Master tries to change her perspective.

Warnings: None

A/N: I've done something like this for W!Master before, but I wanted to do it with D!Master where the reader is the cold and unforgiving character. It's also probably the closest I'll ever get to a song fic, as it's based off of Jasmine Thompson's song "Love for the Lonely".

Even with the lights turned off, you can feel the Master's gaze on you.

"What?" You ask sharply, voice like a knife through the darkness.

"What?" He asks.

"Why are you staring at me? Go to sleep."

"That's not a very ladylike way to talk to the man who just fucked you." He mocks, and you feel like throwing a pillow at him.

"Just tell me what's bothering you so I can go to sleep."

He sighs. "You just... You seem so distant recently."

"Recently?" You ask. "I've always been distant. All we do is meet up, screw eachother and then go our seperate ways."

"I know, but..." He sighs. "You won't let me hold you. You barely talk once it's over, and then you're gone by morning."

"I thought that's the way you liked it," You frown. "It doesn't mean anything, so we don't have to act like it does. This is love for the lonely. Neither of us are ever going to commit - it will never be more than this."

"How do you know that?"

You sit up sharply, duvet pooling at your naked waist. You reach over to flick on the bedside lamp, and turn to look at him.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," He says, propping himself up on one elbow. "Why shouldn't it be more?"

You scoff harshly, looking away. "Don't tell me you caught feelings."

"Don't tell me you haven't."

You look down at him, breath catching in your throat.

"What are you running from?" He asks, hand reaching out to rest on your hip. "Why are you so scared of whatever we could be?"

"Why does it matter?" You try to ignore the streak of arousal that shoots through you as his thumb rubs circles on your hipbone. "You're busy being the Master. I'm busy on Earth building my career. This-" You motion to the space in between you. "Is replaceable."

"It's not. It was, but it isn't anymore."

You don't know how to reply to that, and you simply stare down at him.

"Come here," He says. "Just for tonight."

You sigh. It's late, you're tired and you can't deny that you quite like the idea of falling into the comfort of his arms. Was being allowed to fall asleep on his chest too much to ask?

You give in, and lay back down, allowing him to pull you onto him. You press your face into his neck, inhaling and feeling his arms wrap around you securely.

"Sleep now," You whisper, and feel him nod.

You're gone by morning.

Taglist: @truthbehindthemysteries @queerconfusionthings @xenteaart @actuallyanita @ateliefloresdaprimavera

[doodlelolly0910]

Close Encounters of the Spiritual Kind

Summary: Emma Nolan spent a lot of time alone, and that was fine by her. Because one is never truly alone. She should know. She can talk to dead people. What she didn’t expect was one of these spiritual encounters to hang around, taking her down a rabbit hole of missing women, revenge, and, least expected, love. Can she save the day and Killian Jones? Is there even another choice?

Read it from the beginning on AO3 and FFN!

A/N: I can't believe we're already at chapter 19!! Ok, so this chapter. We get super feelsy and some stuff goes down. And some steaminess (finally amirite lol) and revelations. Things are leading to the end! Just a few chapters left! I'm thinking 3-4 more max. So things are really in full throttle here :D many many thanks to my wonderful beta @kmomof4 (whom I may have killed with this chapter lol) and to @courtorderedcake who is the disgustingly talented artist who created the art for this fic that I love so so much. And thank you so much to anyone who still reads this thing, y'all make my day with every comment, reblog, like, so thank you, truly, to anyone reading this still. Y'all are amazing. Ok! New chapter! Let's go!

Chapter 19

Emma was the one to take Killian’s hand when she got out of the car, though she was sure he would have followed her anywhere she went at this point, hauling him straight into the office and pushing him into his chair. He loosed a grunt upon impact, but Emma didn’t pay any attention to him, instead flopping her bag on the desk and beginning to dig through it.

“If you wanted it rough, darling, all you had to do was ask,” he said, adjusting himself and watching her move around.

“Okay, so, don’t freak out, but I want to try something,” she said breathlessly, dragging the other chair around the desk in front of him. “Remember the shirt? The first contact I had with Milah? I have it here.” She thrust the bag towards him and he looked inside. His head popped up when he saw the fabric within the zippered compartment of her satchel.

“Emma…” he said on a heavy exhale. She chewed on her lip and brushed a few strands of hair from her face, not meeting his eyes.

“I know this sounds crazy, but I just… I just want to see… fuck, this is so stupid, maybe I shouldn’t have- you know what, just forget it. It’s too much and I don’t even know-” Her rambling was cut short by the feel of his strong, calloused fingers gripping her hand and squeezing. She turned her gaze up to meet him, and the hope and trust shining in his eyes almost knocked her on the floor.

“Do it. I want to. Please, Emma,” he said, voice quiet but firm. Emma blew out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, her eyes wide, fear running rampant through her gaze, but she held onto his hand like a lifeline. She sat, trying to get her nerves under control, wiping her hands on her jeans to rid them of the fine layer of sweat that they had developed once he released her grip. He reached into the bag and pulled the shirt free, a shaky sigh escaping his lips.

“She loved flowers,” he murmured, rubbing the fabric between his fingers. “She wore a lot of shirts like this, but this one was of her favorites. Never thought I’d see it again,” he admitted and looked up from his hands to meet her gaze again, extending the clothing to her in an offering of faith and trust in her and Emma could do nothing more than wordlessly reach for the garment and grip it tight.

The encounter was gentler than she thought it would be, considering the first encounter with Milah had been so intense, letters swimming through her head and whispers loud enough to drown out everything around her. It wasn’t like that this time. But this time, she could see.

A woman came into focus, dark ringlets bouncing around her face, blue grey eyes alive with amusement and wonder. She wasn’t transparent, or glowing, or any other cliche ghost thing. It was like seeing someone on TV but right in front of her. Like a hologram, without the light.  She knew she wouldn't be able to touch the woman, her hand likely to go right through her, but there she was, all the same. Emma took a deep breath in and got swept up in the fragrant jasmine in the air around her.

“Hey, Emma,” she said with a smile. “It’s so good to talk to you face to face. I didn’t think we would ever get this chance.”

“Milah. I didn’t expect this to be so...uh…”

“Vivid?” she finished for her, walking towards where Emma sat in the chair before Killian. She looked at the man fondly, sweeping her fingers over where his hair was, her fingers slipping right through where the strands lay as if they weren’t there at all. Which, they kinda weren’t. But a shiver went through Killian’s body all the same.

“What’s happening? What’s she saying?” Killian asked, his eyes settling back on Emma’s face.

“Oh, Killian. So impatient, agrà,” Milah chuckled and Emma let out a disbelieving laugh of her own. Killian's brow furrowed and Emma shook her head, stupid smile still in place.

“Ah, she says you're impatient. I can see her, Killian. She's… she's right next to you,” Emma said in a watery voice, wholly overwhelmed by this entire experience already. Killian sat up straighter, eyes darting around the room.

“I don't think you'll be able to see her, Killian,” Emma said, a note of sadness in her tone, and Killian stopped his search, face falling slightly. He nodded and blew out a breath.

“How does she look? Is… is she alright?” he asked anxiously.

“Yeah, she looks good. She can hear you, you know,” Emma urged and Milah gave her a soft smile.

“Milah, God, I…” he began but faltered, looking back to Emma for guidance. “What do I say to her?” Emma was taken aback by his plea for help.

“I don't know, I haven't done this before either! Just talk to her, I guess. Say what's on your mind.”

“Right, right. Okay.” He breathed another deep breath, seemingly calming himself, and Emma mirrored him.

“I miss you,” he said, almost a whisper and a crack formed in Emma's heart that cut deeper than she'd like to admit.

“I miss you too, agrà. More than you could know. Please, please stop this madness with your thirst for revenge. Get out of this world,” Milah said and Emma's throat tightened as she watched the spirit’s hands hover over his hunched form.

Emma cleared her throat before speaking, but the tightness remained. “She, uh, she says she misses you too. More than you know. And she is asking you not to seek revenge anymore. She said she wants you to get out of this world,” Emma relayed and Killian looked positively indignant. She reached out immediately to soothe him, her left hand touching his lightly, the other still clasped tightly around the shirt.

“Agrà,” Milah murmured and Killian froze. His lips parted on a sharp inhale, his features draining of color in an instant.

“Killian?” Emma asked softly, moving to pull away from where she touched him but his hand shot out like lightning, gripping her own tight. Emma looked to their joined hands to Milah, then back to him. As tight as his grip was, she could still feel him shaking. It was like he'd seen a ghost. Or…

“I heard her,” he whispered, nearly inaudible. Emma's mind went completely blank. This had never happened before. “Emma, I heard her. She said…” he broke off on a chuckle that seemed to bubble from his mouth of its own accord. “She said ‘agrà’. I heard her. I heard Milah’s voice. I… I…” he faltered for any sort of word, shaking his head incredulously.

“Milah, say something else,” Emma urged, keeping her eyes on Killian and tightening her own grip around his hand.

“You're meant for so much greater, Killian. You are not defined by your losses. Please don't do this.” Milah was earnest, the pain on her face at being so close to Killian and being unable to touch him was almost tangible. Killian looked similarly frustrated and hurt, but there was an underlying layer of joy and wonder that she'd only seen from him one other time. When he'd kissed her the first time. Emma's heart broke for them both just a little.

“Milah, I can't, he is a monster,” he growled and Emma inhaled sharply at his direct acknowledgement of the spiritual presence. “He took you from me, he took my hand, he took everything and he cannot be allowed to remain unpunished.”

“It's not your place, agrà. Let Emma take care of it. She can keep you safe. She can save you, Killian.” Milah’s murmured words had Killian's eyes snapping back towards Emma's. There was still pain there, so much emotion, but there was a softness now as well. Emma only got a glimpse before his expression sealed up tight. His jaw tightened and he looked away.

He didn't acknowledge anything Milah had said, instead responding with, “I love you, Milah. I'm sorry for everything.” He unfurled his fingers from Emma's, patting them lightly where they rested on her jean covered knee before releasing them altogether and breaking his connection to Milah.

Milah and Emma sighed almost simultaneously. Emma could feel her soft eyes on her now and she turned her own gaze up to meet them.

“I can't stay, Emma. Killian will come around. I hope it's not too late. Can I ask something of you?”

“Yeah, Milah, whatever you need,” Emma replied over the tightness in her own throat.

“Take care of him. More than that, let him take care of you, too. There's something here between you that goes deeper than even you know. It could be something really special, if you let it. Don't be afraid to feel. I'll be around.” Milah smiled softly at Emma and turned her gaze back to Killian. This was a goodbye for her, a hell of a one at that, and Emma felt like she had been sucker punched in the gut. Who knew when or if this would or could ever happen again. She couldn't take her eyes off of Milah even as she faded from sight without another word. She continued to stare at the spot where she had just stood trying in vain to process what the spirit had just told her.

“She's gone, isn't she?” Killian's voice brought her away from her panic stricken fog and she nodded. He nodded in turn, a soft, sad smile quirking his lips. He looked up at her then, unshed tears making his eyes sparkle.

“That was the most amazing thing that's ever happened to me. You… you are amazing, love, just incredible,” he said, his voice cracking in and out of a whisper. “Has that ever happened before?”

“No,” Emma answered in a whisper of her own. “None of these things have. I shouldn't have been able to draw you so well, I shouldn't have these extended encounters with your loved ones, I've never seen a spirit during an encounter in person, and no one has ever heard them because we touched. I don’t know why these things keep happening with you. It’s like we’re… like we’re connected somehow, on this deeper level, or something. I don’t know!” She threw her hands in the air before burying her face in them. She felt a gentle hand grasp at her wrist and tug it away from her face after a moment. Killian's blue eyes bored into her, a heat and an intensity that touched her physically, making goosebumps scatter over her flesh. And then he spoke, low, husky, his voice the very thing sin was made from.

“I don’t believe in fairy tales and ghost stories, Swan. I don’t believe in soulmates, or true love, or happy endings, especially not for me. I am a villain in this tale, after all, and villains don’t get happy endings. But I do believe in you. Whatever just happened here was real. And I believe whatever is here between you and I, it’s real, and it’s true, and it’s so deep it scares me. You are something magical, love.”

She couldn't have stopped herself if she tried, though Milah's words made her want to jump in her bug and never come back. Despite that, she leaned forward, watching the caution in Killian's features slowly melt away as he realized her intent. She pressed her lips lightly against his before pulling back and looking into his eyes again, gauging his response. She saw the same heat there, only intensified, looking back at her from the carefully schooled mask he had in place.

So she did it again.

Something inside Killian snapped in that instant and his hand plunged into her hair as he sealed his mouth over hers. The strands pulled on his rings against where her elastic secured her thick locks on the crown of her head so she reached up to undo it with both hands. He took advantage of her raised arms and as soon as her curls tumbled free down her back, he looped his hooked arm around her back, hauling her out of her chair and pressing their torsos tightly together.

Emma moved her legs to frame Killian's thighs, essentially straddling him as he reached down to thumb the notch in her chin and open her lips to his questing and insistent tongue. The first hot lick into her mouth had her groaning and sinking into him further, her own hands snaking up to tangle in his thick, dark locks, pulling him closer and returning his kiss with just as much fervor.

He held her tight to him, a soft, breathless gasp of her name escaping his lips when they pulled apart for air that had her jumping right back in. His hand was everywhere, tracing the edge of her jaw, sifting through her hair, stroking the column of her throat and skimming down her arm before plunging back into her golden mane. He held her like she would disappear if he let go, and she knew in part that was thanks to the encounter. Too many people had just disappeared on him, just as they had her. The thought of him clinging to her like some sort of life preserver should have sent her running for the hills but it just sent her diving deeper into him, clutching at him just as desperately.

Lust and a want so intense it burned her from the inside out flared through her veins. When his hand slipped under the hem of her shirt and touched the bare skin of her back, she whimpered into his mouth, which in turn had him pressing up into her curves. She could feel his own want for her in the solid outline of his erection through their jeans and wetness pooled between her thighs at the thought of him being connected to her in every way. She had to stop herself from grinding down on him like a cat in heat.

Somewhere in the back of her conscious mind, through the thick haze of want that had infiltrated her being, Emma heard the tinny jingling of a generic ringtone echoing out into the room. She ignored it, pressing herself further into Killian’s embrace, sweeping her tongue over his own like it was the last thing she would ever do. She never wanted it to stop. But no sooner did the chirping from the phone stop than did it start up again and Killian was pulling away.

“Emma, love,” he panted, voice husky and deep, still stealing kisses from her lips as she tried to press forward like he couldn’t stop himself. “Fucking hell, your phone, it could be your contact. Much as I’m enjoying this, and believe me, I am.” He flexed his fingers into her hip, pulling her tight against his lap where his arousal was now more than a little prevalent, pulling a moan from Emma, which in turn pulled a shudder from himself. “I don’t fancy a police raid because they couldn’t reach you.”

The phone stopped ringing, then started up again and Emma squeezed her eyes shut on a groan. Clambering off of Killian’s lap, her hair wild where he had been running his hand through it, she snatched her phone from where it lay on the table in the corner and jammed her finger viciously into the answer button.

“Yeah,” she snapped.

“Hey, Nolan. Long time.”

Emma felt something swell up inside her at the sound of the voice on the other end of the line. Several emotions all balled into one, the most prominent of them being joy and relief, and she could barely get her voice above an awestruck whisper.

“Graham.”