#crow writes

Carrying the plate with a couple of pieces of pizza on it, Avery walked back to his room and took a seat at his desk. Staring down at the closed laptop with unease plucking at the back of his mind. Gaze shifting over to his phone, Avery reached to pick that up instead of the computer for the time being. Thankfully, his phone still had at least 40% charge, so he could open up his messages to glance through them. Nothing unusual at first glance- Wait. Pausing mid-chew, Avery squinted at the little circle near the 'message request' section of his messaging app, showing he had a new message from someone.

Sure, that wasn't typically too suspicious. Could be someone sending him something from a random server he's in, or it could be just a spam message or something. But right now? Seeing that message notification bubble had alarm bells going off in his head.

But…

Even though it'd been proven multiple times that curiosity could have higher consequences than thought before…

Avery tapped on the notification after a few more moments of hesitation. Once everything loaded up, it took a few moments for what he was looking at to register properly in his mind. He knew that username. He knew that username-

D3rlord3 : alive

D3rlord3: head hurt so smuch btuu m alive

"Tastes so good, doesn't she?" Aether combs through Dew's hair, pulling it away from his blissed-out face. He's rewarded with a groan, his small body quivering between them. "Just what you needed, hm?"

Dew mumbles around Cumulus' nipple, saliva dripping from his tongue to land on her dusky skin.

"Oh, make sure we can hear your words, baby," she says softly, cupping Dew's cheek and gently pulling him away from her breast. "Say it again?"

Dew's mouth hangs open like his tongue is too big for it, eyes heavy with pupils blown. "Yes, daddy," he answers. "Needed it. Bad." Dew presses back into Aether's body, keening when the quintessence ghoul purrs and pets at his sides.

"Such a good boy," he praises. "You can let mommy have your mouth again."

"Mmkay." Dew all but drops his face back onto her chest, suckling until Cumulus' nipple slips back between his wanting lips. He moans, a whiny, needy sound that ripples through his body from horn to tail. His hips twitch, and the way his wet cock slides against Cumulus' cunt has them all groaning.

"Fuck, he's always so sweet," Aether breathes. He drags his own cock through Dew's cheeks, and even those are wet and slick and warm, he almost can't take it.

Cumulus hums happily, still brushing her thumb across Dew's rosy face. "The sweetest," she agrees. "How did we get so lucky to have such a pretty baby to take care of?"

"Gods, I don't know."

It's a treat for all of them, really; Dew drops so deep that no thoughts—distressing or otherwise—can stick in his fuzzy head, and Cumulus and Aether get to reap the benefits of a sweet, moldable little ghoul who knows all of his manners.

"He really could stay here forever, couldn't he?" Cumulus muses.

Aether leans forward to barely brush his lips against hers. "That's because mommy has the most gorgeous, soft, pretty tits," he rumbles against her smiling mouth. "And our good boy would never stop worshiping them unless we told him so."

"Mm-hm," Dew agrees breezily.

"Maybe daddy should take a turn then," Cumulus whispers conspiratorially. "There are two, aren't there?"

Aether growls and kisses her hard, one hand behind her neck and the other curled under her thigh so her leg hikes up and wraps around him and Dew both. "Later," he promises. "We have someone to spoil right now, don't we, baby boy?"

Dew trills curiously, tail flicking across the sheets.

"Yes, you," Cumulus coos. "Wouldn't be anyone else, sweet thing."

Aether pulls back from her, smoothing his hands along Dew's back as he straightens up. The fire ghoul's spine curves to follow Aether's hands, arching into the touch as it goes down, down, down. Tail popping up as those thick fingers spread his cheeks and expose his hole. Dew whines, and the pink rim flutters around nothing.

"Baby," Aether groans. "You want daddy to fill you up?"

"Please." Dew pulls off Cumulus' nipple with a pop, turning his head to lay on her breast like a pillow. "Wanna be full." He turns his heavy gaze to Aether, batting his lashes as he looks back.

Whether it's intentional or not, it makes Aether's cock throb all the same.

"Daddy's been waiting to hear you say that," Cumulus says. "You hear how much he loves when you ask for his cock?"

Dew hums and wiggles his ass lazily side to side. "Sounds nice," he says dreamily. "Like a biiig cat."

"He is big, isn't he?" Cumulus throws a wink over Dew's head.

"Mommy's so naughty," Aether groans, tapping his cock against Dew's hole. "Wants to turn me into mush just like you, baby boy."

"Mn."

Dew gasps, eyes falling shut as Aether makes like he's going to push his cock inside. He can't, not without prepping him, but the promise is there. The very tip of it pushes past Dew's rim, and Aether squeezes himself until precum wells up and seeps inside that hot little body. It's just on the side of too much, excess coating the inside of his hole when Aether pulls back again.

Dew chases his cock with his backside, trying to regain the thick pressure. "Nooo," he whines. "C'm back."

Cumulus tsks. Her tail gives him a light quip on the calf. "Now, baby, that's not how you ask, is it?"

Dew's ears droop, blush deepening the color of his cheeks. " . . . No, mommy." It's remorseful, hardly above a whisper.

"Let's try again, hm?" Cumulus cradles his face, gently guiding him up to her face for a kiss. He all but melts when their lips meet, and Cumulus smiles at how easily he softens just for her. "Tell us what you want, baby."

"Want . . ." Dew licks his lips, eyes fixed squarely on Cumulus' mouth. "Wanna feel it kiss me. Inside." He shudders, head dipping down as he momentarily curls into himself. Dew's cock twitches over Cumulus' stomach. "Oh. Can I put it in too, mommy?"

Cumulus' mouth drops open in a soft oh as Aether groans behind Dew's curved spine.

"Baby boy, you can have whatever you want if you ask like that," he says in a strained voice. "Lift up a little then. That's it, there's a lad."

Dew spreads his legs and drops his belly. It's enough space to let Aether slip a finger in, but not so much that his stiff cock is any more than a few inches away from Cumulus' pretty pubic feathers. The fire ghoul sucks in a breath through his nose as that thick digit goes in, letting it out in a quiet moan when Aether grazes against the sensitive spot he's looking for.

"There," he sighs. "Oh, there, daddy—"

"So soft down there, isn't he?" Cumulus muses. "Just like here." She smooths her thumb along Dew's bottom lip, and he opens up for her as easy as ever. Her thumb slips in, sliding to the middle of his tongue before his mouth closes around it with a quiet trill.

Aether presses his finger down and the trill turns into a stifled moan. Dew's eyes roll to the back of his head and the air turns cinnamon sweet.

"There you go, baby." Cumulus arches up, kissing her mound against the underside of Dew's cock.

"Oh mm fuuh—" Dew jerks between them, like his body doesn't know what touch to lean into. A slurred string of 'please please please's falls from his mouth, and the restraint he exhibits against thrusting straight inside Cumulus' body is palpable and trembling.

Aether hushes him and strokes his side with his free hand. "Soon baby," he soothes. "Don't have to fight anything. Just let us take care of you."

The first few months, she thinks it might kill her. To be that close to divinity and have it ripped away. She’s not even allowed to visit. No one is, it’s like they’re trying to wipe his very existence from the collective memory.  His slaughter at the newspaper, in particular, hangs over the city like a fog. There’s no understanding, no sympathy for him, but how could there be? She and Fisk are the only people that know what it took to push him that far and neither of them can exactly come forward with it. She’s not even assured he’ll let her live now that Dex is indisposed. He doesn’t like loose ends. If she pulled the thread his entire organization could crumble, though she doubts her testimony would make it to a judge before she found herself in a terrible “accident.” 

So she’s on her best behavior. She goes to work, she comes home, she stays in her lane. She gets a cat just to have something to care for. She buys a handgun and keeps it in her nightstand. She goes to church on Sundays, unfulfilling as it has become. She takes low-profile targets, and she goes after them much less frequently than she used to. She doesn’t talk about Fisk. She doesn’t talk about Dex. She barely sleeps, tortured with nightmares of Fisk’s masked, faceless men kidnapping her, killing her. She’s reeling, drowning, but there’s nothing she can do. She is entirely, absolutely out of control. Her kills get messier, more violent. It scares her sometimes, the haze she goes into only to come out covered in blood. 

Tonight is one of those nights. Her target is almost unrecognizable. His intestines spilled out onto her feet, his skull crushed into fragments, crimson blood spattered on every surface in his room. She wipes some of it out of her eyes with the back of her sleeve. Her breathing evens out slowly, her muscles burning from the exertion. The relief this provides her gets less and less every day. Her job grates on her, speaking to these criminals like nothing’s wrong, and now she doesn’t even have the consolation prize of making real change. She doesn’t feel powerful, helpful, like a savior. She feels nothing. 

She trudges into the man’s bathroom, leaving bloody footprints in her wake. The faucet lets out a pathetic trickle, making her sigh. As best she can, she splashes the cool water on her face, watching it run pink down the drain as she rinses off the evidence of her slaughter. She catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Damn. She looks rough. Heavy purple bags hang under her dead eyes. Her skin is tinged almost gray, pallid and sweaty. A shell, a ghost maybe. Wracked with loss until all the life has drained out of her. She’s almost glad Dex isn’t here to see her like this.

She creeps back home, riding the shadows to keep her concealed. Her cat greets her at the door, yowling her head off. 

“Hey, Esther,” she murmurs, leaving down to scratch her head. Esther preens, rubbing her head into her hand. Unwittingly, she’s become very fond of the animal. She only got her so she wouldn’t be rattling around her apartment alone. 

“Hello, doctor.”

She leaps back, scrabbling for her sword. Her heart races, adrenaline pouring into her veins like a flood. 

Vanessa Fisk stands in her kitchen. She recognizes her from news articles and TV segments. A practiced air of elegance hangs around her, the picture of a criminal first lady. 

She re-adjusts her grip on the blade, subconsciously scans the room for any other exits, tries and fails not to look scared.

“What are you doing here?” she demands, wishing her voice sounded a little stronger. Vanessa smiles like she’s just told her a joke.

“I came here for your professional services.” Vanessa nods at the sword. “I see you’ve been busy.”

“You know.” Not a question. Of course she does, Fisk’s probably had eyes on her since Dex let her out of that cell. Her extracurriculars are pretty attention-drawing. 

“Yes,” Vanessa answers anyway. “I’m not here to hurt you, doctor. If I was, I wouldn’t be here at all, I’d send someone else. I’m here for your counsel.”

“Counsel?” she asks, sarcasm dripping from the word. Vanessa’s pleasant smile doesn’t even flicker. 

“I need a job done. I plan to release Agent Poindexter from prison.”

That gets her attention. Her eyes must be wide as dinner plates, her fingers twitching. A hot ball of anger begins to burn in her stomach. How dare she come here, swank around her apartment like she owns the place, and dangle Dex in front of her like live bait?

“Your husband agreed to this?” she grits out. Dex took a shot at him and he hit harder than most do. She can’t imagine a world where Fisk lets that slide. 

Vanessa finally falters, a small frown passing across her face. “I haven’t seen my husband in a while,” she says. “I’m here for your opinion.”

“On what? If he’ll go for it, do your dirty work for you?” she spits. “Kill someone, I assume?”

“Yes,” Vanessa says again. Simple. Even. “I’m aware of the… nature of your relationship with him. You partake in the same activities.” She gestures vaguely at the sword. “Your job is to understand sickened minds, I imagine you’re familiar with his.”

“He’s not sick,” she shoots back too quickly. Vanessa smiles again, entertained by her defense. 

“Of course. I apologize.” She rounds the counter, moving in closer, settling on the couch. “Will you answer my questions?”

“Why shouldn’t I just kill you right here?” She flips the sword in her hands. Itching to do it. “You said your husband is out of the picture anyway. Who would stop me?”

Vanessa goes serious but no fear is evident on her face. “Because if you kill me, you will never see your Agent Poindexter again. He will live and die in a cell, and you will live and die separated from him.” She cocks her head. “Is that something you can live with?” 

She has her and they both know it.

“What do you want to know?”

Vanessa grins, more predatory than pleasant this time. Just like that, she’s sold her soul. Tentatively, she sets down her sword, shucks off her bloodstained boots, and takes a seat on the couch opposite Vanessa, stiff and as far away as she can be. 

“I want your assessment of his… stability,” Vanessa says carefully. “He is the very best at what I require, but I need to know the consequences before I unleash him on the city.” Her phrasing is sickening, like he’s some sort of beast that needs to be contained. 

“He’s not crazy,” she answers quietly. “He’s… confused. He gets turned around.” Fisk’s words in the cell flash through her mind. “He needs direction.”

“And would he accept direction from me?” Vanessa asks.

“If you’re smart,” she shrugs. Truth be told, she has no idea what Dex’s mental state is right now, how prison is affecting him. Maybe he’ll leap across the table and choke the life out of Vanessa as soon as she shows her face. That wouldn’t be so bad, honestly. 

Vanessa studies her, eyes scanning her face. “Alright,” she says finally. She stands up, grabs her purse. That’s it. No pleasantries. Two simple questions and she’s ready to weigh a man’s life and the safety of a city in her hands. 

“Vanessa?” she says right as the woman reaches the door. “If anything happens to him, I will kill you. I don’t care if your husband is here or not. I’ll kill you.”

Vanessa smiles again. “Good night, doctor.” She slips out the door, her heels clicking down the hallway and out of earshot. 

It’s quiet for two days after that. Every time she comes home she half-expects to find someone else in her apartment, Vanessa or Fisk himself or one of their minions doing their bidding. It puts her on edge like you would not believe, jumping out of her skin every time the cat knocks something over. There’s a small fiery hope, though, underneath the anxiety, that one day it will be Dex. He promised he would come back to her and he doesn’t seem the type to break an oath. It doesn’t quell her fear though. Every little sound sends her flying for the pistol in her nightstand. 

The sound of wind whistling through her apartment wakes her from a restless sleep on the third day. She sits bolt upright, pushing the blanket off her legs. It sounds like a window open, something she’s positive was not the case when she laid down. Painstakingly slowly, she slides the drawer of her nightstand open, wincing when her bed frame creaks under the motion, and grabs the gun. It’s cold in her hands and she tries to let it steady her. Whoever opened her window, whoever’s in her living room right now, they probably aren’t expecting her to come out shooting. She can survive this. Hopefully. 

Padding across the floor silently, she eases her bedroom door open, handgun raised in front of her. She steels herself and steps out, giving her a view of the kitchen and living room. 

A dark figure is hunched over by her couch. She squints, can’t quite understand the scene. He’s petting her cat. Kneeling on the ground, completely at ease, petting her damn cat. She cocks the gun, the click echoing through the apartment. The figure straightens slightly but doesn’t turn around. 

“Who the hell are you?” she demands. He doesn’t answer, doesn’t even move. 

“Answer me or I’ll shoot you right here and let the police identify your body.” 

He does respond to that one. He stands up, turns to face her. The meager rays of moonlight catch his face. His exceedingly, devastatingly handsome face.

“Dex?” It comes out a whisper. It’s unbelievable, unreal, impossible. She’s been pining for him, dying for him all this time and here he is sitting on her floor petting her cat. 

“Hey, baby.” A slow smirk spreads across his face. Cocky in a way she hasn’t seen from him before. She steps towards him, slowly lowering the gun. 

“You broke into my apartment,” she says shakily. 

He shrugs. “Door was locked.” Right. Obviously that’s the next course of action, breaking and entering. 

“You left.” Her voice cracks, tears threatening to spill over. “You left me alone.” She was so consumed with missing him she didn’t realize until now how much anger she’s been holding, how much grief. His face falls.

“I know, baby, I’m sorry.” He goes to her, slips the gun out of her hand, tosses it on the couch without a glance. It lands square in the center of the cushions. With the imminent threat out of the way he wraps his arms around her. Pulls her into his chest, combs his fingers through her hair. She breathes him in greedily, the thrill of his hands on her running through her like electricity. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” A mantra murmured into her skin. His lips run across her forehead, on her cheekbone, down her neck. The action sends a pang of heat between her thighs. She feels her resolve crumbling already, her pathetic display of resistance being melted away by the feel of his lips as he kisses over her throat. He’s barely touched her and she’s practically panting, lips falling open slightly. He mouths back up to her jaw, pauses over her mouth. They breathe in each other’s air, centimeters apart, eyes locked onto each other. There’s a sanctity to it, being this close, the religion they pass back and forth with each shaking breath. 

“Can I make it up to you?” It sounds like a genuine question. “I’ll make you feel good, please baby, let me make you feel good, let me make it up.” A string of pleas into her mouth. She whines at the sound of him, at the thought of what he’s proposing, a low noise ripping out of her throat. Dex fucking loves it. He grins and presses forward, catching her lips. Kissing him is better than she remembers somehow. She opens like a flower, letting him in with no fight. He runs his tongue along her lower lip, stoking the fire building in her core. Another soft noise escapes her and she tangles her fingers in his soft hair. Pinning him where he stands, refusing to let him pull away. 

“Dex,” she whispers. She doesn’t even know what she’s asking for, what she wants. Just… more. More of whatever he’ll give her.

“Tell me,” he answers. “Anything you want.” He studies her face like scripture. 

“Make it up to me.”

He lets out a crazed, delighted laugh and moves so quickly it takes her brain a second to catch up. He grabs her thighs, scoops her up effortlessly, slides one hand under her ass and the other around her waist to hold her up as she wraps her legs around him. A man on a mission, he carries her directly back to her bedroom and deposits her on the bed, gentle, like she’s some priceless artifact. Her head tips back on the pillows and he’s on her again, grabbing at her hips and kissing her breathless. All she can do is react to him, too addled to do much of anything on her own accord. He pulls at the hem of her shirt, prompting her to sit up just enough for him to slip it over her head. 

He freezes. Eyes locked onto her body. She shifts a little under his gaze, but she can’t bring herself to be self-conscious when the look in his eyes is comparable to a disciple. He lifts his hand tentatively to cup one of her tits. Brushes his thumb over her nipple and she keens, arching into his touch desperately. 

“Dex, please,” she gasps. That seems to snap him out of it, his eyes flicking back up to her face. Whatever he sees spurs him on even more. 

“Yeah,” he breathes, pulling wildly at his own shirt, tearing it over his head. “Yeah, I’ll take care of you, baby. So pretty when you say my name like that.” The words alone are enough to make her moan, but the sight of him shirtless above her makes her want to scream. Prison has done wonders for him. He’s more filled out, less lean muscle and more bulk. She wishes she could sculpt, wants to study every inch of him and chisel it into granite. It feels like a sin that she can’t just look at him forever. 

Every one of those thoughts is wiped out of her mind when he shuffles down the bed and starts tugging at her waistband, hooking his finger in both her shorts and panties and sliding them down her legs. He tracks her face the whole time, maybe watching for any sign of dissent, but he finds none as he slips them off her ankles and, adorably, folds them neatly and sets them on the edge of the bed. Slowly, he runs his hands back up her legs, leaving goosebumps in his wake, sucking in a deep breath when he digs his fingers into the plush of her thighs. The way he holds them makes it impossible for her to close her legs, hide from him. Not that she wants to. This is the most turned on she’s ever been in her life. She’s soaking wet, she knows, and all she wants is for him to fucking touch her. 

He must read her mind because without warning, he leans in and licks a stripe up her pussy, curling the tip of his tongue over her clit. She moans like a dying animal, her hands shooting out to tug at his hair. He echoes her with a groan that vibrates against her sensitive skin and her hips buck up wildly of their own accord at the sensation. Then he starts licking into her for real and she’s barely touching the bed at all, her entire lower back arched up against his face. He momentarily releases his hold on her thighs just to clasp his hands over her hips instead, slamming her back down onto the mattress and pinning her there. Now unable to get away, she’s subject to the relentless onslaught of his tongue overwhelming every bit of her body. It’s heavenly, in a very real sense of the word. The man who doesn’t miss, she thinks to herself. Seems an increasingly more fitting title as he latches onto her clit with an accuracy that makes her head spin. 

“Holy shit, Dex,” she gasps out, fingers tightening in his hair. He glows under the praise, a drunken smile crossing his face as he laps at her. Maintaining his hold on her with one hand, he dips the other down and deftly slips two fingers inside her. A flush of heat explodes across her body. When he crooks them slightly and hits his target on the first try (that damn accuracy), she feels like she might actually combust. 

“How’s that, baby?” he mumbles against her, still working her with his mouth as he hooks his fingers into her over and over again. 

“Good, s’ so good, Dex, please,” she babbles. A few tears roll down her cheeks from the pure pleasure he’s giving her. She’s careening uncontrollably towards her orgasm, chasing it desperately while Dex moans and whines into her pussy like this is the best day of his life. He picks up the pace with his fingers, fucking into her hard and fast, and she’s done for. Her entire body seizes up, every muscle taut like a live wire as she cums, twitching in his grasp. It’s more intense than anything she’s ever experienced. She might be sobbing. She might be screaming. The only thing she’s truly aware of is Dex, his fingers, his mouth. He only pulls away when her body relaxes fully and her thighs start twitching on either side of his head. 

He looks beautiful. Still poised between her legs, the entire bottom half of his face glinting with evidence of her orgasm, his eyes bright and unfocused. She sits up shakily and grabs his face in both hands, hauling him up the bed. He comes eagerly and meets her in the middle where she kisses him, hard and fast and messy. She tastes herself on him. The thought makes her whimper and she bites down on his bottom lip. Coppery blood hits her tongue, she broke skin. She’s about to apologize when Dex groans wantonly and she realizes that he liked it, likes spilling blood for her. She licks it all off him, laves her tongue over the cut. There she is, coated in the smell of sex and sweat, lapping up his blood like a dog. It’s sick and it’s twisted and it’s perfect and she wants to fuck him until he can’t see straight.

So she does.

She scrabbles at his pants, clumsily undoing the button and shoving them down his hips. He picks up on her urgency and helps her, standing up at the foot of the bed and pulling them the rest of the way down to his ankles. His boxers are next. He doesn’t fold his own clothes, either too far gone to care or maybe he just cares about hers more. It doesn’t really matter because now he stands in front of her fully exposed, his cock thick and throbbing with want. He wastes no time getting back on top of her, the warm weight of him pressing her down deliciously into the pillows. His eyes stay fixed on hers as he lines himself up, studying every little reaction. 

He presses into her a bit at a time, savoring the feel of her opening up for him. The first contact makes them both moan, hers drawn out longer as the stretch of him seems to go on forever. She digs her nails into his back to steady herself. When he finally bottoms out he drops his head into the crook of her neck, sucking in deep breaths that sound almost pained. For the first time they are fully connected, they know each other inside and out in every way imaginable. This is religion. Nothing she’s every felt before can come close, not church, not a kill, not God himself. She’d burn in hell for eternity just for one more second of this. 

“You’re so perfect,” Dex grits out like it’s taking every ounce of his strength. “So fucking perfect, you’re like an angel, like you’re made for me.” 

If she wasn’t desperate before, she certainly is now.

“Dex,” she pleads. “Move.”

And he does. God help her, he does. The first snap of his hips hits like a freight train, a blast of pleasure going off in her stomach. Then he finds his tempo, quick, rough movements that have her biting into his shoulder to keep from screaming. 

“So. Fucking. Perfect,” he repeats, accentuating every word with a deep thrust. His voice, gruff with exertion and lust, goes straight to her core.

“Keep talking,” she begs. Such a simple request, he’d give her the air in his lungs if she asked right now.

“Knew it from the moment I saw you,” he mumbles into her hair, lips just barely brushing her ear. “So beautiful, so lost, I knew you would understand, knew you would need me. You need me, huh? Say it.” It sounds like an order but it’s undercut with a tone of pleading for her, for reassurance that she’s just as sick about him as he is about her.

“I need you,” she gasps out as he keeps pounding her into the mattress. “I need you. I need you.” 

And it’s true. He worked his way into the cavern of her soul and made a home there, occupying her body like a vessel, turning her into a patron saint of desire and stray dogs. But she had tamed him, hadn’t she? Took him in off the street and turned him docile, a lover that hung off her words like gospel. 

She’s rapidly approaching another orgasm, her body fighting through overstimulation and turning it to pleasure. He sees it, feels it maybe, and speeds up impossibly faster, playing her body like an instrument to bring her right to the edge. 

“Give it to me,” he demands before catching her in another searing kiss. And she does. Her hips buck wildly against him as she cums, her mouth falling open in a silent scream. He keeps kissing her, licking and biting at her lips, his thrusts getting sloppy and untamed as he follows her to his own orgasm. She can feel him throbbing inside her as he finishes and the sensation makes her shiver. He just manages to roll to the side as he collapses so he doesn’t crush her, not even bothering to pull out of her. He lays still for only a moment before he’s reaching for her again, wrapping his arms around her back and pulling her into his chest. They’re both sticky and warm and panting as they catch their breath. He dips his head down and kisses her again, gentle, soft lips sliding on hers and nothing more. When he pulls away, she looks up into his eyes, sparkling with adoration.

“Don’t ever leave me again, you understand?” she says quietly. He nods, brushing her hair out of her face with the reverence of a priest. 

“I promise,” he murmurs, tucking her head back down into his chest.