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otomiyaa · 7 months

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From 🐺 To 🐶

Wriothesley x Lyney

A/N: This was such a joy to write. Special thanks to @lovelynim for the inspiration (this fic is a huge mashup of multiple loose ideas she had), and to @ticklygiggles for proofreading and motivating me with her enthusiasm.

Summary: Wriothesley has done it. He pissed Lyney off for being too rough. After a chilly silent treatment, Lyney gives him the chance to make amends. (Also on AO3)

Note: They have no canon ages in Genshin but in this fic they are both adults (Lyney young adult, Wriothesley some years older).

Word Count: 4K

Ah, wasn’t it just marvelous? That sweet, hysterical laughter. Those cute and rosy cheeks. The way he writhed and squirmed. Wriothesley only needed one hand to pin his boyfriend’s arms firmly above his head, and one hand to tickle him.

His fingers were long enough to touch multiple sensitive places all at once. And boy, Lyney was ticklish. What a delight.

“WRAHah-Wrioahaaha! Nohoho- ahahaha !” Lyney’s lovely sounds didn’t go wasted. Wriothesley embraced them, drank them like they were the finest tea.

Still holding Lyney’s arms firmly and pinning his legs with just his weight, straddling him effectively, Wriothesley spidered his fingers mercilessly all over Lyney’s small torso, digging into his sides and tummy and eliciting the most hysterical bouts of laughter.

“WAHAHah! Nohoh-ohohow stahahahp!” He had him right where he wanted. When he tickled Lyney’s armpit and realized he wasn’t going anywhere no matter what he tried, he released his arms and tickled his other armpit as well, digging his fingers under there to find the hidden treasure.

“And that activates the laughter,” Wriothesley commented dryly as if Lyney hadn’t been laughing all along.

“AHAHAHH! Wahahait- NAHA -” Lyney jolted and arched his back, helpless to Wriothesley’s merciless tickle attack.

“Plea-ahaha nohoho! I cahahan’t breheheathe!” Wriothesley only nodded in response. When he clawed up and down Lyney’s ribs, the hysterical laughter dissolved into the cutest pitchy shrieks and squeals.

“AAAaahhh! Nohohoooo staahhaap!” Just a little more… He dug his fingers into Lyney’s torso again, his fingers wiggling mercilessly and -

“AHAH Wrioehehehe - IT HURTS !” Wriothesley froze, his hands stopping their assault on Lyney abruptly, and he looked at his face. He looked - ahem. Cute, erotic, but also… Angry. His face was flushed, tears were sparkling in his eyes, and his brows were furrowed.

“Finally - you - stopped. Wriothesley.”

Wriothesley leaned back and looked at him in surprise. “Did I go too far? Did it tickle too much?” he asked. Lyney weakly moved up and gasped for air. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

“Don’t talk to me,” he said before getting up on shaking legs and walking away. Wriothesley watched him go. Oh no. He always playfully tickled Lyney and he would never be this angry?

“Lyney come on, I was just playing,” he said, following after him and placing a hand on his shoulder, turning him around. To his surprise, Lyney suddenly took his own shirt and lifted it, almost as if he was flashing him to seduce him, but it was to make a point.

“Just playing? Do you see this? I’ve been asking you to stop all this time, and yet you went on. You’re always too rough and I've had it!”

Wriothesley saw the red marks on Lyney’s delicate skin and he shook his head.

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t realize - “ Lyney then showed him his arms, all red as well.

“Did I do that?” Wriothesley asked, perplexed, and he remembered pinning those arms down... Was it that rough? Lyney rolled his eyes and let out a frustrated grunt.

“Did you do that? Gee, I wonder who else has been pinning my arms and violated my whole body like I’m some sort of toy without feelings. It’s a miracle you didn’t crush me, Wrio. And you don’t listen so… Just leave me alone.”

Ouch.

Lyney went into the bathroom and before Wriothesley could say something, the door closed with a loud slam.

Oh no. He looked at his own hand and clenched it into a fist. Was he really that rough? He didn’t mean to hurt him. Of course he didn’t. It was just some playful tickling he thought. He was making Lyney laugh, he thought. They were having fun, he thought. Damn, he really hated himself for hurting the person he held so dear.

He waited until he heard the shower running and decided to put some effort into making up with Lyney. He rummaged into his storage and found some of the best and most valuable teas he had been saving for special moments. Well, this was a special moment… He needed Lyney to forgive him.

While Lyney showered, Wriothesley prepared the best quality tea for him, and put it on a tray together with a plate of Lyney’s favorite biscuits and some grapes.

When Lyney came out of the bathroom, dressed in one of Wriothesley’s oversized shirts - throb - Wriothesley gulped and quickly got up.

“Lyney, I’m so sorry. I made you some tea, it’s really good tea and should be a comfort to your eh, throat,” he said guiltily, realizing that Lyney must probably not only have a sore body, but a sore throat as well.

Lyney sat down on the couch and side-eyed him. He didn’t say a word, but judging from his attitude, he would accept the tea.

“Here,” Wriothesley said, handing him a cup. He was relieved when Lyney indeed accepted it and brought it to his lips. Wriothesley sat down next to him and waited awkwardly for him to drink it.

“Too bitter.”

Eh?! After just one taste, Lyney put down the tea and without even grabbing one of the biscuits, he got up again.

“Lyney wait,” he reacted, but Lyney shrugged and went to the bedroom. He closed the door behind him before Wriothesley could say anything. Argh. Wriothesley stared at the tea, then took it and gave it a taste.

It was fine, but… Ah right. He sighed. It was fine for him. Lyney liked his tea sweet. This was anything but sweet.

Wriothesley couldn’t believe he was ruining their weekend together. It wasn’t often that Lyney did not have performances to work on, and Wriothesley was busy with work almost 24/7.

Finally they were together for the whole weekend and he managed to piss Lyney off like this. Wonderful. At this rate, he was going to leave him. Wriothesley stared at his bedroom door and sighed. Well, he had work to do.

He gave it a second attempt. Lyney only deserved the bestest, sweetest tea in all of Teyvat. So Wriothesley again looked through his collection and found a tea kind from Mondstadt, made with Calla Lily which was known to not only be bitter but also sweet. If perfected with sugar and honey, it had to be to Lyney’s liking. While preparing the tea, Wriothesley started to realize how little he knew of Lyney’s preferences.

Or well, he did know about them, but how little he actually took them into consideration. Maybe that was how he ended up tickling Lyney until he was angry like this. To him, tickling was just some playful roughhousing, and maybe he didn’t know his own strength either... Oof, bad boyfriend behavior. He had to make it up to him.

“Hmm,” Wriothesley hummed, and he tasted the tea first. Oof, very sweet. He wasn’t a fan, but he was sure Lyney would like it. Satisfied, he knocked on the door and waited.

“Lyney, please. I remade the tea, can I come in?” It was his own bedroom, but right now Lyney was inside, so he had to be the gentleman he usually wasn’t…

“Fine,” Lyney said on the other side, so Wriothesley was glad to enter and found him on his bed, reading the book Aether had gotten him recently from Liyue.

Wriothesley put down the tray and gave him the tea. Lyney tasted it, and without a word, continued to drink.

“Is it good?” Wriothesley asked. Lyney nodded quietly.

“A-alright…” Wriothesley wasn’t sure what else to say or do. Maybe Lyney really wanted to be left alone now…

“Well, is there anything else I can get you?” Lyney shook his head. Oh.

“I see. Should I leave you alone?”

Lyney nodded again. Ah, that stung!

“Okay, I understand. Let me know if you need anything…” Wriothesley literally felt like a kicked dog as he left the bedroom again. Lyney liked the tea, which was good. But he was still angry. Surely he should’ve known a cup of nice tea wouldn’t make things magically better again.

So, he went out. By himself. Only to grant Lyney the time and space he needed, and of course, to visit some shops and buy some nice things to spoil him with. He found a cute plushie of a black cat and purchased it, then in the next store he also got Lyney a new mug, and a bag of sweets.

With these bags, he returned home. It was silent and Lyney couldn’t be seen, so without knocking he rushed into the bedroom, afraid that Lyney had already left.

“Ly- oh,” Wriothesley said, watching in surprise how Lyney was half naked. Lyney was just taking off his shirt, showing that sweet lovely skin Wriothesley loved to touch and tickle so much and - no! Bad Wriothesley!

“I’m sorry,” he apologized quickly, and he put down the bags.

“Are you going somewhere?” he asked. Lyney gave him a look. Oof, was he still that angry?!

“Some fresh air will do me good,” Lyney said. How mean. After Wriothesley just went out by himself. He sighed. Well, it wasn’t as if he invited Lyney to come with him…

“I got you something,” Wriothesley said, and he took the plushie out. It was wrapped in the prettiest wrapping paper, and he handed the gift to Lyney. Lyney stared at it.

“I don’t want it.”

Wriothesley almost fell backwards. “What do you mean?” he asked.

Lyney rolled his eyes. “I don’t want it. It’s not my birthday.” He continued dressing himself, and Wriothesley quickly got the other gifts out.

“I got you these too.” Like he feared, Lyney only eyed the gifts but didn’t bother unwrapping them.

“Nice. We can save them for my birthday.”

Wha-! Wriothesley dropped the bags and grabbed Lyney’s shoulders.

“Lyney, stop being like this. I didn’t mean to hurt you, I said I was sorry right? What else do you want me to do? How will you forgive me?”

Wriothesley asked. Lyney only stared back at him.

“I’ll do anything,” Wriothesley insisted. Ah, now there was some response. Lyney raised an eyebrow.

“Anything…?” he asked.

Wriothesley nodded. “Anything. Whatever you want,” he confirmed. Lyney hummed.

“So… If I say: I want you to let me tickle you, you will do it?”

Ah, it was still about tickling? Wriothesley nodded. “Of course!” If it was still about tickling, he should’ve just gone ahead and told Lyney he could tickle him back, if that was all he wanted! Stupid of him to not even think of that!

“For as long as I want to?” Lyney asked. Wriothesley nodded again.

“Sure!” It wasn’t as if he was super ticklish or anything. Lyney could tickle him however he pleased for as long as he liked.

“Good. I will teach you the difference between your technique and mine,” Lyney said. So, he was going to tickle him softly, was that it?

“Of course, go ahead!” Lyney appeared a little surprised that he agreed just like that. Perhaps a ticklish person like Lyney couldn’t comprehend that someone would submit so easily to a tickle torture on voluntary basis.

“Good. Then we will do it now.”

“Right now, wonderful. What do you want me to do, should I undress?” Wriothesley asked eagerly, relieved that this would also stop Lyney from leaving.

“Just your jacket,” Lyney commanded, so Wriothesley took off his jacket.

“And your pants,” Lyney added. Wriothesley had to fight the perverted thoughts coming in as he stripped while Lyney still gave him this cold stare. When he was just in his T-shirt and underwear, Wriothesley stood in front of him and spread his arms.

"All yours, baby,” he said jokingly. Lyney still hadn’t melted his ice, and he simply gestured that Wriothesley should move to the bed. So he climbed on his bed and went to lie down on his back.

“Like this?” he asked. Without answering, Lyney climbed on top of him and eventually straddled him.

“Hmhm. Comfortable?” Lyney asked, staring down at him. Even when angry, he was so considerate. Wriothesley only started to feel worse about treating Lyney so roughly…

“Yes, I’m fi-” Before Wriothesley could finish his answer, Lyney reached out and without warning scribbled his fingers against Wriothesley’s lower stomach.

“Hohaha,” Wriothesley let out a strange sound as the ticklish sensation surprised him. Lyney repeated the soft tickle, his fingertips fluttering against his abdomen. Despite wearing his shirt, he could feel the tingly sensations right through it, and he shuddered.

“Ohohoh w-we’re hehe stahaharting ahahalready hmhmhm?” he chuckled, surprised that he already felt the urge to laugh while Lyney barely used any pressure.

“Yes, so hold still,” Lyney said, using his other hand to wiggle his fingers against his side. Just softly, without digging in too much, but enough to tickle.

“Hnghh yehehes o-of couhourse,” Wriothesley giggled. How silly. The reflex to move his arms was really there already, but he didn’t want to be in Lyney’s way. Lyney’s touch was so soft and delicate, like Lyney himself. It suited him. His fingers scratched very softly, rubbing circles against Wriothesley’s sides and tummy and causing him to let out a stream of giggles he had preferred to hold back.

“Hehehehe ahahalright y-you’re quihiihite good ahaaht thiihis,” he laughed to encourage Lyney. It felt quite ticklish, but he wouldn’t call it torture. More like a massage that made him laugh. It actually felt pleasant.

“Ahhhahah!” Wriothesley jumped when Lyney’s fingers moved under his shirt. It felt entirely different to have those soft tickles on his bare skin, and he began to squirm.

“A-ahahare you ehehenjoying yoursehehelf?” he asked Lyney, but he didn’t get a response. Lyney’s fingers tickled their way up his ribs and paid thorough attention to them, scribbling and fluttering as if Wriothesley’s ribs were the magician’s new musical instrument. They then traveled to his bare tummy and spidered lightly, causing Wriothesley to jump a second time and - oops.

“Wrio?” Lyney asked in a warning tone when Wriothesley had grabbed Lyney’s wrist.

“Hehehe reflex, sorry about that,” Wriothesley giggled, and he put his arms back beside himself. He hesitated and then raised them above his head.

“I’ll - I’ll put them like this,” he said, and Lyney eyed him coldly.

“Good.” Wriothesley braced himself for the continuation of the tummy tickles, only for Lyney to suddenly reach for his exposed and vulnerable armpits.

“HYAh!” Wriothesley let out the most embarrassing sound and moved his arms down in an instant.

“It can’t tickle you this much, move your arms. I remember you telling me you’re not that ticklish at all, so it shouldn't be hard to keep your arms up,” Lyney said, wiggling his fingers gently against Wriothesley’s armpits despite his desperate attempts to defend them.

“Ahahaha I’m nohohot uhuhused to thihis!” Wriothesley laughed. He could remember it too; him telling Lyney confidently that he could try and tickle him back but that it would be no use, since he was not that ticklish. He then proceeded to tickle poor Lyney to tears. One of the many times… To think that Lyney put up with his apparent rough and ruthless tickle attacks for so long, and here Wriothesley was, already squirming and wriggling because of this very soft and gentle tickle session.

“Are you really going to keep moving your arms? I can’t tickle you properly,” Lyney complained when Wriothesley again moved his arms to cover up his most sensitive areas.

“If you can’t keep your hands away, I’m afraid I’ll have to use this.”

Wriothesley heard a familiar sound, and the next second he saw his very own handcuffs being twirled around by Lyney. He was sure he carried those handcuffs on him earlier as he went out, kind of a habit even on his day off. When did he…?

“Did you forget your boyfriend is a magician?” Lyney asked, judging the confused look on Wriothesley’s face.

“No I… I’m sorry.”

“Will you keep your hands out of the way, or do we cuff them?” Lyney proposed. Wriothesley shook his head.

“I’ll keep them out of the way. AHh-hehehe!” He was immediately laughing again and his hands shot forward to catch Lyney’s fingers that had tickled his hips all of a sudden.

“Y-you caught me off-guard!” Wriothesley whined, but Lyney shook his head and took the cuffs in his hands. He lifted himself off Wriothesley and flipped him over on his stomach. Just like that!

“We will do it like this,” he said, cuffing Wriothesley’s hands behind his back. Wriothesley wasn’t protesting but… he was also still processing the fact that Lyney was tying him up. He was going to tickle him while in a helpless state.

“That’s… Unfair. I never cuffed your hands when tickling you,” he tried to reason calmly.

“Did you ever need to? Besides, what’s so bad about handcuffs? I know how to free myself from them. I’m sure you can do it as well, no need to be a magician for that, not-so-ticklish Mr. Wriothesley,” Lyney lectured. Eep. Wriothesley blushed for getting himself into this position, and he wondered how he was going to endure this. His confidence had kind of faded...

He waited for Lyney to turn him back around, only to suddenly feel an unbearable ticklish sensation on his sides as Lyney had wriggled his fingers there so he could brush against his bare sides and tummy from behind.

“Nahhah! Hehehe-” Wriothesley laughed. Maybe this position was a blessing. He was anything but cool right now and wouldn’t want to face Lyney like this!

“Does that tickle?” Lyney teased.

“Yehehes! It does- hahahaa!” Wriothesley felt his laughter increase and increase even more, especially when Lyney’s fingers climbed back up his ribs again. He squirmed and struggled, but with his hands tied behind his back, he really was more helpless than he had ever been before.

And with those ticklish sensations intensifying…

“Lyehehe-Lyney! I’m reheheally sohohorry!” he apologized through uncontrollable giggles.

“Are you now?” Lyney sang. His fingers arrived at his armpits again and managed to find those sweet spots that made Wriothesley jump. He felt Lyney bounce on top of him, still straddling him, and more laughs and cackles left his lips.

“Eeehehehee! Dahahaamnh!” He wriggled from side to side. That tickled so bad! And still all this time, Lyney was only using minimal pressure. After tickling his armpits until Wriothesley’s voice got even louder, Lyney’s light tickles moved towards his neck. It was a spot Wriothesley hadn’t even tried on Lyney before since he’d just squeeze and claw at Lyney’s slender torso until he cackled, but he realized the neck could be rather sensitive with how much he was laughing and writhing.

“Nohohot thehehere!” he whined, moving his head from side to side. It was such a vulnerable spot, and Lyney skilfully trailed his fingers against the skin of his neck, under his chin, even his ears. Why did it tickle so much!

“Not here, really? Is this the spot?” he heard Lyney ask. Before he could process what happened, Lyney managed to flip him over on his back again with surprising strength for a guy so small. And finally Wriothesley could see his face again and… He was relieved to see him smile. He no longer had the cold aura around him. The look in his eyes was as soft and tender as his tickles were, and Wriothesley couldn’t help but blush and feel shy under his judging gaze all of a sudden.

“Plehehease,” he whined when Lyney’s fingers scribbled randomly at any spot they could find under his shirt. He arched his back and gasped.

“Please what?” Lyney asked, probably thinking he was going to beg him to stop the tickling.

“Kihihiss me,” Wriothesley giggled instead. He was so in need of that affection after seeing Lyney angry. Lyney smiled and leaned in.

“Ask again,” he said with a smirk, his fingers finding a really sensitive spot right at his waist and tickling it very softly with his nails.

“HNghehehhe! Kiss me,” Wriothesley moaned softly. Lyney finally closed the final distance between them and kissed him. Their lips moved together while Lyney’s fingers continued to explore the most sensitive places on his body. Which was... anywhere actually, Wriothesley learned. From his tummy to his sides, and he even moved his hands further and found a really sensitive spot on his lower back that made Wriothesley shudder when it was tickled with quick and soft little scribbles.

“AHhhaha not thehehere!” he laughed again, but Lyney shut him up with another kiss. Damn! Wriothesley’s entire body was on fire as he moaned, his giggles muffled while Lyney continued to kiss him more passionately.

They kissed and kissed, he laughed and giggled, and all of a sudden he heard a click. His hands were released from the handcuffs. He had no idea how his magical boyfriend did that so smoothly without him noticing, but he wasn’t going to ask.

Satisfied with his freedom, he immediately wrapped Lyney into his arms and kissed him as if his life depended on it. However even while kissing, he now remembered: soft. He didn’t need to pin him down or squeeze him firmly, or kiss him without a break until he couldn’t breathe. He shouldn’t hold him too tightly, he shouldn't do anything that might hurt him. He could take it slow and easy, and he realized that was how Lyney enjoyed it the most.

With Lyney still on top of him, they made out, and finally when they pulled apart, Wriothesley asked, just to be on the same page: “Are you still angry?”

Lyney smiled. “I was never angry.”

Wriothesley frowned. “Hm? You were very angry.”

“Wasn’t. How else was I going to let you submit to this?” Lyney asked, demonstrating by tickling Wriothesley’s cheek and neck softly. Wriothesley responded with a sudden giggle and he twitched.

“Buhuhut…” Before he could ask, Lyney kissed him again.

“You forgot again. Your boyfriend is a magician, but also a performer. I know how to act.”

“Really?”

“Of course I was a little irritated. You tickled me so much until it did hurt a little, and I was also embarrassed. But everything else was just me making sure this would happen,” Lyney admitted, and he tickled Wriothesley again.

“I cahan’t believe y-you hehehe,” Wriothesley laughed, but he couldn’t help but hug him tightly again. He loved his boyfriend so much, and everyday he would still learn new things about him.

“So... About those gifts…” Lyney finally said, and he looked at the bags.

“May I still receive them? I’m curious what they are.”

Wriothesley chuckled and shook his head. “Of course. They’re all yours baby.” And he watched fondly how Lyney jumped off the bed and rushed towards the bags with adorable excitement. Yeah, never a dull day with a ticklish and sneaky cheeky magician Fatui as his boyfriend. But Wriothesley wouldn’t trade him for anyone else!

[Epilogue]

“Ahahahah! Wrioheheh-Wriothesleheheey! Nohoho!” Lyney couldn’t stop giggling as Wriothesley lightly tickled his stomach and sides.

Hugging his newly gifted cat plushie tight didn’t give him any protection. The plushie even happened to be a nuisance when Wriothesley’s fingers found his underarms and brushed gently against the spots. Embracing the plushie, it was hard to move his arms, and Lyney kicked as a reflex. Of course that didn’t affect his huge boyfriend in the slightest.

“Hehehehe not thehehere! I cahahan’t mohohove!”

It was the morning after a long and lustful night during their weekend together, and Lyney was currently facing Wriothesley’s wrath and revenge for tricking him the previous day. Well, it did result in something. He now tickled him with so much care, softness and tenderness. In a way it felt even more ticklish than ever. It felt better.

“Do you want me to stop? Just say the word.”

Ah, they had also officially introduced a safeword now: “Nehehever!” Alright, that wasn’t the actual safeword. No way would Lyney surrender now. But, the safeword was ‘jellyfish’. Just a random word they came up with together during their heated night together, but with the way Wriothesley was indulging him right now, Lyney doubted he should ever use it.

“Alright, then I’ll continue tickling you just as I please~”

Wriothesley sounded so happy and content that Lyney couldn’t help but feel that his little act really paid off. Just another improvement in his remarkable romance with the Lord of the Fortress of Meropide!

#genshin impact #wrioney #tickling #tickle fic #wriothesley #lyney #wriothesley x lyney #advice if you enjoyed this: look up [wrioney] on twitter #so much glorious fanart with them #I'm STUCK in the algorithm and happy there<3 #otomiya!writes #lee!lyney #lee!wriothesley #ler!lyney #ler!wriothesley

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moonshine-nightlight · 2 months

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NWWD: Divergent Revelations 2

Side story for NWWD, AU starting mid Chapter 23. Fanfic of my own story that asks: what if an honest conversation was had earlier? (spoiler: slow burn is much less slow)

During the fight with assassins, you and Dale are forced to confront the truth of what you each know about Dale's nature. How does the fight change to have this come about? How will the conversation about these revelations go when there's still more than a week before the wedding?

Main Story 'Nothing's Wrong with Dale': [Part One]

Status: Complete

AO3: NWWD: Divergent Revelations

[Part One] Part Two

You murmur as polite a ‘good night’ as you can to your maid before your door finally shuts, blocking out the rest of the Governor’s house, with all its people who can’t stop asking you question after question, hovering over you. Blessed silence fills your bed chamber. You lean back against that now shut door and try to breathe. Grandmother’s going to be alright, you remind yourself, no one seems to suspect Dale. He simply…hasn’t returned yet.

You tried to apologize to Grandfather for not anticipating that Dale would go after Two, but he’d waved off your ‘sorry’s with a worn, but sincere smile. His absolution was appreciated as was the way he seemed to have left all suspicion behind. Still you knew you’d not feel better until you saw Dale once again.

That’s holding true now. The waiting and hours you passed have been valiantly fought through with your highest caffeinated tea, but you were shuffled away to your private chambers after the last strike of the clock, though you can’t remember how many it was.

Nervous energy still buzzes through your veins, a heady mix of worry and adrenaline that makes you want to pace or hide or do something, anything useful. Instead, you walk over to your vanity where an array of candles is, their light reflected back and throughout the room. Aided by the full moon, your room is lit as well as it ever could be so deep into the night.

Halfheartedly, you pick at the bowl of nuts and dried fruit your maid had persuaded you to take with you. You itch to have those books of Dale’s Bilmont had snuck to you, but they’re all back in Northridge. Neither of you had wanted to alert Dale to your perusal nor risk being found with them by keeping them for days or traveling with them, but if you did have the books then maybe you could prepare to do something in case Dale was hurt in a manner that could not be treated by a doctor.

He’d come to you, right? If he needed help? It’s all out in the open now. What you both already knew but still had pretended not to. Although, as long as he could control himself, he should go to the trained physician. But what if someone else found him? What if this had all been a trick by Two to get Dale to go somewhere else where a trap lay in wait? What if Dale had won, but was injured and vulnerable out in the night somewhere? What if Two manages to possess Dale? What if—

You sit down heavily on your vanity chair, shaking your head to try to dissipate such dire thoughts. Dale had been winning the fight, had managed to drive Two off, and had seemed to have no true injuries when he went after them. Morning would come. Dale will have returned while you slept and he will be fine. He has to be.

You look into the mirror, past and behind yourself to the bed. Speaking of sleep, you’ve no idea how you’ll manage it tonight. You suppose you could brew some sleepy tea, but would that truly work when you still feel your anxiety and nerves as significantly as you do? With the effects of your caffeinated tea still going? Do you even want to sleep?

You know you should. It’s what you had told the others you would do. It's what you would have told yourself to do, if you were another person. It's the best course of action so you are well rested and ready to face tomorrow. Nothing good will come of worrying away the hours deeper into the night.

Yet you know yourself. You’ll not be able to manage it. Taking the tea would only leave you in a half-asleep state, constantly drifting off and waking from nightmares you’d not be able to tell from reality.

Not wanting to bother moving the candles from in front of the large mirror at your vanity, you instead go to your desk and bring over your journal with the magnifier. Setting them up, you turn to a fresh page. The most useful thing you can think to do is to write down everything you can remember the assassins said so as to better find who hired them. Given the layers of who can know what, you decide to write down the truth in your personal shorthand, knowing between your handwriting and the few changes you made, it’ll be nigh indecipherable to anyone but you. It should be the best way to keep the actual facts straight for yourself so you can discuss with Dale, or obfuscate with Grandfather and Grandmother. Most of what Two said will only make sense if you know what Dale is and you’ll not be the one to ruin the facade.

You concentrate on getting everything down while managing your flickering light. The sound of your door closing takes a second to register. The next second has you on your feet, your hand dropping your pen in favor of your busk knife. You whirl towards the door, heart hammering in your chest.

A dark figure, more outline than person given how far they are from the miniscule light, is all you can make out. For a split second, you’re convinced Two has come back for you, until another step closer finally allows you to distinguish, “Dale!”

You drop your hand to the table, body sagging in relief, both at the lack of threat and the confirmation he’s alive. “You frightened me half-to-death!”

“My apologies,” Dale replies, voice low and wary, but unmistakably his own.

You beckon him closer, needing a better look even if many of your fears are assuaged with his presence. “Are you alright? What happened?”

He comes more fully into your circle of light and you can see he has no obvious wounds, only a small bandage on his jaw. “I already spoke to Grandfather and the doctor.” You step closer as he speaks, hand drifting up to the bandage. “I’ve no serious injuries, only some bruisings and cuts. I caught up to Two and ensured they’ll do us no more harm.”

“Are you certain?” Your eyes search his form, noting his damaged jacket is nowhere to be seen. No blood stains or broken bones are obvious. Still, there could be damage under the surface, your eyes on his torso and then up to that single bandage. “The stonework was strong and Two was very adept at—”

“Yes, I am sure.” Dale catches your hand before you can touch him.

Heat rises to your cheeks at the reminder of your impropriety, which only mounts as you fully realize that Dale is alone with you, in your bedchambers, at night. No one to see him here. Complete privacy. You in your nightclothes and robe, he in only a shirt and trousers. “Good,” you manage before you attempt to clear your throat. What do demons care of human impropriety? Dale’s played along well enough, but he’s not beholden to such petty sensibilities. “I’m relieved.”

“Yes,” Dale murmurs, continuing to stare at you as if you might be the one who needs a physical. “You do truly appear to be.”

“What…?” You blink up at him confused. Some of your concern fades to frustration. You give him an incredulous look. “Of course, I am. It was a foolish thing to chase after Two into the night. Who knows what they might have done to you.” Did he think himself infallible? Or you too oblivious to notice the toll the fight took on him? “I’ve been worried.”

“Curious,” Dale says, tilting his head to the side. His eyes begin to glow. A third one pops open on his forehead. The shadows cast by your candles gutter. “I’ve never had a human express such concern over me. Not when they knew what I was.” He blinks and all his eyes focus on you. “Yet, you appear sincere.”

“Oh,” your voice is small, but you’ve no notion of how to respond, how to actually have this conversation.

“I was not sure what I would be returning to,” Dale confesses, his voice lower and quieter. Instinctively, you lean closer to hear him better. You hold your breath to see what else he might say, now that it appears you are finally addressing the elephant in the room. “Would you have told Grandfather and the Captain? Would they greet me only to catch me in a binding circle?”

“What?” Your stomach drops at the mere thought. “No, of course not.” Alarm rises with your nerves, that Dale might still worry of this outcome. As if he still thought it a possibility for you to have done so. Does he think so little of your regard for him? Has he not understood where you stand despite your attempts to make that clear? You turn your wrist in his grasp and he lets you, but seems surprised when you clasp it more securely in your own. “Dale, I’d never—I don’t plan on revealing you. I thought that’d be obvious.”

Dale looks down at your hand on his and just as you start to worry it had been the wrong move, he turns his own in your grasp to hold your hand in return. “I suppose that appears to be the case.” His gaze moves from your fingers to tentatively meet your gaze. “It does not illuminate why you would do such a thing.”

“I…” you struggle for how to articulate your thoughts. Somehow all your imagined conversations with Dale had been focused on him and his secrets, motivations, thoughts—not your own. “I am aware that perhaps my actions appear…unusual.” You do your best to rally your thoughts and Dale lets you, no haste or frustration in his stance or expression. That patience helps you say, “However, you’ve never acted in a manner that made me worry for my safety or the safety of others. You have not tried to do harm to those around us, physically or with the power you could wield as heir to Northridge.”

You stare down at your hand and his, unable to keep track of your thoughts when your eyes are locked on his. The flickering candlelight reflects strangely in his blue eyes that he looks more demonic than usual, but also more striking. You want him to think well of you, but you don’t want him to doubt your sincerity. “I’d not known the first Dale for very long. I think I’ve known you longer now. I confess, I had concerns about that Dale, prior to your arrival.”

You chance a glance up at him and see some surprise in his expression. You’re rather pleased to have been able to surprise him since he’s managed to do the same to you at so many turns. Hopefully, like you, he doesn’t find the surprise bad. “Human concerns, but significant ones. The worries I have for you are different, but less.”

“Truly?” Dale’s voice contains even more of the surprise you’d seen in his face earlier, but no doubt or disbelief. “How could a human, who has always been who he is, worry you more than a stranger in his body?”

“Lord Dale was…arrogant, entitled, and selfish,” you admit, remembering back to your first talk with him. You remember your first meeting with Grandfather and with the other prospects that came up. “And he was the best marriage offer I received.” You frown, trying to articulate why you’d taken a chance with that Dale, aware now that you’re relieved more than anything that he’d been replaced in the end. “I believed he would consider me to be… an extension of himself in a manner that would shield me from some of his faults, so long as I did not interfere with his goals. However, that is certainly not a stable place to begin a marriage, although I had considered it worth the risk at the time.”

“And myself?” Dale asks softly.

You smile to yourself because how often had you asked yourself the same thing: about him and about why he might tolerate you. “You were an unknown,” you say slowly, “in so many ways—I admit you still are. However, you’ve not shown that callous self-interest. You appear… interested in m—the thoughts of others, dutiful to Northridge in a manner I recognize in myself.” You’d been preparing to take up the mantle of Northridge’s care yourself. You’d liked the idea of such a challenge, to an extent. You were eager to prove yourself. To be the one in control of your life. But it would have been lonely and you would have had to juggle Dale’s own plans for the fief. You hadn’t thought there was a better option other than hoping perhaps the original Dale might come around. That isn’t your worry with this Dale.

You take a deep breath and look back up at him. “You did not have to stay and playact the role Dale handed you with his identity. You could have left with his body to strike out on your own.” You hate how much the thought fills you with true fear, not just trepidation or frustration as might have before you got to know this Dale. If he has been genuine with you, you would fear for him out in the world on his own. “I don’t know if you still might do so, but that is my worry, not that you’ll mismanage what you have. I simply feel there is more common ground between us than between myself and the original Dale.” You swallow, suddenly all too aware you’ve been speaking for what feels like ages on end without Dale saying a word. You reach with your free hand to brush some of your hair behind your ear. “That could all be wishful thinking on my side. We’ve not had many chances for honest conversation, excepting now, I suppose.”

Dale finally blinks and stares down at you in a sort of confusion that you hope is fond and not frustrated. “I did not know what to expect when I arrived on the surface,” he confesses slowly, “though I was relieved not to have to contest for autonomy. My recovery from the ordeal was when I knew I would be most vulnerable and thought I might be discovered, necessitating my departure.” His fingers tighten briefly around your own before a small smile spreads across his face. “Thank you again, for your aid.

“I was relieved to be able to stay. I’ve no plans to leave unless forced.” Dale looks past you briefly, to the candles and the mirror behind you. “I have spent my life searching for a stable territory—a home.” His eyes fix on yours once more. “I’ve not had much in the way of surviving family and so find myself inclined to appreciate Grandmother and Grandfather, particularly with Dale’s memories.” His eyes unfocus as if viewing those memories now.

You allow him some time and shortly Dale pulls himself out of those thoughts with a rueful shake of his head. “The memories are both outside of myself and of myself in a rather confusing manner. I’ve not the language or nuance to explain well, truth be told. All of Northridge feels as if it was waiting for me and I’d be a fool not to seize the opportunity. Even you,” he strokes his thumb across the back of your hand, sending a thrill through you, “a lovely mate, was here, like a delightful dream. I’ve not earned any of this,” Dale continues, looking a bit sheepish, a bit chagrined, and a bit like he’s expecting your judgment. “And yet, I’ve had enough ill fortune in my life not let a stroke of good pass me by.”

Your relief at hearing him say he plans to stay is only matched by your understanding. “Even with his flaws, Dale had appeared to be good luck to me at the time. Now, you seem to suit me far better as a partner. Strange as it is to say, I was sometimes more convinced there must be a trick about when I felt we understood each other. It seemed too fortunate.” You take another deep breath as you try to think of what words might solidify Dale’s decision to stay with you, to be with you. The memory of the way he’d said your name only hours ago, the layers of meaning he’d somehow communicated, gives you the strength to say, “For what it's worth, if you’ve been sincere and wish to stay, to be Dale of Northridge, then I’m happy you are here above any other.”

“I have,” Dale is quick to say, catching your other hand in his. He brings your hands in his together and up, dusting your knuckles with a kiss, “and I do. I feel the same.” Your breath catches in your throat. Your heart hammers in your chest due to the warmth and release of tension you feel because you believe him. That Dale might want this too, with you, is hardly more than you can conceive. You haven’t even had to convince and persuade and demonstrate the value of such an arrangement over months as you’d begun to plan for first Dale. Weeks of uncertainty melt away in the face of his straightforward words. You must be smiling like a fool, but you don’t care.

Dale tilts his head to the side, bemused. “Is that common, among human pairs, to understand each other so quickly? Is that why these strange methods are employed? I admit many aspects of human society elude me, including mating rituals.”

“Not all do, but that is the hope of most,” you reply, before leaning forward, unable to help your curiosity. “Wh—” You wince when the movement jars your back and Dale frowns. You absentmindedly pull your clothes away from your bruised back. “Apologies, I am still somewhat sore after this evening's events.”

Dale glances around before leading you over to your bed. “Let us sit.”

“You were the one who fought,” you protest weakly, but the image of Dale on your bed is very enticing. Since you still have your curtains open by the bed, the moonlight has the opportunity to lend strength to the blue-ness of his eyes. You still feel some of the echo of adrenaline brimming in your veins, but it has nowhere to go with the night so late and Dale finally within reach.

“And I am tired as well,” he agrees, giving a little tug to your hand before sitting down himself as if to be a good example.

You’re certain that’s true and you’ve no real objection. If anything the mild impropriety makes your stomach flutter excitedly. You carefully sit down beside him, arranging your robe as you do so with only one hand, not wanting to let go of Dale quite yet. He’s only just come back to you.

He turns, bringing his knee up onto the bed in order to face you better as you tuck yourself against the footboard for stability. Dale looks boyish in such a pose. With some of the excitement and fear out of the way, your conversation begins to remind you more of sneaking between dormitory rooms at school.

You try to bring your mind back to the conversation you were having instead of childish conversations and not so childish games. “How does courting work for your… society?”

Dale smiles, a little crooked, like he too finds your description of anything demonic as a ‘society’ amusing. “Truthfully, there are many varieties in how different demons approach such matters. Perhaps the original strange thing to me was how many humans approach it the same.”

“There is variety,” you consider, actually giving it some thought. So much of your life had built to where you were now, you’d not contemplated the process itself since you were a child. Primarily, fears about your ability to participate at all were what had dominated your thoughts then. “That variety tends to be geographic, however a culture evolved. This continent was once under the rule of a single large empire, before it fractured and so shares certain traits across country borders. The continent to the direct south is similar within itself. To the east across the Narrow Sea, there is still one empire. Only the more distant continents were never united—to my knowledge—and so I believe have a greater variety to their customs.”

“I see,” Dale nods. “The Depths is a very…scattered and varied place, physically and among demons themselves. No one group of any kind has ever controlled a large portion, not in the history I’m aware of. Still, there are trends among similar demons or those who live close to one another, customs that bleed into one another. The demons I am most familiar with either live in tight-knit clans and generally don’t mate outside of it or are solitary. Both consider time to become familiar with each other a critical component.”

You nod. “Many people who end up marrying have known each other all their lives, due to circumstances, or because they were neighbors, or because their parents decided years ago to link their families and lands.” Pivoting since you’re not sure demons have nobility, you continue, “According to those I know who aren’t nobility, that’s also far more common among the common people. Nobility enjoys overthinking, or at least that’s what my father says. A lot of marriage decision making is based on utility, alliances, and finances—not to mention tradition and honor. Tolerance of one's spouse is the expectation with companionship over time. Partnership or true affection as an ideal to hope for. Although, it is custom to play at appearing happily situated, regardless of one's internal feelings on the matter.”

“Surely you had more options than Dale,” the demon with his name protests, as if he’d been meaning to make the argument since you first mentioned such a thing and could no longer contain himself. “Sometimes his thoughts or memories—impressions of people or situations—occur to me. I admit I dislike many of them. I disagree with many of them.”

You’d known this was part of how demonic possession worked but it was still strange to hear of. “I’m certain his of me were not flattering nor were there many of them—one of the few commonalities we had was likely our rather poor opinion of each other,” you confess. “I doubt he suspected my true feelings. He agreed to marry me because he needed to in order to inherit, because I seemed amenable to his influence. Not to mention because I came with a larger than is typical dowry for a fifth child. I’m sure he thought me generally acceptable, if a bit disappointing—he told me as much. However, that was his fault for letting rumors reach the ears of potential spouses or at least their parents.”

The way Dale tightens his lips, but doesn’t disagree confirms your suspicions. He gives a small huff before saying, “Yes, I can recall. He was quite frustrated with the reputation he’d found when he made his way back home. At the very least he wished he’d been able to marry before they spread. I think he’d underestimated how many would not want to be associated with demonic research. Not to mention the more dramatic tales of carousing he and his compatriots got up to on their tour.” He rolls his eyes as he continues to list reasons why Dale’s marriage prospects had diminished. “How many of them would pair off with each other as they did, and so on. He believed he could have turned his reputation around in order to have a spouse he saw as more…” Dale winces, clearly trying to find the least offensive word, before giving up, “worthy, but was aware such an endeavor would take time he did not want to spend.”

“Yes,” you acknowledge because isn’t that what you suspected all along? In some ways it's hard to care much about what the original Dale thought, not when he was dead, but you find you hate the idea of echoes of those thoughts sounding through this Dale’s head. You care about his opinion. You want him to think well of you. You push those fears aside to focus on the conversation you are having. “In that way, we were compatible. We did confirm what we expected from this marriage along with what was required for our engagement to be initiated. It's simply that those items of import were easily discovered on paper and with minimal interaction in person.”

“You were engaged before you met,” Dale says, shaking his head in either disbelief or disapproval. “Truly mystifying.”

“What sort of traits are valued in your courtships?” you ask, wanting to meet him where you could. Everything so far has been how humans do such things. You want him to feel comfortable with you and your relationship. You want a chance to show him Dale’s lingering thoughts shouldn’t matter to him. You can’t find more time to spend together with the wedding so close. You can’t change how you only met shortly ago, but hopefully there are other elements you could honor. “I would be happy to participate in any rituals I could, as we have fulfilled the majority of the human ones already.”

Dale blinks at you with such surprise you worry for a second that you might have just made a foolish offer. Since you were in fact referring to demonic rituals that was likely a given. No, you remind yourself, you trust Dale. Dale closes his mouth within a second or two, and admits, almost ruefully, “In truth, many such questions and information have already been answered. What would take demons time and trust to reveal, humanity seems more free with, particularly over these last few weeks of intensity and socializing. My parents courted for years but saw each other far less than we have over the course of that time.”

“What sorts of things?” you can’t help but press, eager for anything to work with.

“General compatibility,” Dale begins to list with a shrug, “socialization, familial connections, and expectations. The majority of courtship negotiations for my parents was spent on territory and fitness to defend said territory, with the others learned as that progressed.”

“If the ability to defend territory is a sought after quality,” you say, wanting to fidget out of self-consciousness and holding still out of sheer self-determination, “I must be sorely lacking as a candidate.”

Dale immediately shakes his head. “No, it is a balance. I trained to fight and defend. It is a skill I can bring, not one that I expected any partner to possess. I would not have refused such a mate, but I hadn’t been seeking one out either. The terms of survival are different on the Surface.”

He leans back, bracing himself on one hand as he frowns in concentration. You resist the urge to lean after him, to maintain any closeness you’ve gained. He looks so distant in the moonlight, foreign with his demonic eyes on full display—there are two more than before—and with shadows moving as if in a gentle breeze around him. “My parent had staked out a large territory in alliance with another demon, who died soon before they met my mother. They were initially very hostile to the others settling nearby, including her. She managed to negotiate with them for her smaller spot and slowly they came to see they would enjoy being together. Since my parent had a lot of territory, my mother had to prove her worth as a defender. Even my parent had to prove their territory borders were sustainable with all the new interlopers.”

You try to even picture such an existence. It seems so solitary. You had often felt lonely as a child, and even after, but there were always people around, you simply didn’t have any connections with them. You weren’t actually alone. Perhaps you are missing something. “And it was just them?”

“Yes,” Dale replies, eyes softening as if he could hear your true question. “Shades are generally solitary and while my mother came from a clan, she preferred solitude as well. That was one reason for her departure.”

“And you’re a shade?” He certainly seems to be one, given his facility with shadows. Had he spent so much of his life in similar solitude? “The past few weeks of gatherings must have been overwhelming for you.” He’d not seemed to be. However, perhaps he was a better actor than you’ve given him credit for. He was coming from such a different place of experience.

Dale shook his head. “I’m only part-shade and even so, I’ve always enjoyed being around others. I’ve been to the Surface before and know how close you all tend to live.” It was so odd to hear him acknowledge all this out loud, to hear him say “you all” and know he meant “humans”. That he wasn’t included with them. “Even in the Depths I traveled, as many young demons do before they settle on their own territory. I have worked with others and even temporarily joined a handful of clans. Nothing ever fit or stuck. My first time on the Surface, as chaotic and overwhelming and confusing as it was, felt right. After one final attempt in the Depths to find a place to suit me failed, I knew what I wanted was up here.”

You want to ask for every detail, for every nuance and failed alliance he alludes to. At the same time, you don’t want to scare him off, by asking for more than he feels comfortable revealing. If you’ve already rushed the timing, you don’t want to push even more, not at the risk of driving him away. You want to hold this new honesty with both hands and protect it. You want to never let it go. In the end, you settle on a sincere, but generic, “I confess, the tales of the Depths make it sound fearsome,” in the hopes that he’ll tell more if he wished, but would not feel pressured if he did not.

“It is.” Dale has closed all of his eyes, clearly remembering. “It is lonely and dangerous.” He blinks open his eyes and they’re glowing once more, enhanced by the strong moonlight that falls on his face. “There are dangers here too, but so many more opportunities and ways of living. Not merely survival.”

You shake your head. “I’ve no notion of such a life. I’m pleased you are here and that we can offer you that.” Today has more than proven that Dale can defend himself and that you are certainly winning no accolades in such an arena, and yet you feel protective of him. You want to shield him from the harsh life he clearly led before this, fighting for so much of his life. You want to make a home where he can rest and enjoy life.

“Thank you,” Dale smiles, as if your simple words mean something to him. “I admit I’d been prejudiced against informing you of my true nature due to past experience.”

He said he had been on the Surface before. You recall his trepidation, his fear as you now recognize it, both in the aftermath of the destroyed study and even when he first was in your rooms. What experience might that have been to caution him so?

“It is freeing to be able to speak of this with you,” Dale continues with a smile you reflexively return. “To feel there is no curtain of confusion between us. My own hope had been for such a mate, a confidant.” You squeeze the hand still clasped with his because that is all you wanted as well. He squeezes back. “I’m not sure how we got here while taking such a stilted and quite frankly, human route. It is so far from what I would have expected and gone by so quickly.”

“The time has flown,” you agree, “and yet it also seems a lifetime ago I stood in your rooms after the incident and tried to meet you anew.”

Dale looks startled. “Did you know even then?” He runs his free hand through his hair, baffled. “But we’d no chance to truly even meet, for me to demonstrate any sort of trustworthiness. You knew then?”

“I suspected then,” you correct. “You were strange, but kind. It seemed very unlike the Dale I had only just started to get to know. He’d been acting oddly the night he must have summoned you. He did set the summoning in motion himself, yes?” Dale nods, still wide-eyed with interest and surprise. The effect is compounded by the five eyes he has with which to look back at you. “I knew of his studies with the demonic, I knew of his anticipation for the night, and then the sudden illness.” You shrug. “Well, I went to see him—you—on purpose. But all I could truly discern is that something demonic had happened. I didn’t know if he was still part of you and I’d frightfully little knowledge of demonology to leverage. It wasn’t until a few days later that my understanding solidified.”

Dale just shakes his head. “You knew all this time…”

“Were you not aware?” you can’t help but ask, nearly as surprised by the notion as Dale seems to be that you did know.

“I…No,” he frowns. “At times I thought you might. Later that first evening, I worried my reaction to the willowbark had been too vehement or that I’d said something strange while my memories and Dale’s were sorting themselves out. During the tournament, when you sought me out regarding Eastmount—that was when I came closest to thinking you knew what I was.”

“But you changed your mind,” you continue for him. You can see it in his face. “Why?”

“You assisted me,” he says plainly, lifting his eyebrows as if it were obvious. “You didn’t confront me or accuse me or try to leverage any sort of secret knowledge of what I was for your own gain. You didn’t turn me in or ask for my aid to advantage you or threaten me.”

“You thought so ill of me?” You can’t help the hurt that blossoms in your voice. “That I might do such a thing?” Hadn’t he known enough of you by then? You thought he’d understood, that he had seen who you were quicker than anyone else you’d known. Your hand starts to pull out of his without you meaning to. Unable to resist drawing back from him.

“That is what humans do with demons,” he says, almost pleading, pressing your hand to the bed to halt your movement, but not pulling it back towards himself. “Even if you were not one who sought selfish gain, then as a righteous human, you should have raised the alarm, formed a trap, done something to expunge the demon from your midst.” His vehemence is surprising, you feel caught out because he wasn’t wrong. Those are the two expected reactions. “I had thought I’d misjudged you since you had seemed to know, but not do any of those things. I was waiting for the demand of what you wished for in exchange for your silence. It never came.” Dale shakes his head again. “I concluded you didn’t know. It was the only explanation that fit. That, at most, you suspected Dale had enhanced himself with demonics and were willing to aid him in his one-upmanship with Eastmount.”

“I see.” On one hand you do truly understand his caution. He is a feared stranger in a foreign land, which goes doubly for Northridge given Grandmother’s attitude. You know plenty who would have done as he suggested, but… You also know some who would not have. Surely he must have Dale’s own memories of humans mixed up in demonology that wouldn’t have reacted so poorly. It's such a specific fear. “Has…has that happened before? When someone found out you were possessing a different human in the past?”

“I…” He freezes, all of his extra eyes closing up, although the two that remain are still glowing, black all but gone from them. “Yes. It has.”

A bolt of anger on Dale’s behalf straightens your spine, even though you know how humans react to demons. It's not even unwarranted most of the time. But this is Dale, your fiancé—your Dale. Did they simply not know him? From all the stories you’ve heard, most demons make their true intent, if it is destruction, known quite quickly. It’s why you’ve become more comfortable with Dale as time has passed. “I don’t know what circumstances there were, but you’ve not behaved in a way that would cause me to betr—to react in such a manner.

“I would not have blamed you. Demons can be quick to turn on each other as well.” His voice was strangely soft and earnest as he spoke, as he tried to absolve you of these potential feelings and actions against him. “It’s not humans alone who have decided that it would be better to no longer act in concert with me before.”

It breaks your heart, to hear him say it so plainly, so gently. You can see now you are working against a lifetime of betrayal, or so it seems to you. You search for something, anything, to communicate your sincerity. A reason to push any lingering fear of such possibility in the future as far from his mind as you can.

“You saved my life tonight, Grandmother’s life.” It’s the most tangible, most straightforward reason you could see that he might believe for your trust in him. You wait, but he doesn’t disagree. You have his rapt attention. “We are working towards the same goal, are we not? You’ve more than proven your dedication to Northridge tonight, to my satisfaction.” You don’t see it so plainly, so unemotionally, but you want to impress upon him that you are aligned together. You wait for his slow nod of acknowledgment.

“Nothing you have done has persuaded me otherwise,” you work hard to make your voice as steady and sure as you can. “It never crossed my mind to try to entrap or exorcize you tonight.” You hope by focusing on now, he won’t try to argue this specific point. You don’t have such concrete reasons for your feelings before and so you’re not sure he’d believe you’d never really had the inclination once you actually met him. Otherwise, he’s right: some things need that time to grow and solidify. You want to make damn sure you’re starting on the right foot. You will gain the rest of his trust going forward.

Dale leans closer, an eye opening up. He tightens his grip on your hand as he does so. You wait on pins on needles for his response. “I believe you. Thank you.”

You want to shift the topic back to lighter matters, but you’re unsure of how to do so. “Demons truly have turned on you as humans have?” is what comes out instead. You wince.

Dale doesn’t seem to take offense. “Yes, as I was not born into a group that survived, I sought to join others.” You want to ask so much more about that, but you can tell by the way Dale is moving past this part of his past, that he doesn’t want to share that now. It’s late. It's been an incredibly long day, you understand. You’ll be able to ask him for details on all of this because you’re getting married. You’ll have your whole lives to learn everything about him. He’s staying, you reiterate to yourself. You can no longer picture your future without him.

“The majority of demonic clans are very insular and do not take kindly to outsiders,” he says with a frown. “They see nothing wrong with treating said outsiders with little…regard or integrity. This is why the courting ritual I described is spread out. To allow time to pass without betrayal or shifts in alliances to occur. To demonstrate the connection can weather time and outside forces.”

“And to feel confident in telling anything more personal to their prospective spouse,” you add, nodding. Sure there is gossip and alliances and even violence within the nobility on the Surface—tonight’s more than proved that—but not on the scale Dale’s describing. You’re abruptly very grateful for the world you live in. You’d likely not survived his.

“Precisely,” Dale confirms. “Information that might have been construed as weaknesses to be exploited, but not can be trusted to not be taken advantage of.”

This does fit with the rumors and heresy you’ve heard about demonic ways of life. It’s a wonder any of them manage to mate at all. Still, you’d hoped for something else, something you could do besides ‘not betray him’. For Dale. To show that you accept him. To demonstrate your sincerity to the marriage. To signify your clarity who he is. You know that marriage is with a demon and you want him, not anyoneelse. You want him to know that before the night’s through. “So there aren’t any other differences in courting that you are surprised about? Or that we have not participated in?”

Dale frowns as he thinks. You try to determine if it's the moonlight and wind painting strange shadows on his form or just him without pretense. He’s mesmerizing either way. “Couple’s often take a journey together or begin to merge their territories prior to being bound as formal mates. You’ve already come to live in our territory and we’ll be taking our tour after the wedding. I don’t believe much can be done to accelerate that at this point.”

“No,” you have to agree, although you understand now why Dale had been so eager for the tour and are doubly glad to be doing it. “Not in our circumstance.”

“We already discussed and covered so many compatibility topics that there is not much left that I’d have wished to know about a potential mate. Well, I suppose it is unusual to have done little beyond dance,” Dale admitted, all but two of his eyes looking sidelong out the window now. “Physical compatibility in such matters is also considered relatively strongly. I suppose that has more weight for demons given our variety.” He sounds on the fence about how true he feels that statement is. As if he is giving you an excuse to brush past this topic and move on.

“Oh?” You hope that sounded calm. You hope your expression isn’t giving you away if your voice did not. “I, I do not mind, if you wanted, or rather,” you can’t get the words out in a coherent manner, too intrigued despite yourself, and your inability to talk sensibly is only making you more flustered. Memories of your fumble at a festival as well as memories dancing with Dale distract you. “If there was something else you wished to discover regarding our compatibility, I would not be opposed.”

Dale blinks at you in surprise, but without judgment. That lack of judgment is always one of the primary differences between who is Dale is now and who Dale was. It is the quality you appreciate the most. “Oh, you would not?” He sounds mildly intrigued and unflustered as he runs a few fingers through his hair. It’s unkempt and dark enough to melt into the shadows around you both, but you think it looks longer than it did even a few minutes ago. As if the strands spent more time tangled around his fingers this time around. “I constantly find myself torn between what Dale has experienced informally, what I know human society seems to expect, and what I would consider a reasonable level of intimacy for those who plan to join together permanently in merely a week.”

“Of course.” You can hardly keep the typical social rules straight, let alone your own memories and another persons and another society’s set of expectations. It’d drive you a little mad, you think. “I imagine such conflicting knowledge must be confusing.”

“It is,” Dales says emphatically, looking relieved to finally be able to speak openly. Then he sighs, looking mildly embarrassed for possibly the first time you’ve seen. “And I know I do not always play my part correctly.”

You feel a little bad for having had the same thought because, well, he isn’t wrong, is he? Nothing much you can say to that. Still, you want to reassure him. “When we are in private, you don’t need to worry about playacting correctly. You’ll wear yourself to the bone if you tried to keep up a facade constantly.”

“I appreciate your saying so,” he says with a tentative smile you’ve not seen before. It’s sweet. It would have looked out of place on the original Dale’s face and yet it suits this one so well. “It can be tiring. Not always and there are times when even in public, with you, I still feel as I do now.”

You smile, pleased with yourself at having made him feel even somewhat comfortable in a land so alien to him. “It’s not as if I’ve not felt out of place before, although not to the same extent, but I want us to help each other. That’s why I wish for you to feel comfortable here and now, with me and our courtship. We are to be married and I want that to mean a partnership, mates, a true couple. No matter our differences and the strange circumstances we’ve found ourselves in.”

“As do I,” Dale murmurs, leaning closer. At first you think he’s simply relaxing his posture, until his hand reaches out to put a finger under your chin. His eyes are dark as they stare at your lips and you recall what turn the conversation had started to take before being sidelined. “So, you would not mind if I…?”

Evidently Dale wishes to push the conversation back on track. His intent is obvious and he gives you plenty of time to pull away, but you still reply, only a little breathily, “I would not” before his lips cover your own. It’s a far more tentative and gentle kiss than the one human Dale had taken from you. Less awkward than your first kiss had been. You melt into his hold as he cups your cheek more firmly, angling the kiss just so. His lips are cool, but soft.

Dale parts from you only to press another kiss to your lips the next second. Kiss after kiss, the rest of the world melts away until there is only the two of you in the faint light, safe in this room. Your hands end up grasping the front of his shirt to keep him close, not that he seems intent on going anywhere. His hand tangles itself in your hair, cupping the base of your head while his other splays along your side to better pull you closer.

He deepens the next kiss and you can taste him on your tongue, like coffee and cinnamon. You relax into his hold even as he seems to get hungrier, as he steals the breath from your lungs and every stray thought from your mind. Dale pulls an appreciative noise from the back of your throat. Your hands, still fisted in his shirt, slowly release their grip to press against his chest. He’s wonderfully solid beneath them, safe and whole and home.

Dale belongs with you and you won’t let anything keep him from you.

You bury a hand in his hair, the cool, silky strands almost wrap around your fingers in return. Eventually, you have to use your hold to pull him back enough to breathe, but you don’t give him more than the space to allow you to do so. Dale pants against your lips. “Breathing is so…” Dale starts to mutter, almost absentmindedly, before he leans back in to dot kisses along your jaw.

You hum in agreement, pleased with his attention. Desire zips through your veins. Shadows move like flames in the moonlight, shifting across Dale’s body and around him. You swear you can almost feel them, like velvet against your skin. This night feels like a wonderful dream.

Dale’s large hands land on your hips, strong and sure. He makes his way back to your mouth, determined that neither of you can truly catch your breath, and starts pushing you further onto the bed, away from the end. Your feet leave the ground while he moves after you. Your own hands are occupied, holding his strong jaw, buried in his luscious, dark hair. At some point, while stealing your thoughts with his nimble tongue, he lifts you entirely from the sheets to maneuver you fully into the middle of bed. Even when he sets you back down, you're only kept even remotely upright by your hold on him.

“Sana…” Dale pants against your lips when he pulls back just enough for your lungs to remember their job. His voice is raspy and deep as he speaks through his own breaths. You meet as many of his eyes as you can, half-lidded but rapt with attention. “I have been wanting, no,” Dale corrects himself, “needing to familiarize myself with your scent.” He runs his nose down the column of your throat before burying his face in the crook of your neck. You feel his words against your skin nearly as much as you hear them. “As your touch, your appearance, your voice are already solidified in my mind. All brief glimpses of scent I managed to steal pitiable and meager until now.”

Your mind struggles to think of a coherent response. Is this part of demon courting? Having Dale wrapped around you, against you so intimately? The desire to know you by every sense. “Oh?” If so, you want more. Even if it’s merely something Dale wants, he’s welcome to it, to you.

“Your taste…” he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to your collarbone. “Half-remembered, filtered through that imbecile’s mind.” His derision for Dale’s opinion helps chase away your insecurities that he might be swayed by them. He scrapes his teeth against your skin and your mind fogs over. “I knew it to be a poor imitation of reality, but if I had known how poor, I’m not sure I would have been able to resist for so long. Want. More,” he says around licks and kisses to your sternum where he’s pushing against the barrier of your chemise.

“You, if you,” you stutter around the words, trying to string your thoughts together. You’d had daydreams about a fiancé you trusted enough and who felt passionately enough that you’d preempt your wedding night, like in so many hushed romantic stories. “Yes, you can, if you wa-ant.” When Dale merely continues to nose at your hem, you finally manage to say as plainly as you can, “Simply remove it.”

“Gladly,” Dale replies, eager hands already set on the task of riding you of your remaining clothing. It’s so freeing to be able to say exactly what you mean, what you want, and have Dale hear you. To have him immediately act on what you say. Your robe had fallen off at some point after his first kiss so there is only your chemise. He manages to divest you of it in record time, making sure the fabric doesn’t catch on your bandages.

He stills to take in the sight of you, but only for a few seconds. As soon as the slightest inclination towards embarrassed self-consciousness starts to make themselves heard, Dale says, “Thank you,” so emphatically, you feel heat rise to your face and gather between your legs.

“I—” Whatever you were going to say is lost as Dale immediately starts trailing kisses down from your neck to your chest. His other hand lands on your upper thigh and starts to massage and stroke at the skin there. You moan, eyelids slamming closed to better enjoy the sensations he’s provoking throughout your body. It's so much after so long of only dances and holding hands, but you feel as greedy as Dale is acting. With the taunt of courtship over, you want to be as close to him as you possibly can.

He envelops a nipple in his mouth and lightning races down your spine to strike your core. You can feel yourself getting wetter as he continues. You ache for some friction between your legs but you don’t want to risk Dale stopping. As he switches sides, his hand coming up to tweak and rub your damp skin, you moan shamelessly. You want to drown in the sensation of Dale moving so eagerly against you. He’s ravenous.

Dale’s attentions push you back and you place a hand on the bed to try to steady yourself. It's not quite enough, not given your injured arm. You do your best to control your descent down on your side. Dale gropes at your hip as if to try to help keep you up before he realizes what you're doing and helps guide you down instead.

His shirt disappears as you reposition yourselves. You move quickly to explore the skin now bared to you, feeling strange stripes of velvet mixed with soft human skin. The difference in textures reminds you of who you are with even though you can’t see his inhuman nature with your eyes squeezed shut in an attempt to weather the heat he’s stoking within your body.

Dale pushes you further back and you go with the motion until you feel the sheets against your bruised back. Flinching, your hands scramble against Dale’s skin as you arch away from the bed. “S-Sorry,” you pant, “Bruised. My back.”

Dale’s already tipped you back onto your side and you see a tail with two eyes arc over your shoulder. He growls at whatever he can see in the dark. Shadow tendrils brace you between your shoulder blades and on your lower back so that you can relieve some pressure from your side and relax more in this position. His teeth seem sharper as he says, “I should have torn them to pieces for touching you. For hurting you.”

“You did,” you reply, not wanting to derail the mood even if the reminder of Dale’s defense of you certainly isn’t drawing you out of it. You don’t want Dale consumed by anger. You selfishly want his focus to be on you. “It’s treated as best it can be.” When that doesn’t seem to be enough, you cup his cheek, “Make me forget about it.”

Dale’s eyes ignite at the challenge and you feel a corresponding pulse between your legs. “Yesss, sana,” he hisses in agreement, pressing a kiss to that hand. He resumes his mission to memorize you with all his senses with renewed zeal. It’s easy to let him do so. With him pressed to your front and his shadow tails wrapped around to brace your back, you feel wonderfully enveloped by him. Safe from the world. Safe with him.

“You seem like something I shouldn’t be allowed to have,” Dale murmurs, voice strange, distant and echoing. He presses more kisses further down your body. Even with nearly all his focus on the physical, he can’t help but think aloud with whatever part of him isn’t consumed with you. “Shouldn’t be allowed to keep.”

The shadow tails supporting your back spread and his hands fasten securely to your hips. “Smoke in the wind,” a kiss to your stomach, “water in the hand,” a kiss above the thatch of hair you have, “a dream before waking.” He looks up the length of you, his eyes blue and dark and as hypnotizing as ever. “Fighting for this—you and Northridge—for this life tonight has made it feel so much more a reality rather than a far-off wish.” He presses another absentminded kiss to you. His thumbs stroke your skin and your hips roll in his hold involuntarily. “Something I would never truly be able to grasp.”

“You can,” you tell him, feeling nearly as desperate as he’s been acting, voice breaking on the words. Desire clogging up your throat. “If you d-desire… Dale,” you wail his name when he finally puts his mouth on you.

You lace the fingers of one hand into his hair, not able to judge what was too tight while your hips jitter in his hold. Overwhelmed by the sensation of that long adroit tongue dipping in for a better taste. Your head tips back as you try to push into him. He groans encouragingly as his hands move to your thighs and pry them apart to give him more space to work. The improved angle gives him more access, more contact, more ways to make you mewl with pleasure.

True to his words when he first began, Dale is ravenous for your taste, licking and sucking with an intensity that makes you little able to do more than take it. Unleashed, he must have truly been holding himself back before. The fight, that kiss, has broken some self-restraint he’d clearly been tightly holding onto.

Dale devours you. He devours you until you’re a sweating, moaning, mess held firmly in his grasp. Until a final wave of pleasure pulls you under.

You come back to yourself slowly to find Dale still between your thighs, carefully licking up every last drop of desire he’s managed to wring from you. You hope he’s satisfied with you. You hope he’s never satisfied. You hope he’s willing to make a meal of you again and again. “Dale,” you breathe out. Glittering, bright eyes look up at you, half-lidded and gratified, but still hungry.

Heat begins to rekindle in your veins as he lowers his gaze back down. As he begins to plant kisses and leave little sucking marks on your skin. As he works his way back up your body. You stroke through his hair encouragingly, languid and content to let him do as he pleases. He’s certainly proved himself worthy of the leeway. He pulls you upright as he goes and your free hand lands on his strong shoulder.

You don’t hesitate to pull him into a kiss once you're close enough. His mouth is wet with you still and you find yourself delighted with the evidence of his indulgence, his base appetite. When he pulls you into his lap, you take advantage of the additional height to lead the kiss. Dale gives way under you easily, letting you press your advantage and finally do some taking yourself.

You don’t break the kiss until Dale situates you perfectly in his lap to let his cock rock against your cunt. Your moan and instant attempt at grinding down against him leave you gasping. His large hands, spanning your hips and with fingers that dig into your ass, encourage your movements as he groans.

“You…” you try to give voice to the thought that’s been building in your mind without you realizing it, “the way you said my name…” You can still hear it echoing in your memory, but you need to hear it aloud. It’s what had helped stabilize your trust in him and you ache to hear it now. “After the fight…”

Dale shudders, something rolling through him, before he opens his mouth to breathe your name in that same resounding tone, the one that seemed to carry with it so much more than a single word ever could. Your eyelids flutter, as you feel that same comfort as before, but it has evolved. Now cinnamon spice and crimson tart berry streaked through that yellow warm honey. You feel it along your nerves, buzzing through your veins like warm, mulled wine. “Dale,” you gasp back, hoping you can convey something similar in return.

Air flows from him like a breeze and his shadows gutter around him while he closes his eyes to the sensation. When he presses you back down against him there's a rumble you first mistake for a growl only to realize it’s a purr. “May I…?” His cock ruts against your entrance as if there was any doubt as to what he was asking for.

You're lost in this moment, in this feeling, and yet in that second, he takes to ask the real world breaks through. You bury your head in the crook of his neck, craving his own scent nearly as much as his craving for your own had sparked this fire into motion. “Yes, please, Dale—I need you.”

“Yes, sana, I do as well. I need you so very much,” Dale pants as he guides the head of his cock to where it needs to be and begins to push inside.

Gods, he feels big. You remind yourself to relax, let yourself be pliable, and allow him in. One of his hands leaves your hip to stroke soothingly through your hair while he thoughtlessly babbles, “Yeeesss, so hot, so tight. Lights above, you feel better than… So good. Thank you, pretty, pretty mate for…for this, for this allowance, for this gift, f-fuck.” His words make you shudder and you must be dripping from them given how much more easily he makes his way inside.

Once he’s finally hilted in you, you both need the extra few seconds to take a breath. Him overwhelmed by you surrounding him judging by his scattered words and you for the stretch. The ache of being first too empty and then nearly too full. Soon you deliberately clench around him and he groans. You press a kiss to his neck to let him know he’s alright to move and then set to making it a mark on his skin.

Dale murmurs your name again, a faint echo of how he’d said it earlier. Shuddering, your teeth graze the mark you’re worrying on his skin. Instinctively, he thrusts in even though he’s only pulled halfway out which pulls a groan from deep in your throat.

The sound seems to set Dale off because soon he’s thrusting at a rhythmic pace, half with his own hips, half lifting you up in counterpoint to his movements. Your heat throbs at the demonstration of his strength. You pull your head back to take him in in the moonlight. Your demonic fiancé, demonic mate.

As you can feel another peak building, the pulsing between your legs getting stronger, Dale’s thrusts become more erratic. As soon as you notice, his thumb lands on your clit, obviously determined to push you over the edge with him.

Dale buries his face in the crook of your neck. His voice resonates against you as he says, “I… I could…I should…” He starts to lift you off of him. “We’re not—”

His words are cut off with a loud moan when you push back against him, hands on his shoulders, muscles throbbing around him. To keep him inside you where he belongs.

“No, no,” you say, mind overwhelmed with pleasure, but also coherent to understand he’s trying to cater to you even if it's not what you want, what you crave with a strength that would surprise you if you gave it a moment’s consideration. “Please. I trust you.” You know Dale wouldn’t leave you now. As far as you're concerned, you’re already married. He’ll never leave you again. “Please, stay inside.”

He growls your name in response and pulls you back fully onto his cock without needing further encouragement. His hands stroke up and down your sides, shadow tendrils controlling the pace of his thrusts. The additional sensation of his hands on your skin, on your chest, your nipples, combined with the kisses and marks he’s attempting to suck on your skin drive you to the final heights you need to climax, convulsing around his cock. Dale falls over the edge with you.

Bliss spreads through your body as Dale collapses backward, you sprawled on his chest. You’re sweaty and overcome and the most satisfied, most content you’ve been in… You let the thought fizzle out and merely sigh happily instead. What more could you ever need than Dale with you in your bed?

Languid sleep laps at your mind, but when Dale prompts you, you go through the motions of nighttime ritual. He murmurs an apology when you shudder from the feel of tepid water and sigh from any movement at all that’s not horizontal. Soon enough you’re clad in a fresh shift, Dale in only his own shirt, standing by the bed. He looks, with hesitation at the door.

“Do not leave, not until you must,” you say as you lean against him, hand over his heart. Not an ask, but not a demand.

“I won’t,” Dale replies, the solemnity of an oath, the fervor of a declaration of love—more powerful in the dark of your bedroom. He shuffles you over to the bed until you’re lying down against his chest once more. “There’s nowhere else I’d want to be.”

That warmth of belonging wraps around you at his words and you gently kiss his neck in answer, before mustering the sleep-weary words to say, “There’s no one else I’d want.” It’s so easy to admit now, so freeing to say aloud.

Dale presses a kiss to your head. He echoes, “Only you.”

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