#though the apple is just a pearl covered in blood | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

storiesoflilies · 1 year ago

Text

moments in twilight

synopsis: oh, innocent child of blood and bones. you cry as if your heart bleeds fire. has nobody ever taught you to burn them all first? w.c: 13k.

pairing: heianera!ryomen sukuna x f!reader

warnings: childhood friends to lovers, major character death. mentions of cannibalism, violence, and slight gore. ANGST! sfw, but mdni!

a/n: this was requested by this enthusiastic nonie! i hope you enjoy this and that it’s everything you wanted <3 a massive shout to @spookuna for being my biggest supporter and cheerleader, because i genuinely couldn’t have done this without her!

divider / art / ao3 / @ficsforgaza

the first sight of her fate didn’t seem real, like something out of a dream.

she couldn’t understand what – or who – she was looking at.

perhaps it was a fully materialized specter born somewhere from the deepest recesses of her imagination, unknown even to herself. it certainly seemed that way to her; she was only six and knew nothing of the horrors of the world, except for those that came to life in scary stories.

her ghost was digging feverishly into the earth, its fingers curled like claws, like it was searching for something. it was a dirty, scrawny little thing, wearing no clothes except for a soiled fundoshi that looked as if it was strung together by luck and willpower. every so often, it would pull something stringy and limp into its mouth, devouring it rabidly, though she couldn’t make out what it was.

why would her imagination come up with something so… awful?

it wasn’t a pretty, or kind looking ghost to be sure, and she scratched her arms as an uncomfortable itch settled into her skin.

the specter paused, like a fawn that had been discovered.

and turned.

no… it was a wolf, but it was really just a boy.

a boy that stared at her with a basin full of blood in his eyes. a garden that should have been filled with a gorgeous array of ruby roses, was instead full of violence and malice, of death and root rot. this was not a normal, or happy, sort of boy like the boisterous ones in her village.

she still thought she was dreaming, still believed the boy was just a ghost.

because what else could he be? real boys didn’t have a second pair of small eyes beneath their normal ones. even if his were closed, his two pale lids shut tightly like an oyster.

would there be precious little red, red, red pearls underneath them?

a gentle gust of wind swept through the trees, ruffling the boys matted locks of hair, and he vanished from her sight like a puff of dust.

surely now it was a dream.

real boys couldn’t just disappear.

until she felt all the air knocked out from her lungs as she crashed backwards into the earth, sharp fingernails digging into the soft skin of her forearms, and the boy’s crimson eyes were consuming her in his fire.

she knew then it wasn’t a dream, because dreams couldn’t hurt her like this.

she kicked and struggled, her ears ringing from the force of her head knocking into the ground, screaming until one of his dirty hands covered her mouth. she stilled immediately, tears pricking the corner of her eyes, and sliding down the apples of her cheeks.

“you can’t steal,” the boy hissed, his voice sharp and pointed like nails, and he shook her roughly as he repeated like a mantra. “can’t steal, can’t steal.”

she whimpered and nodded frantically, as sharp stones from the earth pierced her skin, adding to her misery. the boy licked his lips, a snake tasting the air with its forked tongue, and bent down closer to her ear.

“i’m hungry” he whispered, a dusting of glee coating his words like powdery snow. “i want to eat you.”

the sky was haunted with the last light of the sunset, like the cries of a mourning mother, swirling with hues of orange and purple. she wondered if she was going to become a ghost that could only existed in her own mother’s dreams.

for the first time in her meager existence, she felt her childish immortality slipping between her tiny fingers.

something uncomfortably hot and wet spread out from beneath her thighs.

the boy sniffed once, twice, with his nose upturned.

then he cried out angrily, his red eyes flashing in the twilight hour, and shoved her roughly into the ground before releasing his grip on her, recoiling defensively infront of his hole of dirt. she scrambled up ungracefully to her feet, her chest heaving, wincing as she tasted bitter soil and salty tears on her tongue.

“yucky! dirty, dirty!” the boy spat indignantly, hypocritically, as if he wasn’t more soiled than she was.

he was rolling in the dirt now, rubbing his face and body with it as if it were soap, as if the coarse earth could wash her touch away from him. she took two steps backwards from him, feeling an eerie charge of energy settling into the edge of the forest.

like the spark of a flame that could ignite into a wildfire.

she took another slow step back.

and then another.

and another.

until she turned and fled, like a squawking bird escaping the grasp of a hawk, her short legs crying out as she sprinted faster than she ever had in her life. she ran all the way from the edge of the forest, up the slight incline of the main pathway through her village, and finally crashed through the doorway of her home, startling her mother who was scrubbing away at dirtied clothes in a bucketful of soapy water.

her mother gasped loudly, alarm rising like a looming mountain, always there and ever present. “whatever happened to you? you’re all scratched.”

lie.

she wailed loudly, messy snot dribbling down her nose and chin and right onto her mother’s worn, muted robes. her mother shushed her gently, bundling her child into her arms and pressing comforting kisses to her forehead.

“what happened, my dearest love?” her mother repeated, whispering softly and soothingly.

lie.

she somehow knew that if she told the truth, it would only invite chaos and misery into her home.

“i p-played in the forest a-and falled,” she finally hiccuped, her bottom lip pouting and wobbling.

her mother cooed, wiping away her tears with a warm, rough thumb. “you fell? my sweet, you’ll be alright. oh, oh. why have you wet yourself?”

more mucus ran down from her nose, and she wiped it messily with her palm as she shrugged her shoulders and said nothing. she let her mother fuss over her, completely unresponsive as she dunked her tiny body into a wooden bucket, washing away the touch of the wolfish, snake boy.

until all that remained of him were the little scratches dotting her arms – rough and ridged, lines carved into the trunks of trees.

she thought of him all through the night, even when her mother had tucked her into bed and tenderly kissed her brow. everything was unknown to her now, nothing was certain. was he actually like an animal, capable of following her scent and finding her here?

would he gorge on her until all that was left of her was red, red, red?

༺ ✤ ༻

the boy had taken over her life – he was everywhere, in everything.

haunting her.

taunting her.

filling her mind with paranoia and warped visions of his red eyes staring at her, always. she saw him in between the boards of the walls and floor, and in every bite of food she took. the wispy tendrils of his hands possessed hers, eating right alongside her. he was in the blood of her scrapes, which always seemed to reopen whenever she bathed, and in her tears as she whimpered quietly, unable to sleep as she hid beneath her blanket.

as if that could save her from him.

it was in the boy’s nature to haunt her with his hunt, to frighten and consume her every thought.

she couldn’t expect anything less than that; it was who he was.

she’d seen it in his eyes, a peephole into the true nature of his soul, and it was full of violence and cruelty and…

sadness.

… and beauty.

he was really just a sad, beautiful little boy.

a boy just as old as she was. a boy who had somehow been put on a path of loneliness, without light, kindness, or love.

it had to be some sort of twisted fascination she harbored for the boy, the same way she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the blood trickling from his scratches, or stop listening to the stories of ghosts and monsters in the night.

maybe it was his strange power that was possessing her, gripping her like quicksand and sucking her further and further down into his madness.

yes, that had to be it.

because why else would she be heading straight towards the edge of the forest, to him?

she tightly grasped a small bowl of rice and vegetables between her little hands, swiped from her own dinner right beneath her mother’s nose. it had long since cold, and she hoped the ghost wouldn’t mind. it was an offering, a desperate plea to break free from his curse that haunted her.

snap!

snap! crackle, snap!

a few twigs snapped loudly beneath her feet – a damning announcement.

she froze, nearly dropping her bowl, breathing quick and shallow puffs of air.

snap!

another one, this time from behind her.

she whirled around, and there he was.

the boy stood beside a thick tree trunk, his head cocked to the side and his eyes widened into full crimson moons. he was even more disheveled than he was a week ago, with mud caked to his skin and hair like dried, flaky clay. his ribs were more prominent too, scarily so, and his cheeks were gaunt like a skeletons.

he was weak.

far too weak, she realized.

she immediately extended her arms out, the bowl teetering on the edge of her fingertips, and breathlessly said, “yours.”

the boy grunted, “huh?”

snap! snap! crackle!

he’d taken a few steps forward, carefully, ever so fearfully.

she squeezed her eyes shut, turning her head up towards the twilight sky, her heart beating against her ribcage as if trying to escape, and tried more clearly, “food, for you.”

he was in front of her in a flash, his breath brushing over her cheeks. she cracked open an eye to peek at him, watching as he eyed the bowl with suspicion, sniffing loudly. he gagged offensively when his nose wandered too close to a vegetable, his tongue stretching far out from his mouth.

she half thought he was going to smack the bowl to the ground and lunge for her instead.

he’s going to eat me.

until he snatched it from her instead, retreating back behind the tree trunk.

she blinked, her lashes butterfly wings fluttering in a breeze.

there were the sounds of scoffing, rabid breathing and snuffling noises, and then nothing at all.

hiccup!

had he finished all of it already?

the boy’s face peeked out from behind the trunk, peering at her owlishly.

“why you back?” he asked simply, a touch of softness in his voice, the edge of a knife chipped and dulled.

she shrugged her shoulders. “you’re hungry.”

“but, what if i eat you?”

“tomorrow i’ll give you more, then you can’t eat me.”

he fully revealed himself, crouched low to the earth like a cat, staring up at her with his pupils blown. “you promise?”

she gulped. “i promise.”

“if you don’t, then i eat you!” he exclaimed, lips pulled back over his fangs in a threatening snarl, his hackles raised and shaking.

oddly, she didn’t feel afraid.

the ghost didn’t have the same malice as before; she could see his vulnerability in the way his fingers trembled. she felt it travel through the mountain air, settling onto her skin like a layer of dust. it wriggled like maggots, burrowing into her flesh and making her skin crawl.

her chest constricted painfully.

she felt so unbelievably and overwhelmingly sorry for him.

the boy scrunched his nose. “why’r you sad?”

“i’m not!” she replied quickly, a touch indignantly. she knew he would probably get angry if he knew how much she pitied him.

it was silent for quite some time as he stared at her, and she fidgeted in her spot. she knew she had to let him do this, to stay perfectly still like a rabbit in the reeds, as the wolf made its mind up whether it was hungry or not.

it seemed to work.

the boy huffed and collapsed to the ground in an ungraceful heap, his legs splayed out before him as he seemingly ignored her – a begrudging acceptance of her existing in his space.

she lowered herself to his level, the ground scraping beneath her legs, while maintaining that somewhat safe distance between them. her hands began to search for and pick up various rocks and twigs to play with, because she didn’t know what else to do to pass the time. the boy had his head held to the side, a shade of confusion painted over his cheeks as he clocked onto her every move.

she pretended he wasn’t there, ignoring the rising wave of bitter panic in her throat, and the fact that he was slowly inching closer to her, crawling to her like a prowling panther.

he sat beside her now, clearly observing how she sat with her legs crossed, then glanced towards his own legs kneeling into the dirt. she never stopped playing, pretending to be in her own world, watching from the corner of her eyes as the boy moved his body to mimic her posture and sitting position.

a giggle threatened to bubble out from between her lips.

the boy picked up a twig from her small pile, then retracted, looking at her with wonderful apprehension.

she gave him her full attention. “you can play too.”

another head tilt, and his pink lips curved downwards.

“…play?”

oh.

“have you never played before?”

“no, show me.”

and she did, without knowing how to really explain it. she told stories of how the twigs could be birds soaring between the gaps in the clouds, or the rocks could be fish darting in between the strands of a kelp forest. all the while, the boy was transfixed, and she began to really understand him for what he truly was.

scared and lonely, with an insatiable curiosity for new things – especially for her.

she only hoped she could live up to it.

༺ ✤ ༻

she discovered the boy’s name a fortnight later.

ryomen sukuna.

a strange sensation ran down her spine when she heard it for the first time, like a delicate lash from a whip made of fire.

she decided to ignore it.

they played together everyday since then, against the deep backdrop of the forest, and always during the duskiness of twilight. she would still sneak him scraps of whatever food she could spare, feeling guilty as her mother, who was none the wiser, always praised her for finishing her meals. her father would raise a questioning brow at her whenever she asked to play so late in the day, chiding her for being reckless, even if she passionately justified – albeit, borderline erraticly – that her imaginary friend would be very lonely without her.

“but why now? why can’t you play during the day with your… friend?”

“because he only comes out when the sun goes down.”

maybe sukuna really was a ghost.

she liked to hold onto that superstition. it made her lies a little less white, because he definitely wasn’t a figment of her imagination.

but it was still a lie, a pearlescent river of alabaster, and it had continued to flow strong for three years now.

she was nine years old, and during their time together, sukuna had only revealed glimpses of himself in little tidbits. it was like a sweet bite of plum on a hot summer’s day, satiating her for a time, but always leaving her hungry for more.

“where do you sleep?”

“i dig a big hole, you wanna see?”

“why do you only come after the sun?”

“i’m here all the time, you just don’t see me.”

but sometimes.

just sometimes, and only if she timed her questions right.

then sukuna would indulge her in just a little more.

“why are your eyes red?”

ryomen paused, a wickedly sharpened two-pronged stick in his hand, and shrugged nonchalantly. “i was hungry in my mother’s tummy, so i ate my brother.”

(there was a great clap of thunder somewhere far away, and the great sinful cut of the world bled just a little more.)

they were quiet for a long time after that.

he’d resumed stabbing the earth with his wooden weapon, completely unperturbed.

as if what he’d said was the most normal thing, like it was as easy as drinking the rain that fell from the pine leaves.

sukuna often said twisted things – things that reminded her of who she was really dealing with. although he had somewhat softened around her, he was still as wild and unforgiving as the mountainside he lived on.

she could never ever show him that it put her on edge.

still, much to her own shock, she was growing used to the depravity.

not that sukuna was always wicked, no. he would always ask her things, and she’d try to assume an air like her mother, knowledgeable and benevolent, as she guided him. when he wanted to know how she ate without using her hands, she took a pair of chopsticks from her kitchen and showed him how to use them. he’d sniff her hair, alarmingly too close, and asked how it was so much softer than his.

so one evening, she took him to the river where some of the villagers bathed during the day, and taught him how to wash himself.

“show me,” he’d ordered, his characteristic head tilt an open book of confusion.

he was more perplexed when she became flustered and refused to do it.

the ensuing conversation, in which she explained why she couldn’t just do that, was extremely awkward to say the least.

but she was even more surprised the next day when she came to play, and he was awkwardly standing there, his cheeks as pink as the once-hidden peaches in his hair. she’d stopped straight in her tracks, almost not recognizing her ghost without all the grime and dirt covering him.

he’s so beautiful…

ryomen blinked slowly, catlike, staring at his unusually clean feet with something akin to bashfulness. “what?”

“nothing,” she smiled, gentle like the summer rain that had just started to fall. “let’s play.”

༺ ✤ ༻

it was autumn now.

the leaves of the maple trees had turned into molten gold and burnt orange peels, and the remaining blooms had already died out petal by petal. there was a chill bite in the air, a promise of snow and piercing cold to come. she hated when the weather was like this, she worried about sukuna living in the wild in such conditions, and it only made it harder to go out and play with him in the evenings.

he, however, enjoyed it whenever the weather turned cold – it soothed the fire in his blood.

or so he said.

sukuna was lying down beside her, saccharine on the grass whilst looking up at the sky. he was wearing some washed-out linen clothes, a size too big, that she had managed to steal one day from the village boys bathing in the river. the deep plum wine in the skies mixed with the blood in his eyes – all four of them – the two colors swirling and teasingly touching each other.

two nights ago, the wind had been howling like wolves, screaming of murder and spilled blood in the darkness. there had been a strange heaviness in the air, a sort of static, like lighting biding its time to strike.

when she saw sukuna the next morning, he had a proud grin on his face, his teeth and mouth speckled with blood. all his eyes were wide open, staring at her as if to say ‘look at us, look at us!’

she knew that he had committed some sort of depravity in the night to have earned the transformation.

but he never told her.

perhaps she was never meant to know.

they were always alert, darting between everything and anything that moved even in the slightest – from the leaves rustling high up a tree, to the birds soaring high up in the sky, and to the blades of grass tickled by the wind.

and her.

one always rested on her.

“ryo,” she started, ripping fistfuls of grass. “do you like to play in the snow?”

the eye fixed on her rolled in annoyance. “no, and stop calling me that,” he huffed.

she rolled her eyes, blowing a hot-pink raspberry at him. “yes you do, liar! i know you do.”

she knew that sukuna loved to be teased, but only when he was carefree and relaxed. during moments like now, with the ghost of the permanent scowl sewn into his features unraveled into wispy threads of gold. he was seriously mulling over what she had just said, something she knew he also enjoyed – untangling mysteries and puzzles in his mind, a satisfied gleam in his eyes when he finally figured them out.

“i don’t… like anything.”

she stilled.

a blade of grass fell from her grip, and she gnawed on her bottom lip.

why did she feel so embarrassed?

he wasn’t really referring to her at all – and yet, it all felt so personal.

“okay,” was all she could muster weakly, barely a whisper, resuming her onslaught on the grass like nothing mattered at all.

maybe none of it ever did.

sukuna turned his head and stared at her strangely, but said nothing.

thwack!

he was grinning wildly now. “let me chase you.”

she wiped away the raindrops that had splattered onto her cheek, a slight sting on her thigh from his smack. “i don’t wanna play.”

“but… you like this game,” sukuna frowned, head tilted, rolling over with his elbows digging into the grass. “why not?”

“i jus-ow! stop hitting me!”

“start running then.”

so she did, quite begrudgingly.

her footsteps crackled loudly against the forest floor, as the dark grey clouds darkened even more and the rain fell faster, and the sun dipped further behind a neighboring mountain. sukuna was hot on her trail, and she knew how easily he could catch up to her in an instant, but he never did. it was as if he switched off whatever made him less human during their games. maybe it was to give her a fighting chance, or perhaps it was entertaining to him to know he could always win whenever he wanted to.

if she got to the village fast enough, she would win today.

she swung herself against a tree trunk to propel herself forward, imagining she was an agile deer leaping between the trees.

get to the village.

win.

run, you can wi-

her leg gave way beneath her, sliding up in an arc as she slipped backward. her head hit the ground, and stars and minuscule black moons danced in her eyes amidst the silver clouds.

sukuna appeared above her, his face upside down, all of his eyes on her with what looked something like panic in his irises. it made her heart skip a beat, followed by a swarming terror of bats and a throbbing swell of pain in her left ankle.

and then… sheer, crippling embarrassment.

she started to wail loudly.

big salty droplets squeezed out from her tearducts, running to her temples and mixing with the rain in the dirt. sukuna's face contorted painfully, his mouth pulled into a grimace, his eyes darting over her like a hummingbird flitting between flowers.

"s-stop doing that," he tried to order harshly, but was cruelly betrayed by the shaky wobbling his lip.

snot messily dribbled down her nose as her ankle started to throb more intensely. "it h-hurts!"

"stop crying!" sukuna exclaimed, his fists clenched and shaking. "just stop."

she made the mistake of moving her leg, and cried out as fiery pain licked a smoldering trail straight up to her head. "ryo! please. make it stop, make it stop, make it stop."

his face fell, crumbling into pieces. with a tenderness she had never known, and the sleeves of his shirt falling over his hands, sukuna gently held the sides of her face.

she stilled, a drop of crystal suspended in time.

he hushed her, soothingly. "it's okay. just... please. stop crying."

she sniffled, broken sobs stuttering out from her lips, until they fizzed out altogether. all the while, sukuna never let her go, their foreheads brushing against each other, his peach frizz blowing in the wind. oh, how she wished she could see his face. she wanted to know that he wasn't faking this level of care – of emotion – if nothing really mattered to him.

sukuna lifted his head, his blood eyes glossy and pained, and whispered, "does it still hurt?"

her bottom lip trembled dangerously and she nodded. sukuna sighed, his hands leaving her face and scrunching his hair.

"i-," he paused, nervous. "let me try something."

sukuna looked at her expectantly, eyes widened and pleading. she nodded again, not sure exactly what she was agreeing to, he moved slowly, cautiously, as if any sudden move would set off her pain again. all the while, his gaze was trained on her, settled and pooling on her already swelling ankle.

he breathed out shakily, placing a rough palm over her warm skin, and she whimpered as a piping hot sensation seeped through to her bone. it was nothing like pain, but it felt like sukuna. it was a strange feeling, like little bubbles popping on the skin he touched. she knew then what she was feeling – his power. sukuna was concentrating hard, little grunts escaping his lips every so often, his brow deeply furrowed into a valley of ridges.

the power rose, a tidal wave of fire and blood, and then collapsed into nothing.

he hissed in frustration, sharply pulling his hand back from her ankle, head bowed almost… shamefully.

it was quiet for a heartbeat longer before sukuna muttered, “i’m sorry, i can’t fix you. i’m not strong enough.”

her heart swelled, and she smiled weakly. “it’s okay, ryo.”

he looked up at the dark sky, mouth opening and closing as he chased his words and settled on, “its going to be night soon.”

she looked up too, watching the veil of the silver crescent moon lifting. “mhm.”

she sat up slowly, sukuna immediately turning to watch her. “i-i don’t think i can walk, ryo,” she mumbled. “how can i get home?”

“but… you can’t stay here.”

“i know.”

“the bears will hunt you.”

“ryo, i know!”

his head tilted and a spark lit in his eyes.

“i can carry you!” sukuna blurted out, his chest puffed out proudly. “i’ll bring you to where i sleep. it’s warm there, and then the bears can’t eat you because i’ll be there.”

“… you can fight a bear?”

“what do you think i eat now? i told you I didn’t need your stinky vegetables anymore!”

she blinked three times.

“okay, and then what?”

“and then… i can figure it out in the morning. i’ll keep trying to make you better when you sleep so you can go home.”

without hearing another word from her, sukuna swept her into his arms, eliciting a startled yelp from her. he settled into a brisk pace, taking them both much farther away from the village. the light darkened considerably this deep into the forest, the trees hugging each other so tightly that hardly any of the sun’s waning light could pierce between the leaves.

suddenly, he stopped.

sukuna hunched over, her cheek squishing against his chest, and gently placed her down into a cavernous burrow.

"you really weren't joking when you said you sleep in a hole," she half-heartedly joked, looking around.

he scoffed, crossing his legs and sitting beside her injured side, halfway turned towards the entrance to the burrow. "you don't like it?"

"i never said that! it's just... different."

"not all of us live in a nice home."

the air turned slightly sour, lemons tainting his softness, and they were completely silent. the sounds of the night became louder then; strange animal cries off in the distance, and the rain pelting down from outside, steady drip drip drip of droplets falling from the entrance. sukuna was right, his burrow was reasonably warm. almost, dare she say it, actually comfortable.

he was still beside her, a hand pressed lightly to her injury, his power ebbing and rushing forward like a wave against the shore. as the night grew longer, sukuna seemed to be getting more and more agitated, hissing lowly as he failed at every attempt to heal her. she couldn't sleep regardless of his noises; the enormity of the situation she was in was too jarring. what if a bear discovered their sanctuary? what would her parents be thinking right now? sukuna had to be hungry, as well tired from expending his power. could he really fight a bear if it came down to it?

"ryo?"

"go to sleep."

"but i-"

"shut up, or i'll let the bears eat you."

"ryo! i just wanted to ask you something."

he groaned in annoyance. "what then?"

"earlier, when you said you didn't like anything. did you mean it?"

"well... yes. i don't lie."

"oh, yeah. i know."

sukuna tilted his head, both left eyes rolling towards her. "why did you get sad when i said that?"

heat rose to her cheeks. "did not!"

"you did so! i felt you get sad! you’re getting sad again now"

she fidgeted uncomfortably. "because!"

"because?"

"because, because- ugh! because then that means you don't like me, okay? and that hurts my feelings.”

red eyes flashed in the dark. “why do you care if i like you?”

“because we’re-you… you’re my friend. of course i care if you like me.”

“but, what if i don’t care?”

her heart dropped, and a fresh tear prickled the corner of her eye. “you don’t?” she mumbled quietly, a drop in an ocean of naive, childish feelings.

sukuna’s face crumbled again, and he gripped her ankle just a fraction tighter. “no! i mean, yes! i do care.”

he bashfully looked away, mumbling under his breath before he said a bit louder, “i like you.”

she perked right up at that. “you do?”

“mhm.”

“you promise?”

a low grumble. “promise.”

༺ ✤ ༻

for five days and five nights, she was in another world.

a world where all the memories of her past were washed away by the swirling green of the deep forest. it was an almost cathartic experience, a transition from one plane of existence to the next – one drawn in dripping red ink, a solitary existence that belonged only to ryomen sukuna.

or, at least, it was easier to imagine it that way.

otherwise, the painful pangs of guilt would strike her violently whenever her thoughts strayed to her village and family. if she paused and closed her eyes, she could feel the steady thrum of her mother’s grief, like an earthquake reverberating across the distance between them. it was all too much for her young mind to bear.

and so, she willingly slipped through the doorway into a new reality, where it was just her and her crimson ghost.

during that time, she had learned how to read him.

his anger was a lashing snake hidden between the rocks – wickedly sharp and quick to strike her with venomous words. they would spread quickly though her blood, making her huddle into herself, perfectly still, like a mouse meeting its most unfortunate end.

fortunately for her, she was only bitten once, and the snake had only acted out of hunger, not genuine malice.

if sukuna’s anger had been real, she doubted she would have lived to see the next sunrise.

his apology came much later after he had returned from the hunt, a satiated tiger slow to act. the only acknowledgement of his remorse was a silent head pat with a bloody palm.

his fear was iron claws scratching against a rock, piercingly grating and scraping at the walls of her heart. if sukuna was fearful, she knew it by the way he stalked and paced outside the burrow, a whip strike away from pouncing on anything that moved even slightly out of the ordinary.

“there are more people in the forest,” sukuna would mutter darkly during those fearful fits. “they're shouting your name.”

“did they see you?”

he responded with nothing more than a pointed look.

but above all, it was his kindness that was most present.

she first noticed it in the way sukuna corrected himself around her, protecting her from certain aspects of his lifestyle. for instance, when she saw the blood on his hands after a kill, or saw how horrified she was when he offered her raw, dripping meat from a deer he had just killed. it was in the way he had immediately changed his ways – washing his hands after a hunt, and skinning and butchering his kills far from the burrow so she wouldn’t see a thing.

it was also in the way he pretended he wasn’t purposely foraging berries for her, dropping them onto her lap like he had just randomly stumbled across them. it was in his stubborn refusal to give up on healing her every night when he thought she was asleep, and in how he treated her like precious sugar glass – so very careful in how he handled her.

it shouldn’t have been so surprising to discover that ryomen sukuna was neither cruel nor mad.

he was still that lonely boy from all those years ago, still learning how to be kind while yearning and searching for love.

one day, she saw him play with fire between his fingertips as if it were nothing extraordinary.

she saw how the blood in his eyes came alive, like dancing waves of a turbulent red sea. when he looked at her, she didn't expect him to smile so gently as he started a small fire and cooked her meat for her.

after sukuna had shown her more of his power, the cracks in his soul seemed to split apart, and his fire teemed and spilled out uncontrollably. he finally began to open up to her, telling her things she had always wanted to discover, along refreshingly childish ramblings.

“you know, i actually didn’t mind eating your stinky vegetables. yeah.”

“deer aren’t actually that pretty, but watching them when they’re still is… relaxing?”

“yeah, i lied before. i do like playing in the snow, especially throwing it at you.”

but some of the worst things would also spill out – things she would have preferred to never know, because they were dark and cruel enough to change the way she viewed the world.

“i didn’t mean to eat my brother, but i was just really hungry in my mother’s tummy, and she wasn’t feeding us.”

“she called me a demon for what i did.”

“no, i don’t know know where she is now, and i don’t know about my father too.”

“i do… feel a bit bad about eating my brother, because he was hurting.”

there was a stretched, almost foreboding silence before sukuna finally asked the question that must have been on his mind since the day they met.

“are you afraid of me?”

the fire spit and fizzled, and she hissed as a spark danced dangerously close to her skin.

“no, ryo. you’re my best friend.”

“really?!”

“well, duh. you saved me.”

he shuffled ever so slightly closer, their arms just about to touch, and mumbled, “so did you.”

she really believed she could have stayed with sukuna forever.

but her new world was shattered on the morning of the sixth day, as if the cosmic rulings of the world had decreed that they'd both had enough of a good thing.

still, it was all her fault – it had to be.

she was the one who insisted that she was too cold, that the chill in the air was day beyond what she could tolerate. she felt the wet tears clinging to her lashes were about to freeze over, and sukuna could not stand to see her cry. so, despite his own warnings, he lit her a fire for her during the day and watched nervously as the smoke rose high above the trees.

it wasn't long before the hunters came.

they came silently, prowling and closing in on them both.

and sukuna knew it.

he was bristling defensively, his neck hairs rising, eyes closed, and head bowed in the direction of a bush that had rustled unnaturally. the hunters crept forward cautiously, eyeing the boy with barely concealed suspicion, while beckoning for her to come with them.

she stayed put, pretending she was a statue of ice that couldn’t understand a thing.

a hunter tightened his grip on his bow.

another nocked an arrow.

and sukuna opened his eyes.

chaos erupted, a whirlwind of metal and feathers and red, red, red.

the hunters charged forward, consumed by a fear they could not rationally explain – of demons and monsters possessing their hearts and minds. but sukuna was faster than all of them, disappearing in a flash, and reappearing to hurl a hunter against a tree.

the poor souls had no clue what they were up against.

she knew sukuna could – and would – kill them all.

"no! no! no!" she screamed, heaving and desperately clawing at her face. “please.”

somehow, he could understand her amidst the shouts and cries of anguish from the men who had come for her.

(he always did, he always would.)

the boy of blood and fire stilled, dropping his hands to his sides, and the wolves descended upon him instantly.

she screamed once more as a hunter seized her, dragging her away from the fray of madness. all the while, sukuna remained curled in a fetal position, all of his eyes locked on her retreating figure as he endured the the blows to his body with stoic silence.

only his eyes betrayed his pain.

༺ ✤ ༻

her heart was weak.

it could only beat with half its strength, as if it couldn’t be bothered to do what was expected of it.

when she was returned to the village, to the nearly suffocating embrace of her weeping mother, she was hailed as a miracle – a little girl who had somehow survived a demon. she was cherished and fussed over by the whole village, her family showered with gifts of millet and rice, plenty of dried boar to survive the winter, and stone amulets for protection against the evil that had touched them.

meanwhile, sukuna had escaped.

the hunters had said the demon vanished into the highest peaks of the mountains, where they could not follow. they bowed low and deep to her mother, their knees buckling as they vowed vengeance on the scourge of the mountain. but she knew it was all for show. they were completely terrified of him, too proud to admit it, and so the mere memory of sukuna was spat on and desecrated by the other villagers.

oh, if only they knew the truth of it all.

it took a fortnight for her heartstrings to stop aching from the pain of being ripped apart from sukuna, and even longer for her piercing wails to cease every night before she slept. her tears burned, tears of fire and salt, made from sukuna's precious blood that had dripped down his face as he was beaten.

all because of her.

her parents couldn't fathom her sheer anguish, perplexed and frightened by its intensity, and only able to explain it as the effect of a demon. all they could do was pray for her recovery, and the rest of the village did the same.

in the beginning, when she had exhausted all her energy from wailing and crying, she would peer into the darkness of the room. through the gaps in the walls of her home, she willed and prayed so fervently that she would one day see four red orbs peering back at her.

but twelve winters and summers came and went without sukuna, and she began to wonder if had all been just a dream. an elaborate tale of an imaginary friend her mind had tricked her into believing was real. a ghost that was never meant to be, one she ought to bury in the deepest recesses of her memories where he could finally rest.

but, oh, how lifeless her world was without him.

nobody could understand or see how the anguish swirled beneath her skin. she didn’t even have the words to describe it to herself anymore, other than she was not doing well at all and felt sick all the time.

how very isolating it all was.

she was fifteen now, and all her parents could talk to her about was marriage.

“you are a young lady now!” her mother would gush loudly, almost nagging. “one who survived a demon, and every man who passes through the village wants your hand.”

she tried not to think about it at all, but it loomed larger and larger over her head as the years passed, and she doubted she could remain as she was for much longer. in those moments, her thoughts would always stray to sukuna, and how if she could have married anybody, then it would have been him.

it was the only thing that felt right.

she tried not to dwell on that for too long.

but trying not thinking about ryomen sukuna was like telling the sky not to cry.

there were often tales from afar that the traveling merchants told the villagers as they stopped for respite and to sell their crafts – stories full of horrors and atrocities. entire villages, along with all their inhabitants, were found burnt to cinders or encased in a tomb of ice, with no rhyme or reason why, simply there one minute and gone the next. there were accounts of cries and calls from strange creatures in the night, born from suffering and pain. some spoke of certain people being able to wield magic, only to be found mangled and nearly destroyed by others of the same power.

she would think of sukuna after hearing those stories and wonder what kind of life he was living.

was he just as lonely as she was?

or was he happy indulging in the violence of his nature?

then, one fateful day, her father placed a hand on her head fondly and said, “tonight is your omiai, dearest. you will finally meet the man the nakodo has chosen as your husband.”

and that was that.

that night, she stared into the eyes of the man she was to marry.

they were kind, warm – so very plain. he spoke a little to her, mainly about how he could offer her a better life than what she had now. something more comfortable, with a better house, more food, and even kimonos made of silk.

it all sounded… safe.

reliable.

her family was happy she was marrying such a man, and assured her that they would come and visit her in her new home once she had settled in.

she didn’t care about that at all.

all she could think about was red, red, red, and how it felt like the ultimate betrayal.

she could do nothing but nod placidly at them all.

really, she should count her blessings that she was about the same age as her soon-to-be husband, and that he seemed likely to treat her with kindness and respect. maybe, if she tried hard enough, she could convince herself that she would find some measure of fulfillment in her marriage.

she could learn to accept it all, even force herself to be happy.

even if a part of her could never be scrubbed clean from all the red.

the day before she left for her betrothed’s village, she went to the clearing in the forest where it all began. it was midday, the sun high in the air, and the sweet bite of winter kissed her cheeks as she stood there clutching the white silks that had been gifted to her.

“things are going to change for me,” she whispered to the trees that had long watched over her and sukuna, her head bowed low. "and i do not believe i will ever return here.”

desperation gripped her in a suffocating hold, hooking its claws deep into her spine. she wondered if there was a string that connected her to sukuna. a red-stained one, dripping in their blood. would he feel it wherever he was in the world if she pulled it hard enough?

if she tried, would he come for her?

(a gust of wind, a spark of flame, and a ripple of blood.)

she had realized some time ago what she had felt as a child.

but it was still a terrifying thing to admit to herself, even now, in this quiet corner of the world, that she had once been in love with ryomen sukuna.

it was best to bury it here with the trees.

tonight was the eve of her wedding, and all she wanted was to have just stayed there.

it was supposed to have been a night of solitary peace.

the last one she would ever have, with only the sound of the herbal bathwater rippling and the scent of yuzu in the air to keep her tethered to this world.

it had all been overturned in an instant.

the monsters came swiftly down from the mountainside in the night, slaughtering and tearing their way through every home in the village. the night was full of brutal screams, blood moons and snow falling from the weeping clouds. she could see them, but others weren’t so lucky. that brief look of terrified confusion was haunting – blood bubbling from their mouths as their throats were slashed by something they couldn’t see.

she stared at her fiancé, both of them trapped beneath a wooden beam, as his eyes, wide and lifeless, had not a single trace of the kindness they had once held. death had never been so close to her before, she could almost feel the cold kiss of its blade against her throat, beckoning her closer to the other side.

their assailant was a thin creature, broken and bent, with a feminine form. it licked the dripping blood of her betrothed from its wickedly sharp claws, unperturbed to the rest of the carnage unfolding around it.

“i miss you, i miss you,” it hissed in a low, screeching voice. “i love you, i miss you.”

the demon turned to her, eyeless, with only a mouth full of teeth and a thousand tongues, as if it could smell the life and heat fading from her blood. it crawled sideways towards her, its scraggly black hair brushing the ground in front of her face.

it paused, dipping its face down towards her, its reeking, snarling breaths close to her ear.

she screamed weakly as it sank its teeth into her shoulder.

soon, all our ghosts will dance together.

pale pink rose petals fluttered from the sky, falling along with the snow.

how beautiful is death?

“hmph, idiot.”

a flash of a thousand blades, and the world turned red and then black.

༺ ✤ ༻

it was the smell of incense that coaxed her back from the dreams of death.

honeyed rays of light danced behind her closed eyelids, their warmth caressing her brow and lips in golden life. when her eyes finally opened, she was convinced that she must have already been reborn. her body was wrapped in opulent silk sheets, delicately embroidered with intricate gold and silver flowers. a byobu depicting a blooming cherry blossom tree stood a few paces in front of the bed.

this was a bedroom of royalty, dripping with extravagance.

she felt as if she didn’t belong here.

but when she pinched the skin of her forearm, felt her legs moving and toes wriggling, and heard the sheets rustling loudly, she knew that this was all very real. all the blood that had been spilled was real, the kind man who would have given her a good life was truly dead, along with his entire village.

“you're awake then are you?”

she froze.

that voice.

it can't be.

so intimately familiar, yet it belonged to the strangest of strangers – deep as the oceans she had never seen, mysterious and smoky like the swirls of incense wafting through the room.

this was the voice of death.

she felt like she had heard it before, as if she should know who it belonged to.

because it was too beautiful to forget.

“sukuna?” she called out in disbelief, her voice fragile and trembling like leaves.

a low chuckle followed. “you still know me.”

oh my.

“h-how are you here? where have you – but y-you disappeared.”

the outline of shadow loomed large behind the byobu, and she gulped.

“i’ve been everywhere in this country. there’s nowhere i haven’t seen.”

it’s him, it’s really him.

sukuna hummed again, his figure swaying. she could make out the shadow of the bridge of his nose and his lips, as well as the elaborate layers of clothing he wore.

“do you remember what happened?” he finally asked after a prolonged silence.

she clenched her fists tightly. “yes.”

“good. and before you accuse me of it, i had nothing to do with what happened to you.”

“i-i wasn't going to.”

“how quaint. it’s rare that i’m not accused of causing wanton violence.”

she watched his shadow reach over and pour a liquid into a cup, followed by soft sipping noises as he drank from it.

“those... those things,” she began tepidly. “is that what you are?”

sukuna snorted. “no. i'm nothing like those low-grade cretins.” he sipped from his cup again. “although, it’s good that you can see curses. next time, you should run instead of just stand there.”

she was starting to remember him again.

she knew that he was nervous; it was evident in his sharp jibes toward her. sukuna always acted like this in unfamiliar situations, when he was unsure of how to act around her. so he would poke and prod because, at least, he understood pain and anger.

she chose to ignore it.

“i went back to the village,” he said, clearing his throat. “it hasn't changed much.”

a flash of terror struck her like lightning.

“but imagine my surprise when i discovered that something had actually changed,” sukuna’s voice had taken on a goading tone, and she could tell he wasn't pleased in the slightest. “you had left to go and get married, of all things.”

my family.

he scoffed, as if he sensed her shift in emotions. “oh, don't worry. your parents told me quite willingly. they were smart enough to know they couldn’t keep me from you.”

a trail of ice and fire ran down her spine.

oh, how much more dangerous have you really become, ryomen sukuna?

dread settled onto her bones like melted lead, and despite her better judgement, she sputtered out, "why now, after all this time?"

silence.

maybe he didn’t even know why.

sukuna's silhouette swayed back and forth behind the byobu, like beech trees high up the mountains, struggling to stay upright during a blizzard. like them, he was battling, but always against himself. his perpetual internal war against that small part inside of him that was human; full of his pain, fear, and kindness. sukuna’s cup was overflowing, even if he didn’t realize it, spilling and pouring everywhere – but she knew it.

she’d known it for the longest time.

“ryo,” her voice cracked like splintering glass. “answer me.”

he sighed, exasperated, “its been so long” – a sharp exhale – “but i can’t stop bleeding!”

utterly perplexed, she frowned. “bleeding? wha-”

sukuna’s shadow rose like a bonfire, erratically pacing in front of the byobu, and she could have sworn she saw the dancing shadows of four swaying arms.

he snarled, the words wrenched from between his fangs, "they tore you from me, and it made my heart bleed. it hasn’t stopped bleeding, because of you."

bang!

his heavy fist struck the screen, and she flinched frightfully.

“i-i don’t k-know what you mean,” she stuttered fearfully, her breaths coming out in rapid, little puffs. “i don’t understand what’s going on.”

he groaned, collected himself, and rolled his shoulders back purposefully. when he spoke again, his tone was calm, with none of the previous fire that had been spitting out from between his teeth.

“it doesn’t matter,” sukuna said, moving away from the cover as his silhouette disappeared. “you’re here now.”

the hidden implications were not as subtle as he thought. he was just as possessive as he had ever been, and it seemed that ryomen sukuna would not be letting go of her again.

she was still his, and had been for all these long years.

“you must be hungry,” he said, swiftly changing the subject. “come here.”

her heart quickened.

slowly, she rose from the safety of the bed, each step as momentous as it was absolutely terrifying. after all this time, she would see sukuna again. the boy who had once protected her, coveted her, and shielded her from the worst parts of himself. the one who wanted to change his ways and be softer for her.

she rounded the byobu.

and there he was.

her bones shivered as her mind froze her in place, stopping her from moving a single step closer.

sukuna was sitting perfectly cross-legged in front of a low table, his eyes widened ever so slightly and his lips parted. a hand was frozen mid-air, suspending in bringing his cup closer to his mouth.

oh, how much he had changed.

sukuna had grown significantly in height, could quite easily tower over her if he stood. he was no longer a boy, but a man – big, broad, and dangerous. and she had not been mistaken before; he had four arms, adorned with strangest black markings, just like his face. if it hadn’t been obvious before, it was now. sukuna was everything taboo in this world, an embodiment of death and fury itself.

“sit,” he ordered, breaking his gaze and motioning in front of him.

his words were in a refined tongue, the kind spoken by highborn royalty and nobles spoke in – those who were educated and understood things beyond the grasp of people like her. she obeyed, feeling the urge to be as well-spoken as possible.

she had never felt so small or so common in all her life.

there was an array of different foods on the table, each more richly presented than the next. elegant bowls held freshly cut fish, arranged to look like the petals of a flower. at the centre of the table sat a lacquered bowl of sekihan at the center of the table, the red bean rice a sharp contrast to the earthy tones of the pickled vegetables around it. mochi of all colors and shapes were delicately wrapped in oak leaves, and chopsticks of pearl and gold were laid beside each of their settings.

sukuna cleared his throat. “so, marriage.” she nodded silently, picking up a piece of mochi. he continued, “i’m assuming it was arranged.”

“yes. he-uh, arrived one day in the village, he was a merchant. my father and the nakodo approved, and that was it.”

he hummed thoughtfully, a fearsome blaze in his eyes. “and did you want this?”

dangerous territory, tread carefully.

“n-not really, but he seemed… kind.”

a flash of red fury crossed his face, and sukuna pursed his lips. “i see. is that what matters most to you, then – kindness?”

careful, careful, careful.

“well… i did not want to end up with a man who would hurt me.”

a dry chuckle. “and do you believe that i will?”

a flash of a memory – of a burrow, of shared tears and painful farewells.

never.

“no,” she replied firmly, picking up another piece of mochi and chewing.

he seemed to approve of her answer, watching as she continued to eat. “good.”

they were silent again, the only sounds coming from the distant chirping of birds and the gentle trickle of a fountain outside. sukuna’s smaller eyes remained fixed on her, while the rest of his attention was on his meal and sake, his expression intensely contemplative and serious. his earlier heat had subsided into a brooding stillness, and he seemed just as amazed as she was that they were finally in each other’s presence again.

she bit her lip before tepidly trying his nickname on her tongue again, “ryo?”

he stilled for a moment, his eyes glistening with a hint of vulnerability before it vanished, and then made a questioning noise.

“what exactly do you expect from me here?”

“you will receive an education, i will not allow you to remain illiterate. you will learn to read and write, and study the arts and poetry. that is all i ask in return.”

“in return for what?”

“for residing in my residence with me. you will not return to the mountains or the village, and you will never see your parents again.”

this was it.

her childhood dream of staying with sukuna was finally here. perhaps he had really felt her pulling on their red string, felt her desperation and fear, and had come to save her. he wasn’t entirely human, after all; maybe he could have sensed her from so far away, and known about that deep hole within her. and so, he had taken her away from it all, demanding only that she say goodbye to everything she had ever known.

but things were different now.

they weren’t little children anymore. there was a taste of change in the air – something tantalizing and liberating. their dynamics had shifted, whether they wanted it or not. adulthood had brought new possibilities that couldn’t have been there before, the kind that made her heart race and chest flutter.

in the way sukuna’s eyes flashed, she felt that he knew it too.

it was her fate after all, she had just been too young to comprehend it.

so be it.

“alright.”

༺ ✤ ༻

the ink was blacker than raven feathers.

drip! drip! drip!

as beautiful as the depth of midnight, it shouldn’t be wasted.

she bowed her head, pensively holding her brush. the words were right there on her fingertips, straight from the centre of her heart, but she didn’t know how to say them.

or rather, if she could say them correctly.

biting her lip, she lightly pressed her brush to the page, the words flowing out with every stroke. when she was done, she leaned back on her heels and looked expectantly at her teacher.

“your brush technique was incorrect,” uraume chided emotionlessly, their icy aura ever present. “but you were close. try it like this instead, see?”

sukuna’s second had been tasked with educating her and showing her the finer ways of noble life. under uraume’s tutelage, she learned to draw the beautiful curves of hiragana and the straight, angular lines of katakana. she was introduced to the golden literature of her country, where she delved into classic and more modern texts, and learned to appreciate the hidden depths beneath the surface of grand tales and poetry.

once, she had been jealous of uraume. it was unnerving to see how much confidence sukuna placed in the ambiguous and frosty figure, and it hurt to know he trusted someone other than her. but she soon came to realize that uraume’s sole desire was to serve sukuna, and sukuna harbored nothing for them other than respect that surely had been well earned.

“try it again,” uraume suggested, returning to their position behind her and watching over her shoulder as she picked up the brush once more.

moreover, uraume was neither cruel nor haughty about her illiteracy and never treated her like a lowborn. they always guided her with a gentle coldness and a detached tone of instruction. she wondered what they thought about the nature of her relationship with sukuna, and if perhaps uraume had ever been jealous of her. she liked to think they hadn’t been, and if they had, they never showed it or asked any questions. for that, she was grateful.

what she had with sukuna wasn’t something she could describe easily.

he was there now, one of his eyes watching the way her hands moved with the brush. it wasn’t unusual that he was present; sukuna often observed their lessons, seating himself a distance and quietly reading a book or scroll. he never lavished her with praise, such was not his nature, but offered more subtle compliments in her progress: a tilt of his head, a single nod, and a hum of approval.

she would be lying to herself if she said it didn’t thrill her to hold his attention.

they only grew closer as time went on, building new little routines with each other. every night after they dined together, sukuna would tap his fingers rhythmically on the low table, completely silent, as she either read poetry from a book or recited it from memory. these were moments of softness, sukuna's strange way of drawing closer her, as the red thread connecting them weaved them closer to each other with every passing night. his gratitude was silent too: a heavy hand on her head, a quick press of his fingers to her cheek, and a small smile as he left.

it was easy to imagine sukuna as changed in those moments, a regal lord always composed and calm.

but that wasn't the reality of the world.

she was frequently reminded of it.

"i need to go," he would suddenly say, abruptly pulling her from her focus.

she closed her book and peered up at him through her lashes. “where?”

sukuna smirked, a wild gleam in his eyes. “to quench my thirst.”

he would then disappear, but never for more than a few days at a time. she liked to hope that his brief absences were because he disliked leaving her for too long. when sukuna returned, he was like a predator satiated from the hunt – more at ease, prone to teasing and sending her into a shy fluster. she realized quickly that he was still as he had been when he was a boy; always acting upon his desires and impulses without a shred of restraint.

although, sukuna kept her well away from any glimpse of that side of him.

she was relieved to be spared from it. even though she had accepted his nature, she was far more content to remain his tether to a calmer side, always ready to pull him back into the peaceful river of soothing milk and honey that was her company. yet, she couldn’t help but wonder if that was all she would ever be to him.

she had to wait three years for the winds of romance to finally shift.

the day after her eighteenth birthday, sukuna began leaving things for her to find.

sometimes the gifts were small, such as delicate hairpins, vibrant silks, or rare fruits from distant lands. they would enjoy the fruits together, her laughter filling the room as she watched him scowl at their unfamiliar taste. other times, the gifts were more extravagant: a retinue of handmaidens to attend to her every need, opulent jūnihitoe crafted by the best artisans, the emperor’s most exquisite jewelry, and the rarest art.

but perhaps the most precious gift of all was his poetry.

she didn’t know why she had assumed sukuna had no taste for poetry. after all, he had ensured she studied it, and seemed to enjoy listening to her recite it. she had thought it was to encourage her to uphold the traditions of noble women studying the arts, to refine herself as a proper lady. given his impulsive nature, she merely thought he lacked the time and patience to write his own poems.

but oh, how he had a way with words.

it wasn’t in the more traditional styles she was used to reading, but it was uniquely sukuna’s. he was never one to follow the rules anyways. they had started off expressing the calming joy he felt in her company, with gentle musings about her being like a light summer rain or the soft morning glow of the sun. those early verses were lighthearted, designed to make her heart flutter with silly little butterflies.

and now?

now they could make her heart melt into a puddle of its own blood, making her body run hot with feverish, burning emotions.

with every poem she read, warmth would spread through her cheeks and chest, her bones shaking from the intensity of it all. it embarrassed her how obviously and hopelessly in love she felt. sukuna, however, was completely unruffled, a knowing smile playing on his lips as he watched her stumble over her words.

“any particular reason why you have that stupid smile on your face?” he’d tease, ostentatiously chewing on a piece of fruit.

she looked away petulantly, a slight pout forming on her lips. “stop it, ryo!”

it was blatantly obvious he savored this.

how could he possibly expect her to act normally around him after reading something like that? these poems were a gateway to his soul, a window straight through his eyes and into his heart. she could hardly contain herself any longer, and it was almost cruel that sukuna was keeping her in suspense for even a moment longer.

but did sukuna even want marriage?

he never liked being bound to anything, always pursuing whatever he desired whenever he wanted to. perhaps he wanted the benefits of courting her without ever becoming tied to her. she wasn’t sure if she could ever accept the idea of being his concubine. after all they had been through, it would crush her soul.

they were taking a stroll together in the gardens after one of her lessons, but the air was tense. sukuna stood unusually close to her, completely silent as they moved together, stopping occasionally and waiting as she admired certain flowers blooming. she tried hard not to be too flustered, and attempted to diffuse the palpable tension between them by talking about all sorts of things.

“oh, ryo! don't you think this flower is gorgeous?”

“hmm, yes. quite.”

“the weather is so pleasant for this time of year, isn't it?”

“yes it is.”

“look, the koi! aren’t they pretty?”

“for fish, sure.”

she gave up after that last attempt. it was obvious she wasn't going to get much out of sukuna today in terms of conversation – he seemed completely and utterly wound up.

they stopped underneath the shade of a tree, and she gracefully tucked in the layers of her clothes beneath her before sitting down. sukuna stood pensively beside the tree, his side profile solemn as he clenched and unclenched his fists. his movements were slow, methodical, almost like it was the only thing grounding him in that moment.

and then, in a flash, he was crouched right in front of her.

“i have something to say,” he announced, his voice like stone.

she swallowed thickly. “then say it.”

sukuna exhaled, and she heard the sound of his knuckles cracking and snapping before he continued, “i recognize that we two are… different in many ways. i have been bound to you from the moment i first laid eyes on you, and i will forever be yours.” – a sharp inhale followed by a shaky exhale – “however, while i may accept this, i understand that you might not outside the ties of marriage.”

this is it.

“you are the one good thing about my soul,” he whispered, his voice trembling with a vulnerable softness that shook her to her core. “please, say you will accept me?”

she didn’t hesitate for even a moment.

“i have always been yours, ryo, and i always will be.”

༺ ✤ ༻

love was infinite.

it transcended time and space, indifferent to who it dragged into its otherworldly domain, filled to the brim with whiteness and the saccharine scent of roses.

being ryomen sukuna’s wife meant crossing that threshold into another world, one that he had forced to turn into the brightest shade of red. his love was ferocious, nearly crippling in its intensity. loving him meant baring her heart to him, exposed and vulnerable, ready for him to consume it completely. he was a deprived man who had finally been given the key to her soul, and now he was able to come through and show her how deep his love for her coursed through in his veins.

“i want to bury myself into your skin,” he murmured into her ear, his arms wrapped around her bare body. “and settle into the spaces between your ribs.”

and yet, sukuna was tender too.

he would crave the moments of quiet, when it was just the two of them, whispering in the dark about how much she meant to him. wherever they were, a part of him was always touching her – whether it was his head on her shoulder as they sat in the garden, or pulling her onto his lap during her lessons. all the while, his eyes were memorising every little thing she did; the way she laughed, how she breathed, and every different sound and expression she made.

sukuna was immensely proud to be her husband, always devoted to providing for and protecting her.

she never wanted for a single thing.

and yet, he was still larger than life, a force of strife and bloodlust.

she knew what sort of reputation he had, that he was something of a living legend. there was no doubt that history would remember his name, spitting on it and sending shivers down people's spines at the mere mention of it.

“the king of curses,” uraume revealed to her one day, a hint of pride in her voice. “that is what the sorcerers call him.”

and that title did not come without a challenge.

on an unassuming autumn morning, sukuna abruptly interrupted one of her lessons. “i must go,” he said abruptly, clutching his trident like a god of old, a hint of glee in his words. “the fushigawa clan must be brought to heel.”

and heel they must have.

for when he returned, sukuna's face had split into two, with a mouth comfortably situated at his midriff. she knew then that unspeakable atrocities must have been committed, because her husband’s body did not evolve unless he had killed and sinned in the most horrific ways possible.

sukuna averted his gaze from her, his skin drenched in blood that was not his own. `'you cannot love me like this."

“and yet,” she whispered, standing on her toes and cupping his bloodied cheekbones. “i still do.”

she had never expected his true nature to change once they were married. to deny it was to deny him – and his love for her. as long as he kept her far from the sight of it, what more could she ask for?

in those moments, it was easy to forget how quickly darkness could overwhelm a fire.

the twilight moon cast a gentle light as a pleasant breeze wafted through the air, brushing against her cheek in a tender caress. it was one of those quiet, soft evenings, where the world slowed down just enough for husband and wife to savor each other’s company. they sat by the koi pond, watching as the silk ribbons of gold and white fins traced elegant patterns in the water. sukuna’s head rested on her lap, a pair of his eyes closed, as she gently stroked his hair.

nothing was out of the ordinary.

save for the strange man with starlight hair strolling towards them.

her husband sat up, and they both turned to watch the man approach them. the stranger carried the aura of a man assured in his own destiny, radiating confidence in the self-righteousness of the path he was on. when he lifted his head and met her gaze, she couldn’t help but gasp at the sight of his eyes, which held a beauty that well surpassed even that of the heavens above.

she knew then that this was no normal man.

“you were stupid to come here,” sukuna huffed, barely sparing the man a glance as he helped her to her feet. “i prefer not to kill in front of my wife.”

“and yet, you will die all the same,” the man retorted, his hand glowing with a threatening iridescent aquamarine light.

boom!

there was a deafening thunderclap, followed by the loud creaking and crashing of tumbling wood. before she could blink again, she found herself somewhere far from their home, surrounded by trees and nature that seemed to stretch for miles. her husband’s expression was calm, a perfectly still lake amidst the tumultuous whirlwind of emotions inside her.

sukuna softly touched her cheek. “this will all be over soon, my love.”

he pressed a tender kiss to her brow.

don’t leave me, please.

and then, he was gone.

a strong fear settled in the pit of her stomach amidst the eerie silence. she flinched each time the sky lit up in hues of red and blue, once with purple, and she could have sworn that she heard the sound of her husband’s untamed glee carried on the wind. every rustle of the trees set her teeth on edge, and she wrapped her arms tightly around herself as the coldness of the night began to settle in.

snap!

she whirled around.

another stranger emerged, this time with hair as black as the night. shadows pooled beneath his feet, ominous snarling and snapping noises of hounds coming from its depths. with a sharp gesture, the man hushed and silenced the shadows, and the hounds ceased to be. he tilted his head curiously at her, as if he couldn’t fathom why she was here alone in this place.

but what struck her about him were his eyes — they were as green as the forests in the mountains.

it made her strangely homesick.

“my husband will never stop hunting you for this,” she finally said coolly, despite the terror coursing in her blood.

“you think that terrifies me?” he scoffed, instantly shattering the image of warmth she thought he had. “no matter what, history will forever remember as the sorcerers who brought the king of curses to his knees.”

a silver blade gleamed wickedly as the man grinned maliciously.

“meanwhile, you are irrelevant.”

she didn't say a word, understanding all to well what was about to happen and why.

would death be kind?

she shook her head, turning away from the man and looking up at the crimson twilight sky, unwilling to face the man or the cruel blade that was to be her end.

(a drop of blood in a firestorm, a scream of agony)

it doesn’t matter, so long as sukuna cannot feel it.

༺ ✤ ༻

death was abysmally cruel.

ryomen sukuna once believed that it would have given him the sweet relief he always craved deep down – something that would have finally extinguished the ceaseless fire blazing in his veins. it was a release he had always longed for, yearned for, and thought he had always been ready for.

especially when the curse, kenjaku, found him suffering amidst the wreckage of his vengeful rampage for the love that had been stolen from him.

“you had your chance, once,” the curse purred, his forehead stitches starkly contrasting with the pallor of the body he had taken. “but you knew that already.”

no, death had hurt him beyond measure.

it was a hailstorm of ice and sleet, beating down at him, surely dousing his fire, but so very slowly. even though his memory now was hazy at the best of times, he would always remember that pain. how he smashed and ground his teeth together, silent as stone as kenjaku worked to preserve his essence into every one of his fingers, because he refused to cry again.

all sukuna could remember was pain.

and her.

he would always remember her – the pain of loving her, and the pain of losing her.

and how he cried for the first and last time when he saw her crumpled body lying there in that forest. how he wanted nothing more than to hold her bones in his arms for the rest of time, to die right there and then with her, and let their skeletons be burned into ash together.

love had made him sick with desire, with hate, with yearning.

it terrified him.

because ryomen sukuna did not like to feel.

he then swore to himself that he would never repeat his mistakes. love was never to be touched again, and he would burn the world before it had the chance to hurt him once more.

and finally, here sukuna was, reborn and made anew, ready to enact that vow.

only, he hadn’t planned on being stuck inside this miserable, pretentious annoying brat.

no matter, this isn’t permanent.

“how you feelin there, yuji?” asked satoru gojo in an irritatingly perky voice.

sukuna’s vessel rubbed his chest tentatively. “i guess it kinda hurts a litt- ow! okay, never mind, it hurts a lot.”

satoru smiled. “well, lucky for you, i know someone who can help with that.”

sukuna rolled his eyes, grumbling under his breath. oh, how he wanted to rip the smirk right off his face.

first, i’ll tear you–

a light laugh trickled in from just outside the door.

sukuna froze.

he knew that laugh.

the brat turned around, and through him, ryomen sukuna saw what he had thought he lost a millennium ago.

for a moment, there was nothing but white noise.

sukuna was entranced, captivated by the way her lips moved, the graceful way her figure leaned against the doorframe, and how every single feature of her face had remained unchanged and untouched despite all the time that had passed.

is this some sort of joke?

“ok yuji,” she said warmly, a kind smile on her face as she placed a hand on his chest. “this won’t hurt a bit.”

sukuna felt the ghost of her hand touching his own skin, familiar and warm, and he gripped his throne of bones tightly.

yuji frowned. “will it hurt you?”

“oh no, don’t worry about me. i can absorb as much physical pain as i want without feeling any of it myself.”

“that’s so cool! but, do you really not feel anything at all?”

she bit her lip, an ancient sadness in her young eyes. “well… sometimes i go blind for a while, and all i can see is the color red.”

“what? hell no, what if you go blind because of me? no way.”

yuji shied away from her touch, and she reached out to grasp his hand.

“no, i promise i won’t!” she practically begged. “please. yuji. i–something happens when i go blind, like something is trying to show me what’s missing inside me, and i need to find out what it is.”

so, you don’t remember a thing.

sukuna leaned forward, bones crunching beneath him.

“okay…” his vessel answered, apprehension and concern woven into his tone.

she smiled gratefully.

i think i understand what you were to me after all this time, my love.

༺ ✤ ༻

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lixenn · 5 months ago

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*throws confetti*

Happy White Day!

To celebrate the occasion and as a belated gift for the Guide's one year anniversary (which was yesterday), I decided to release a DanSqu romance snippet into the wild. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: This scene plays in the far future of the Housekeeping AU and I plan to include it in The Cause of Causality (though this might change in case it won't fit into the narrative any longer). Therefore, this includes minor spoilers for the story.

Dan inspected himself in the bathroom mirror. The marks stood out sharp against his skin, decorating his neck like possessive jewellery. He debated if it's worth to cover them up. On the one hand everyone would be insufferable in their teasing, he can already hear Dave wolfwisthling and Vlasta giving him a smug look. On the other hand, covering them would take time, effort and make up and it would make things so much worse if they find out afterwards. Also covering them once would mean covering them always and he really cannot be bothered.

An arm sneaked across his waist pulling him against a firm chest.

"What has you thinking that hard?"

Squalo's voice rasped against his ear, still rough from sleep.

"Hickeys."

"Hmmm?"

Dan sighed. "Thinking about covering them up."

The grip on his waist tightened and the ocean at his back went from cozy warm to deeply cold and bristling. Apparently, the shark was not amused at his musings.

"No," Squalo bit out.

"No?"

"No cover up," Squalo actually poked one of the bruises. Dull pain bloomed on his neck and Dan swatted away the finger, annoyed. "You're not allowed to hide them. Wear them with pride or not at all."

Reluctant fondness bubbled up in Dan's chest.

Of course he's a possessive bastard about this. I shouldn't have expected anything different.

"I will direct any teasing your way then, darling~"

"Tch. I'm not dealing with your idiots. You're on your own." In contrast to Squalo's words, his flames warmed up and curled around Dan's like a pleased cat.

Laughter built in his throat but he suppressed it, knowing it would be taken the wrong way. Instead he leaned against the Rain's shoulder, gifting him a lazy smile.

"But you're the one that gave me half of these. You should take responsibility."

Delighted, Dan watched as red dusted Squalo's cheek once again, though he still stubbornly held his gaze, never one to back down first even when embarrassed.

Cute. Why is the feared Sword Emperor so fucking adorable? It's no fair.

The urge to take a bite out of those apple bright cheeks overcame him and Dan saw no reason to resist. So he indulged himself, stood on his tiptoes and took a little nibble. Just a small one, barely leaving a mark but Squalo still startled like Dan drew blood.

So overdramatic.

"VOIII!? What the hell?"

Squalo ripped himself from their embrace, his hand covering his cheek as if protecting it from further assault. The blush covered his entire face now, filling Dan with smug satisfaction.

He shrugged, smile turning into a grin. "Payback's a bitch. You're not the only one that can bite, Captain."

The offended look his words granted him was a thing of beauty and Dan couldn't hold his laughter back again. It pearled through the room, filling it with joy and Squalo lost his offence, exchanging it with quiet wonder.

Squalo stepped closer again, reaching for Dan and cupping his face with his real hand. His palm was rough and weathered, but Dan leaned into it anyways, closing his eyes in content.

Moments like this are rare, small pockets of happiness in a life that is filled with blood and violence. Dan always tried his best to enjoy them for as long as they lasted, knowing that joy is fleeting and needed to be savoured. Who knows when they will have time for it again?

Soft lips brushed against his forehead, temple, nose until they found his own and Dan melted into the kiss, humming happily. It lacked the urgency and hunger from last night, more chaste than passionate but no less filled with love.

After a few seconds, Dan reluctantly pulled back from his lover. He rested his head on Squalo's shoulder, gathering his energy to face the rest of the day.

"Duty calls," he sighed, already dreading going back to work.

"You could stay in. Take a break for once."

Dan raised an eyebrow at him, judgement clear on his face.

"Yeah, fair." With one last kiss on Dan's forehead the two of them separated, just in time to feel the walls shake from an explosion. Because of course it did.

The pair shared a tired look and rolled their eyes at the ceiling in synch, as if begging for divine intervention.

"I swear to God if Blaze is playing around with dynamite again, I will drown him in next rain puddle I can find."

Squalo scoffed. "Not if I slice him to bits first."

"Hah! You're on!"

#khr #katekyo hitman reborn #khr oc #the housekeeping au #khr daniele costa #squalo superbi #dansqu #also ngl i just reread this and it's still so fucking fire #good job past lix!#lix writes

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gintrinsic-writing · 2 years ago

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Whumptober 29: Scented candle || Troubled past resurfacing

CW: alcohol, reference to past noncon.

It might have been the candle burning on the windowsill, its too-sweet apple scent at odds with the stink of warm beer and unwashed bodies. Or maybe it was the whiskey burning a familiar fire in the back of his throat after several miserable nights without. Either way, when a man put his hand on Warrior’s shoulder—too close, too intimate, too confining—Warriors felt himself fall into the past as though pushed from a great height.

For one terrifying moment, the crowded bar was a high-ceilinged bedroom with looming, dead-eyed portraits. The barstool was an ornate chair backed in crimson satin, and the grimy countertop was a vanity covered in pearls, sapphires, and bottles of expensive, fruity perfumes. And that hand, gripping with the heat of a brand—that hand—

Warriors froze, breath trapped behind his teeth, heart beating like it might burst from his chest. He froze, and the candle smelled like misery and helplessness. He froze, and then he moved.

The next thing he knew, there was a man on the ground with a broken nose, and Warriors's knuckles were aching with the memory of that bloody crunch. People were shouting. Time’s fingertips grazed Warriors’s chest with just enough pressure to make a point.

“—call the guard! Did you hear me?” The bartender slammed his hand against the countertop. “I said, get the hell out!”

Time nodded calmly. “We’re leaving. Sorry for the trouble.” He placed a small red potion on the nearest table and gestured for Warriors to lead the way. Each step away from the man on the ground felt like another inch toward reality.

Outside, the air was brisk. Leaves drifted toward the ground. Warriors spent a moment remembering how to breathe again.

“Are you back with me?” Time asked.

“I—I think so. Yes.” He ran a hand over his face and was ashamed by how much it shook. There was a stranger’s blood on two of his knuckles.

“What just happened?”

“That guy, he… He grabbed me?”

Time’s expression gave nothing away. He stared for so long that Warriors began to question himself. “He was moving past us to another table,” he finally said, not unkindly. “It was crowded. He put his hand on your shoulder when he said ‘excuse me’.”

“Oh.” Shame festered beneath Warriors’s skin. He wished he had another drink, or the strength to apologize.

“You did this back then, too.” Time’s eyes tracked the falling leaves as if to give Warriors a sense of privacy. It didn’t really work.

“We’ve all got scars," Warriors muttered, throat uncomfortably tight.

“Yours just hurt an innocent man,” Time answered bluntly, no doubt noticing the flinch this earned. His next words were gentler. “Perhaps it would be better if you talked about it to someone. It doesn't have to be me.”

“Not this,” Warriors answered quietly. “Never this.”

Time’s gaze was heavy and too-knowing, and Warriors wondered for one sickening moment how much he hadn’t been able to hide from Mask.

“Let's just go."

"Wars—"

"Please, let's just go."

#guess i'll always be mean to warriors #being a favorite means suffering #sorry wars #lu warriors #lu time #lu fic #gintrinsic writing #whumptober 2023 #linked universe #alcoholic warriors

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ichore · 8 months ago

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hotline bling | OLIVER AIKU

synopsis: you're in a situationship with oliver aiku and he realizes he has feelings for you when he sees a tinder notification pop up on your phone, and next time he sees you, his revenge is the sweetest thing to ever touch your lips pairing: oliver aiku x fem!reader warnings, tags: MINORS & BLANK BLOGS DNI. jealous oliver, reader is in her hoe phase, little teasing, cunnilingus, protected p -> v, praising (both giving and receiving), oliver confesses his feelings and it doesn't end well (sorry), recommended song: hotline bling cover wc: est 4.1k

Oliver Aiku knew he was losing his mind when a new girl was grinding her clothed wetness against his crotch and he couldn’t get it up. No matter how desperately he sunk his tongue into her mouth, how deep his fingers dug into her love handles in desperation or how many minutes she spent coating the length of his flaccid cock with her spit - all the blood remained in his head, where you had been throning for the last few days, refusing to travel down.

A slap echoed in the hotel room, its sting feeling all too familiar on his cheek as he watched the maroon drapes shake as the disappointed and outraged woman put on her clothes. All huff and puff, her palms slapping against her thighs in demand for an explanation, and when he only smiled, she stormed out with her high-heels clicking and his saliva still gleaming on her neck in the beige lightning of the place. He placed one of his arms behind his head, his heterochromia eyes studying the linings running across the grey ceiling and the aching feeling that had been burning bright inside his chest began to crawl its way back under his skin.

Solitude and silence had been his greatest enemies ever since he saw the familiar pink notification pop up on your phone, realizing you were using dating apps while simultaneously fucking him. It was so very unlike him to care about such things like his hookups finding someone else to bother instead of him, but before he knew it, he was stalking your social media. Endless scrolling, checking your likes and comments, your following and followers, checking some dudes’ profiles when he found something that proved you were with them. His skin was burning, he felt the sweat pearl under his bangs even though the night was cold when he was walking home from your place. A knot of bile threatened to spill, choking him right under his adam’s apple - oh, how he hated you at that moment for making him feel that unfamiliar ache he had no idea how to deal with.

So he did what he always did best; charmed new girls into his bed, each of them prettier than the other, prettier than you and he wanted you to know that when he was making those selfies with his new women and he posted them on his private Instagram right at the time when he knew you’d already be home from work. Some nameless woman’s tongue rushed across his earlobe and neck, her hand kneading his chest while he was checking the viewers of his post and he nearly threw his cell against the wall when he saw you reacted with a heart. Was he a fucking joke to you? That night, he pushed the woman off of himself, told her in a gentlemanly manner that he had to wake up for practice very early and then he was running across the street for miles and miles until his calves started to cramp and his lungs stuck to his ribcage. And yet, when he was standing under the shower, the hot water licking away the salt from his skin and the ache from his limbs, as he caressed away the dirt from his sides, he caught himself wishing he could feel your touch once more.

‘Hey, pretty. Are you free tonight?’ he was staring at the blinking cursor for a longer time he dared to admit before he sent the text to you. He felt the dizziness hit his head when he finally got off the bed to clean himself and dress up just in case you said yes. He knew you should have because you were free most of the time whenever he asked you around the same time on the same day, yet his hands were trembling as he fastened his belt before he checked his phone again.

‘Sure. Come on over, Yap Central ;)’ the curve of his lips turned upwards at the sight of a notification of your answer and widened into a grin at the nickname, but his smile quickly withered as he heard himself chuckle. No, he was going there to make you have a night that you would never forget. Making his dick unforgettable was his mission, and then you had the nerve to offer him food. ‘I have some of the noodles you fancy, do you want me to heat some up for you?’

And that’s when he realized the player was getting played. Oliver was known to be a natural charmer, making others feel special with his mere presence which caused women to fall head over heels for him in no time. But with you, it was the opposite. Your words, your touch coddled him like a mother’s embrace after a nightmare shaken you up in the middle of the night. He talked about the dreams he had of becoming the best striker, how his ambitions were stomped into the dirt and you told him he was a crimson rose blooming among a garden of white tulips, and he should use the thorns he was born with to defend himself and his wants. He told you about his sisters and his mom, and how annoying it was to grow up in a home full of women while his father was working too much, and you told him you were grateful to his family for raising such a charming guy who knows how to treat a woman right. You made him feel special with shining light on the beauty and lessons of his life, the things that made him proud of who he was. And he realized, he knew close to nothing about you. Except what your job is because that’s where he met you. He didn’t know about the relationship you had with your family, about your ambitions and plans for the future.

‘I’d appreciate that, gorgeous. I’m starving’ he texted you back when he was halfway to your place and he already cooked up a plan on how to take his revenge.

Palms sweaty, his heart beating vehemently against his breastbone, he knocked his knuckles against your door. The turmoil of emotions seemed to slightly fade as soon as he saw your face, a gentle smile greeting him like usual and a twinkling light of lust next to your pupils. Your apartment was squeaky clean, another thing he took for granted and now he was amazed by the effort you put into making every guy believe they were the only one good enough to enter your home by not having their stuff laid out on the counter or the coffee table, a convenient place where you could find it when they came back for it in hopes for another round - so unlike he did.

He watched the back of your head as you forked the noodles into a bowl for him, he felt a desperate need to know what you were thinking while you fed a man you cared so little for. Were you giving food to every guy who took you to pound town? Did you have some notes of everyone’s favorite meal laying around somewhere? He silently took a seat at the counter, his elbow resting on the surface with his chin sinking into the soft of his palm as his gaze traveled to your hair that swayed and bounced around as you moved. Did you tell the others how much you loved to have your hair crown pulled at? Did they also appreciate its texture as they wrapped it around their fingers, the scent of your shampoo still lingering on their fingers while they made their way home? His lips parted as you licked away the sauce that accidentally got on your fingers, the pink of your tongue peaking through and your gaze finding him from under your heavy-looking lashes. His heartbeat fastened as you kept eye contact with him when you placed the bowl and utensils ahead of him, your breasts nearly spilling out of your shirt as you leaned in. His pants began to feel tight; both his dick and his plan to execute were getting harder at the same time.

“You’re awfully quiet today. What’s up?” you asked, your palms smoothing against the counter and you tilted your head to the side. Looking all cute and innocent, it nearly made him scoff out loud.

“Just a lil tired,” he said with a shrug, and it wasn’t entirely untrue. When he wasn’t awake to have his mind wander onto who was giving you backshots at that very moment, he was having nightmares about you cutting him off because you finally found the love of your life and it had him wake up multiple times in the past few nights.

“So you came here to just chill?”

“Is that a problem?” his snapback earned a slight furrow between your brows and a gentle raise of your chin like you were looking down at him, your eyes zigzagging between the blue and the green of his two eyes above his smirk, studying this new ooze of energy that radiated from his body.

“Not at all. I’m gonna go and open the sofa bed, so we can watch something. Enjoy your meal, handsome,” you finally offered him a gentle smile, and made your way over to the sofa while the metal fork every now and then chimed against the ceramic bowl as Oliver slurped down his meal. Sometimes he peered behind his back, watching you expertly put on the bedding and pillows and blankets, and if it wasn’t for tasting the way you so deliciously seasoned the food, he would’ve been completely lost in imagining another man help you open that damned grey sofa as they stared at the curve of your ass, smoothing their hand across it and grabbing the soft flesh. But Oliver did finish his meal, since it was the first time in days that his knot of anxiety loosened enough to be able to even eat something without feeling nauseous. He wiped the excess sauce off his face with a paper towel before putting the bowl in your sink, putting soap on a sponge and wiped it clean - the weight of your confused stare tickled his nape, making him smile.

“So, what do you wanna watch?” you asked out of courtesy, like you always did even though the two of you usually barely lasted five minutes into the movie before you had your legs on his shoulders and the head of his dick against your sweetest spot.

“Your favorite movie” he said while he used a rag to dry his hands and then carefully spread it out on the handle of your oven.

“Oh, uh,” it was the first time he heard and saw you be genuinely confused; the faint wrinkles between the arches of your brows, the little pout on your lips that he wanted to kiss away so badly at that moment, but instead he made his way to the bed and sat down with a pillow ahead of his crotch before pulling you closer to him, laying your shoulders against his chest and his hands caressing across the length of your arms before interlacing his fingers on top of your tummy. “Fine, but you really have to pay attention to get the plot twist at the very end.”

“Believe it or not, I’m very good at paying attention. You can start it anytime you wanna, sunshine” he said, earning a suspicious hum buzz from your lips before you hit the play button.

His eyelids closed entirely for the first two minutes of the movie as he searched for restrain within himself to not kiss your neck, instead his hairy chin brushed against the back of your head and your baby hairs danced along with the waves of his hot breath while he finally let himself be enwrapped by the atmosphere and the plot of the show. When you began to squirm, his hug tightened to keep you still. When you began to caress his hairy arm, he let the goosebumps bloom on his skin before stopping the motion of your touches by lacing his fingers with yours. It was almost romantic in a way if he didn’t know why you were rubbing your thighs together from time to time and why the rising and falling of your bosom quickened when the movie reached a more monotone part. “Oliver…”

“Hush, beautiful. I’m watching the movie” he smoothed his knuckles against your cheek, a gentle apology for trying to pick at your brain a little, before holding your hand once more. Thrillers never really interested him, but in each major scene and poetic lines, he felt like he was closer to getting to know the real you. Your heartbeat danced against his chest with a little more fervor at those times, and as the climax of the movie unfolded, he leaned forward with baited breath in anticipation for both the reveal and to feel your pulse nearly pump in his own breast. “I totally didn’t expect that. I like it. Good choice, gorgeous,”

“Thanks, glad you enjoyed it. You seemed…absorbed,” Oliver’s hum was low against your ear, a noise of contentment. As his fingers began to caress your skin under the elastic band of your sweatpants, a sigh of relief escaped your lips.

“And you seemed rather needy the whole time. I wonder…” he didn’t need to finish the sentence for you to know he was eager to know just exactly how much you wanted him, and the answer awaited him as a pool of lukewarm, slimy wetness between your folds. “All for me?” or did you get this wet for everyone else? Jealousy surged within him, tugging at his heart and clouding his mind with a mist of red. He wouldn’t give you just what you wanted yet.

His hands leave your pants to take the pillow out from in between the two of you before he cups your breasts, steadying your back against his chest and his aching boner twitches against the small of your back as he feels your nipples turn hard against his palms. “How was your week?”

“I see you’re in a silly mood today, oh Captain, my Captain,” a snort escaped you when his hips thrusted against you, but your smile quickly withered when his fingers found your throat and he easily pushed your body into the cushion of the bed, his tall and muscular frame towering above you. The look in his eyes seemed different from the usual, drunken and maniac, the type of gaze you saw him have only during his games.

“You sure know how to push my buttons. So what will it take, hm?” he let go of your throat to quickly make you get rid of your pants and soaked panties before he placed your calves on each of his shoulders, inching his face close to you, so you were completely folded under his as his still clothed boner was rubbed against your clit. “Name your price, sweetheart, so I can hear about what you did today or you’re not getting any dick tonight. Anything, but dick.”

“I’ll lose my mind if you don’t put it in right now,” you whined, you wriggled underneath him, but to no avail as his entire body weight held you in place.

“I’ll fuck it right back in its place for you as soon as you start talking. ” he grinned with all his teeth, he looked like a wild animal right before going in for the killing bite at its prey’s throat. It should have scared you, but you found yourself needing him all the more, completely enamored by the danger in his eyes and the width of his mouth.

“Kiss me,” you breathed, and he swallowed your words as his tongue licked inside your mouth before he deepened the kiss enough to have the tip of his nose sink into the pillow of your cheek. The rub of his hips fastened, his sweatpants getting completely damp with your wetness and his precum, his grinding only getting harder against you while his fingers tighten on your thighs. Even though he didn’t know the real you, he was way too familiar with your body to just let you orgasm without getting what he needs, and he pulled his dick away from you to let your cunt clench and your clit throb for more. “Hm, fine, fine. Put your tongue in my pussy and I’ll tell you,”

“Good girl, t'was about time,” Oliver breathed against your right nipple, his hands letting go of your thighs to cradle your breasts together as he sucked on each of them with hunger that sent shivers down your spine. His teeth grazed your sensitive flesh, the sting melting into pleasure when he soothed it with the tenderness of his kisses. He began to trail downward, his hot mouth leaving traces of saliva in its wake. You moaned, giving out tiny, high-pitched sighs when his moustache gingerly clawed against the prepuce above your clit while the strong muscle of his tongue explored the gummy cambers of your walls. And in the moment of vulnerability - or cruelty - you started to talk. The words spilled out of you as if his tongue was wringing them out of you, mundane stories about your workdays; the dumb customers and the annoying coworkers, the drinks you shared on late afternoons with your girlfriends he’s never heard about, and then you got to the part where you hooked up with someone else. His heart nearly twitched out of his ribcage, threatening to escape from the torture he was putting himself through. You felt him freeze against you.

“Why’d you stop?” you whined, knitting your brows together at the sight of his cheek pressed against your inner thigh and his heterochromic gaze staring at your pussy like he’s lost in reverie. Truth be told, he didn’t expect you to just straight out tell him the very thing he thought you were hiding from him. His mission failed.

“You never told me you were sleeping with others” he mumbled, his hot breath tickling your skin.

“You never asked” and just like that, he realized he was the very cause of his own demise. His own selfishness blinded him. He closed his eyes and a chuckle vibrated between his lips before he licked your thigh as he got on his knees. Silence stretched out among you as he took off his clothes and took the condom out of his wallet to slide it down on his length. Merely the creak of the bed chimed in when he crawled on top of you, his thighs pushing your legs apart.

“You’re right, ‘m sorry,” He cupped your cheeks before his lips crashed against yours, your own taste and his possession spreading on your tongue. You wrapped your legs around him, using your heels to nudge his hips closer to your crotch as your hands caressed the taut muscles of his biceps and shoulders, your genteel belied the confession you just made. When his touches left your face, he didn’t break his kiss as he positioned the tip of cock against the ring of your entrance. His fingers wrapped around your iliac crests as he pushed himself into you, forcing the breath out of your lungs and you swallowed each other’s moans. His strokes felt different from the usual; deliberate, longer, deeper, a slowness so sweet and agonizing, it didn’t take long to shake your core. The edge of his teeth tickled across the tender skin above your artery at your neck, his groan vibrating in your ear as your first orgasm squeezed around his dick.

“You’re such a good boy,” you breathed. On any other night, he would’ve taken it as thank you for making you cum and he would’ve chuckled, but as he found himself enamored and drunk in love with each thrust into you, he had to wrap his hand around the base of dick to steady himself from an early release. He got on his knees, putting distance in between you as he grabbed your ankles and put your feet on his shoulders while he continued to slam his hips against you, the tip of his dick nudging against your core. His eyelids felt like the weight of lead, his brows furrowed under his disheveled bangs, droplets of sweat ran across his temple as his ajar lips were pressed against your ankle, his moans muffled by your skin. His chest burned in a color of red under his curly, black hairs and his abs flexed and relaxed with each thrust - his mere sight was enough to nudge you closer to the edge once more.

“I love watching you stroke your dick with my pussy,” you said, earning a loud growl out of him before his lips were against yours once more, and his thrust began to feel like the rushed frenzy you were oh so familiar with. His hands interlaced with yours above your head, his thighs pushing your legs against your tummy as his weight nearly crushed you. The smell of sweat and soft amber cologne and his warmth suffocating you while his happy trail rubbed against your clit each time he pounded into you.

His orgasm came faster and harder than ever before; he was trembling, and in an attempt to hide his whines, he found solace on the crook of your neck as he filled up the condom while he was inside you. His dick twitched against your tight walls as the hardness of his head plunged into you just at the right time to reach your second orgasm that had tears gather about the corners of your eyes, your hard nipples rubbing against his breastbone as you heaved.

“Never seen this side of you,” you said when he rolled off you to be on his back, his hand on top of his face like the sight of the lining across the grey ceiling bothered his eyes, making you feel concerned for a second. “Are you okay?”

“Would you like to make things more serious with me? Not right now, but like, ever?” regret punched him in the chest as soon as those questions left his lips, he blamed it on the post-nut haziness still clouding his mind because he didn’t even feel real as he spoke to you. But you knew it was the realest he’d ever been since you knew him, and to your surprise, it angered you.

“I need to take a piss,” you mumbled with a sharpness in your tone he never heard before, you yanked away your wrath filled gaze from his figure with a roll of your eyes before you made your way to the bathroom. Oliver could hear you looking for something, most likely the stuff he forgot at your place in the past. His heart was pumping liquid fire across his body, a pain so consuming he barely found the strength to get up from your bed to toss the used condom in the bin and put on his clothes.

“I guess I can take this as a no?” he asked you when you came back with a plastic bag filled with his shirts, hair comb and extra toothbrush

“I thought you respected me enough to not try and make a fool out of me like you did with your exes, but I guess my hopes were too high for you,”

“No, this is different,” he shook his head, making you scoff and wrap your arms ahead of your chest.

“It was different. It was easy and fun. You’re the smartest man I ever know, yet you’re so stupid at the same time. Were you not with one of your girls just right before you came here? And another one yesterday and the night before?”

“I was trying to make myself forget about you,” he looked pathetic, like a wet puppy with his green and blue eyes staring at the fluff on the sides of your slippers, and the plastic bag hanging low on his side.

“Well,” you started, and his gaze followed you to the entrance door that you opened wide for him. “Try a little harder.”

It was only fitting that the rain was pouring as he was walking home with his hands deep inside his pocket until he found a garbage can to throw the filled plastic bag in. Last thing he wanted was to smell your laundry detergent on his stuff. He did not dare to look at his socials, fearing his heart ache might actually end him if he saw you blocked him on everything, but halfway between you and his place, he tried to call you. A robotic voice welcomed him and said the number he dialed doesn’t exist anymore. Oliver Aiku’s lips trembled in agony and rage, a single tear as the evidence of his sorrow rolled across the sharp jaw before the rain washed it away.

#divider by adornedwithlight #oliver aiku #oliver aiku x reader #oliver aiku x you #oliver aiku fanfic #bllk fanfic #blue lock x you #blue lock x reader #shikari writes.#blue lock smut

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carry-on-my-wayward-gays · 2 years ago

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Oh The Things Our Hands Do: a Bird of Prey spinoff

SURPRISE @roxie-roo IT'S ALL ANGST >:) everyone else I hope you enjoy :3

"I'm so proud of you, Tim..."

[Grian was slain by SolidarityGaming][GoodTimesWithScar died]

Jimmy was... oh Void he felt like he was going to puke. Bile stung the back of his throat but he swallowed it down.

The grass below him was slowly becoming stained red. A dark pool slowly spreading over the hillside, thick and warm and seeping into Jimmy's jeans at the knees.

At first he felt like crying. Sobbing and clinging onto Grian's body before they had to bury him and Scar. Jimmy wondered if the two would want to be buried together...

But as he reached forward and grabbed Grian's red sweater, he felt a little giggle bubble up. He pulled his friend closer and pulled his sword from his chest, laughing just a bit louder. His hands shook as he put his sword back in his inventory. Oh he was so shaky and his mind was racing and why couldn't he stop laughing?!

Jimmy took one last look at Grian's body. His best friend, someone who he considered a brother. And he.. he...

He let go.

Loud, maniacal laughter. It was hysterical. He felt like his throat was being torn apart by just how loud and deranged he sounded.

It was a sound that could be heard all the way from Pearl's tower. It carried across the ravine and broke the stillness of the meadow. It ripped up whatever electricity had been floating since Grian's death message.

There had been a change that day. Not just in people's perception of Jimmy, or the ranchers, but maybe in the code itself. Something broke. Something just broke.

Jimmy stands up, shaking and all sorts of uncoordinated. He's still laughing as he makes his way home. His knees are soaked and stained with Grian's blood and everything looks blurry.

Fuck, he really just did that. Took someone's life with his own bare hands.

Jimmy giggles as he opens the door to the ranch. Tango isn't home, though that's probably for the best. He doesn't want his rancher seeing him like this, hysterically laughing at absolutely nothing and covered in blood. Shaking like a leaf in a hurricane to boot. Notch only knows what he'd think of Jimmy then.

When Jimmy calms down - stops wobbling around with a wicked grin on his pale face - he finally throws up. Killing someone never gets easy, no matter how red your name gets. At least not for him. He prefers setting traps and waiting to see his victim's name pop up in chat. That was enough adrenaline for him.

Tango comes home as Jimmy is changing his pants. His skin is also stained red from the blood underneath the denim. And it sticks to him too.

"Jimmy that was amazing!" Tango tells him. His eyes fall to Jimmy's bloody knees, and his demeanor changes.

Tango walks past Jimmy, keeping his back to the blond so he can change. "People kept asking if it was an accident. They looked scared." Tango continues, still giddy but keeping his voice down. "I heard their whispers on the way home."

[Etho was obliterated by a sonically-charged shriek][Smallishbeans died]

Jimmy sighs, pulling his belt through the loops of clean jeans.

"Hey, you ok?" Tango asks, coming up behind Jimmy. His hand rubs comfortingly over his shoulder and squeezes his bicep. He's tense.

Jimmy nods first. Maybe trying to convince himself above Tango. "Yeah I-" He swallows, "I'll be fine. I will."

"I don't wanna know if you'll be ok later, I wanna know if you're ok now."

Jimmy nods again. His Adam's Apple bobs and he breathes out. "Just.. a bit shaky. I've never been good with actually taking lives." He explains. He turns to Tango with a hardly convincing smile. "I'm ok. It's the point of the game."

Tango still hugs him. He wraps his arms around Jimmy's ribs and pulls him close, into a nice warm embrace. Jimmy hugs him back with his fingers twisting Tango's jacket in fists.

"I love you." Tango whispers.

"I love you too." Jimmy mumbles back.

They go to bed shortly after. It feels like the sun sets faster in these games, and the moon lingers longer than she's supposed to.

Jimmy lays on his belly. His wings - which need to be dyed first thing tomorrow - rest comfortably on top of him. They act like a weighted blanket for both him and Tango, who makes himself comfortable under one stretched out wing.

"Sleep well, buttercup." Tango wishes quietly.

But they're not the only ones who sleep like shit that night.

#shadow's scribing again #cw vomit #cw blood #cw death #bird of prey au #double life fanfic #jimmy solidarity #tangotek #rancher duo

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theres-an-impulstor-among-us · 4 years ago

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Friday Night Stabby best quotes part 32 (01/10/21)

Brody was missing from this session so Joker filled in for him.

(also, as weird as this sounds, cw for mentions of blood IRL)

…

Astro: Joker, do you wanna vouch for me that I didn’t kill this person? Joker: Astro and Skizz didn’t, but Astro was thinking about it. So, you know, take that for what it’s worth. Etho: We all have those thoughts though.

...

Impulse: I will admit, I have a weird new role that I don’t know what it means. Astro: Poisoner? Impulse, the poisoner: No. Skizz: Jerkface McJerkyton? That’s not new.

...

*Evil and Skizz are accusing each other, Astro is the deciding vote* Astro: I have a question. Give me a number between one and twenty. Skizz first. Skizz: Wow. I go first? Astro: Yup. Skizz: Uhh… ten. Astro: Okay. Evil? Evil: Eighteen. Astro: By the… laws of the… averages, uh… *votes* Sorry, Evil.

...

Joker: I’d like to make an announcement. Skizz: Go. Joker: I’m not friends with Skizz anymore. He marinated me. I’m not talking to him anymore, so if someone can tell Skizz this information, that’d be great. Skizz, laughing: Impulse, if you could tell the Joker I don’t care.

...

Etho: I trust Evil the most this round. Evil: ...and I’m not sure I trust you, Etho. Impulse: Ooooohhh. Spicy.

...

Evil: -and when I came back up, Pearl was dead. And I only heard one other voice. And he’s a very slippery fruit. Endless: Oh dear. Impulse: Apples are slippery too. It wasn’t me, though. Tango: Go slip on an apple! Endless: I was reading way too much into that statement, okay, let’s go.

...

Impulse: I was heading to the microwave in the cafeteria to cook a burrito. Skizz: Was it bacon and egg or bean and cheese? This matters. Impulse: I didn’t make it to the cafeteria cuz this got called. Tango: How do you know it was a burrito, then? Skizz: OOHOOHOOO. VOTING IMPULSE. Impulse: Cuz that’s what I’m hungry for! Allow me to dream!

...

Joker: I was there with the body. It was Endless. The last thing he said, and I quote: “Joker is amazing. And I’m sorry that I have to die.” Impulse: Don’t buy it. Don’t buy it. Joker: That’s what he said. I held his body as he died and that was the last thing he said. *pause* Joker: He also said “make sure to let everybody know that Skizz smells like poop.” Skizz: Ah, there it is.

...

Tango: Voting Skizz. Skizz: Whoa! Impulse: Was Skizz on the stack? Etho? Skizz: I was several steps away from it. Tango: I dunno, Skizz deserves to be voted off. Joker: I mean, I have to agree with that.

...

*Skizz cut his foot on broken glass during the break* Endless: Not gonna lie, my wife would kill me if that happened. She’d be like “yeah I’m sorry about your foot but what’d you do to the carpet?” Tango: Yeah, you heal; the carpet doesn’t.

...

Impulse: Think we might have to go another round without Skizz. Joker: Are they gonna have to amputate? Impulse: Probably. Joker: Yeah, I’d imagine so. Impulse: Be cool if he got one of those peg legs. Joker: I think he’s got an extra foot in his mouth, so he can use that. Evil: Wow… Impulse, snickering: Brutal. Joker: Was- Was that too soon? Impulse: Too soon, too soon. I mean, the dude’s still bleeding, you know?

...

Tango: Is Skizz back? Skizz: I’m back. Tango: Eyyyy, Skizzleblood! Skizz: Dude, I cleaned up all the glass, I cleaned up all the blood- Tango: Tell me it’s like a crime scene in your living room right now, that’s all I wanna hear. Skizz: -and then I made myself a drink and I’m coming up the stairs - I have tile stairs - and I’m like “oh there’s blood all over the stairs- I’ll get that later.” Tango: YEAH! Priorities! That’s what I like to hear!

...

*Skizz’s colour has turned from blue to grey due to a glitch* Tango: So Skizz, you’ve been grey. Skizz: I got- I got nothin’. Tango: Did you- How much blood did you lose? Are you turning into a- Skizz: *bursts out laughing* Evil: Zombieeeee.

...

*body is reported* Tango: I did the pipes! I did the pipes! I did the pipes! I did the pipes! I did the pipes! *pause* Endless: Congratulations? Tango: I PIPED!

...

Joker: If Tango could just finish his pipe dream earlier, the game would’ve been over. Tango: Is there a kick feature in this game? Just curious, asking for a friend. Endless: Yeah, if you go into the chat, there’s a boot option. Tango: OH! Joker: Endless. Shut up.

...

Evil: Do we wanna switch maps and see if there’s more stability? Tango: Yes. I’m done with this map. Impulse: But I just took pictures! Tango: Can we play, like, the real map? Impulse: I got kicked off the ship for taking those pictures! Joker: Whoa. I dunno what I just walked into but that did not sound right. Endless, overlapping: Yeah, I’ve been there. That’s- That is not something you want on your record.

...

*Impulse saw Tango morph back from being yellow* Impulse: *calls meeting* Impulse: What’s it like when an apple tries to become a banana? Skizz: Ooh, it’s like a smoothie! Endless, chuckling: What? Skizz, in a funny voice: Put a little blueberry in there. Tango: We got a little fruit action going on there or what? Joker: How much blood did you lose, Skizz? You feeling okay?

...

Skizz: Etho. Say words. I like your voice. Etho: What’s up, buddy? What do you want to know? Skizz: I wanna know why you killed sweet Pearl. Etho: Which round? Skizz: Ohohh man. THIS round! Body’s not even cold!

...

Astro: We’re trying for our first task win. Oh, unless Joker’s not gonna do his task. Joker: I- Uh… What, Astro? Astro: Huh? What? What? Where? Huh? Joker: Tasks?

...

Skizz: Who is not doing their tasks?! What IS that? Astro: I’ll give you seven guesses. Skizz: Joker Joker Joker Joker Joker Joker Joker. Joker: Someone called? Skizz: Are you- Are you not- Do you have tasks, Jokes? *long pause* Joker: Um… Are we talking about like, around my house? Skizz: *sighs* Okay.

...

Joker:*reports a body* Joker: OH I found this! Impulse: *laughs* “Oh I found this”? Joker, also laughing: I don’t know why I said it that way.

...

Skizz: Can you do your last task? Cuz that would just be super. Joker: Yeah, Endless. Can you do your last task? Endless: My tasks are done, dude! Joker: Oh. Then I guess you don’t need to do it. Skizz, why are you asking him to do his last task? Skizz: Talking to YOU, Jokes.

...

*Mrs Tango’s body is reported* Endless: It’s just Mrs Tango, let’s move on. Joker: That’s rude, Endless. Endless: Skipping. Moving on.

...

Endless: Whoever killed Mrs Tango, you’ve got my full support. Joker: Endless. Stop it.

...

Impulse: I wonder if Endless and Evil were both imposters and they were trying to cover it up by having a fake conversation in the upper left engine. Evil: No, it was a conversation about the fact that I miss him. Impulse: Yeaaaaah, that felt strange. Like, nobody misses Endless ever. Skizz: Yeah that’s definitely fake. Impulse: That’s what sold me, dude. I was like there’s no way he’s giving him compliments.

...

Skizz: I love you buddy but I just- I’m not even gonna vote for you, I just want to put some sus because- Impulse: You’re wrong. You’re wrong; you lost too much blood. You’re wrong. Skizz: That could be it. That could be it. Impulse: You’ve admitted that you’re off tonight, right? Skizz: No I didn’t, I’ve been crushing it. I was off on Etho ONE time and it got me a little- It shook my confidence. Impulse: Get me voted off, Skizz. I want your confidence to be crushed. Skizz: Oh…

...

Joker: You know what, I just wanna vote Endles out cuz I’m getting tired of his… poop. Endless: Do it, let’s do it. Etho: He might be jester. Endless, in an ominous whisper: Yesss, I’m jester.

...

*Joker is ejected* Endless: If this is wrong, we’re never gonna finish this game. Joker: Nope. You’re not. Now you gotta figure it out. Skizz: If we’re wrong, you gotta [do your tasks]. Do it for me. Oh, that was never gonna sell him.

...

Skizz: I think Impulse might be jester, I think the imposters are Etho and Evil, and the only legit people are me and Pearl. Impulse: *gasps* Evil: Wrong. Skizz, you are so wrong. Skizz: I KNOW I AM; I CAN’T DO THIS GAME ANYMORE! I WAS SO GOOD WHEN WE STARTED! I HATE THIS GAME! Pearl: You are wonderfully right, I had my hand on that scanner. Skizz: I BELIEVE PEARLY POP! VOTING EVIL!

...

Skizz: Hey! Tango! Why is Joker done with his tasks like three weeks before you? Tango: I dunno, man. I don’t know what’s happening right now. Joker: Yeah! Yeah! How’s that, huh?! How about now, sucker?! Skizz: *bursts out laughing* Joker: I- I dunno, I felt… I felt vindicated for some reason.

#impulsesv #tangotek #skizzleman #etho #misterjoker #theendless #evilnotion #mrstango #pearlescentmoon #astrozoan #friday night stabby #friday night stabby quotes

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mightymorphingayagenda · 5 years ago

Note

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

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

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

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

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

Humourless.

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

“This is the part where you-“

“Shhh.”

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

She’d made Eris wait almost a day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cue phase two of the plan.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that a threat?”

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

Eris said nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

She lit herself a cigarette on a flame.

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

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

Who’s your daddy, now?

She’d collapsed face down into already rumpled sheets.

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

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

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

Not that the sheets didn’t need washing anyway…

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

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

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

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

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

He meowed again.

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

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

Cassian’s jacket.

Uhg.

Now she was thinking about him again.

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

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

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

He purred.

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

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

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

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

Like Nesta said, not really her aunt.

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

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

Of course Nesta hadn’t known that.

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

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

Not a man. A boy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her screaming.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her mother’s last words.

Ten numbers.

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

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

Ten numbers. Ten numbers. Ten numbers.

Like a phone number.

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

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

“Здравствуйте.”

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

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

“Who is this?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Go down for murder.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Woof,” Nesta had said dryly.

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

“You offering to adopt me?”

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

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

“But you ever want job, you call me.”

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

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

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

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

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

Until Feyre had moved to the city.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That and the fact they were really very good.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You told me to give him a chance.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ever heard of the third date rule?”

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

Feyre sighed.

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

“So why did you send him my way?”

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

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

Nesta rolled her eyes.

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

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

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

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

“I’m fine,” Nesta said.

“You sound just like Cassian,” Feyre grumbled.

“Well I’ve been smoking.”

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

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

“He only smokes them on special occasions.”

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

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

“Oh so you did hear me?”

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

She hung up.

“You too,” Nesta said into the silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Easier than keeping him around and seeing him get hurt.

Fuck.

Her being mad at him had been a cop out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

Cassian had ignored her calls.

All three.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“All work and no play?”

Cassian looked up from his desk.

“I can fix that,” she said.

He’d never looked more handsome.

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

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

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

“What are you doing here?”

Rude.

Nesta pushed off the doorframe and into his office.

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

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

She turned to find him watching her.

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

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

“You’re still upset about that?”

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

“Oh really?”

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

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she sneered.

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

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

“You don’t have a clue what I want.”

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

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

It was all very conflicting.

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

Cassian rose his brows with a mean a laugh.

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

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

“You’re right,” she said.

Cassian blinked.

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

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

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

“Nothing to do with you.”

He shook his head, laughing bitterly.

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

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

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

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

A weighted silence settled like snow between them.

Until Cassian took a blow torch to it.

“Shit.”

His head fell into those large hands.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nesta slid of the desk.

“Go on,” she instructed.

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

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

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

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

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

“I can tell.”

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

“I guess I’ll just have to do it.”

Cassian swallowed.

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

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

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

“If you say please.”

“Please don’t screw around with me.”

Nesta faltered.

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

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

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

Nesta’s hands fell from his chest slowly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nesta-“

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

“Someone could come back-“

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

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

“Nesta-”

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

“I want you,” she purred again.

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

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

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

“You want me,” he breathed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And I’m saying you could be in me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, yes, please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“More,” she demanded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His words sent her over the edge.

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

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

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

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

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

“Then get on your knees.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Safe word?” She murmured into his mouth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Down boy,” she purred.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cassian groaned. Kissing her hard and deep.

“Cassian,” she keened.

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

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

Nesta might have made a noise this time. Airy and hot and open mouthed against his neck as she buried her hands into his hair.

He was so tense beneath her, like pure marble soaked in the heat of the sun. Trying not spill inside her as her walls flexed with every hot wave of pleasure.

And once it passed his breathing was as ragged as her own.

“You did so good,” Nesta whispered at last against his ear. Voice wrecked like she were experiencing a sugar crash. Nibbling at the lobe. Tasting salt on her lips and eyes fluttering shut at the heady scent of his aftershave.

“Does that mean I get a reward?” he managed.

“Something like that,” she hummed, repositioning herself so that her back was to his chest.

“Nesta please. Just untie me, sweetheart,” Cassian whispered against her ear. Voice trembling like he’d shot up something good.

Nesta only chuckled, head knocked back so she could hold his eyes as she rolled her hips. Teasing, tormenting.

“The second you get your hands on these,” she brought her hands to her tits, giving them a soft squeeze and biting her lip, “you’ll be cumming and out of commission.”

Cassian growled, watching her feel herself up as she rolled her hips in leisurely circles. Sensual and dirty. The length of his hard shaft, thick and velvet smooth beneath her.

“Fuck,” he moaned huskily. Nose buried at her throat and lips working against her pulse point with the assistance of his tongue and teeth. Just as slow and through as her hips.

She gasped softly, grinding deeper.

“You know how good I can make it for you,” he purred.

“Mmmm,” she moaned quietly in agreement.

“Let me take care of you.”

“Cassian.”

“You make my name sound so sexy,” he grazed his stubbled jaw against the bruise he’d worked into her throat, the sensitive skin blushing warm at the contact as he moved his mouth to another location and started kissing and nibbling there. “Untie me, baby, and I’ll give you everything you want.”

Nesta smiled.

“Or I could keep you tied up and just take it.”

Cassian growled against her neck as she tilted her hips forward allowing his cock to spring up, and sank down on him again.

She moaned, loud and keening. Hands snaking through his hair behind her as she rocked herself up and down slowly. There wasn’t a lot of friction, but for now it was enough just to revel in how good Cassian’s cock felt. That last orgasm having finally takes the edge off.

“Fuck that’s it grind for me,” he moaned. His breath was hot against her neck and she could feel his heart beat. Feel every deep sound reverberate through his chest as she moved.

His cock rubbed up against her g spot, colours and stars bleeding behind her eyes like fireworks.

“Cassian,” she whimpered lowly.

It was so good.

Hands fumbling distractedly she brought her fingers to untie him. And he deemed it all the permission he needed. Tearing himself free with a growl. Capturing her mouth in a slow and wanton kiss as those big hands came to rove her body, taking his time to pull her apart.

His touch hot and calloused, Nesta moaned into his mouth as he ran up her stomach, her hips, her thighs, her tits. Massaging and glazing every inch of her with a rough heat that made her feel like she was going to explode. Her body a champagne flute dangerously close to shattering at the frequency of his hot groans and growls.

“Right there, oh right fucking there baby,” She moaned quietly against his lips, one of his hands rubbing her hip and guiding her motions while the other palmed at her breast.

“Yeah? You like that?” He dipped his head to pull down the straps of her bra and dress down with his teeth until her cleavage spilt from the cups. Pebbled nipples tight and rosy in the dim light, peaking over the balcony of her bra.

“Mmmmm,” he murmured against her throat, exploiting the sensitive spot as he made his way back up to her face and watched her plump tits sway. A hand running from her hip down her thigh and back up again to slip between her legs to stroke her clit.

Nesta whined softly.

“Cassian…more…”

She kissed him sluggish and distracted. The two of them humming and moaning every so often until he started caressing her clit tighter and her sounds grew more frantic.

“Fuck uhhu, uhhu just like that,” she panted quietly into his mouth. “Oh god uhh, uhhh more…more…more more Cassian fuck me.”

She was on her feet before she could complain that his hands were no longer between her thighs. Pushed up against the edge of his desk, hands falling splayed against the surface to stop herself falling across the wood and legs split apart.

“Oh!”

“Good girl,” he grunted deeply. “Moan for me.”

His calloused fingers came to her clit, coaxing her closer to the edge as the other gripped her hip.

“That’s it, that’s my girl such a good girl baby.”

Mouth caught open as though on a fish hook Nesta started seeing black splodges, the puddles flaring in her vision on every one of his thrusts. Deep and dirty and filling her till she was so impossibly full she spilt over.

“Fuck fuck just like that oh my god you’re so fucking tight, cum on my cock, cum on my cock, uh, uh, uh.”

Cassian finished inside her with a guttural sound as she came. Pumping her full one last time with a brutal snap of his hips.

She was vaguely aware of his ragged breathing against her ear. Somewhat sure her forearms had fallen flat against his desk and her head hung forward. Hair falling over her face and back arched as her tight sex twitched and fluttered around him.

Coming back to her senses took longer than she’d ever admit.

“Is that cctv?” Nesta asked eventually, head tipped back and resting on his shoulder. Eyes flicking in gesture to the tiny little camera in the opposite corner of the ceiling.

“Don’t worry,” Cassian breathed. “It’s switched off.”

She turned her gaze to him.

“Shame.”

He let out an exhausted and reverent sound that might have been a laugh. And just as exhausted, once he’d pulled out, he fell back into the chair behind him. Trousers pulled back up but unbuttoned.

Nesta followed in fatigued suit, working her dress back down over her hips and sinking to the floor, back against the desk. She probably shouldn’t have worn black… but the impending bill and judgement from her dry cleaner would be worth it.

“Friday night. Pick me up at eight,” she breathed.

Cassian grinned.

“You like Italian?”

Nesta rolled her eyes from behind the reading glasses askew on her nose, but nodded none the less. She was sort of screwed if she didn’t. Cassian’s adopted family were Italian on his father’s side. The cuisine was going to be pretty commonplace if they kept seeing each other she imagined.

“What are you thinking about?” He hummed, watching her.

Nesta smiled. Then crawled toward him across the floor. “How I still have that table cloth you call a dinner jacket at my place.”

“Was that plan b?” He laughed, snaking an arm round her waist as she climbed into his lap. “Hold my jacket hostage till I agreed to go out with you again?”

“No,” she glared at him softly, nestling into the crease of his shoulder. “Though I had thought about wearing it tonight. Just your jacket and a pair of heels.”

Cassian licked his lips as though contemplating the sight and liking what he imagined very much. “Next time,” he hummed distractedly. Less promise more pleading. “This was…,” his free hand roved down her side, the black fabric glued to her figure. “And these…,” his touch made her melt as he ran down her thigh and platform boot, her legs flicked over one another.

“Lethal,” he whispered.

Nesta scoffed. “You’re telling me. My toes are killing me.”

Cassian hummed sympathetically, fitting a heel in his hand and guiding the shoe off her foot. Nesta groaned softly and he did the same with the other boot.

“That bad?” He chuckled, starting to massage her.

“Worth it though,” she sighed, nuzzling into his shoulder.

Cassian held the door open for Nesta to emerge out onto the street first. The cool night air whipping lazily at her hair.

Their second date had been incredible.

He’d taken her to Gnocco in the East Village. Proper Italian food, fairy lights, and intimate little corners perfect for flirting over too many glasses of wine and playing footsie beneath the table. Not to mention casual enough to see Nesta Archeron fitted out in heels, a snug black top, and a jaw dropping pair of jeans.

Tactically quiet and effortlessly biting as ever, she’d been armed with passionate reviews on the podcasts she’d listened to or books she’d read that week. Asking him about his own week and listening thoughtfully in a way that had probably made him blush.

If it hadn’t, then the way she’d licked at the creamy vanilla gelato on her dessert spoon definitely had.

Cassian was far too tempted to slip his hand into the back pocket of her dark skinny jeans as he emerged after her, but he felt Nesta probably wasn’t one for PDA. Or more accurately, public groping. And he was determined to be on his best behaviour this evening. Determined to make her forget all about how shit-awfully he’d handled last Saturday.

Not that he hadn’t given her a thorough apology.

Consistency was key however, and there would be no lapse in his conduct any time soon when it came to Nesta. He’d lucked out so fucking hard in getting a second chance when he hadn’t even deserved the first with a woman like her. Clever and beautiful and passionate and god he had it bad.

Had been thinking about her all week. Their date the only thing getting him through the late nights that were pretty much killing him at this point and the days spent arguing with Helion.

Cassian had worked out who’d put a hit on his friend. And why.

The contracts Helion was in the midst of signing were of a more personal nature that he’d originally let on. His will to be precise. In which it was detailed that upon his death, the pharmaceutical powerhouse that was Day Inc. should be handed over to Saoirse Vanserra.

The married woman Helion had gone and fallen in love with twenty odd years ago. The mother of his child.

Not that Helion had been aware of the that little detail until recently. Terminally ill, Saoirse hadn’t wanted the secret buried with her, and had gotten in touch with her old flame to tell him her youngest was his.

Despite being well into his fifties, Helion behaved like a twenty-something at the best of times. But learning he had a son that actually was twenty-something had thrust him into a panicked play at accountability. Saoirse was going to die, and soon, but Helion would still have a piece of her, a piece of the both of them despite the estrangement that had haunted their relationship since the start. A piece he’d do every and anything in his power to do right by.

Which meant Lucien would inherit his father’s company when the time came.

But removing Saoirse from his will…it felt like signing her death warrant. At least that’s what he’d told Cassian. That it it felt like he was giving up on her.

Cassian wished Helion could process everything in as much time as it took him. But time was a luxury not even the multi-millionaire could afford. Not with Saoirse’s eldest, Eris, trying to take him out before the will could be changed.

As things stood, Eris was set to inherit anything of his mother’s- a compromise reached between Saoirse and her cunt of a husband who’d wanted everything in his name. The Vanserra court its own savage little patriarchy of snakes and vipers, meaning as long as Beron was around, what belonged to his sons, belonged to him.

Still, Eris was the undisputed second in command and Beron wasn’t getting any younger. If he could take Helion out before any changes were made to the CEOs will, and if Saoirse’s doctors were to be believed, Day would practically be his by the end of the year.

Maybe sooner. If Beron beat his cancer ridden wife to death upon learning she’d been left Helion Day’s company and why.

He doubted anyone would put it past the bastard.

“Hey,” Nesta’s voice tugged at his attention as they turned off tenth. “Where’d you go?”

Cassian snaked his arm around her small waist, pulling her against him. “Just thinking,” he said. And as hard as he tried to push those thoughts away, something of them lingered in his voice.

She raised a neat eyebrow. That little beauty spot above the arch lifting with it and the one beneath the corner of her plump bottom lip quirking just barely.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you do that before.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. Tucking her tighter to his side as he looked down at her. “That’s because the only thing I ever think about is you. And when I’m with you, I don’t have to do that, do I?”

Her blush was so utterly adorable it made him want to kiss her senseless.

“How do you do that?” Those eyes like the smoke of ice narrowed in sincere curiosity. It was a little terrifying. Which off course only made him like her more.

“What? Make you blush like a-”

“No,” she interrupted him with an embarrassed and chiding laugh, pushing at his chest slightly. “Say things, just say them- like the only thing that matters is that you mean them?”

Cassian smiled. “Not everything has to be done strategically, Nesta.”

“Says the military man.”

“And wouldn’t you say that makes me qualified to- okay fine, roll your eyes at me. Jokes on you because it’s actually very sexy when you do that so.”

Nesta laughed, her head falling to rest below his chest as they walked.

“Fortunate you say something to make me roll my eyes every five seconds then,” she hummed.

“And that I know just how to make those eyes roll back,” he purred lowly in response with a roguish grin, rubbing his thumb against where her coat lay over her stomach.

“Oh and you’re telling me this whole conversation wasn’t strategically constructed so you could use that line?” Nesta looked up at him.

“Sweetheart, when are you going to accept that I’m just incredibly smooth?” He grinned. “Besides, that wasn’t a line.”

“That was so a line!”

“You’d know if I was giving you a line.”

“Go on then. Give me your best line,” she challenged. Stopping dead and turning on him with her arms folded. Cassian didn’t let his arm slip from around her waist though. Kept it right where it was as he brought his free hand to tuck a lock of chocolatey hair behind her ear. Inspiration striking him.

“Are you a box of chocolates?” he asked, gravelly and suggestive. “Because I’d love to take your top off.”

Nesta really had the loveliest laugh in the world.

“That’s awful!” She put her hands firm against his chest. “How did you ever get laid before I took pity on you?”

“Um I’m gorgeous and rich,” he reminded her, both arms now caging her in.

“What a coincidence,” Nesta purred, their noses tucked against one another just barely thanks to his date’s shoes. No doubt expensive as they were tall.

“No coincidences here, sweetheart. This is all fate.”

“I’m deliberately not rolling my eyes just to spite you for saying something so cliché and dumb,” she murmured.

“Fine then. Fate and your meddling sister,” he admitted.

“Let’s not talk about my little sister right now,” Nesta’s hands snaked up to toy with the lapels of his coat.

“What would you rather we talk about?”

“I don’t want to talk at all,” she whispered. And pulled him down lazily to meet her mouth.

Cassian moulded his lips to the perfect pressure of her own. Hard and soft, her mouth like velvet and her body pressing into his tight and loose in all the right places.

Kissing Nesta was like brushing you fingers against the glacial softness of snow like flakes of glass. Irresistible and inevitable. Burning so soft at first before the sensation grew unbearably tender and acute. It reminded you that you were alive.

The movements of their mouths grew hotter, no less lethargic, but simply heavier. Like they had all the time in the world and planned to exploit every second.

So much for not into PDA, Cassian thought, as she coaxed his mouth open further with her tongue, his own slowly swiping to meet it. And he did slip his hand into her back pocket then, giving her a fond and pining squeeze which pulled her tighter into him.

The pads of her thumbs brushed at either side of his jaw as she arched a little, those perfect tits pushed against his upper body and he dug his fingers a little more possessively into the fabric of her coat. Bunching at her waist beneath his calloused touch.

Nesta sighed sweetly into him-

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Cassian swore. Tame Impala playing from his pocket.

“Looks like I’m not the only one who likes your attention,” Nesta laughed quietly, hands smoothing back to her sides politely. The little menace. Her effortless composure all the more devastating with her mouth kissed cherry-red and pupils blown wide as saucers.

He fished out his phone, and declined the call.

“Well you’re the only one getting it.”

She rose her brows as though she were impressed, winding her arms back around his neck.

“For a man who hates games you have game, Velaris.”

“Would you feel less wooed if I told it you was just Rhysand?” He admitted. Rejecting his busybody brother’s phone call a far less bold gesture than if it had been work.

Nesta’s little smile was like molten satin.

“That makes it even better,” she kissed him again.

Cassian kissed her back through his laugh, dipping her back slightly for a more indulgent angle, her arms lacing tighter around him to hold herself up. Like he’d let her fall.

Nesta was the one laughing now and it tasted like gelato and champagne and sunrises. He nipped at her lip as he pulled her back up with him snuggly, and she brought her hand to cup the side of his face, the other at his tapered waist.

“I should get going,” she hummed distractedly, hand gliding up his body like she didn’t even realise.

Her tongue caressed his slowly before he was muttering against her, “probably”, chasing the plush heat of her mouth.

They didn’t stop. Not even as Nesta was murmuring a disjointed, “heighten the…suspense…keep you…wanting and all that.”

“I’m already losing interest,” he purred gruffly, their jaws knocking intimately as the kiss became hotter and fitful, short breaths and hungry mouths. Her nails scraping softly up the nape of his neck and through his hair.

“And you’re looking for it in my back pocket, is that it?” She whispered, and Cassian gave her ass a firm squeeze as either confirmation or reprimand.

She bit his bottom lip, the nip of her pearly teeth giving way to a sensual sort of chewing that made his eyes roll back behind closed lids and his large hands wound through her hair to guid her head back so he could take charge. Kissing her slow once again but dirtier, thorough and wanton and Nesta keened almost silently.

“Found it,” Cassian said thickly into her mouth.

“Want your prize?” She whispered breathlessly.

“Yes please.”

Nesta slid her hand between them. Fingers brushing his belt, then lower-

Cassian couldn’t tell if he was relieved or devastated when she slipped her way inside his pocket and plucked free his phone.

She withdrew just barely from the kiss, switched it on and turned the screen to him. The device unlocked as both his hands tucked into her pockets and her manicured thumbs were tapping away.

Cassian brushed at the curved beam of her high cheekbone with his nose, trying to see what she was up to.

“What are you doing?”

“Callander says you’re free Friday. Or it did. Now it says you have a date.” She nestled herself back into him tightly, tucking the device back into his pocket, exploiting that teasing proximity to something else entirely and driving him crazy as she grazed his mouth with her own.

“Congratulations.”

Cassian grinned.

“Tha- wait just to be clear the date is with you, right?”

“Yes, Cassian, the date is with me,” she chuckled. “And I can’t wait,” her humming melted to something wordless and heavy as he kissed her again.

Slow and explicit he stroked his tongue inside and he swore he felt the flutter of her lashes against his cheek.

“Cassian,” she breathed almost silently and it burnt his lungs like freezing air.

“Can I take you home?” Cassian whispered.

“May I take you home,” Nesta corrected between the sinful caress of their lips.

“Please do.”

She was kissing the smirk off his face like she could taste how snug he was and wanted a piece of it for herself. Like she were working at a marshmallow or strawberry lathered with thick chocolate from a hot fountain of the stuff.

“Maybe you are smooth,” she whispered and it only inflated Cassian’s self satisfaction. “But we both know I like it rough.” Ouch. “Just like we both know you’re way too exhausted to have your way with me.”

He pulled back abruptly.

But his mouth had barely opened to argue when she gave him a definitive “don’t”. It was little bit arousing. “You said yourself how late you’ve been working. Have you slept at all this week?”

For all her icy glares and hellish attitude, at her core, Nesta was kind. She cared despite her pretences to the contrary and it meant she noticed things. Like how despite his lively grins, Cassian was out for the fucking count.

“That’s what I thought. You can screw me when I know you won’t pass out before making it to third base.”

“The only one who’d be passing out is you once I’m through fu-”

“Save that thought for a night you have the energy to see it through,” she said.

“But I-”

A quirk of her neat brows shut him up.

He growled a bitter but accepting sound. She was right, of course she was right, because she was Nesta and a Nesta was always right.

“Friday,” he promised. “I’m gonna cook for you, something fucking romantic.”

“More romantic than that sentence?”

“Look I may not be Keats but I know my way round a stove, so hold all sarcastic comments until I’ve fed you.”

“I’ll try, but I know for a fact you’re going to make that very hard.”

“How have you already failed?”

“Shut up,” Nesta laughed.

“You have the sexiest fucking laugh.”

“So you’ve said,” she blushed.

“And I’ll keep saying it if every time I do you blush like that.”

“Like I’m embarrassed for you?” she countered with an arched brow and a cruel twitch at the corner of her mouth.

“You’re so mean,” he grinned.

They made their way to the curb and hailed down a car on twelf.

“Want me to ride with you back to your apartment?” he said, opening the back door of a yellow cab that had pulled up for her.

“That’s sweet, but trust me, I can take care of myself,” she promised.

“Text me when you get home safe and sound just to spite me then,” he said from the opposite side of the door.

“I will. But you better not be awake to read it,” She gave him a lingering kiss before gracefully tucking herself inside.

“Night, gorgeous,” he winked, and shut the door.

Her ride had just turned onto fourteenth when Cassian decided against hailing his own despite the cold. It was only fifteen or so minutes on foot, and he could probably do with cooling down.

Though even if he had to trek through tundra to get home he suspected he’d still find himself burning up under a cold shower in an attempt not to jack off to the thought of Nesta like a fourteen year old.

Stuffing his already slightly numb hands into his pockets he began walking, his fingers brushing against his phone. He should probably call Rhys back.

The phone rang for a moment before his brother picked up.

“Did you decline my call?”

“Yup.”

“Bastard.”

“I’m sure Feyre will kiss your bruised ego better,” Cassian grinned as he walked. “Along with something else so long as she doesn’t hear you’ve been calling me names,” he added slyly.

“Are you threatening to tell on me to my wife?” Rhysand asked, a little wound up by the allusion to Feyre’s kissing certain places even if he hid it behind an unimpressed drawl.

“Are you pretending the thought doesn’t have you quaking in your givenchy loafers?”

“On the topic of not upsetting Feyre, she’s demanding a family dinner.”

He laughed deeply at Rhysand’s avoiding the question.

“That why you’re calling?”

“Partly,” Rhys said. “Work’s been…She wants to be around family right now,” he said with an all too familiar casualness. “You free?”

“For Feyre?” Cassian said without hesitation. “Yeah, I’m free.”

He would just have to pull an all nighter on the Monday.

“Thank you. And also fuck you for implying if it was for me you wouldn’t be,” his brother said.

“Well you called me just as Nesta was about to slip her tongue down my throat so-”

“Nesta?” Rhys interrupted. “I thought that was over?”

Shit.

In all the carnage that had been the last week he hadn’t bothered letting his family know he and Nesta were back on. The woman was a touchy subject and he hadn’t had the energy or balls to get into it.

While Rhys had been able to excuse Elain’s inactivity when the Archerons had been at their financial lowest, he’d never managed to extend that same courtesy to Nesta. Maybe it was because the first time they’d met she’d called him a cradle snatching whore. Regardless, Rhysand pretty much hated the woman’s guts, meanwhile his wife was desperately trying to lure her into the inner circle of the Velaris family.

Cassian may have been able to bench a number higher than his IQ but he wasn’t dumb. He’d clocked on to the fact his sister-in-law was using him as Nesta bait. In all honesty he was loving it. Nothing made him happier than helping out his family, and if that meant taking out an intelligent, passionate, stunning young woman, then really it was a double-win.

Taking a second to grind his jaw softly he was reminded to tread carefully. Not something he generally excelled at, but for the sake of his brother he could try.

“I know you’re not her biggest fan,” he said. “But Feyre forgave her years ago for bailing-”

“Well Feyre’s a better person than I am.”

“I’ll say. She set me up with a smoking hot model, meanwhile you’re trynna cock block me,” he tried.

“You can put your dick wherever you want, doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“I guess not,” he ground out. Itching to hit something at the implication Nesta was just “somewhere to put his dick”.

“Cassian if you want to date a biblical plague in human form knock yourself out, seriously, god knows Feyre will be thrilled. And Azriel, your moping-”

“I don’t mope,” Cassian interjected.

“Fine, your stropping-”

“Fuck off.”

Rhys’ laugh was about smug as the bastard’s crooning voice.

“Mor’s gonna kill you by the way. You put a two grand dent in her wine collection over a woman you took back the next week.”

Cassian groaned, wiping a hand over his face. The only thing worse than the hangover he’d had Monday morning would be Morrigan’s laying into him on this.

“Don’t you dare tell her,” he warned.

“Fine but you’ll have to do it before next Sunday, you’re bringing Nesta.”

“Hang on a minute-”

“Feyre wants a family dinner and if you and Nesta are back on that means she’s coming,” Rhys said.

“Boy you are asking a lot of me here,” Cassian sighed dramatically. “I mean I can think of a few ways to persuade her but most of them are illegal in a lot of countries,” he grinned.

“I don’t care if you have to roofie her and strap her to the hood of your car, just make sure she’s there.”

“Alright, alright Don.”

“Don’t call me that,” Rhys growled irritably to Cassian’s delight.

“What else were you calling about then?” He smirked. “You said dinner was only part of it.”

“I wanted to ask how things were going with Helion,” his brother said. “Any update?”

Cassian sighed heavily.

“This a secure line?”

“Always”.

“The hit’s Eris,” he said. “Apparently Saoirse does pretty well for herself if Helion kicks it and it’s looking like she won’t last the year. When she goes Eris takes the lot so he’s trying to take Helion out before he can change his will.”

“That little bitch,” Rhys interrupted.

“I’m not done. Guess who Helion might be transferring that inheritance to?”

“Is Azriel going to finally have the funds to build that sex dungeon?”

“Not quite,” Cassian said. “The money’s going to Lucien.”

“Lucien?”

“Turns out the kid’s his.”

“Fucking hell.”

“Seems obvious in hindsight to be honest.”

Rhys was silent on the other end for a moment as he evidently thought through matter.

“You said might, is he waiting on a paternity test or something?”

Cassian winced. “No. No he’s dragging his feet about changing the will altogether.”

“Why the fuck is he doing that there’s a bullet with his name on it!”

“You think I don’t know that?” Cassian hissed, trying to keep his voice down. “I’m the one whose gonna have to jump in front of that bullet if he doesn’t get his ass in gear. But he…he’s losing the love of his life, Rhys. I’m trynna cut him a little slack-”

“Slack Eris is going to have someone strangle him with.”

“I’m handling it,” Cassian promised.

Rhys went silent again.

“We could always just kill Eris.”

Cassian would have laughed at the unrestrained glee in his brother’s voice if the suggestion hadn’t been so tempting.

“No you can’t,” he reminded him, ascending the steps to his front door.

“Sorry, sorry, you probably want plausible deniability and all that- which is a shitty reason to leave a family business-”

“What are you talking about? I left because I don’t like any of you.”

“Dick.”

“See it’s that kind of thing that made for a hostile work environment I really couldn’t foresee a future working under,” he grinned, unlocking the door.

“You taught me words far more creative than that growing up, monte de merda-”

“Desenmerda-te, and don’t cuss at me in Portuguese carcamano.”

“I’m fucking Persian!”

“Tell that to your pale ass like unbaked garlic bread, minchia,” Cassian retorted in Italian as he tossed his keys onto the skirting board and shrugged off his coat.

“A fanabla!”

“Love you too, tell Feyre I said hi.”

“See you and Nesta on Sunday, I’ll text you timings.”

“No shop talk okay, she still doesn’t know anything about-”

“I know, I know, it’s not me you have to worry about. Feyre keeps asking me to hire her.”

“As what? Has Cosa Nostra began dabbling in the modelling industry under your direction, baby brother?”

“If I said yes would you come back to us?”

“I’m a one woman man, Rhys.”

“Jesus, it’s been less than a month.”

“At which point you and Feyre were engaged.”

“Nesta’s no Feyre.”

Yeah, Nesta has enough wit about her to know you can’t go round offering Mafia jobs like candy, he thought to himself.

“Whatever man, I’ll see you then.”

“See you then.”

TAG LIST

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sparrowsfall · 3 years ago

Text

FIVE THINGS. fill in the categories with 5 things that your muse can be identified by. repost, do not reblog.

i. emotions / feelings.

01. all-consuming hunger, so painful and powerful it feels like the stomach is being split, widening into a chasm. 02. missing someone, even though they’re sitting right next to you. 03. “ what if? ” 04. icarus syndrome. 05. unshakeable, unwavering faith - religious or otherwise.

ii. greetings.

01. a wave and a friendly call of your name, joy in his voice just from seeing you ( TRULY seeing you ) once again. 02. a handshake that communicates familiarity, good will, both warm hands firmly clasped around the one of his company, an offering of kinship from one Child of God to another. 03. breaking the ice with a harmless joke, still so terrible you can’t help but roll your eyes. 04. well-practiced explanations for his presence, a lie he almost believes himself. 05. eyes wide and worrying and WILD, visible in the shadows, reflecting the glow of your flashlight - he wasn’t expecting you.

iii. colors.

01. the GOLD of the sun’s dawn, of celebration, of one’s rejoice for the gift of another day. 02. the WHITE of purity of soul, stained and made off-color from time and truly living alike. 03. the GREEN of resolute hope, of faith, of the renewal and resurrection of the Earth that comes with spring, of the promise of life now and ever-lasting. 04. the VIOLET of sacrifice and penance, the color that blurs the mind when mourning a life lost and a life that could have been. 05. the dark CRIMSON RED of venous blood, of its shedding, of love and life bleeding from the mortal skin.

iv. scents.

01. smoky remnants of incense clinging to fabric. 02. the metallic aroma of blood, and the way it settles like copper on the tongue. 03. faint whiffs of an earthy musk cologne. 04. the vanilla-like scent of lignin breaking down between the pages of an old, dusty book. 05. full-bodied red wine.

v. clothing.

01. holy vestments more embellishing than most jewelry. 02. black leather boots, dusted by the gravel of unpaved small-town streets. 03. a pearl-and-gold neck chain that bears a copper pendant, engraved with the visage of The Madonna Mary - a family heirloom. 04. a long trench coat draped over a man so tall that the hem barely reaches his ankles. 05. a white roman collar that chokes the bounce of the adam’s apple.

vi. objects.

01. ornate antique cruets and gold-encrusted chalices. 02. statuettes of saints proudly perched in the cupboards and bookcases and corners of one’s home. 03. a rosary with black pearls and a bloodstained silver crucifix. 04. a leather-bound bible as well-loved as any novel, cover faded by time, pages annotated and dog-eared. 05. a quilt made by someone he loves, someone he cannot have - a gift that makes for warm company on the long and lonely nights.

vii. vices / bad habits.

01. cigarette breaks to calm the nerves. 02. sneaking sacramental wine into a pocket flask. 03. lying, making excuses for the inexcusable. 04. grazing on ingredients while cooking, until there’s hardly enough left to make dinner. 05. not necessarily a lack of self control, but a disregard for it when one finds it suitable.

viii. body language.

01. inability to sit up straight - always leaning back or slouching forward. 02. hands so tenderly slipped over the knuckles of another’s, traveling down until the fingers lace together. 03. biting the bottom lip in frustration. 04. talking with one’s hands. 05. kneeling in submission to suffering that is mistaken for serenity, with hands folded and head bowed.

ix. aesthetics.

01. moonlight through a stained glass window. 02. a lonely old church lit only by altar candles, haunted by the creaking floorboards and the countless prayers it could never answer. 03. a frightened black dog, all snapping maw and bared teeth. 04. the way blood looks black as ink in the shadows. 05. the wolf in sheep’s clothing.

x. songs.

01. MURKY - saint mesa 02. LIAR - the arcadian wild 03. LOST RIVER - murder by death 04. OLD TIME RELIGION - parker millsap 05. IT WILL COME BACK - hozier

#study.#doing Chasuble Color Symbolism for the color section felt appropriate idk

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hermits-that-craft · 4 years ago

Text

In My Dreams (Will You Remember Me?)

Flower Husbands Fic - Chapter Three - Where I Go

Ao3 in the comments

“Okay team, lets work out what our strengths are!” Katherine says, far too chiperly for 7am on a Tuesday. Pearl pats Jimmy’s back and he stares into a cup of coffee. “We need catering, building the new hall, and decorations. I’ll be working on the building, so its up to you three to decide the rest!”

“I’ll work on catering.” Pearl offers, smiling. “I’ll just need to know how many people are attending and potential allergies.”

“I’ll do decorations,” Gem smiles. “No offense, Jimmy, but you’re not the best at picking out decorations.”

“I do take offense, Gem,” Jimmy playfully teases. “I think cod heads could look lovely.”

“So you’ll help with building then, Jimmy?” Katherine asks, and Jimmy nods, taking a deep breath in.

“Can we start after I finish my coffee?” Jimmy asks, sending Katherine puppy dog eyes even though he knows she can’t see it through his mask.

“Go ahead.” Katherine says, and Jimmy lifts his mask slightly to skull down his coffee. “Gem, do you want to help with resources since you can’t exactly make decorations until later?”

“Sure.” The wizard says happily, and Jimmy sighs as he drains the last dregs of his coffee. Pearl gives him a sympathetic wince, as he prepares to spend the day with morning people.

“Oh, Jimmy, before you leave - do you know if anyone has any allergies?” Pearl asks, a pen in her hand.

“I don’t, but I know Lizzie and I can’t digest nuts all that well.” Jimmy shrugs.

“Awesome, I’ll take nuts off the list.” Pearl writes it down in her book, and then nods towards the door. “I think you’d better try and catch up, those two are insane when they build.”

“Thanks,” Jimmy smiles, unseen by the farming queen. “I appreciate it.”

He doesn’t quiet catch the mumbled words, nor the guilty look that Pearl sends his way as he runs out of the hall, trying to catch up with the two queens.

“We should use amethyst for the roof. It looks so beautiful when you do, Katherine!”

“But if we use it for the floor, when people dance it sounds beautiful!”

“And cover up the patterns in dirt from peoples feet?”

“No ones going to come to the ball caked in mud, Gem.”

“My brothers-”

“Sausage and Fwip are the least likely to come in mud, and you know that.” Katherine rebuts before Gem can get a word in, and it takes all of Jimmy’s energy not to walk into Katherine’s meeting hall just to get away from the argument.

“You didn’t grow up with them.”

“Hey, ladies.” Jimmy says awkwardly. “While I know that this is an important discussion, we should probably lay the foundations first?”

The two women turn to Jimmy, who raises his hands in surrender.

“I’m just saying.”

“Amethyst on the roof or floor?” Gem asks, squinting at him.

“Whatever Katherine says, it’s her kingdom.” Jimmy says. “I don’t really use the block that much.”

“Yes! When we dance we will sound devine!” Katherine cheers, and Gem playfully rolls her eyes, smiling at the woman.

“Let's get building!”

----

Jimmy waves to Pearl as the woman flies back towards her kingdom, the telltale sound of rockets firing being the only tell that the woman has left. Gem leans against a support pillar, resting as Katherine brings the trio lunch. The sun beams down on them, and Jimmy makes his way to the shade of an oak tree. Katherine walks over as Jimmy waves at her, Gem jogging behind her.

“What are we having, chef?” Jimmy jokes, standing up to take the checkered picnic rug off of Katherine.

“Pulled pork, fresh bread with some apple cider that Pearl gave me this morning!” Katherine smiles as he puts the rug on the ground, carefully spreading it on the ground.

Katherine puts down the picnic basket, and Gem helps her set up the cutlery as Jimmy pours them cider, half listening to the conversation the two women are having. Jimmy hums to himself, exchanging a glass of cider for a plate from Katherine. Gem takes a huge gulp of the cider, and pours herself some more when she thinks Katherine isn’t looking.

It’s like they’re kids again, having a picnic as their parents argue and make treaties. Gem’s brothers play fighting with Lizzie, Katherine hugging a sheep doll as Joel and Jimmy fight over the last piece of fairy bread that Pearl brought. Jimmy leans back, closing his eyes for a moment. It feels like yesterday, they were so carefree. So happy. No wars, no betrayals. They were kids.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Katherine says, snapping Jimmy out of his memories. “You look… Upset.”

“Thinking about the last time we had a picnic.” Jimmy says, taking a bite of his lunch. “Oh, this is heaven.”

“When we were kids?” Gem says, covering her mouth. “It’s been a while since we were that carefree.”

“Yeah, I miss it.”

“Speaking of missing things,” Gem says, focusing on Jimmy. “Any more nightmares?”

“How is that ‘speaking of missing things’?” Jimmy asks.

“You’re avoiding the question!”

“Nightmares?” Katherine asks, confusion lacing her expression. “You went to Gem about your nightmares?”

“They’re weird.” Jimmy says. “Perma-death and shadow people. There’s always a war.”

“Honestly, it sounds like you’re cursed.” Gem says, frowning.

“A war?” Katherine says. “Like, between our kingdoms?”

“No, it’s weird. I have a husband in the dream - but he’s still a shadow person - and we part ways before a war, or a battle?” Jimmy pauses, frowning. “I’m not sure, but we part ways. Then…”

“Then?” Katherine asks, putting her hand on top of Jimmy’s. “What happens next.”

“The battle begins. I watch my shadow husband get shot through the neck, and five minutes later I’m shot in the same place before I die. Like, Dead dead. Not coming back dead.” Jimmy swallows, avoiding the women’s faces. “And I always wake up screaming. Lizzie says that I bleed while I have those nightmares, but there’s never any blood anywhere so I think she’s lying.”

“Oh, Jimmy.” Katherine says, pulling him into a hug. Jimmy catches a glimpse of Gem’s face, her eyebrows furrowed in concern. “I’m so sorry. You didn’t have one last night, did you? I’d hate to force you to build while tired from something like that.”

“Uh,” Jimmy scratches the back of his neck, gently leaving the hug. “Not last night, no. Before the meeting, though.”

“I’m so-”

“If you say you’re sorry, Katherine, I’ll scream.” Jimmy says playfully. “It wasn’t a bad nightmare. I mean, that night all that happened was a dance, like it was before the actual fight. I just danced with the shadow husband. It wasn’t even a nightmare, just unsettling, I’ve never had a nightmare like that!”

The group laughs, and Jimmy drinks some more cider, washing down the awkward conversation with cider and bad puns. Gem throws her head back, laughing as Katherine complains about how carefree her advisors are. Jimmy inputs a snarky remark about how her advisors let her do things, while all his do is worry about where he is, and what he’s doing. Katherine laughs at that, joking about how he’s got new parents in his advisors.

“Codfather, your advisors have requested that I inform you that there’s a meeting with some merchants that you can’t miss.” A young axolotl hybrid says, pushing his hair behind his ears. “Apologies for interrupting, Lady Katherine and Lady Gemini.”

“There’s no problem.” Katherine says. “House Blossom understands that you’re just doing your job.”

“Yeah, don’t worry kid. Go on home, we’ll force Jimmy to make it to his meeting.” Gem says, and the trio pretend they don’t notice the relief in the young adults shoulders as they run from the three leaders.

“I think we scared them.” Jimmy says.

“He did seem nervous.” Katherine agrees. “But we did promise him that we’d make you go to your meeting-”

“Yes, yes. I’m going, Katherine.” Jimmy rolls his eyes.

“Good luck!” Gem calls out, watching as he flies off.

The two women wait until he’s disappeared over the horizon, before they both settle into worried expressions. Katherine places a hand over her neck, frowning at the ground as Gem gives the sky a look of desperation.

“Do you really think that he’s cursed?” Katherine mumbles, avoiding Gem’s eyes.

“I hate to imagine the alternative.” Gem says. “Jimmy’s kind, a bit weak, but kind. The idea that Xornoth’s using him, and has been since he was a child…”

“Using him?”

“Putting in false memories to make Jimmy trust him.” Gem says, her eyes settling on a spot over Katherine’s shoulder. “Oh no.”

“What?” Katherine’s breath hitches in her throat. “What is it.?”

“Don’t look. Don’t look at him.” Gem says, placing an amethyst crystal into Katherine’s hands. “Xornoth’s here.”

“GUARDS!” Katherine shrieks as Gem stands up, purple magic swirling out of her eyes as she stares down the demon. “RED ALERT!”

#in my dreams (will you remember me?)#imd(wyrm)#flower husbands #empires smp fic

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yan-twst · 5 years ago

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Hello! Can I get a HC where yandere Riddle, Ruggie, Azul, Kalim, Epel and Malleus reaction when they discover that MC (crush) has a other secret admirer? How would they be when they saw MC happy with a gift from this other admirer? Thanks and I looove your writing 💕

riddle rosehearts

his blood boils when he sees his crush happily gushing to their friends about the “secret admirer” who left a gift on their desk- how dare someone do that?! that’s riddle’s crush, not for anyone else!

if his darling hasn’t opened the gift yet, he’ll try to distract them so they maybe forget about it. he’ll act cordially and as regal as he usually does, striking up conversation to try and take their mind off the damn gift

he isn’t dumb, though. he knows he can’t steal the gift- he isn’t sneaky enough, and his darling would surely suspect him. it makes him incredibly mad, but he knows his limitations

he’ll be very annoyed at the whole thing. not only does he have someone competing with him for his beloved’s affections, they’re trying to win them over with material gifts?! that’s so distasteful- riddle will try to hurry up his courting, inviting his darling for every unbirthday party

he’ll also leave anonymous gifts, but it’s no secret who they’re from, judging by the neat pensmanship and the rose + heart motifs. he’s silently daring his rival to try and one-up him; go ahead, try to get closer, riddle won’t have any mercy once he finds out who it is that’s trying to take his crush from him

he might also hurry and confess; he can’t take any risk, after all. he has to show this damn rival of his to not mess with the queen of hearts and his belongings.

ruggie bucchi

he’d roll his eyes and huff when he heard about how his crush received an anonymous gift from an admirer. jeez, what is that person, a little kid on the playground trying to impress their crush with flowers they picked or something? ruggie is thoroughly annoyed at this person

his darling sure seems excited about this gift from some rando- it sure would be a shame if it went missing, wouldn’t it...?

well, if they liked it so much they should’ve taken better care of it! that’s what ruggie tells himself when he silently swipes the unopened gift from his darling’s backpack

oh, he has no problem repackaging the gift if he likes it and giving it to his darling in person, he really doesn’t. he pops up with some cheesy generic line- “oh, i heard someone took the gift you got yesterday, and i felt so bad i got you something! it’s not much, but here” and suddenly he’s the hero!

he so hopes the bastard secret admirer is watching as he re-gifts their gift. after all, they’d be the only ones who could tell what ruggie had done, and he has no regrets. hey, it’s a dog eat dog world, if he doesn’t make his moves then what if he loses his crush to some random weirdo?

this secret admirer can try to send letters and gifts all they want- ruggie has no trouble intercepting them. really, this bunch of nobles and rich people in nrc are all talk and no show! if this coward wanted to woo ruggie’s crush, they should do it in person; but if they’re sooo shy, ruggie will keep using all their gifts for his favour until he confesses. suck it, secret admirer! his darling never even knew they had another admirer other than ruggie.

azul ashengrotto

so that’s how it is? well, he can’t blame whoever’s also fallen for the one he likes; they are a pearl amongst the darkness of nrc, after all. but... they’re his! sure, he hasn’t confessed yet; he hasn’t had the time to properly get his darling to love him too, but...! they’re his!

when the tweels tell him about how this rival admirer left a little gift for azul’s beloved in their dorm, and about how happy they seemed... azul seethes

but more than seethes, he panics internally. he’s still very aware that his overblot exposed his more pathetic side to people; what if his darling now thinks he’s some good for nothing crybaby and they end up going for this secret admirer?! the thought makes him want to go cry in his room, but instead, he steels himself

a secret admirer might be charming, but... is there anything more charming to the surface dwellers than a gentleman who takes his beloved on fancy food dates and covers the bill? he’s going to swoop in and give his darling the best date of their lives at monstro lounge

he’ll also send the tweels to track down who is trying to get his darlings from the shadows; there’ll be no more anonymous gifts in a long time, not when the tweels “accidentally” break this little admirer’s hands

kalim al-asim

aah, he understands why someone would want to give his crush a secret gift- they’re so beautiful, he understands! but... aw, he wants them!

kalim is absolutely not used to having someone try to take away something he wants, so he’s going to respond immediately with aggravation.

whatever little gift or letter the secret admirer sends, kalim gives to his darling tenfold. a flower on their desk? kalim buys out a whole flower shop and has it delivered to his darling’s dorm. a small love poem taped on their notebook? kalim has the land’s most renowned musicians come and sing beautiful words for his darling in the schoolyard.

there’s no winning; kalim has pretty much unlimited funds, and he makes sure to attach his name to all his gifts. his darling will be so overwhelmed by kalim’s extravagant gifts, that the little anonymous admirer will be left in the dust

luckily, kalim won’t try to have anyone track down the secret admirer: as long as they understand the one kalim loves is out of bounds, it’s ok! just don’t go for what kalim already owns, ok?

epel felmier

oooh, he hates it. he has to hear rook go on and on about how ~romantic~ it is that epel’s crush got a gift from a secret admirer, about how beautiful and lovely it is and blah blah. god! it drives him insane

it’s like his dorm leader and vice dorm leader are rubbing salt on the wound that he has to compete for his crush, having to hear about what a romantic gesture the gift was.

epel doesn’t want to be a secret admirer! he’s a man, damnit, and he’ll show himself face to face! ... augh, but he doesn’t want to confess just yet... still, he’ll give his beloved gifts of beautifully carved apples, trying to one-up the secret admirer

isn’t he braver for showing his face? he is, right? surely his darling will appreciate that!

... if the secret admirer keeps sending gifts and letters, epel might turn to rook in a moment of desperation. surely, a master hunter like him could help him do a stakeout to find out who it is leaving those damn gifts, right...?

once epel finds the secret admirer, it’s a short while before they mysteriously fall sick. not enough to kill them, but enough for them to understand what happened. the message epel is sending is clear- back away. he had his eyes on his darling first, so don’t even try

malleus draconia

finding out someone else has their eyes on the one he loves leaves a bitter taste on his mouth. of course, he understands why people would cherish someone as sweet as his beloved, but...

even though he hasn’t confessed, he feels a deep attachment to his crush; he wants them, wants to keep them, his draconic instincts telling him to hoard that which he likes

hearing that this other person who’s after his darling’s heart has sent them an anonymous gift to them makes him seethe- they are his. HIS!

malleus has no hesitation in sabotaging the gift; placing a curse on it and then warning his darling about the “danger” of the gift, and of course, once a teacher checks it, they’ll confirm it is indeed cursed! oh no!

good luck to the secret admirer: trying to avoid being found by sebek, silver, AND lilia is impossible. they will find them- and then, they’ll let malleus do whatever he feels they deserve

he wants to court his darling at his own pace, without anyone putting pressure on his back- getting rid of this secret admirer is simply what he had to, wasn’t it?

#yandere #yandere twst #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #riddle rosehearts #ruggie bucchi #azul ahsengrotto #kalim al asim #epel felmier #malleus draconia #Anonymous

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julesnjd · 4 years ago

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rēˈbərth -- Mason

Aurora, Stella, and Mason left the Conway University area around eight in the morning with the following in the trunk of Stella’s Chevy Chevelle: ten deer bones sitting in a bag of water, a large Taco Bell cup taped shut and full of blood from a pregnant dog, one plastic tupperware container of freshwater pearl oysters, a bottle of red wine, and a bottle of olive oil, three plastic bags full of herb sprigs they’d tied last night, and various sizes of metal bowls and multiple different kinds of knives. It was like they were going to record the weirdest outdoor cooking video ever. Aurora Yamamoto, a Japanese trickster demon with an air of casual indifference sat in the passenger seat. Stella, a vampire, drove while tapping her toes against the gas pedal in time with the classic rock blaring from the radio. Mason, the witch, hid herself in a hoodie in the backseat like she didn’t want to be there despite this whole thing being her idea.

Two weeks ago, Juliet Hill, Mason’s roommate-slash-almost-girlfriend and everyone’s friend, was found face up in the lake on their college campus. It had been ruled a suicide. Her death had left Mason a mess. She’d gone so deep into her grief that she could hardly even say Juliet’s name. It still took a second to get it out from between her teeth.

Mason had sprayed the hoodie, the one Juliet loved most of all her clothes that represented some numetal band she loved, with some of Juliet’s lavender perfume before they left Stella’s apartment. It smelled like her. She couldn’t stop holding the sleeves against her nose. There were still a few blonde hairs strewn around on the hoodie that Mason couldn’t bring herself to remove either. She was also wearing the Saint Monica College sweatpants Juliet always stole from her. Both of these things would go on Juliet’s body as soon as she was back with them. If she was back with them.

She hoped to have Juliet back by dawn.

A week ago, Mason had been visited in a dream by her patron goddess, Bast. She could still hear Bast’s voice in her mind when she thought about it: “This is an imbalance, my child. I will lead you to right it.” It hadn’t been the first time Mason thought that Juliet didn’t deserve to die. She’d been thinking it from the moment it happened. Juliet was too young. She was in the middle of her redemption arc, for lack of a better term. She was turning into a better person. Of course, those had been Juliet’s own words, but it still applied. She hadn’t wanted to die anymore. She’d gone through eighteen years of being the unwanted trouble child, of ruining relationships, of suicidal thoughts, of doing other things that she had only alluded to Mason about yet, but had finally made it to a good place in her life. Of course, that was when he took her.

So Mason was going to bring her back. Well, Stella and Aurora were helping, and so was some human they hadn’t found yet. She didn’t understand why Juliet couldn’t just be friends with a human for once, still. Maybe it had something to do with the repressed siren magic that had to be in her blood, since her twin was a siren. Mason blinked and stared at the back of the car seat in front of her. What if that complicated things? What if they needed siren blood, not human blood? The spell wasn’t for a siren. What if this didn’t work because of that?

“Turn left.” The GPS voice snapped Mason back into the present. Stella and Aurora were talking back and forth in the front seat. Their voices melded with the radio commercials in Mason’s ears as soon as her eyes landed on the clay dolls in her lap. She was keeping them as close to her person as possible to continue the flow of life into the dolls. One represented Juliet. The other represented Mason. If-- After Juliet took her first breath, Mason would have to tie the dolls together and burn them in order to bind their souls. It was the only way to keep Juliet on Earth, an aspect Aurora had advised her was missing from the spell.

Mason had made the dolls by hand. They’d taken over an hour to make. She’d mixed the clay in a pot in Stella’s cheap apartment kitchen, transferred the clay to two mixing bowls, and formed each doll while thinking about the person they would represent. Juliet’s doll had hairs picked off the same sweatshirt Mason was wearing massaged into it, but otherwise it hardly represented Juliet. It was necessary for Mason to think about Juliet while forming the doll. She hadn’t given her this much thought since two weeks ago when Juliet died.

She really missed her. She missed the goofy, toothy grin Juliet would give her when she almost got caught doing something she shouldn’t be. She missed Juliet’s lavender and honey perfumes, or the scent of the green apple shampoo and conditioner Jules used in her tangled mess of curly hair. She missed trying to figure out the best way to describe the color of Juliet’s eyes. The closest she’d come was seafoam, but even that wasn’t right. They were more blue than green. She missed trying to count the freckles on Juliet’s cheeks (106 was the highest she’d gotten) while Jules rambled about something Mason didn’t know much about, like her art classes or things she’d learned in her psychology classes. She missed the tone of her voice when she was talking like that. Her ridiculous laugh that Mason had to coax out of her on the first day they met. Juliet’s hand in hers, even if their palms grew sweaty while they walked together. Juliet’s snoring and sleep talking waking Mason up at night, turned into sleepwalking the night before an exam. Singing in the car together. Everything, every moment Mason had with Juliet was flashing through her mind like she was reliving the last moments of her own life… Which she very well could have been. Nothing felt right without Juliet there too.

She looked down at the formed and dried doll in her hand, trying to hold back her tears. It was lumpy and brown, and to make it even worse it hardly even looked like a person. Her own wasn’t much better off, with her own saliva mixed into it. It looked even less like a person than Juliet’s.

They arrived in Traverse City, a tourist city on the edge of Lake Michigan, about two hours after leaving. The entire drive had seen them surrounded by trees, water, and other cars along the highway. Traverse City was Juliet’s hometown. As soon as they hit downtown, it made sense. Stella’s car coasted through the streets downtown, passing local shops, restaurants, and glimpses of the lake. People lined the sidewalks, excited to take in the summer day, some of them dressed in swimsuits and sheer cover-ups, others a bit more modest. It was easy to picture Juliet wandering these streets with her sister or friends, laughing loud, excusing herself when she inevitably bumped into someone while walking backwards. Hopefully, she’d be able to take Mason shopping there soon. Mason tried going over the Greek for the spell incantations in her head. Fuck if she knew what it meant. Aurora had translated it for her, but she could barely remember. Something about giving Juliet’s soul back.

They stopped at the rundown motel they’d booked and set everything they could need up in the room. They had lunch at a place Juliet had talked about multiple times before, where Mason ordered Juliet’s favorite burger. They went to visit her gravesite afterward.

The walk along the path from the parking spaces of the graveyard was hard. Last time Mason had been here was the funeral, where Juliet’s mother complained about how sad she was having lost her daughter all while smiling and chatting on the phone, even during the eulogy. It had disgusted even Rosaline, Juliet’s twin and their mother’s perfect daughter, to the point of shouting. Juliet would have both hated it and loved it.

The day was comfortably hot in a hoodie and sweats, which was the average of a day in late April. Mason walked alone right now, having left the others at the car after asking for some alone time with Juliet. It would help her feel closer.

When she arrived at the grave, Mason sat on the grass in front of the stone. It was already showing signs of wear. There were new flowers set in front of it, on the grass. They’d been knocked over. White roses were scattered sideways, looking just a little trampled, and the vase they’d been in was pink and black. Rosaline probably left them. They were Jules’ favorite flower and the vase was Rosa and Juliet’s favorite colors. Mason picked them up as carefully as she could, swearing softly when thorns on the first two stung her. Once the vase was upright again and all six flowers were looking better, she traced Juliet’s name with her pinky fingertip.

“You’ll be okay,” Mason whispered. “We’re going to make sure of that. I already told Mama that Stella’s coming home with me after a couple more days around Conway. She’s excited to see Stell, since they used to be friends too. Apparently they went to college together, back when Stella was in college for the first time. That’s something I’ve got to tell you about. It was weird seeing them all buddy-buddy at the funeral.” She laughed weakly. “I think Mama’ll be excited to see you. And she’ll definitely take you in. There’s no way she wouldn’t, especially after how your mom acted at your funeral. You won’t ever have to see your mom again. We’ll take care of you. My family’ll just get even bigger.” She tapped the headstone with splayed fingers. “I can’t wait to see you again, see you breathing and shit. Even if it’s weird. Even if you’re weird. I can’t tell you how many laws I’m breaking to get you here, Julesy. Supernatural and human laws. We’re getting you back tonight. No matter what. I’ll have my best friend back. We can bring more new flowers here tomorrow, too. And get you some to have for yourself.

“I’m doing the right thing by bringing you back, though, right? Stella and Aurora seem to think I’m fucked in the head. They’re indulging me and miss you, so they’re helping, but it feels weird. It feels like they’re-- They already said they’re prepping for the worst. They said they talked about how they’d take care of it if you came back wrong in some way. I didn’t even know that was a possibility. I thought you either came back or you didn’t.” She rubbed her hands together, then started plucking lightly at the tips of the grass, snapping them off with her fingernails. “I just… I wish I knew where you are. Are you in Heaven or Hell? Do those places even exist? What makes one better or worse than the other? I wish I knew so I could know if I need to help you or if I could leave you alone and you’d be happy. I feel like everything’s a fucking wish without you though. I miss you. I want you back.” She sighed weakly, staring at the gravestone and rubbing a blade of grass between her fingers. “I’m so selfish.”

Mason rubbed the headstone one more time for good luck. As she approached the lot, she caught a glimpse of someone standing in the distance, leaning against the car. He was at the car. He killed Juliet. He was going to hurt Stella and Aurora. “Hey!” Mason shouted, starting toward the car. “Get the fuck away from them!”

Andrew Roberts was standing by the car, looking at Mason like she was some bird waddling toward them instead of a powerful witch running at the guy who killed her best friend. She shoved hard at his chest, taking him to the ground and slamming her foot down on his chest hard enough to make him cough. “What the fuck is your issue?” she snapped. “I told you I didn’t need your help. I told you to fuck off. You caused this.”

The last time Mason saw Andrew, he was handing her sheets of paper he’d ripped from a book in the Conway library restricted section. He had threatened to turn her in for attempting an illegal spell if she turned him in for killing Juliet. It was the moment she’d realized Juliet was more important than getting legal justice. Mason could turn him in later, after she had Juliet back. She didn’t want him anywhere near them right now, though. He was the one who killed her for some demon named Kalos. For all she knew, he was going to fuck up their spell so Juliet was required to stay wherever she was.

“Mason!” Aurora hissed, shoes slapping the pavement of the sidewalk as she hopped off the trunk of the car. “Leave him alone. He’s helping us. Andrew, tell her.”

“Like fuck he is! We don’t need him.”

“We do!” Aurora shouted. Her voice was shrill and loud now. “Shut up and listen for once in your life!”

Mason shut up, glaring at Andrew as hard as she could. She wished she could rip his head off already. With her bare hands. They were in a cemetery. It’d be easy to bury him.

Andrew spoke, his voice quiet and trembling. He sat up now that Mason’s foot was off his chest, rubbing at his arms and pushing his long, greasy dark hair off his face. “I didn’t want to kill her. Kalos was going to kill me if I didn’t, though.” He got to his feet, carefully keeping his eyes away from everyone else’s. “I left the watcher he has on me and Aurora is keeping me hidden. I want to help. You need human blood, they just told me. I want to give it. I can spot him easier, too. And I-- She wasn’t a bad person. She doesn’t deserve his f-”

“We need him,” Aurora explained, interrupting him. “He’s the only human we have who’s willing to give the spell blood. We need him. I don’t care what vengeance you have against him right now. Isn’t bringing Juliet back a thousand times more important to you than this?”

Mason’s fingers curled into fists. Her nails dug into her palm hard enough to sting. “A million times more. This piece of shit doesn’t matter to me at all.” She looked away from him, lips pursed. “I don’t want him anywhere near any of the stuff we have prepped. He waits in the car while we get the body tonight. I don’t want him alone unless he’s in the bathroom, and even that’s got a time limit. Got it?” She looked at him. “Got it?”

Andrew nodded and Mason got in the car without another word. He sat in the backseat on the passenger side. Mason glared at him briefly, then settled for looking out the window instead. Hopefully they’d need enough human blood to bleed him out. She really hoped so.

☥☥

The night air was cool and crisp, as it usually was during the summer. It smelled like soil and decay in the cemetery. The moon was full. Mason’s power felt strong, which was astounding for the night. It was necessary. She was invoking every deity she could tonight. She was bringing life back into a corpse tonight.

Mason stopped to scratch at her neck. Mosquitoes were rampant right now, and the dirt flying up as she dug toward the casket was not helping the itch. She swore softly and kept digging. Her hands hurt at this point. The shovel they’d brought was not meant to be used for so long.

Aurora had already started her illusion. Apparently it seemed to others that they were doing a prayer circle around the grave or having a picnic, an activity that screamed "leave us alone.” Stella brought out the pry bar and sledgehammer from her trunk once Mason hit the concrete burial vault.

Everything was real. They were going to rob Juliet from her grave. Mason got out of the

grave with Stella’s help.

Mason leaned against the car, trying to ignore the pain in her hands as she watched Aurora and Stella use the sledgehammer to break the liner open, then wedge the pry bar between the nailed edges of the coffin. She held her palms out flat, facing the stars, and breathed out slowly. She started praying softly to Bast, asking her to make sure this pain didn’t cause an issue in the spell she was meant to complete. She didn’t know what else to do right now. It was pain from digging combined with pain from the thorn pricks earlier. She hadn’t told anyone yet, but the thorns had apparently embedded in her skin. They’d broken off from the roses and were painful as hell, but Mason had to work around them. Massaging them out from her skin earlier had proven a difficult but fruitful task, albeit one that left behind red marks and a dull ache spreading from her fingers to her palms.

Now that doubt was planted in her mind again. She’d doubted this entire thing two days ago, when Aurora revealed to her that she’d seen a resurrection only once before and no one had come out alive. There was a risk that Juliet wouldn’t come back normal no matter what, demon thorns involved or not. It wasn’t like resurrection spells were listed in a book of 10 Things Every Witch Should Know! or anything. They were illegal as hell and involved some illegal things, both human and supernatural. It went against everything Mason was for, yet here she was, doing this.

Juliet’s death had really fucked with her head, huh?

It took them a minute, but soon enough Mason heard a loud, “Holy fuck, that reeks!” from Stella, followed by Aurora’s high pitched giggling.

Things were going to be alright. They had to be.

She wandered away from the car after they lifted Juliet’s body out of the hole wrapped in a sheet. They needed to be careful with her and keep her as still as possible. They didn’t want to risk hurting her too much. It wasn’t like Mason couldn’t heal whatever broken limbs or whatever happened, but it wouldn’t work on a dead body. She’d have to bring Juliet back, bind their souls, then use her remaining energy to heal whatever happened to her. It wouldn’t be pretty. That much energy, actually, could kill Mason, and that would ruin the whole plan. It was beyond risky.

Andrew got out of the car to open the trunk when Stella and Aurora gathered up the ends of the sheet Juliet was wrapped in and lifted her. They settled her in the trunk and Aurora and Stella drove her back to the motel alone, leaving Andrew and Mason to fill the grave and replace the sod.

While they were gone, Andrew filled the grave again for Mason. She couldn’t move her hands very well. He’d definitely noticed her stiffness, because he immediately started on it without question. She watched him quietly at first, then sighed and sat down on the edge of the grave. Her feet dangled just a little down toward the cracked concrete burial vault and coffin. He glanced up at her for a second as he pushed greasy hair out of his eyes, then looked back at the dirt he was pushing into the empty grave. Mason watched him for a minute, then sighed. Silence was awkward. “Why would you kill all those people? If I were you, I’d’ve killed myself before killing them.”

Andrew stared at her for a second. The shovel in his hand was steady as he stared, then he nodded once. “I want to stay alive,” he admitted. “It’s a better life than the one I was living before.”

Mason stared at him. “I’d rather be dead than know I’m putting someone through this pain.”

“The only people close to me who’ve died deserved it.” Andrew shoved some more dirt into the hole, then stuck the tip of the shovel into the grass. He looked up to meet her eyes. His gaze was always so emotionless. “I didn’t know Juliet was so close to all of you until it was too late. This is the first time I’m dealing with this.”

“Does it make you want to stop?”

Andrew was silent.

Maybe it was just something Mason would never be able to understand.

Mason stared at the dirt as he tossed it into the grave. It made her think of Juliet’s funeral, when her dad had tossed the first handful of dirt into the grave after the vault containing the coffin was lowered. It was tradition. Death was a weird process for the living. She opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again to say, “I don’t know if I should be bringing her back.”

Andrew stopped transferring dirt for a minute, then sighed. “I didn’t want to tell you. The spell I gave you takes her out of a spell I completed for Kalos.” He met Mason’s eyes. His didn’t waver as he spoke. “She’s not in a good place. She needs saved.”

Mason stared right back at him, then sucked in a shaking, crisp breath once she remembered to. “Really?”

He nodded once, then went right back to placing dirt without a single word.

For some reason, Mason started thinking about how, a couple months ago Juliet had told Mason something that someone in her psychology course had told her about people lying. “Liars look into your eyes dead on when lying because society told them shifty eyes are a sign of a liar. Eyes shift around when you’re telling the truth.”

“Help me with the sod.”

☥☥☥

On their way into the motel room, Mason watched Andrew squash a pearly white maggot into the fibres of the carpet. It had probably fallen from Juliet’s body. Was she full of maggots? Mason really didn��t want to picture that. She didn’t even want to picture Juliet’s corpse at all.

Luckily, she didn’t have to. The sight was right in front of her when she followed Stella and Aurora into the bathroom, Andrew trailing between them. He stared at the body, then looked at Mason, who was slowly losing her composure. Juliet’s body was right in front of her, in a bathtub, looking worse than she’d ever even considered it could look.

Mason hadn’t expected her to look so dead. Her skin was starting to turn yellow, and there were bugs crawling across her face. Whatever makeup the mortician had put on her was caked into her face and dried out, making her lips a weird bright matte red and her eyelids a greenish-black. The dress she was buried in was covered in dirt, but had held up pretty well. It was a shame she couldn’t be wearing it. Her legs looked normal, and so did everything else. She just looked like she was sleeping in a weird position with makeup on and… Mason exhaled slowly, trying not to breathe in the stench. It was awful, like Mason’s bedroom that time she’d hidden weeks of uneaten food from her mama, but somehow worse.

“Andrew, get out,” she said quietly.

He obliged, standing within view of the bathroom door so Mason could keep an eye on him. It was a wonder how good of a sport he was being about this. It made her feel even more uneasy about believing what he’d told her at the grave.

Mason licked her lips, then looked at Stella and Aurora. “Who’s doing this? She needs to be as clean as possible.”

“Stell, you’re the one with the undead expertise,” Aurora said happily, smacking her on the shoulder.

Stella scoffed. “Maybe Mason should! She’s the one who has to spend all this time with Juliet. Plus it feels weird, I’m almost seventy and Juliet’s only, like, a couple months into eighteen. Gross. Plus Mason’s seen her like this before.”

Mason looked at Stella. “Do you want me to throw up? I can’t do it anyway, I have to be as pure as possible. Touching her would be like dying or something. It’s weird.”

Stella groaned and then sank to her knees by the tub. “Fine.”

Mason did hang out in the bathroom, though, watching Stella carefully run her hands over Juliet’s skin after using scissors to cut into the dress. Stella was doing it all with care. She rubbed water gently over Juliet’s stomach, cleaning out the autopsy scar along her chest and between her ribs. She tried to run her hands through Juliet’s hair, but the second Mason saw a clump of curls break out into Stella’s hands, she stopped her. Stella cleaned under Juliet’s fingernails gently with a dollar store toothbrush.

Mason watched her, having moved closer at this point. She stared at the dirt coming out from under the nails into the toothbrush. The dull ache in her own hands increased every time she thought about it. She could deal with the pain. It didn't matter.

Her eyes lifted up to Juliet’s face. The makeup was running down it now. Stella couldn’t rub hard enough to take it off without risking harm. What mattered was Juliet, and this wasn't going to slow her down. Nothing could slow her down now.

Andrew and Stella moved Juliet’s body back into the center of the room. While Stella cleaned Juliet’s body with Mason’s supervision, Andrew and Aurora had pushed the bed into the corner and stacked the nightstand and whatever else they could on top of it to get as much room as possible. It was a mess, and the carpet would definitely be stained, but they could hide it with the bed again. It would work out. Everything would work out.

Stella climbed up on the bed carefully to take down the smoke alarm. She knocked the batteries out of it and dropped it into the drawer of the nightstand to keep it safe. Andrew locked the door and tugged the curtains closed. Mason took out all of the sheets of paper they’d copied, scrawled all over, and drawn on. They had every single note she needed, the timing for everything. Aurora set the fire pit on the floor not too far from Mason or Juliet’s body, filled it with fire wood, and lit it.

The fire sparked to life. Mason shivered.

It was time.

Eyes closed, Mason took a deep breath, then reached forward to cut the stitches holding Juliet’s lips closed as carefully as she could with a small paring knife. Juliet’s lips parted gradually, her jaw falling slack without the pressure of the stitching keeping it tight. She followed that with the same action on the stitches holding her eyelids closed. Her eyelids fell open, exposing pink muscle, ruptured seafoam blue, and gray-white. Her eyeballs were sunken, deflated sacs of some kind of liquid. Mason’s grip on the knife handle tightened. She pried Juliet’s lips apart gently, making sure her mouth hung open wide.

After that came the hard part. Mason gestured for Stella to come close. Stella helped her break up the deer bones, using her vampire strength to snap them. They scraped out as much bone marrow as possible into one of the metal bowls they’d brought. It was hard not to think about how weird it looked. It was like a weird pink hummus. It smelled awful, though. She followed that with a generous pour of the dog blood. She then mixed the two slowly with her fingers, thinking of Juliet. She had to bring her back. This was to bring her back. Juliet’s soul mattered most of anyone’s. She finished mixing the two and reached into the container Stella had opened for her to grab an oyster. She smacked it hard on the floor, then pried open the crack she’d made with her knife. She sliced into the meat of the oyster. She cut the meat up further into pieces as small as she could, then scooped it into the mixture. The pearl fell last. Mason plucked it out and set it gently in the dip of Juliet’s collarbone. She pressed the mixture together with her fingers.

Once she was done with that, she scooped a gentle handful out of the bowl and whispered to herself as she gently smeared some of the mixture along Juliet’s sternum, between her bare breasts, between her ribs, to her navel, along the stitching of her autopsy cut. Her finger bumped along the uneven stitching as she whispered her prayer. Prayers went to Anubis, to Osiris, to Ra, to Bast, to Iris, to Zeus, to Hades, Enki, Nergal, and in general anyone who would help them purely, to bring them life, rebirth, rejuvenation, revival, resuscitation, resurrection, life, life, life. It was all Mason focused on. What she told the others to focus on.

The energy of the room amped up gradually with every prayer. Mason’s fingers glided over Juliet’s limbs with the mixture. She followed the covering of Juliet’s body with her own, smearing the paste down her forehead, along her nose, over her lips, and down to her heart. She was in one of Juliet’s bras and a pair of her sweatpants. Mason placed her entire hand into the mixture, then placed her bloody palm on her ribs over her heart as she sent out the last prayer, a repeat to Bast, begging her to give her the energy necessary to restore life.

Next came the offerings. While Mason was busy with her prayer and the mixture, Aurora poured generous amounts of wine and olive oil into cups and handed them around to everyone. Mason received hers last. She took the plastic cup in her hands, one wrapped around the curve of the cup, the other covering the opening. She was quiet for a breath before she turned the cup to the side and slowly let the mixture pour out onto the carpet of the motel. Her eyes remained closed. When the cup became weightless in her hand, she opened her eyes. There was no stain. There was no stain in front of any of them. She reached up to her ears and removed her authentic gold earrings, holding them in her palms, a piece of lavender infused chocolate between them. She stayed with them extended, palms flat, until the chocolate had melted into her palms. When she opened her eyes again, the contents of her palms were gone.

Mason stood when she was done with that. She moved to the fire, burning larger in the metal pit now. She picked up the Snoopy, holding it gently in her hands. She pressed her lips to its forehead. When she pulled away, there was a bloody lip mark on the white fur. It pained her to do this. It really did. She held the plush toy over the flames. “Juliet has kept this safe since birth. She has slept with it every night for the past eighteen years. I offer this to you, gods, as a sacrifice. Her most precious possession, for your taking.” She lowered it into the flames, setting it gently on the pile of wood. “She’s going to kill me for doing this.” She smiled slightly as she said it. She leaned over the fire and inhaled the smoke produced from burning the fabric, then breathed it out as she spoke the sacrificial incantation. Her eyes lingered briefly on Andrew, who was standing near the door, entranced as he watched the events of the spell unfold. She made herself look away from him. She couldn’t afford malice.

She turned away and grabbed a clean knife. This one was larger than the paring knife. This one was for the living.

Mason started with Stella. She held her hand out to take Stella’s. Her fingers wrapped around Stella’s wrist to hold her in place, her hand straight, palm angled down over Juliet’s gaping mouth. Mason sliced into the flesh of Stella’s palm slowly and methodically. She curled Stella’s fingers in, ignoring the pained hisses, and squeezed her hand as tightly together as she could. Blood poured out from her palm into Juliet’s mouth, onto her teeth, onto her tongue. Once she had enough, Mason let go of Stella’s hand and helped her stand. She gestured for Andrew to step forward.

Mason would be lying if she said she didn’t get some satisfaction from the ritualistic slicing into Andrew’s palm. She pushed the knife as deep as she could, slower than she had for Stella. She pushed it, tearing through his skin, his fat, his muscle, until she hit bone. He didn’t make a single sound. She curled his hand in the way she had Stella’s, holding it over Juliet’s mouth. His blood came out much faster, as he was human and his wound was deeper. She moved his wrist slowly, dragging it up to drip just slightly into Juliet’s eye sockets, then down to pour into her autopsy cut. When she was done, she helped him stand.

Now for herself. She stopped to take a breath to steel herself, then dug the blade into her palm. It sliced easily into her skin, past her own fat and muscle. She could feel the tearing. She let her blood pour into Juliet’s mouth, mixing with the human blood and vampire blood. She followed this by placing small sprigs of sage, ivy, and aloe vertically over her mouth and horizontally over her ribs. When she was done, she turned her hand so her palm hovered over Juliet’s mouth. She spoke.

“O theoí iketévoume gia ti voítheiá sas to éleós sou kai tous epaínous sou. Epistrofí psychís sto sóma kai to aíma…”

O gods we beg for your aid, your mercy and your praise. Return soul to body and blood. With life let this cavity flood.

The more Mason spoke, the more exhaustion threatened. Despite this, she could feel the energy taking over the room. The air rippled like sound waves. Her fingers prickled like they were asleep. The fire burned brighter. Mason wasn't sure if it was herself, the gods, or something else. The fire began to burn at a higher speed, crackling loud and increasing in size by the second.

Then it was gone. All that remained were crumbling white clumps of ashed out wood.

The fire grew out of control, not widening but spreading upwards, almost touching the ceiling. The windows clattered. The ground shook like there was a low-intensity earthquake happening right there in their room.

The stuff of horror movies.

This wasn't a horror movie, though.

This was going to bring Juliet back.

Mason was more sure of that than she ever had been.

She cradled Juliet's face in her palms, pulling her closer as the cheap coffee maker crashed to the floor. The glass decanter shattered. The lamp threatened to do the same, but it stayed on the dresser. The painting above the beds swung wildly on one wire, connected to the ceiling by a flimsy nail that threatened to fall out with the movement.

Mason wasn't focused on any of it at all. She was looking at Juliet. Her Juliet. The girl she loved. The one who took Mason out of her shell, brought light and life out of her. Brought life out of everyone. The one Mason felt like she'd known all her life, who deserved a life. This was an imbalance.

She was righting a wrong. That counted. She was doing it. She could feel it. She could. She felt like she was going to pass out. The pain in her palm spread to her chest. She couldn’t…

She took a deep breath, focusing on Juliet's face, ignoring everything else. One hand on her chest, over her heart. The other on her cheek. Fighting to keep chanting, the words known to heart already.

She was going to wake up. She was going to be okay. She could feel her energy.

And Aurora's energy. She hadn't realized she'd been chanting with her for the past couple minutes, reading from the pages.

She could almost see it already, Juliet’s eyes opening. Those blue eyes. Those lips turning up in a smile, dimpling in the corners. She needed to see that smile.

"Come on, Juliet. Wake up," Mason paused her chanting to whisper desperately. She wasn't sure how much longer she could keep going, but she would. Until she passed out. Until.... whatever happened. She wasn't stopping. "Wake up!"

Everything stopped. The lamp finally fell onto the carpet, the light going out. The sound of glass and porcelain shattering went unnoticed. Everyone’s chests heaved as they stared at Juliet's body. Her body, lying still on the white and brown-stained bedsheet, curls spread out around her head in a blonde halo. Mason wished Juliet was on a bed of grass, not some shitty scratchy green carpet in an equally shitty motel, the moonlight shining in through the now open curtains, onto Juliet’s pale skin. Mason needed to take her tanning this summer, or else.

Movement. All they needed was one tiny movement. Miniscule. A finger lifting. A heartbeat. A flutter of eyelashes. A shoulder lifting. A muscle flexing.

A breath.

For the love of every god and goddess in existence, breathe.

That was the only thing Mason could think as she stared at Juliet’s face. It was a horrific image, the woman she loved laying there dead, mouth gaping open and full of blood, face slack, eyeless. Her eyelashes were clipped where the paring knife had knocked against them. Her hair was patchy from where Stella had pulled a clump out while cleaning her body. She was naked, covered in blood marrow, and laid out on a stained bedsheet. She looked so sad.

Maybe Mason wasn’t doing the right thing. Maybe Juliet was in Heaven and Andrew had lied to her. Maybe Mason was playing into Kalos’s wishes by bringing Juliet back. It didn’t make sense for Juliet to be in Hell, anyway. She was too perfect. She was funny, loud, confident, passionate, creative, strong, crazy out-going, and so much more that Mason could hardly think about without crying. Juliet’s soul was bright and perfect and Mason was ruining it with all her worry and need.

All she needed was for Juliet to come back. She couldn’t stop now, even though she wanted to now. Exhaustion was taking over. Doubt was taking over. She didn’t know where Juliet was. She didn’t know anything other than the fact that she needed to complete this spell, so Juliet had to breathe. If she didn’t, they could all die. It was something she’d talked about with Aurora before, when they’d discussed the one other form of the spell Aurora had seen over two hundred years ago. If they didn’t complete it, they’d all be killed.

☥☥

“Wake up!”

Mason’s fist slammed against Juliet’s chest for the third time. “Wake up!” she screamed, then shook her body. “Wake up! Breathe!”

They’d finished the spell. Everything had gone silent and still.

It had stayed that way.

It had taken around three minutes for Mason to start screaming. She’d been screaming at Juliet for the past five minutes. Her throat hurt. Tears and snot were salty in her mouth, combining themselves with the disgusting mixture of raw oyster, dog blood, and bone marrow that had been settling in on her tongue. No one else had moved yet.

She hit Juliet again. Her head lolled to the side, a stupid bowling ball of useless matter. Blood spilled from her mouth onto the sheet, as useless as her head. As useless as her corpse. As useless as the spell. It was all useless.

Stella’s hand rested on Mason’s shoulder when she went to hit Juliet’s chest again. “Mason,” she whispered.

Mason felt like her chest had been ripped open. She sucked in a shaking breath. She whispered, voice trembling as she continued the incantation again. Aurora hadn’t stopped. Stella kneeled next to her, hand tight on her shoulder.

“She’s gone, Mason.”

“No,” Mason whispered. She shook her head, then placed her hands palm down on Juliet’s chest. She pressed down on her. She went into the incantation again, pressing against Juliet’s chest. She imagined her energy flowing, seeping into Juliet’s skin. She could almost imagine filling Juliet with everything she had for her, all the memories and life Mason saw in her, all the perfection and imperfection Mason had seen from Juliet when she was alive, and even after she had died.

Pressure pressed up against Mason’s palms. Her palms rose and fell with Juliet’s chest, second by second, as air filled her lungs all over again. Hope flooded through Mason, extending from her palms. Mason kept breathing out the incantation, nails digging gently into Juliet’s skin. She could feel blood flowing. There was a heartbeat under there. There was another breath on its way.

Everything went silent again as really did she suck in another breath, even slower than the first.

Her eyes had closed. They opened just enough for Mason to see blue irises, shockingly blue compared to the black makeup still caked around them. Mason leaned over her more, grinning so wide her cheeks hurt.

“You’re alive.”

“Mason, the bond--” Aurora piped up.

Mason’s eyes widened and she nodded, grabbing the two clay dolls. She tied them together, then threw them into the burning fire pit with a loud crack, followed by a crackle as they lit up. She started removing the sprigs of herbs from Juliet’s mouth and chest. She helped her sit up, amazed by the chill of Juliet’s skin and the emotion swelling to the surface in her own. Arms flung around Juliet’s shoulders, Mason buried her head in Juliet’s neck and breathed in deep. She smelled like dirt and decay, but she had a heartbeat. She had some semblance of warmth. Why wasn’t she super warm like usual though?

Mason wrote it off fast, because she suddenly felt something flooding down her back and then wriggling. Her entire body stiffened. “What was that?” she asked.

Juliet’s voice was low, scratchy and quiet as she replied, “I threw up.”

Mason made a face of disgust. “What did you throw up?”

Stella sounded like she was trying not to laugh. “The blood. And some maggots.”

Mason whined loudly. “Gross! Gross, gross, gross!” She didn’t pull away from Juliet, though.

Juliet was alive. She was breathing, and she was smiling, and she seemed like she was laughing a little at having thrown up on Mason. She was standing in front of Mason after they got to their feet. She was showering with Mason. She was scrubbing her face clean, scrubbing everything clean… Mason couldn’t stop watching her. She was beautiful. She was alive.

They laid down together once Mason started yawning every three seconds. Stella and Aurora seemed exhausted too. Aurora left the room with Andrew, though, claiming that she didn’t want to stress Juliet out any further. Coming back to life was stressful enough without the man who killed you sleeping in the same room as you. It didn’t help that Juliet kept staring at Andrew wordlessly while everyone moved the room back to normal.

Actually, she was pretty wordless. She’d hardly spoken since coming back, which was really out of character. Mason watched her. Blonde curls were just starting to poke out of the neck of the sweatshirt by the time Mason spoke. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” Juliet replied. She left it at that as she sat down on the bed next to Mason. She looked over Mason’s face. Mason stared back, then smiled at her. She smiled back, but it was tight and closed. Jules didn’t smile like that. Her smile was supposed to be loose and dorky and toothy. It was always a grin, not a tight, closed-lipped thing.

Mason let it go, though. She was too tired to fret too much yet. She could do that tomorrow. Stella had turned out the light already. They pushed back the covers on the bed together, which made Mason giggle. They laid together, Mason’s legs wrapped around one of Juliet’s. Practically the second Mason’s eyes closed, she was asleep.

She didn’t know what time it was when she woke, but the moonlight was still coming through the curtains, so she couldn’t have been asleep that long. Mason’s hand was under Juliet’s sweatshirt, though, on her chest. The stitching was still there in Juliet’s skin. It was scratchy against the thorn pricks in Mason’s palm. She’d forgotten about those until now. She could feel Juliet’s chest rising and falling. It was insane to know she’d done this. She’d brought life back into a corpse. Into her best friend. Into the girl she loved. Juliet owed her, like, the best sex ever when they finally did that.

If they did that. If Juliet was normal. Gods, she hoped Juliet was normal. She seemed mostly normal, just missing some of that spark Mason was accustomed to. Her smile wasn’t the same toothy grin. Her voice wasn’t the same emotional voice. Her eyes didn’t have the same shine. Even her freckles didn’t seem like they were in the right spots at the right intensity. Was there even still more than 106 of them? She’d have to count later.

The shoulder under Mason’s temple shifted. She lifted her head to look at Juliet. Jules was restless. Her head tossed a bit, then her entire body went still. She wasn’t even breathing. Mason felt panic start to set in, but Juliet whispered.

“Juliet Hill is no more.” AUTHOR’S NOTE: Part 2, Juliet, is located HERE. It will provide more insight to what has happened at the end of this piece and in Juliet’s absence!

#rebirth #rēˈbərth #senior comprehensive writing #juliet hill #mason hill #rebirth pt 1 #my writing #writing #fiction #short story #these characters are my babies #i will have more of them soon!#i have them in a lot of instances...#portfolio

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eisehaus · 5 years ago

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My OC/MC Eise Introduction extended:

Character Description

Okays, so this is linked here from my post here about my MC regarding her relationships with the Obey Me Characters. The original prompt is here. This post is a more detailed description of Eise as a character...

Eise's characteristics:

She has a background in singing, dance and the Circus, so highly coordinated, acrobatic, flexible and athletic. Also used to model but doesn't bring that up with the characters, it's not a big deal to her. Intellectual, she does have a degree but never did anything with it, enjoys a reckless life of freedom instead. Though she still chooses to study ancient history, mythology, and the occult as a hobby. Loves a good book centered in those themes, and a sucker for the classics. She is very capable of acting proper and well mannered, and is quite spectacular at it really. It surprises the hell out of others when they witness it. She just prefers to enjoy acting like an idiot with little regard for consequences much of the time instead.

She's reckless, wild, and spontaneous... A very 'why not?' attitude. Extrovert, thrives in being active and around others, though does enjoy her much needed alone time as well. She's clever, sassy, and mischievous... Likes to keep people guessing despite initially coming off as open book. Has a male cat that she's raised who is much like her, he's her fur baby for sure.

She's extremely creative so arts and crafts galore: clothing design, jewelery making, painting, drawing, decorating, sculpting, writing, music--you name it, she dabbles in it! Humor ranging from Idiotic to Dark. Swears like a sailor, despite a wide vocabulary, so her language is quite the colorful blend of both. Night owl, extremely grumpy in the mornings. Caffine is a must. Alternative Haphazard punk style, favors purposely destroyed clothing, patchwork and buttons. Jack-of-all-trades. Quite the handyman.

Alpha type personality. Hot temper when provoked, with a tendency to get into fights. Doesn't start them usually but God damnit she sure as hell is gonna finish it. Relentless when driven. Extremely caring and protective of anyone she truely cares about, but couldn't give two shits if she doesn't. Comfortable with her body due to having a performer background, so shes not really shy at all, and sometimes uses that to her advantage for shits and giggles.

Eise's physical appearance:

I've included a few early sketches of mine of Eise. The first image is a front and back of her typical casual wear. I included the second image of her in beach wear I did once upon a time for a better sense of her tattoos. The third image is what I dreamed up for formal wear for her.

I went ahead and wrote out the description as well for a better sense of detail in case your brain is like mine, it's after the images. But you can feel free to scroll past the text.

Female with Androgynous tendencies. Light blue hair, usually kept up in a wildly messy bun with long bangs. Light blue eyes, usually rocking black wing-tip eyeliner and dark blue and black eye shadow. Red lipstick usually, tho occasionally nude, blue or black. Tall, 5'10. Pale complexion. Slim muscular build.

Standard Clothes: red bandana around the neck, black choker necklace and long gold chain with a pocket watch on the end. Ragedy black and blue striped crop tank top, high waisted blue denim Daisy dukes. Long brown leather belt. Thigh high black and blue striped socks attached to garters, thigh high charcoal combat boots, red leg warmers over the top. Hazard Yellow zip up hoodie covered in patches, usually hanging off the shoulders with rolled up sleeves. Various bracelets. And silver rings on each finger except ring fingers. Nose ring, tongue ring, nipple rings, triple pierced ears on both sides with another two on the upper right ear and an industrial bar on the upper left ear.

Tattoos: Sun on the right shoulder with clouds underneath, then rain, grass, then red flowers over green leaves and vines down the rest of the arm, compass rose on that elbow. "Outsider" across the chest. An small ankh over her sternum. Two X's under left eye. "Always" with an infinity symbol on left collarbone. A twisted armband around the top of the arm below the shoulder. "Darkside" on the inside of the left bicep. Alchemaic symbol for blood and a solid black triangle on the inner left Forearm. Green serpent on the left hip and side extending onto her lower back, apple by its mouth, three gold stars above it and "Fallen" in red beside the serpant along the spine. Left leg is an incomplete sleeve ranging from mid thigh to mid calf. The top is water with a starfish above the knee and a red and a blue fish with bubbles on the side below the hip. Pearl strand wrapped around the knee, teal scales as the backdrop. The calf is 9 bands, each with simple imagery depicting the 9 circles if hell. A crescent moon above the outside of the ankle. Down the back of the right calf are 7 small circles, the symbols from obey me of the Seven deadly sins, with a small pair of wings beneath them, just above the heel. The shadow hunter sigil on the top of the left foot.

FIN

So yeah that's pretty much Eise! It was a pleasure, I look forward to making more art of her in the future, and now you'll know who she is when she pops up or if you've seen her in some of my other fan art posts!

Also, shoot me an ask or a message if you're interested in me maybe creating an image of your OC alongside Eise in my style. Let's make an MC squad ✌️✌️

#obey me shall we date #obey me #obey me fandom #obey me mc #obey me headcanons #obey me headcanon #obey me main character #obey me hcs #obey me hc #obey me oc #obey me fanart

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justlightlysedated · 6 years ago

Text

sugar and spice and everything nice

Michael looks down at the address written on the paper in his hands and sees the name of the bakery written in Isobel's loopy handwriting, and then looks back out of his windshield at the shop he's parked in front of.

It's nestled between a bookshop and a coffee shop, arguably the best place to be if you're a bakery, especially with the name, Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice.

But the display in front of the window looks like it came out of a spread for the fictional magazine, Witches Brew Weekly, and Michael wonders exactly what kind of cake Isobel had made here.

He also wonders exactly why she's throwing a Happy Divorce Party, but sometimes it's better to not understand the workings of his sister's mind. He goes crazy trying to figure her out on a daily basis.

Michael inhales deeply, and tells himself that looks can be deceiving, prime example being himself and how people react when he tells them that he owns his own flower shop and studied horticulture in college.

He grabs his cowboy hat from where he'd set it on the passenger seat and puts it over his head as he gets out of his truck.

Michael walks towards the bakery, eyeing the display with some more interest as he gets closer.

The spiders crawling all over the cupcakes look too real and are creeping him out a little bit, but there is something oddly charming about the three tiered cake depicting the beheading of Anne Boleyn.

Michael walks in through the door, and jumps a little when there is a creepy haunted mansion style doorbell ringing through the room announcing his presence.

He bites down on the smile that wants to pull at his lips and looks around the place.

The color scheme is all dark, mostly black and white but with dark red and dark purple accents. There are three display cases practically caging in the six small tables with two chairs each, made up of glossy purple wood and black glass panelling one with normal looking breakfast pastries and muffins, the other with a different kinds of cupcakes each depicting a Summer yet halloween based theme, like two ghosts snorkeling or a skeleton tanning, and the last, right in front of double doors that Michael is sure lead to the kitchen with a register perched on top and a few baskets full of what looks like freshly baked bread, and underneath on display through the glass beneath a sign that says, Our Specialty One of a Kind Divorce Cakes, No Two Cakes Will Ever Be the Same, We Guarantee, are an array of cakes that could pass for wedding cakes if it weren't for the terrifying scenarios being depicted.

Before Michael can get any closer to see what he can make out beside the one where it looks like a tiny fondant bride is tossing her tiny fondant husband into a wood chipper, the double doors opens, and a young woman with long dark hair held away from her face by a black visor with the name of the bakery and the skull and crossbones design that is at the front of the store stitched with holographic silver thread on the rim. She's wearing a black apron with the name Rosa stitched in the front with the same holographic silver thread over an outfit that wouldn't be out of place in the middle of a mosh pit. She's carrying a tray of what looks like caramel apples with a little sign that says, If you spend more than 20$ you get me for free! and looks up, mouth open like she's about to say something and she stops, giving him a very obvious once over, before making a face at the cowboy hat.

She still smiles, bright and wide and a little flirty, red lips coming off more like a warning than a beacon, and sets the tray down in the space between the register and the first basket of bread.

"Well, hello there," she says, as she leans against the counter. "Welcome to Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice, where we make all of your not so sweet dreams come true. What can I do for you?"

Michael blinks at her, "Shouldn't it be sweet dreams?"

Rosa's grin turns all teeth and predatory, "If you're in them, then sure."

Michael just smiles shaking his head a little before he tugs out the paper that Isobel had given him.

"I'm here to pick up an order," he says and hands over the paper.

Rosa takes it and reads it quickly before making a face, kind of like the one she made when she saw his hat.

She walks to the double doors and pushes open one of them yelling, "Someone's here to pick up the Ice Queen's order!"

Michael would protest the use of the nickname but he knows it's probably something that Isobel would like.

There is a startled yelp, and then the sound of something metal clattering to the floor, before someone is cursing low and fervently.

Rosa just lets the door fall close and turns back to Michael, "The Chef will be right with you."

Michael nods his head and casts a look around the shop and his gaze is caught by the window display again.

"You design all of these?" He asks looking back at Rosa. She has that air about her that tells him that she's artistic, but she shakes her head.

"No," she says sounding amused. "Most of the designs are Alex's, except for the spider collection. Alex mostly keeps me around because I'm much better at customer service than he is."

"Which really isn't saying much," a dry voice says from the double doors.

Michael turns towards the newcomer and feels almost like he's been hit across the back of the head with a baseball bat.

While he blinks dazed and confused, it's almost like everything is moving in slow motion.

The vision stands for several still seconds right in front of the door, being illuminated by the light coming from the kitchen, making his messy hair that is sticking up all over the place, kind of glow golden like he has a halo. He's wearing the same visor and apron as Rosa, but his apron is covered in flour and butter and chocolate and what looks like food coloring. Alex is stitched in the upper right corner of his apron in a rainbow colored thread.

That combined with the dark, dark eyes that seemed like they could swallow Michael whole and he would enjoy every minute of it, and the luscious full mouth, that purses into an annoyed expression the longer that Michael stares at him, makes him consider the warmth jolt in his stomach with the utmost seriousness.

He turns to Rosa to say something, turning his back to Michael and Michael's gaze drops right to check out his ass, and it's almost too good to be true.

Michael feels the hot bolt of attraction and the gooey warmth in his stomach combine to conspire against him.

He has the brief and totally insane thought of what flowers they'll have at their wedding and if they would be in season, before he snaps himself out of it and looks into Alex's narrowed pissed eyes and realizes that maybe the whole slow motion thing had been in his head and smiles as apologetic and charming as he can.

"So sorry," he says. "I kind of spaced there for a second. What were you saying?"

His eyes dart over to Rosa who looks entirely too amused, so he probably hasn't fucked up beyond repair.

Not that there is anything to fuck up.

Alex clears his throat pointedly, and Michael looks over to him immediately.

Alex's brow is still furrowed, but he seems to be more confused than angry.

He inhales deeply like he's steeling himself and then moves to the side and Michael sees that while he'd been busy committing Alex to memory, they'd brought out a rolling stand with a huge open white cake box, the name and logo of the bakery stamped on the side, the cover is propped open so that the cake fits and there is what looks like a black veil covering the cake from view, and Michael's curiosity peaks, overwhelming the stupefying feeling of attraction, and he leans forward, on the only empty space on top of the counter.

Alex's brow furrows even more, but he just takes a deep breath and lifts the veil over the cake.

Michael has a moment where he thinks that he's been transported to a gallery, because what Alex unveils could very easily be mistaken for a painting.

"Isobel wants you to take a picture even though I already uploaded the time lapse video on the shop's Instagram-"

"Is that a replica of Judith beheading Holofernes but with my sister?" Michael interrupts him leaning even closer, trying to get as close a look as possible.

The cake is three tiered and covered in white icing, with a pillow and pearl buttons design, that Michael remembers from the wedding cake that Isobel had when she married Noah, five years ago, seemingly bursting out of the cake, is the bloody scene, depicted in some kind of frosting or fondant, tiny Isobel with her knee right on tiny Noah's chest, one hand in his hair, holding his head at an angle that exposes his neck and the other holding the hilt of the sword, as she slices through. There is realistic looking blood, and Isobel and Noah are very recognizable, and it's literally the most amazing thing that Michael has ever seen in his life.

He looks up at Alex, who blinks twice at him before speaking.

"Yes," he says shortly, bordering on defensive. "I talked with your sister and she told me her story while I sketched out some ideas, and afterwards she chose her favorite."

Michael just exhales and wonders if it would be creepy to tell someone that he just met that he thinks he's in love with him.

"It's one of the most-" Michael starts and stops looking for a word to say, and Alex just sighs, like he's tired and cuts him off.

"Disturbing things you've ever seen?" He says, a little mockingly making air quotes and rolling his eyes.

Michael's complete attention focuses on Alex's fingers, long and pale and strong and covered in rings silver and black, and several bandages.

Michael stares obviously enough that Alex fidgets a little, looking at his hands and scoffing.

"Don't worry," he says dead pan. "It's not my blood. I only save the blood sacrifices for when I'm making pastry."

Michael laughs, a startled burst of giggles that he can't seem to really control, and Alex freezes completely on the other side of the counter, not moving, barely even breathing.

"I was actually going to say, it's one of the most amazing things I've ever seen in my life," Michael says and sincerely as he can.

Alex just stares at Michael with wide eyes, and he looks a little panicked and like he really needs to bail the scene, but as he turns to Rosa, Rosa turns away, heading towards the entrance.

"I'm taking my fifteen minute break," she says.

Alex opens his mouth, and Rosa cuts him off as she pulls her phone out of her pocket.

"Yes, I'll get you the French vanilla iced latte."

He makes another attempt to say something, but the doorbell rings out again, and this time Michael lets the smile take over his face.

When he turns back to look at Alex, Alex is staring at him with a furrowed brow.

Michael licks his lips, but before he can say anything, Alex is speaking.

"The amount pending is 60$," he says, and moves towards the register, pulling a receipt notebook from a pocket hanging beside the register and starts to write out the receipt.

Michael pulls out the money that Isobel had given him, the amount due plus a large tip.

Michael leaves the money on the counter, and pulls his phone out of his pocket to take a picture of the cake.

He sends it to Isobel and she immediately responds with a bunch of excited and happy emojis, and a text demanding that he hurry up and get back to her place.

Michael slides his phone back in his pocket without answering her, and turns to Alex who is counting the money and putting it inside of the register before he tears Michael's copy of the receipt off the notebook and hands it to him.

Michael takes the receipt and before Alex can say anything else, his eyes fall on the caramel apples with the sign that Rosa had set down earlier.

"Does that mean I get one of those?" He asks pointing at the apples.

Alex purses his mouth and gives him a look.

Before he sighs and looks down at the apples.

"I like experimenting with flavors in my baking and sometimes it works really well, but most of the time it's a disaster. I still test them out on customers to see if they like them."

Michael nods his head slowly, "So the apple is the experiment you're testing today?"

Alex smiles, a quick brief thing that Michael almost misses, before he grabs one of the plastic cake knives from a jar full of them, and a small white ceramic plate.

He lifts one of the apples on to the plate, using the side of the knife, and then sets the plate down in front of Michael.

He takes the knife and places the edge right by the wooden stick.

He pushes the knife down, and Michael expects resistance, so he's surprised when the plastic knife just falls straight through, cutting the apple in half easily, only a slight crunch towards the bottom.

He parts the two halves and pushes one aside and then starts to speak again.

Michael looks away from the interesting layers of mousse and jelly and cookie, and looks at Alex and then can't find himself able to look away.

"It's a dark chocolate mousse sitting on top of a layer of hot mint jelly and a shortbread cookie infused with jalapeños and lime, shaped into a sphere and covered in a shiny red mirror glaze," he says, pointing out every layer with a finger, and looking so animated that he almost seemed like a different person.

"I'm calling it the Poison Apple. The idea behind the flavors is that they'll balance each other out, and I really like a little bit of heat in my desserts, something that I became fond of when I was overseas. But it's not exactly everyone's cup of tea."

He looks up straight into Michael's eyes and stops talking.

Michael licks his lips and looks down at the dessert.

"That actually sounds awesome," he says honestly, before he looks back up at Alex who flinches a little like he got caught doing something he shouldn't.

Michael just smiles as reassuringly as possible and asks, "Can I have a fork?"

Alex stares at him for another long moment before he reaches down beneath the counter and pulls out a silver fork, and hands it over to Michael, who takes it smiling at Alex, who continues to look at Michael suspiciously like he's expecting something bad to happen at any moment.

Michael just pulls the plate closer and tries a forkful, making sure to get a little bit of everything, and he barely hesitates as he takes the bite.

The flavors explode on Michael's tongue one after the other starting with the slightly bitter chocolate and then a sharp burst of lemon and the heat coming from the shortbread before there is a soothing coolness coming from the jelly, and Michael doesn't really understand it and he never in a million years would've thought that the flavors would go together, but it actually works.

"Wow," he says and looks at Alex who is just blinking at him like Michael is being confusing. "It's amazing."

He can't help but sound awed. He hadn't really expected it to taste as good as it did, and he wonders how much of it is due to the fact that Alex was the one who made it.

Michael eats most of the case, knowing he's making the most ridiculous faces, but every time it hits him different.

Alex just continues to stare at him, gaze intense, and Michael finds that he really likes it.

He looks up at Alex then, and Alex is licking across his bottom lip, and Michael feels a pulse of heat go straight down the back of his neck, and he doesn't think that he's ever wanted anyone the way that he wants him, right now, but he also doesn't think that he's wanted to keep someone as much as well.

Before Michael can make any decision, Rosa is moving behind the counter, and Michael's gaze falls on her, and he wonders how long she'd been watching.

The knowing smirk on her face tells him that it was long enough.

Alex jumps back, startled and he looks from Michael to Rosa before he grabs the coffee in her hands and walks straight through the double doors not even looking back.

Michael sets the fork down slowly and he looks at Rosa, who gives him a sympathetic smile, before she motions towards the cake with her chin. "Need some help with that?"

Michael nods his head, and Rosa covers the cake back up.

Together they get it secure to the back of the truck and Michael promises that he'll drive slow.

Rosa turns to walk towards the bakery and then she turns back to Michael.

"Look," she says, a protective edge to her voice."You seem like a nice guy, and you obviously speak Alex, but Alex has been through a lot, and if you're just messing with him-"

"I like him," Michael blurts out, and rubs the back of his neck when Rosa looks at him, feeling a little embarrassed as he looks away from her. "I like him a lot. It actually feels a little insane how much."

"Good," she says and Michael's gaze snaps back to her.

"You gotta be a little insane to try and date Alex," she says, shrugging a little as she turns back towards the bakery. "He's really fucking weird."

And with that and a cheerful see you soon that she shouts from the open doorway, almost getting drowned out by the doorbell.

Michael shakes his head and gets into his car.

Something crinkles as he sits and he pulls the piece of paper from beneath his thigh and looks at the address for the bakery.

He's almost completely sure that he'll remember the way to get back here even without an address, but he pulls his phone out and saves the address in his contacts.

A pop up appears asking him if he wants to add sugarandspice on instagram, and he clicks yes, and starts the truck.

His phone buzzes with a notification and he smiles when he sees rosa.zombie. is now following you.

He pulls away from the curb and finds his head full of thoughts that are entirely premature, but he can't exactly help himself.

He wonders if Alex will accept edible flowers and potted herbs in exchange for taste testing more of his flavor experiments.

The picture posted on Rosa's instagram before seven in the morning is of Michael eating one of the mousse cakes disguised as a caramel apple with a rapturous look on his face, and Alex is staring at him like he's confused and absolutely flabbergasted.

The caption for the picture is:

rosa.zombie. he is eating one of @manelydead's super special recipes. obviously, he's an alien.

Followed by the following comment thread almost immediately after posting:

lizziethestrange HOLYSHIT!!!

delucastyle holy shit

valentimcsexy hoLY SHIT

iamcamiam holy shit

manelydead Don't any of you assholes sleep in???

guerinsflowers @manelydead 😉😉😉

intergalacticbitch @guerinsflowers you fucking better not!

#malex fic #well here you go!!#thanks for reading!#😊😊😊😊😊💖💖💖💖💖💖#now on to finish my cosima au!!

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fericita-s · 5 years ago

Text

The Bloom Is On The Rye

After the crossing at the Kansas River when her family had been lost, looking at the muddy Black Vermillion had her hiding under her bonnet like a bird tucking its head under its wings to sleep.

Emmry Forced Marriage Mercy Street/Oregon Trail crossover! Chapter 2 below, also on AO3

a continuation of In having new eyes by @jomiddlemarch and beta-ed into being better by @the-spaztic-fantastic. Thank you both for your contributions to this story!

Mrs. Foster helped her again with breakfast, as if they planned it, all the while keeping up a cheerful chatter about her husband, Dr. Foster, and the medical practice they would be setting up in California.

“You won’t be going to Oregon!” Emma said, surprised and disappointed. She had hoped this new friend might be a neighbor of sorts, though she knew Oregon was large and their party was likely to split up several times as they passed through different territories.

“We won’t head that way until after Soda Springs, that’s months away yet.”

Emma found this a comfort and somewhat distressing - still months to go before they still had over a month to go. She knew the journey would last about five months but it had been harder to keep track of time lately. Their days took on a rhythm: waking, cooking, gathering what useful foodstuffs they could on the trail. Walking, riding, crying a bit less each day. It seemed to stand still, go very quickly, and stretch on all at once but her legs felt stronger and her arms too, the tasks that seemed to drain her at first now coming more easily.

“Henry said he has bacon, shall I look for it to add to the spider? There’s enough to share.”

“Yes! Jedidiah would stop complaining so much about dried apple pie for our only sweet if I start his day off with bacon,” Mrs. Foster said, taking over the spider completely while Emma rummaged through the store of goods. “Where are you two settling?”

Emma produced the bacon and then paused, wondering as Mrs. Foster lifted the pancakes out and arranged the bacon. “I don’t know,” she said, and then after a brief moment of panic, laughed. “I don’t know!” Mrs. Foster joined her laughter as Henry walked up with a bucket of water, smiling tentatively at their mutual delight.

***

“Where exactly are we going?” Emma asked that evening when Henry finished with the nightly Psalm. After he finished reading he’d put his arm around her while they talked. He still slept by the fire instead of in the wagon and Emma didn’t know how to tell him she wished he wouldn’t.

“Black Vermillion River is next.”

“No, I mean to homestead. Where do you - do we - plan to be?”

“Oh. Dalles. I thought you knew.” He furrowed his brow as he answered. “Is that where you wish to go?”

“It doesn’t matter to me where we go, as long as it’s not back to Virginia.” She wanted to say something about how even though this trip had begun in tragedy that multiplied in staggering ways, she found comfort in his presence and in his kindness. But she couldn’t think of how to phrase it, so instead she asked him why he decided to go west.

“I was in seminary. Thought I’d be a preacher or maybe a chaplain. But then -” he paused and Emma reached for his hand, trying to encourage him to keep speaking with touch she hoped would be welcome. “A friend and I went swimming. I dared him to, he didn’t want to . Said he wasn’t a good swimmer but I goaded him into it. And he drowned. I tried to save him but I couldn’t.”

“That was an accident. Surely you believe God has forgiven you.”

He took a breath and spoke evenly, though she would tell it was an effort. She was well practiced in it. “It was hard to believe then. It’s sometimes hard to believe now.”

“You saved me. I would surely have drowned had you not been there, had you not been so quick.”

“God guided my hands.”

“If you believe that to be true then believe you are forgiven, too.”

“It’s becoming easier to believe that,” he said, squeezing her shoulder and she relaxed into him.

The sounds of Silas’s fiddle washed over the camp and she wished Henry would hold her like this in the bed of the wagon, instead of leaving her alone to go sleep by the fire.

***

She couldn’t do it.

After the crossing at the Kansas River when her family had been lost, looking at the muddy Black Vermillion had her hiding under her bonnet like a bird tucking its head under its wings to sleep.

Emma remembered an arm grabbing her tightly around the waist as the current pulled at her skirts, the relief she felt when Henry deposited her on the shore. She had been drenched and gasping, Mrs. Foster’s arm around her, as she watched the canvas of her family’s covered wagon float swiftly downstream. It had tilted at wild angles before flipping over and then it was gone - under the water and around a bend. Dr. Foster and a few of the men had run downriver to see what - who - they could rescue, but Henry was still in the water where the wagon had first pitched to the side and floated away.

She had watched as Henry stood with a body in his arms. It was a man - her father? Jimmy? But the face was so covered in blood that she couldn’t make out who from this distance. When she saw it was Jimmy, she had been disappointed.

She hated that he had been the only body to bury.

The one she had least wanted to mourn was the only one with a gravesite. It was unfair. Henry had conducted a short service naming them all, and Samuel Diggs, the wagon master, had made crosses with all four names burned into the wood. But it was only Jimmy’s body that had been buried.

And she hated it. She hated Jimmy for that last act of displacing her family from its rightful place.

“We’ll take the ferry,” Henry said, gripping her hands and looking worried, bringing her back to the present and this new river to cross. “We won’t ford it.”

But even that couldn’t stop her panicked breaths and so eventually he consulted with Dr. Foster and then dosed her with whiskey, calling it medicinal. She grimaced as it burned its way down her throat, then breathed deeply at the sensation of warmth spreading through her and the way she could feel her pearl drop necklace against her chest, her boots laced tightly around her ankles, her bonnet tied neatly under her chin. All these pieces of clothing keeping her from flying apart and Henry there too, holding her around the waist like he had in the Kansas while pulling her to safety.

When it was over, they rumbled along a bit more before nightfall, but the feeling of warmth did not subside. Her brain felt like it was sloshing around inside her head and when Mrs. Foster brought her a dried apple pie, Emma thanked her without protesting that she hadn’t helped make it and called her Mary for the first time.

“I’ll show you how tomorrow. On rest day,” Mary said as she handed over the pie. “Perhaps have another drink tonight, to calm those nerves. You’ll sleep better for it.”

“I didn’t mean to serve you this for dinner,” Emma told Henry as she sliced the pie clumsily. He had given her another drink and taken one himself after reading from his Bible. He said he would have skipped it but it was his favorite one, Psalm 23. They both cringed when he read ‘He leads me beside still waters’, not relaxing again until he finished the verse with ‘he refreshes my soul’.

“We had apple trees at home,” Henry said. “I remember climbing one far from the house and then eating about a dozen before they were really ripe and making myself sick.” He looked at her, smiling. “Maybe we can plant two or three in Dalles.”

“I’d like that. We had an orchard at home. Alice and I would steal them from the kitchens, the ones that had been sliced for pies. When they were mixed with sugar and sweet and syrupy. I remember how it ran down our fingers and made our chins sticky.” She laughed and bit into the pie they shared now, worried she was missing her mouth with part of the crust but also too warm and full to really care. “Once, when Alice was telling Mother she definitely had not stolen the pie filling, a bee came right up to her chin! Mother said even the bee knew she was lying!”

They laughed together and seeing him happy made Emma feel bold. “Will you sleep here with me tonight? I think I would sleep better with you here.”

She watched as Henry stopped smiling and stopped chewing. He nodded solemnly, like they were taking their marriage vows anew. “Yes, Emma, I’ll stay here with you.”

His answer felt as good as his calling her Emma.

He turned his back as she undressed and she heard him securing the ends of the canvas cover so there was no longer an opening out the back. With her whiskey-clumsy fingers she took twice as long with the buttons on her bodice and could not manage the corset at all. “Can you help undo these laces? I’ll sleep in my chemise, that’s on underneath.”

Henry moved towards her and she could smell the whiskey on his breath. His hands felt warm against her skin and her heart, which had been beating out a strange rhythm since she asked him to stay, was so loud she thought he might ask her about it. His hands finished their work on her laces, delicately unthreaded the loops entirely and she worked at the ribbons of her skirt until finally the petticoat and skirt fell into a heap on the wooden bed of the wagon.

They stood frozen, looking at each other, as Henry reached for the pearl drop necklace now visible as it lay just above the low neckline of her chemise. He lifted it and ran his thumb over the smooth surface before gently placing it back against her chest in the valley between her breasts. “Beautiful,” he said, and she wanted him to press his hand against her fully, so he would hear what that word did to the beat of her heart.

Henry turned away and didn’t come join her again until she was on the bedroll.

She made herself as small as possible so he would join her on the pile of blankets and quilts, but when he laid down she only felt his hand on her back. She wondered if she should turn to face him, then stilled as his hand traveled up her back and to the bun that gathered her hair against the nape of her neck. He gently reached for the pins and combs holding it in place and took them out, brushing his fingers through her loose hair lightly. She closed her eyes like his fingers were singing a lullaby and slept with his hands still stroking her hair.

The next morning he handed her one of his shirts as she swallowed against the dryness in her mouth and winced at the fuzziness in her head that now seemed to have sharp edges.

“Use this to sleep in. At least until you can make a new dress. It should be more comfortable than wearing the same thing day and night.” She looked at him, taking in his rumpled pants and mussed shirt. He hadn’t even taken off his outer coat or boots, had laid beside her fully dressed.

He left their wagon abruptly and she ran her hands across the cotton, rubbed the collar between her thumb and forefinger and unfolded it to look at the long sleeves and how far down her legs the shirt would go. Then she hugged it to herself, wondering if he would sleep with her again.

Author’s Note: Apparently bacon was such a common food staple on the trail, overlanders wrote of getting tired of it in their diaries. Can you imagine?! Tired of bacon!? Burying people along the trail was common, so much so that the Oregon Trail has been called this country’s longest graveyard. About one in ten emigrants did not survive the journey, the most common reasons being accidental shootings, drownings, and disease.

#mercy street #mercy street advent #emmry #the oregon trail

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audrey-lim · 6 years ago

Text

A Rush of Bourbon to the Head - A Limlendez Fic

I am back. I am back with middle-aged ship smut fic. It’s like I never left. Tho this time it’s Lim/Melendez flavoured. And the way I see this ship is: Neil worships the ground that Audrey Lim walks upon and she permits him. Good shit. Continue reading for approxmiately 6.5k more words of that good shit.

Title: A Rush of Bourbon to the Head

Summary: Post 2x09. Neil and Audrey meet together for bourbon and start 2x10 waking up next to each other in bed. This bridges the gap.

A fic in which: -Audrey says the word 'fuck' a lot -Neil looks adoringly at Audrey -Bourbon is drunk -Fucking is done -Heart to hearts are had.

Teaser:

He smiled, then reached out and gently covered her hand with his own, “You’re a great surgeon, Audrey,” he said warmly, “And you would have made a great chief.”

“There is a lot of wisdom in this bourbon,” she teased, squinting down into it to avoid the burning intensity of his gaze.

“You found any, yet?”

“I might have,” she said, mouth a little dry, still not sure if what she was thinking right now was wisdom or insanity. Maybe a little of both.

Link: AO3

On days like today, heading in to Crowley’s bar felt more like coming home than her own place. There were few problems, she’d found, that couldn’t be improved upon by mulling them over with a glass of bourbon.

She didn’t bother looking for Neil, just wound her way through the familiar layout of tables and chairs with the same surgical precision she applied in the OR until she found him at their regular places.

Surgeons could be a surprisingly superstitious lot. She had never subscribed to much of it herself. But there were certain constants in the universe you just didn’t fuck with. Like the perfect spot in your favourite bar, deduced over years of careful experimentation and testing.

Collapsing into the chair beside him, she signalled for another two bourbons with some curt hand gestures, then shrugged off her leather jacket. It felt strange to wear it without her helmet in tow, or her Ducati, for that matter. But it had felt stranger not to wear it at all.

“I was never gonna confront Andrews,” she said bluntly, without so much as a ‘hello’ to warm things up first. She had been stewing since Andrews’ announcement, and had worked out exactly what she wanted to say to Neil. No point beating about the bush. “I was playing you. But damn if you didn’t actually make it work.”

She didn’t add what they both knew – that if she had confronted Andrews, it was unlikely he’d have reacted with anything other than resentment towards her for challenging him.

Neil shook his head. “It didn’t work for anybody,” he pointed out, flatly. “He played us both. He set us against each other.”

Audrey sighed, looking away from Neil. That was true enough. All those years of working, of grafting, of giving her blood, and sweat, and soul to this job, and that conceited bastard was just going to ‘retain his title’.

“I think you were right,” Neil continued, pulling her out of her bitter thoughts” She looked up and met his eyes again, sipping at her drink. The familiar burn was oddly soothing, purging some of her anger.

“Even if you were just bluffing,” he paused and she raised her eyebrows at him. He’d always had a penchant for the dramatic, even when they’d been residents together. And he’d never known how to just spit something out, he had to take his time, mull it over, let the moment build. “We need to stand together.” He nodded to himself.

“Where was that wisdom two days ago?” she demanded, unable to keep the distinct note of indignation from her voice.

If she was being fair, it probably wouldn’t have made any damned difference. There was no greater power in heaven or earth that could match Andrews’ sense of self-importance. But she wasn’t in the mood to be fair. Nothing else in life bothered, why the fuck should she?

Neil gave her a small half smile and raised his glass, “Still in the bottle.”

She huffed a soft laugh and they both sipped at what passed for wisdom these days.

People called Neil arrogant, but that only showed how little they knew him. He came across that way, and he could be an ass at times. But his heart was generally in the right place, and he had the rare ability to be able to back down and admit he’d fucked up. She appreciated that.

It made it hard to be mad at him. Since she wanted to be mad at something right now, she might still have ended up taking things out on him. But it had been a long day, and she knew that he was just as upset and angry as she was. Time to stand together, follow her own advice. Even if it had been mostly bullshit at the time.

“What other pearls of genius are in there?” she asked.

“That remains to be seen.”

“Well, I for one am curious to find out.”

She made to signal to the bartender to fill them both up again. Drowning one’s sorrows was a time honoured tradition, and she approved of tradition. Whenever there was bourbon involved, anyway.

Neil put a hand on her wrist, though, stopping her. “Aren’t you on shift tomorrow in the ER?” he asked lightly. There was no judgement in his voice, just practicality.

“I know my limits,” she replied, honestly. “If we’ve reached yours I can order you a water instead,” she offered sweetly.

He laughed, “Not even close.”

There. He still had a little spark of fire about him every now and then. She could see it sparking in his eyes, that light of challenge, of competition kindling there.

When they had been residents she’d had better things to do with her time than compete with Neil Melendez. She only had to prove herself better than she had been the day before. Once they had matured into surgeons at the same hospital, though…Well, a little friendly competition with a colleague had never done anyone any harm.

It had kept them both at the top of their game. It had pushed them, and driven them, and it was fun, dammit. He hadn’t been wrong when he’d called her out as an adrenaline junkie in the OR. She was.

She lived for those thrills – the wind tearing through her on her bike, nothing between it and her but leather and skill. The intensity of a difficult surgery, catching a life in your bare hands and snatching it back from the brink of death.

Sparring with Neil gave her the same high, the same rush, the same thrill. It kept life interesting. The only thing she’d ever truly feared was being bored, and he certainly prevented that. In a number of intoxicating ways.

“Good,” she said, grinning at him.

They both knew she could drink him under a table. And a second. And occasionally a third. That had stopped being a competition years ago. Now it was just the subject for gentle teasing.

“Although,” Neil added, as she made to catch the bartender’s eye again, “The residents are probably going to be here in about,” he checked his watch, “Twenty minutes, give or take.”

She groaned. “I will never forgive you for telling them about this place,” she growled at him.

“It’s a good bar,” he said defensively, with the gall to laugh a little as though anything about this was even remotely funny.

“It’s our bar,” she countered, “This place is more holy than my OR.”

“I was passing on our legacy!” he insisted.

“You were giving away our closely guarded secrets – that’s a capital offence. Ten years, Neil. Ten years we’ve been coming to this bar undisturbed by work and you just open the door and bow in our residents? What the fuck.”

“How about I get us a bottle to go and we head back to mine and find out what’s at the bottom?” he said with a soft smile.

“Nice deflection,” she admitted.

“Must be those great leadership skills shining through,” he said, grinning. She glowered darkly at him. He had the sense to raise his hands in a gesture of surrender. “It’ll be quiet, no residents, and I’ll even let you pick the background music.”

A very good offer. Damn him but he knew her too well sometimes.

“You’re on,” she said, raising a finger, “On the condition that you’re buying.” He raised his eyebrows at her, “On account of you being an apple,” she said, pointedly.

He laughed at that, “Deal.”

She waited outside while he settled and came out to meet her. His sharp eyes scanned the parking lot as they started to walk through it then he said, “I don’t see your chariot have death anywhere. Does this mean you’ve finally sent it to the scrapyard where it belongs?”

She scowled at him, “The Ducati is at home, thank you,” she replied in slightly clipped tones.

He raised his eyebrows at her. They both knew it was her pride and joy, and that she’d rather cut off her own hands than willingly scrap it.

She grimaced. He was going to find out anyway, but damn…

“Technically,” she grit out reluctantly, “My licence has been suspended.” She paused then amended firmly, “Temporarily suspended.”

He laughed at that, as though he was begging her to stab him, “What? What the hell did you do?” he asked, automatically assuming she must have done something to deserve this. The fact that she technically had didn’t make it any less galling. “No, wait, let me guess – you were going way too fast on your death machine in pursuit of an adrenaline high?”

“They couldn’t prove shit,” she muttered darkly.

“Apparently they could,” Neil said, sounding entirely too amused by the entire situation.

“I’ll tell you what I can prove,” she snapped, rising to his bait even though she knew this was exactly what he was fishing for, “That judge was a power crazy bitch and when I’m through with her she will beg me to take her back in time so she can stop her former self from attending law school so she never has to deal with me.”

“Nice,” Neil said, grinning, “You talk to her like that, too?”

“Only after she kept me waiting at the back of her courtroom for six hours because I took one two minute phone call from Murphy and Reznick about a patient,” she snapped. “And I’ll have you know I was very polite,” she added.

“Oh I bet you were,” Neil said, insufferable smile widening as he let them into his building and held the door for her.

“Six hours, Neil. Six hours,” she said, stepping in before him and turning back to look at him, eyes flashing.

“You called her out in the middle of her courtroom and you’re surprised she threw the book at you?” he said, leaning past her to press the button for the lift. “What would you do if a patient called you out like that in the ER?”

“I don’t know, but I probably wouldn’t gouge their eye out and then lock them in a closet for spite, because I’m an adult,” she said, shaking her head.

“She put you in a holding cell, didn’t she?” he said, with the balls to sound amused as he locked himself into a confined space with her for the duration of their ride up to the top floor.

“For nine hours.” He snorted. “I saw things in there I can never un-see,” she said, leaning against the wall, Neil watching her, still smirking, “I learned things about humanity that almost made me quit medicine.”

He laughed at that, the sound bursting from him. He had a good laugh. Full, and genuine.

Another mistake people often made about him was assuming he was serious. He could be. And about some things her eighty three year old aunt had more levity. But he had a good sense of humour, mostly, and they’d always been able to talk about things like this without worrying about it coming back and biting them on the ass one day. They were competitive, but they weren’t bastards about it.

“It’s not funny!” she snapped, even though his laughter was infectious and it was taking all of her control not to crack a smile with him.

“It kinda is,” he said, his smile fond and affectionate, “Especially when I imagine you having to take cabs all over the city.”

She groaned and rolled her eyes, “They drive like old women!” she hissed at him, “I could walk faster!”

He laughed again and she whacked his chest and stalked out of the lift as the doors opened.

“Just get that damn door open and a glass of bourbon into my hand before I murder you,” she ordered.

“Yes ma’am.”

***

Twenty minutes later, with a glass of bourbon in hand, and her choice of music accompanying their evening as promised, Audrey was decidedly calmer, and was feeling reflective again.

“Did you mean what you said in Crowley’s?” she asked, turning her head to look at where Neil was sat next to her on the couch.

He was doing what passed for sprawling with him - legs extended out before him, shirt wrinkled, posture relaxed. She sat next to him with her legs curled up under her, shoes kicked off, comfortable here after all the time she’d spent with him over the years.

He raised his eyebrows at her, inviting clarification, “About us working together,” she said bluntly.

Neil considered for a moment, taking an exaggerated amount of time to sip at his drink. “I did,” he said, finally, “We’re better that way – better doctors.”

She nodded, thoughtful, “A little healthy competition between us has historically been a good thing, too,” she pointed out. “It pushes us. That also makes us better doctors.”

“True,” he agreed, “But only when it pushes us in the right direction. Pushing us apart, the way Andrews was doing, is not helpful.”

“Agreed,” she said, toasting those words with another drink.

They were quiet for a moment, Neil tracing the rim of his glass with the tip of a careful finger, “I didn’t mean what I said to you in the OR – about you being too much of an adrenaline junkie to handle the job.”

“You don’t think I’m an adrenaline junkie?” she teased lightly, too taken aback by the sudden sincerity, the light of genuine regret in his eyes as he looked at her, to think up a more serious reply.

“Oh I do,” he said, with a wry smile, “But I don’t think you would let it compromise you as chief. We all have our vices in this job – we need them to survive it. But you’ve never let them rule you. You’d have the board eating out of the palm of your hand in less than a month.” He drained his glass.

She scoffed, “Try less than a week,” she said, tone light and playful.

Neil laughed again, “And obviously your stunning humility would be a great asset, too,” he teased, leaning forward and lifting the bourbon from the table, refilling his glass.

She held hers out, and he wordlessly topped her up, too.

She idly studied the delicate tattoo on his neck that his movement had revealed. More idly still, she imagined tracing it with the tip of her finger, and had to fight a sudden mad impulse to do it right then and there.

Where did that come from?

There had been tension and attraction between them before. They were both attractive people, they could admit that. And they were close. They had flirted with the idea on more than one occasion.

But they’d always had other partners – or other priorities. The prospect was exciting, intoxicating. She’d be lying if she said she’d never considered what it would be like. She knew he had, too. The way he looked at her sometimes, as though he wanted nothing so much as to peel her out of her leathers and experiment with the delights of human anatomy on a far more intimate level than usual.

She started, jolting herself from those thoughts. Sometimes she could be an adrenaline junkie. Sometimes those impulses could even be dangerous. Maybe there wasn’t as much wisdom to be found in a bottle of bourbon as she’d assumed when they started this.

Leaning back into the couch away from him, she found herself saying, “I didn’t mean what I said, either.”

“You don’t really think I’m a shallow poser who’s just interested in a shiny new title?” he asked, eyes twinkling.

She groaned, covering her face with a hand. It sounded so much worse when he put it like that.

“No, I don’t,” she said, keeping her tone uncharacteristically gentle, taking care not to let his levity pull her away from the sincerity of her own guilt over that confrontation.

She reached out and laid a gentle hand on his arm. He looked down at her hand, at the contact, and only looked away when she spoke again.

“I know that you care,” she said, quietly, “I know that you want this for more than the title, and the advancement, and the prestige.” She gave his arm a squeeze. “You’re a good man, Neil, and I know you would make things better.”

Feeling a little awkward she withdrew her hand and took a large gulp of her bourbon. She wasn’t good at this shit. These gentle heart-to-hearts seemed to come so naturally to him, the sincere advice, the tender understanding. It felt sometimes he could draw that from a stone. Meanwhile she was the stone.

A lot of the staff, the nurses in particular, said that her brusqueness and aloofness were responses to the pressures of the job, that she couldn’t let herself be soft or she would collapse.

A lot of what the staff said in general was bullshit, but that particular nugget took the cake.

This was just who she was. It always had been. Straight-up, practical, composed and in control at all times. She didn’t know any other way to be.

She wasn’t a robot. She still felt, still hurt, still sought out these quieter moments even. She just...Had never been great about showing any of that.

Neil was watching her with such a kind, gentle look in his eyes that it made her want to rip his shirt off and kiss him breathless.

She controlled that impulse by toasting him with her glass and adding bluntly, “I stand by what I said about you being an asshat, though.”

He smiled, then reached out and gently covered her hand with his own, “You’re a great surgeon, Audrey,” he said warmly, “And you would have made a great chief.”

“There is a lot of wisdom in this bourbon,” she teased, squinting down into it to avoid the burning intensity of his gaze.

“You found any, yet?”

“I might have,” she said, mouth a little dry, still not sure if what she was thinking right now was wisdom or insanity. Maybe a little of both.

He raised his eyebrows invitingly.

“Are you fishing for compliments from me, Melendez?” she demanded, rather than offering up exactly what kind of wisdom the bourbon had imparted to her.

“You wound me,” he said dramatically.

“You are a great surgeon, too, Neil. You don’t need me to tell you that,” he looked expectantly at her. She rolled her eyes and added, “And yes, you would have made a great chief.” He smiled knowingly at her, waiting for the quip he knew was coming. She decided not to disappoint him, “Just as long as you always had me there to steal great ideas from.”

He laughed again, that full laugh of his, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“You are never going to let that go, are you?”

“Nope. It’s going to be in your eulogy,” she said, grinning..

“You think you’re going to outlive me?” he said, eyebrows raised, “With your mechanical ticket to an early grave? Even on temporary suspension, it’s still going to get you before anything gets me.”

“Then in that case I’m sorry,” she said loftily.

“For what?” he said, still laughing.

“For your future self - bereft, and lonely, and oh so bored without me.”

He smiled, but sobered enough to say, with all that aching sincerity he had, “I would be.”

“Hmm, the bourbon’s talking again,” she said mildly.

“I think it’s still being wise,” he murmured.

She paused, swirling the last of hers in the bottom of her glass, considering, “That assessment is currently under review,” she said finally.

“Why’s that?”

She met his eyes. He was playing a dangerous game, teasing this out, leading them onwards. From the look on his face, he knew exactly what he was doing. Bastard.

“Because,” she said, voice measured, “It’s encouraging the adrenaline junkie and giving her terrible ideas.”

“Hmm,” he mused lightly, leaning in just a little, his shirt shifting and revealing the tattoo once more. She knew his sharp eyes didn’t miss the way hers darted down to it. “It’s making the shallow poser very interested in hearing them.”

She leaned in to him, drawn in, as she always had been, by that intensity, that single-minded focus that right now was fixed entirely upon her. “You sure about that?” she breathed, close enough to feel the heat of his breath on her lips, as welcome and inviting as the burn of their bourbon.

“Only one way to find out.”

She kissed him.

It started out as a gentle thing, hestiatant, testing, still half-convinced that they were talking about completely different things and he would pull away from her the second their lips met.

He didn’t. He parted his lips in invitation and she answered enthusiastically - enthusiastically and not at all gently. That had never been her style.

He smiled against her mouth, slid a gentle hand into her hair, coaxing her closer. He was always so damn tender. So careful, and precise.

She didn’t want careful and precise. She wanted hot and heavy like the bourbon she could taste on his tongue. She wanted him to want this, to need this as much as she did. She wanted him to lose that self-control for just a second, to stop being a doctor and start just being human, so painfully human with all of their raw vulnerabilities, and wants, and needs, and instincts.

Just when she started to feel his restraint slip, he drew back, breathing hard.

She met his eyes, still half-afraid she would find regret in them.

“Interesting,” he said, nothing but heat in his gaze, “I think it merits further testing to establish its full potential.”

Cautiously, he leaned in and kissed her back.

Maybe it had been too hasty to expect him to rip her clothes off at the first kiss. There was a lot of history between them, a lot of respect, a lot of trust. They had to be sure. Very sure. Lines were being crossed as she took his tongue in her mouth and sucked. Lines they hadn’t crossed in over a decade of knowing each other.

They broke apart again after their latest testing clash.

Sure. They had to be sure. They had to do this carefully, if they were going to do this at all. They should talk about it, firmly establish what was happening, plan this like they’d plan a surgery.

He looked up and she met his eyes and found such certainty in them that for a moment she forgot how to breathe. She had never thought that he would look at her like that, with so much raw lust it seared.

Fuck being careful. Fuck planning. Fuck lines and boundaries and history. Fuck thinking.

Before she had fully processed what she was doing, she had grabbed the glass of bourbon from his hand and shoved it towards the table along with her own. The glasses slid to the edge of the table, one nearly toppling.

Neil leaned forwards to fix it, but she was already crashing into him, momentum pushing him back against the couch cushions. She settled into his lap, straddling his hips and leaning down to kiss him again.

How had she gone so long without doing this? How had she survived ten years without ever knowing what it felt like to kiss him? How could she go another ten years without spending every second with his lips on hers, his body against hers, the heat of his skin scorching her.

Problems for another time, she decided, as he moaned softly into her mouth, and she gave up on having another coherent thought again that wasn’t solely focused on how to make him do that again.

He drew back a second later and she growled faintly in displeasure. Then she forgave him as his lips found her neck and set to exploring until he found a spot that made her arch into him. Once he found it, she slid her fingers into his hair, holding him in place. He took the hint and kissed there until she tugged sharply on his hair, cutting him off with a gasp.

“I don’t intend to be gentle with you,” she warned him, breathing heavily.

“I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

She smiled and dipped back down to kiss him. Contrary to what she’d just said to him, she was gentle. She knew what she wanted from a partner in bed, and emotionally investing in a fuck wasn’t exactly her style.

But this was a little different. This was Neil. She figured after a decade of history, he was entitled to a little bit of special treatment from her. But only a little.

Neil lifted her from the couch without warning and she broke the kiss, startling, legs tightening around his waist, frowning down at him in disapproval even as he put a hand on her back to steady her.

“You good?” he asked, pausing and suddenly looking concerned.

She huffed irritably, blowing hair from her eyes, “A little warning would be nice,” she grumbled.

He smirked at her, leaning in and kissing that spot on her neck he’d identified earlier, “I thought you liked living on the edge,” he teased.

She growled and squirmed slightly in his arms, “Get on with it, Neil,” she growled.

“You’re very bossy, you know,” he observed.

“I warned you.”

“I’m not complaining,” he said, evenly.

A lot of men did. She found it...Intriguing that he was so seemingly comfortable with all of this.

She draped her arms around his shoulders and leaned in, kissing her way up his neck, following the line of his jaw until she reached his ear. She dragged his earlobe between her teeth until he groaned then hissed in his ear, “Bedroom. Now.”

He laughed bt obliged, managing to kick the door shut behind them as she began unpicking the button’s on his shirt. A surgeon’s delicacy came in handy in all sorts of other places in life, she’d found.

She studied him with an appraising gaze, eyes lingering on the tattoo on his neck and chest, fingers tracing delicately over it as she’d fantasised about previously. Then she found herself pressed up against the nearest wall, his lips on hers, earning a soft, approving growl in the back of her throat.

“Was that too-” he began, drawing away a second.

“I don’t want to be made love to, Neil,” she hissed, sliding her knee between his thighs and pressing herself against him, “I want to be fucked.”

He shivered slightly, and she revelled in that, pulling him against her. Cocking an eyebrow she started slowly picking apart the buttons on her own shirt, wondering how long it would take him to intervene and speed up the process. She was wagering by four buttons. He made it two.

His fingers were deft and practiced as he slid her shirt off of her shoulders and dropped it onto the floor at their feet to pool beside his own. He took his own time studying her, eyes trailing up and down her body, a look in his eyes that suggested he was planning something filthy to do with every inch of it.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured absently.

She startled him by laughing, “We’re not in high school, Neil, you don’t have to butter me up with empty compliments.”

“I meant it,” he breathed, with such sincerity that she shivered.

He was so earnest, so genuine, so eager to please. She was going to wreck him.

“Then prove it,” she breathed.

He put his hands underneath her and lifted her into his arms again but hesitated briefly, “You good?” he asked again, but there was a slight note of teasing in his voice.

“I’d be a lot better if you got on with it,” she said pointedly.

He carried her towards the bed, but she stopped him, suddenly frowning slightly. “Are you?”

A broad smile spread across his face before he covered it with another kiss, “Never better.”

He lowered her down gently onto the bed and then moved over her. He dipped down to kiss her again but she stopped him with a hand on his chest.

“I don’t intend to work under you here, either,” she said pointedly.

He smiled and nodded before relaxing and rolling obligingly onto his back. Damn, if she’d known he was going to be this eager to please she’d have fucked him years ago. And kept on fucking him for that matter.

She straddled him and ran her hands down his chest, stopping at the waistband of his trousers and starting to work them open, but he caught her wrists gently in his fingers, eyebrows raised.

“Don’t I get to have a little fun with you first before we dive in to you fucking me senseless?”

Well, at least he was prepared.

“What did you have in mind?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

In answer he coaxed her out of her trousers, leaving her in nothing but her underwear then tugged her further up the bed towards the headboard. She settled in front of him and watched him idly run his fingers over the front of her underwear, brushing suggestively over her in a way that made a muscle feather in her jaw.

“Neil,” she growled.

He laughed again, “So impatient,” he teased, “You’re a surgeon, Aud, you’re supposed to be able to maintain your focus and control even under the most testing of circumstances,” his fingers deftly nudged her underwear aside, pressing against hot, slick flesh and she hissed sharply.

“We’re not in the OR right now,” she reminded him, “But if you want I’ll go get a scalpel.”

“I want you out of these,” he breathed, tugging suggestively at the scrap of fabric between them, “And in my mouth.”

She actually groaned softly at that prospect. Lifting herself up she helped him tug off the last of her clothes then hovered over him, one hand braced on the wall behind him for leverage.

“Are you sure about this?” she asked, a little breathless.

In answer, he pulled her down onto his tongue.

She gasped softly, anchoring herself with one hand on the sturdy wooden headboard. At this rate, they were going to find out exactly how sturdy it was.

She let her eyes slip closed and rocked her hips against his mouth. He had definitely done this before, and she was glad she’d let him. She hadn’t needed it, not with ten years of friction and anticipation along with their rather intense session on the couch. But she wasn’t going to dissuade him from focusing all of his attention on her if that was what he wanted. It would’ve been rude.

With a soft hiss, she threaded her fingers through his hair and tugged gently, guiding him to exactly where she needed him. He was good, but he was unfamiliar with her body. Anyway, she liked steering.

She caught his eye as she shifted him into a better position and didn’t miss the twinkle of amusement in them that clearly said: You’re bossy.

She raised her eyebrows in a challenge and he smirked against her, giving her exactly what she needed.

His eager obedience said enough: I like it.

Her back arched as he finally found the right rhythm and she gave his hair a short, sharp tug of approval which earned her a faint groan. If he was expecting shrieks of delight and repeated exclamations of his greatness in return he was going to be disappointed.

She was rarely vocal in bed - unless it was to give instruction, but he seemed to be doing just fine with the little guidance she’d already provided.

Neil didn’t seem to have expected anything else, and read her reactions eagerly in the changes of her breathing. Once she was panting, rocking into every movement of his mouth, nails scraping at his scalp, he knew she was close, and he didn’t disappoint.

“Don’t stop,” she snarled, holding him in place, even as she felt herself coming against his mouth. “Don’t stop.”

Mercifully he did as he was told, licking and sucking at her through her orgasm, tipping her into a second which finally coaxed a soft, hoarse, “Fuck,” from her.

Trembling, eyes still closed, she allowed Neil to place his hands on either side of her waist and help lower her back down over him, straddling his waist again.

Once she had control of her body again she dipped down and kissed him, tasting herself on his tongue.

“Not bad,” she said, grinning and breathing heavily.

He smirked back, one hand behind his head, the other rubbing slowly up and down her spine, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

She leaned down and kissed him again, “You have too many clothes on,” she grunted, pushing the last of his clothes from between them.

He didn’t object, and settled back down comfortably in place beneath her, eyes drinking her in like she was a particularly fine bottle of bourbon.

“Do you have-” she began.

“Top drawer.”

She leaned over, feeling him brace his hands instinctively on either side of her waist to stop her tumbling from the bed. She came up victorious, condom in hand, and tore the wrapper off with her teeth before easing it down onto him, enjoying the soft, hissing intake of breath it prompted.

“I hope you have as much self-control in bed as you do in the OR,” she purred lightly, sinking down onto him and enjoying the way he arched into her before she pushed him back down onto his bed. “Because I’m not nearly done with you yet.”

“I think I can manage,” he said, his muscles tight, but his expression composed. For now. “Can you?”

She grinned at him, “Just try to keep up.”

He did. Mostly. He held onto her hips so hard she felt sure she’d have bruises, and gasped her name so often it started to sound like a prayer. But she came again, after dragging his hand in between her legs with a short, brusque command, and allowed him to follow just behind.

She slumped forwards, panting, head braced on his heaving chest, back bowed, eyes closed, breathing in the scents of sweat and sex that mingled in the air. Her body trembled, and she made a soft sound of pleasure in the back of her throat as he gently dragged his fingers up and down her spine.

Finally, she pushed herself off of him and collapsed down onto the sheets next to him, breathing hard, pushing her sweaty hair from her eyes.

She glanced to her right and found him watching her, eyes twinkling.

“Did we really just do that?” she said, staring up at the ceiling, pleasure still quivering through her.

“I think we did,” he said, sounding entirely too pleased with himself.

She’d have whacked that smug smile off his face with a pillow, but she felt too boneless and satisfied to expend that much effort right now.

“God we are such a cliche right now,” she said, shaking her head in mock-disgust, “Friends for a decade, then we get drunk and screw each other. We’re setting a terrible standard that men and women can’t just be friends with each other.”

“I’m going to be honest with you, I’m not that bothered right now,” he said.

She laughed a little breathlessly, “No, me neither,” she admitted, still grinning like an idiot.

“Besides,” he said, reaching over and stroking her shoulder, “We’ve always been more than friends.”

“Coworkers?” she ventured slyly, knowing damn well that wasn’t what he meant.

“Family,” he said sincerely, then grimaced as he clocked the look on her face.

“Nice sentiment,” she said, managing to prop herself up on an elbow to face him, “Terrible word choice under the circumstances.”

He shut her up with another kiss, which she melted into, still smirking. “You know what I meant,” he said as he drew away.

She drew in a deep breath and nodded, “Sure did.” She cocked her head slightly, smiling, “Are you this corny with all the people you fuck, or do you reserve it for family?” she said, laying a mocking emphasis on the last word that caused him to throw a pillow at her face in retribution.

She tossed it back at him, laughing. Then hauled herself up into a more dignified sitting position. “Are you good?” she asked, frowning slightly as she peered down at him, “I know I can be a little-”

He took her hand and squeezed, quieting her, “I’m good,” he reassured her, that sincere warmth in his voice again, “We’re good.”

“Good,” she said, nodding slightly. Then she took a deep breath and said, “I guess I should get going then.”

“What?” he said, looking taken aback, “Audrey, we’re not in college - I’m not kicking you out two minutes after we come,” he said, looking at her as though she’d gone mad.

“You sure?” she said, not wanting him to build up any false expectations here, “I’m not exactly the ‘stay over and eat breakfast together in the morning’ kind of woman.”

“Did I fuck your brains out so much you’ve forgotten how long I’ve known you?” he demanded, causing her to roll her eyes.

“Cute.”

“I just mean,” he said, smiling and reaching for her hand, threading their fingers together to stop her pulling away, “That I’ve known you a while, and I figure I know what kind of woman you are by now.” She stared down at him and he smiled gently and said, “Stay. And sleep. That’s it. If for no other reason than to avoid taking another cab.”

“You do know me,” she grumbled, flopping back down beside him and pressing a lazy kiss to his lips. “Fine,” she said at last, “But I’m not spooning you.” He snorted with laughter. “And I sleep on this side of the bed,” she added firmly.

“Okay. Is that all? Or do you have a full terms and conditions package you need me to sign first?”

She threw her pillow at him and he wisely let it hit the stupidly large, smug grin on his face.

“Yes, I do,” she said, tartly, “It says ‘stop being an asshole’.”

He laughed again as she prised herself reluctantly from the inviting warmth and softness of the bed.

“Where are you going?” he demanded, pushing himself into a sitting position.

“For a shower, relax,” she replied, snatching up his shirt and draping it around her shoulders as she padded for the door.

She had just opened it when she heard him shift behind her, as she knew he would.

“Would you like an assist?” he asked quietly, stepping up behind her and sliding his arms around her waist, nuzzling gently at her neck.

“I would never say no to a second pair of hands.”

He grinned and she slipped her hand into his and tugged him out after her.

*************************************

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