You’re sitting quietly in the castle’s private greenhouse — the one she lets no one else into — gently watering the lavender that’s grown surprisingly well under the care of vampires and secrets. You hear footsteps. Heavy. Familiar. It’s her. Cassandra walks in looking like usual — serious face, sharp stare, a little dirt on her gloves from “dealing with something” earlier. But the moment she sees you, all of that tension in her shoulders drops.

She doesn’t say anything at first. Just walks over, peels off her gloves, and wraps her arms around you from behind, her chin dropping to your shoulder like it belongs there. “You okay?” you ask softly. “I am now,” she murmurs, voice low. You smile and turn your head slightly. “Need a moment?” She nods. So you both sit down on the stone bench together, her arms still around you. No words. Just her hand gently stroking your thigh. Her head against your neck. And her lips pressing a slow, careful kiss to your cheek.

“Don’t tell anyone I’m this soft,” she mutters. You grin. “I won’t. Promise.”

“…But I do like when you call me ‘baby.’” You nearly melt. “You’re such a liar.”

“Only to everyone else. Not to you.”