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animeangel21 · 1 year

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Nothing But the Truth.

Slightly very suggest 18+ material, crack, talks about sex, experiences, etc.. way too much to list here so just read it.

Summary: once upon a time you were all hanging out at a bar with your friends of a few years. A good ole game you made up in college called ‘Nothing but the truth’ makes the night so much interesting.

“Guys not for nothing, but you’re all a bunch of old men and I’m bored” you stated after stocking up all the shot glasses in a pyramid and then disassembling it while listening to them all talk about whatever the conversation kept changing to.

“Well princess y/n what do you suggest we do?” Draken said from Next to you with Mitsuya right next to him.

“Well, rather than playing truth or dare I think we should go back to my college days and play a little game.” You stated with a small smile on your face looking around the table and the only skeptical look you received was from Chifuyu who went to the same college.

“Y/n which game are we talking about? Cause if I recall, we played a lot and they aren’t fun for anyone except you”

“HEY! they were only fun for me cause I was willing to participate with no hesitation unlike other people!” You stated with your hands up defensively.

“Alright let me explain, the game is called ‘Nothing but the truth’ sex edition. someone at the table is allowed to ask you something about your life and if you choose not to answer it then that person also gets to give you a dare. Simple. And there’s no tricks..unless you’re not an open book.”

“Alright, fair enough” Hinata says and everyone else agrees slowly.

“OH, every person asking the question must start off with ‘tell us nothing but the truth and the whole truth’ then ask your question” you said smiling at the rest of the table.

“Well, since I know for a fact nobody will volunteer, I’ll go first” Smiley said and inupi looked at him with a smirk. “Okay Nahoya, tell us nothing but the truth and the whole truth, tell us all the most embarrassing thing you’ve done while having sex.” Inupi said and his twin just looked at him with a face saying he already knew what was going to happen.

“Well, I’m not doing anything because I’m already almost drunk might as well.”

“This will be interesting.” Mitsuya says placing his elbows on the table and his chin on the palm of his hands.

“So, I had a girl over and wasn’t exactly planning on doing anything but with the way everything was playing out it just happened she was feeling me up and asked to take it to the bedroom. Eventually, she gets to undressing and I asked her to sit on my face and that’s where it went south”

“I see this going one of 3 ways and every single one of them seems pretty bad” Hakkai said with a slightly disappointed face.

“Well, when she did you have to do a..smell test, and let’s just say she didn’t smell the best and I may or may not have not only said it out loud but I gagged.. very loud as well.”

Everyone at the table laughed and had looks of shock on their faces.

“It’s the fact that you were not only honest with her BUT, You gagged as well. It must’ve been bad” Kazutora said trying to hold back more laughter.

“ I heard her screaming at him and I was clueless to the situation and I heard a very loud slap and she ran out the place mumbling something about him being an Asshole.” Souya stated looking at his twin.

“Wait, wait, so what happen when she was yelling at you and what happen after.” Takemichi asked recovering from his laughing fit.

“I told her I was sorry, I told her we could still hang out and asked if she wanted to shower with me. Then she yelled at me about how immature I was, slapped me and called me a dick and left” he said with a shrug of his shoulders.

You on the other hand didn’t stop laughing for a few moments. “YOU ARE A DICK! But, kudos to you for being honest.” You raised your hands in defense while laughing.

“I remember walking into the room to see him in his boxers with a red cheek” souya said which caused the table to erupt and in laughter again.

“Okay enough about me. Inupi, tell us nothing but the truth and the whole truth about the time and place you were caught doing the deed” Nahoya stated with a smirk on his face.

“Oh my god.. I can’t believe you’re gonna make me say that.” Inupi said and Takemichi gave him a pay on the back. “It’s Y/n’s game you should’ve known what you’re getting into” Chifuyu stated with crossed arms.

“Don’t shoot the messenger fuyu, I had a lot of things I wanted to know about people.”

“You were always the ring leader for that game too, I remember you wanted to play at my birthday celebration and someone ended up jumping into my neighbors pool naked.” Hakkai said looking at you from across the table.

“Yes, your brother tried to Kill me after that cause your neighbors were pretty mad but, they could’ve said the truth, cause it will set you free fuckers”

“If that’s your logic I don’t think we should play with you anymore” Draken added on.

“Don’t be a bunch of pussies! Now, Inupi tell us where you were caught fucking” you stated pointing at him.

“Alright! And don’t say fucking you weirdo. This was like a few months ago but, basically I was at work and I had a few things to work on and this pretty girl Walked in asking if I could look at her brothers bike. So, obviously I said no problem and I dropped everything to help a pretty girl out.”

He took a deep breath and continued.

“So I’m helping her out and I’m letting her know what’s going on and I bring it inside to check it out and fix it up for her. But, as I’m doing everything she starts flirting and making some remarks here and there and I’m going along and some how we ended up doing it on her brothers bike..her suggestion not mine I was thinking but not with the head on my shoulders” he said covering his face in embarrassment.

“Bending her over the bike is crazy Inupi.” You nonchalantly comment before sipping your cocktail.

“I DID NOT! She did that herself.” He mumbled.

“With help of course” you said giggling to yourself

“Y/n, no more interruptions or I’m calling your babysitter”Kazutora said pointing at you from the seat next to you.

“AND WHOSE MY BA- ohhhhhhhh” you said with sudden realization and gave him a glare that could kill.

“Whose the baby sitter? and why are they a baby sitter? What did she do?” Hinata said and you just facepalmed.

“Inupi please continue..” you mumbled.

“ANYWAYS, yes we did the deed in the shop and before we could finish it at least before I could, old lady walks right in on us. Mid stroke. Mid moan. I thought she was gonna fall over and die right there from a heart attack. And that’s not the worse part..” he said and ran his fingers through his hair.

“What do you mean not the worse fucking part!?” Nahoya exclaimed loudly.

Thank god for the private area in the bar we got.

“I-it was her granddaughter..” inupi said with a sigh.

“The old lady lectured me and her after allowing us to.. clean up, HIT ME WITH HER PURSE, Then told the girls brother to come pick up his bike.”

“That must suck..for you” Draken said once he stoped laughing.

“Mitsuya, why don’t you tell us nothing but the truth and the whole truth about the grossest thing that’s ever happen to you when you were tryna get it on.” Ken said and the whole table let out a bunch of “ooohhh” ‘s like middle schoolers.

“And if I dont?” He said with an eyebrow raised

“You have to give a lap dance to anyone at the table except y/n and me”

“no thank you I like my morals and ego”

“Well, I just finished school and went to a graduation party for some girl and it was obvious that she had the hots for me. She always wanted to have me Model for her or asked if I needed one. Well, I decided to go cause we’d worked together on some projects to see how It would be and it was fine at first till she invited me to her room to talk privately.”

“ we know how that goes” Chifuyu said snickering and and you nodded your head silently. “Personally, I can’t count how many times I’ve walked in on ‘private conversations’ ” you said making air quotes for private conversations.

“Anyways, so it’s obvious at that point what she wanted and I said fuck it why not. Big mistake on my end.” He rubs his face and tried not to laugh.

“So I, unlike Nahoya didn’t have a smell issue.”

“OH CMON! Don’t bring it up” he said embarrassed and his face even redder than before and not cause the alcohol.

“But the issue came when she wanted to return the favor, I insisted that I take over and ya know do the work of making her feel good. She wanted otherwise and still wanted to return the favor so, I let her and at first it wasn’t terrible. She choked and I thought nothing of it but when she did it again she puked a lot and I didn’t even know what to do.” He said with his hands up in defeat while everyone looked shocked.

“Y/n have you ever c-” Kazutora started before getting interrupted

“No. Before you say it no I’ve never choked and thrown up because of a dick in my throat.” You answered truthfully and continued to laugh silently.

“I cant wrap my head around it till this day but, I helped her out and I assured her it was fine and I helped her clean up, she told me later down the road that she was nervous, she drank, she ate..a lot clearly, and once she gagged she couldn’t control it after that.” He shrugged his shoulders and covered his mouth with his hand.

“Were your pants okay after that though?” Hinata asked.

“My pants were they were around my ankles and I was laying on her bed but my mental state after that was traumatized.”

“See lesson learned, some people just can’t suck a dick.”

“Let the game continue now that I’ve had to relive trauma.” Mitsuya said rolling his eyes at draken.

“Souya, you can’t hide forever but you can tell us nothing but the truth and the whole truth about the most unspeakable thing that’s happen to you when you hooked up with a girl” Mitsuya said

“I’ve been waiting for this my whole life.” You said leaning forward on your elbows to listen closely.

“Kazutora please call her babysitter whoever that might be” Souya said and you gasped loudly.

“NO!”

“Okay wait! Whose the babysitter and why are they the babysitter? DID YOU GET PREGNANT?” Takemichi said and you tried not to slam your head on the table.

“NO! Hell no! I’m still team fuck them kids but, this said person is NOT my babysitter just..put me in my place and said I talk too much and I can’t live it down now” you said rolling your eyes.

“But who did it?” Multiple people said at the same time.

You sighed loudly. “This is not about me, that’s confidential information. Souya your story?”

“Y/n don’t be a pussy now! You’re the most outspoken, loudmouth but sweet person at this table and someone shut you down, AND YOU DONT WANNA TELL US WHO!?”

“NO!”

“OKAY! So basically when I was out I took a girl home from the club she was really into me and I was into her. So, I bring her home and we’re in my room and she starts asking me if I had some things and now I’m confused. She asked me what I was into and if I was open to things.”

“Oh no” Hakkai said face palming.

“As she’s asking me I’m getting more anxious and it’s hard for me to get..into the mood.. and so she then ask me to undress and we both do but what I didn’t expect was for her to pull out lube from her bag.”

Everyone’s eyes went wide.

“Please don’t tell me she wanted you to do what I’m thinking..” Ken said looking at him with concern and trying not to laugh.

“She goes into the bathroom with her bag and I’m just sitting there in my boxers and she comes out fully naked but, she had a strap on.. and she was lubing it up.. and asked me if I was ready.” He said rubbing his temples.

At that moment Kazutora, Inupi, Mitsuya and Hakkai all fell out their seats laughing and Nahoya was wheezing his lungs out.

“I respectfully told her that I don’t float in that boat and asked her to leave.”

“Ken, please enlighten us by telling us nothing but the truth and the whole truth, what’s the scariest thing to happen to you while doing the dirty?” Souya asked still red in the face.

“Well, I’ve never told this story and if it leaves this room I’ll hunt you all down personally even you y/n”

“HUH? why do I get called out I would never!” You said and he just rolled his eyes.

“Anyways, I hooked up with a girl once and never again after that because when we went to my place everything was fine ya know, no smell issues, no choking issues if you’re talking about oral and ya know it was great overall..”

“ uh oh and the table turns” Mitsuya said and received a death glare of the taller man.

“So afterwards I cleaned up and she’s saying her stomach hurts. I’m confused and I’m wondering why so I ask her if she needs anything. I grab her some meds and water and when she sits up she just starts crying and holding her stomach.”

“I know exactly how this is going” Kazutora says already laughing with his head in his arms on the table

“I’m panicking and I just don’t know what to do at that point so I took her to a hospital, had to explain to the doctor what happen and he does an ultrasound. Now, where it gets crazy is her emergency contact was her mother so it’s just her mother and me in the waiting room but I didn’t know.”

“Oh my god” the realization hits everyone.

“So the doctor comes out and calls her name and we both stand up and look at each other. He told us that.. her stomach was in so much pain cause of.. penetration and they shifted.. her mother would not look me in the eyes and they gave her medication for the pain and her mom took her home and she never called me again after that and I never called her.”

Silence. There was silence beside you laughing and on the verge of tears. Mouths were open but curved like they were trying not to laugh.

“YOU…YOU REARRANGED HER GUTS LITERALLY!” You screamed while laughing.

That was the trigger and everyone else just laughed or repeated ‘oh my god’ while in overall shock.

“Jesus what kind of fucking 3rd legs are you packing?” Nahoya said baffled by the whole situation.

“H-he literally did what he said it was gonna do” Kazutora cackled with tears in his eyes.

“Under promise and over deliver..LITERALLY” Chifuyu yelled from the floor.

“ALRIGHT” Ken said out loud trying not to laugh about it too.

Once everyone quiets down Chifuyu looks at you “y/n, do you promise to tell us nothing but the truth and the whole truth?” Everyone at the table “ooohhh’s” once again like a bunch of five year olds.

“You know I will.” You said confidently but kinda scared of what was going to come.

“Why don’t you tell us about the craziest sex or craziest sex story you got.”

Oh fuck.

“Well, I’ll say this.it was definitely the crazy sex I had and it happen on more than one occasion. But, I’m an open book for the most part.”

“Don’t be too open, maybe flip some pages” Kazutora said with a disgusted look on his face.

“Yeah yeah, anyways let me explain that I was in a relationship with said persons-”

“PERSONS? As in more than 1 person? A POLY RELATIONSHIP?” Nahoya said shocked and looked at you with shock written all over his features.

“Yes, 2 other people to be exact. But, this all started cause I was at a club in another city and me and a few of my girlfriends were going to drink, have a good time and go home. Didn’t exactly plan on having sex but it took a turn when we got invited into a section with some pretty important people who I didn’t know were important till I was told by one of my friends. Off the bat they were pretty hot and I wasn’t drunk either so I said fuck it why not join what’s the worse thing that could happen right?”

“Anyways, I’m having a good time and we all talk my girls kicked it with some other guys and they were on the dance floor which left me with said guys. And before I knew it I was sitting on one’s lap while making out with the other.”

“Oh my god y/n who knew you were such a slut”Kazutora said shaking his head and that made you punch him the arm.

“I am not!” You said defensively.

“ANYWAYS LIKE I WAS SAYING, that happen and they made me an offer I couldn’t refuse and I went home that night with them and had the most mind blowing sex of my life with both of them. And I ended up dating them”

“Jesus y/n who knows what other shit you do? Penny for your thoughts?” Nahoya said wiggling his brows.

You threw a lime at him from one of the shot glasses and he had a pout on his face.

“It’s not like I just went looking for a threesome or a poly relationship it just happen. But, I will say you discover a lot about yourself in those moments.” And raised your hands up defensively.

“As much as I’d like to keep this going I actually have to go. I have a show tomorrow and I need to take these idiots home cause they’re beyond drunk.” Mitsuya said pointing to Takemichi, who was asleep. Hinata who was also sleeping, and inupi was still on the floor.

“We’d all better head out. The staff here is going to hate us.” Draken said as everyone started standing and helped to carry Takemichi and Hakkai grabbed inupi.

You helped with Hinata and lead them to Mitsuya’s car and waved everyone off and it was just you, Chifuyu, Draken and Kazutora outside.

“We have to open up shop tomorrow so, we will see you guys another time. Y/n how are you getting home?”

“I don’t live far I’m walking, plus I didn’t drink much so I’m going to drink more when I get home.”

“You sure you wanna walk alone y/n? There are creeps out there.” Draken said waving goodbye to his friends.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine I’ll text you all as soon as I’m home.”

You walked away with that after saying your goodbyes and headed in the direction of your home. You turned the corner and ran into someone tall who also caught you before you fell.

“Princess, you should watch where you’re going, someone can snatch your cute ass right up.” You looked up to see whose holding you and your heart skipped a beat as it always did.

The man himself with the charm that drew you into him in the first place and your babysitter. Ran Haitani.

“Baby, I’m fine. You should probably look down when you walk though, not everyone can be as tall as you.” Your arms wrapped around his warm waist and his around your waist. His lips pressed against yours and his hand held the back of your neck and he pulled away looking into your eyes.

“Watch it. I was going to come and find you too. Took ya long enough to say your goodbyes.” He said turning around to walk with you in the direction of your place.

“Yeah, haven’t seen them in a while, we all told sex stories and embarrassing stories pretty fun if ya ask me.” He held you close with his arm around your waist and infront of your place sitting on the steps was your second lover and the man who stole your heart as well.

Rindou Haitani.

“Took ya long enough, how was your night babe?” Rindou said swooning you with a smile into his arms for a kiss.

“it was great, catching up with old friends was needed.” You said wrapping your arms around his small waist and slipping your cold hands under the back of his shirt.

“Cmon, it’s cold out here and clearly you’re cold too.” He said and walked you inside with his brother following.

Draken watched from a distance with a shocked expression. Definitely not who he expected you to be with especially not the Haitani Brothers.

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers smut #tokyorev x reader #tokyo rev x y/n #ran haitani #rindou haitani #anime #tokyo revengers crack

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autumntouched · 1 year

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Talk to Me | Ch. 15

Fic Summary: Phoenix isn’t sure she made the right call in leaving Maverick and Rooster behind on the mission. Rooster, Bob, and Hangman try to cheer her up, in their own, very different ways.

Pairings: Past Natasha “Phoenix” Trace x Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw, Natasha “Phoenix” Trace x Jake “Hangman” Seresin

Warnings: Y'all I'm so dumb: I made myself cry writing this. And Amelia Benjamin is Khaleesi

A/N: From AO3 I've been pretty nervous about this chapter, especially after the generous amount of time so many of you put into sharing such thoughtful comments about the relationships in the story. I have loved reading every single one of those over and over (no matter how long they were--I love essay comments!) as I worked through this chapter. If there's a theme song for this chapter, it's Dolly Parton's "I Will Always Love You." Thank you so much for all of your encouraging words and kudos. This is the end of the story, although there will be an intermediate chapter and an epilogue to come (hopefully sooner rather than later.)

“Hey, Phoenix, looks like we’ve got another bet for you to settle!” Hangman calls into the kitchen from Penny’s backyard. They’re supposed to be setting up for Rooster’s surprise birthday party. But while Bob and Fanboy work together to decorate the gazebo with balloons, streamers, and a birthday banner that Bob and Amelia made, Hangman and Payback have been arguing over who’s in charge of the grill.

Natasha doesn’t bother to look up from the vegetables she’s slicing for kabobs. “I’m not settling any more bets, Bagman. Bob, you handle it. He still has to listen to you.”

“You could toss a coin?” her backseater suggests, to which both Hangman and Payback scoff.

“Rock, paper, scissors,” Fanboy suggests. “Best of three?”

She rolls her eyes and pushes the vegetables over to Amelia to skewer. But the teenager is so engrossed in what’s happening by the grill that she nearly stabs her finger. “Believe me, they’re not worth the headache,” Natasha stage whispers with a conspiratorial smile.

Amelia’s cheeks go bright pink, and she’s suddenly very busy with the kabobs. Penny chuckles across the kitchen where she’s assembling the strawberry shortcake, Rooster’s favorite. “Too bad that doesn’t stop their charm from working its magic every now and then, does it?” she says a little too knowingly, and it’s Natasha’s turn to blush.

Fortunately, Amelia doesn’t notice. She’s busy fixing Penny with a stern look. “Okay, Mom, please stop. That’s not how I want to think about Maverick.”

Penny is unfazed. “We’re all big girls here, honey.”

“Big girls who sneak men out their bedroom window?” Amelia asks innocently, popping the onions onto a stick.

Natasha pauses chopping to look over at Penny who stares at her daughter red-faced and open mouthed. Fortunately, the guys are too busy throwing rock, paper, scissors like a Power Rangers stand off to notice what’s going on in the kitchen. Theo barks and runs in between them, wanting to join the game. Maverick won’t be giving her a hard time about Hangman after this revelation, and she makes a note never to mess with Amelia.

Penny recovers with a roll of her shoulders and points her spatula at her daughter. “I told you that you got one time to bring that up!” she scolds playfully. “That’s three times now.”

“Like I said,” Natasha says, rescuing all of them, “they’re not worth the headache. I mean, look at them.” Somehow the rock, paper, scissors game has devolved into Payback and Hangman pretending to kick one another. Payback’s much longer legs are giving him the advantage so Hangman resorts to trying to sic Theo on him. The dog trots happy circles around them, oblivious to Hangman’s commands to “Get him, boy! Take him down!”

Penny laughs. “Maybe not.”

Having lost the deciding showdown to Payback, Hangman comes stomping into the kitchen. “Penny, m’dear, where’s the meat? At least I can make sure it tastes good even if it’s not cooked right.”

Penny waves to the refrigerator. “Help yourself, Seresin.”

But instead of going for the food, Hangman darts toward Natasha and Amelia. Amelia squeaks and jumps away. Natasha manages to drop the knife a moment before his fingers close above her hips and start to tickle her. The air gets sucked right out of her lungs because he tickles so hard it’s almost painful. Shrieking, she tries to twist free but he has her trapped against the counter so she ends up with her face in his chest. And she can’t help but notice how warm and sturdy it is when she’s pressed to him even when he’s the one she’s trying to escape. “No,” is all she manages to wail while attempting to elbow him off of her and protect her sides.

“You’re in my spot,” he says impishly.

“Then ask me to move!” she wheezes when he finally lets up. She bats at his arm away, but her breathless giggles diminish some of her bite. “I could’ve stabbed you, dickhead!”

He steps out of her swatting reach, a taunting grin crinkling his eyes. “No you couldn’t. I’m too fast for that.”

“Okay, Mr. Flash,” she shakes her head but slides over to give him room to set up beside her.

She thought things might be awkward between them after this morning, well and last night, but Hangman seems to be doing his best to keep up their easy banter. Although there’s more of a flirtatious than antagonistic edge to it now. Then again, with him it can be hard to distinguish between the two.

Hangman asks his way around Penny’s kitchen, gathering what he needs, before his station is set up next to hers. Natasha can’t help peeking over while he works. He’s as confident in the kitchen as he is in the air, everything done with casual precision. All of the seasoning and worcestershire sauce go into his marinade without measurement.

Since their conversation, he looks more relaxed than she can ever remember seeing him. There’s no hint of the tightly wound energy that usually crackles beneath the surface of his carefully projected nonchalance. Telling her about the day his sister died and that it's been on his mind was as much as he wanted to share for now, but that alone seems to have lifted a significant weight off his shoulders. She promised she would be there to listen if and when he’s ready to tell her more.

She’s not the only one with whom things have shifted. Whatever remaining tension there may have been between him and Rooster seems to have evaporated and some understanding reached. So maybe something good came of last night. Obviously, besides the sex. Natasha’s already had to sneak away twice today so her fingers can take some of the edge off of her remembering the things his mouth did to her. No matter how much she wants a second round, she’s not ready to give him the satisfaction of asking for it. That might be easier thought than done though with the way the golden glow of the afternoon light falls across his profile and his arms as he works the meat, lip tucked between his teeth with focus.

After he catches her looking over twice, Hangman waggles his eyebrows and deliberately flexes his bicep. “You know you don’t have to be shy about watching, if you like what you see.”

Natasha nearly slices her finger with a soft, “Shit!”

Hangman looks far too pleased with himself until Penny knocks him over the head. He ducks in surprise. “Ow!”

“You’ll be eating my burgers, Seresin, if you keep causing problems in my kitchen,” she warns. “Leave the girls alone or I’m not above enforcing my bar rules here.”

Unable to salute with his hands covered in raw hamburger, he stands at attention. “Yes, ma’am!”

Penny washes her hands and goes back to the cake. It looks delicious, the sliced strawberries arranged in vibrant red patterns over layers of spongy cake and whipped cream.

Her intervention gives Natasha enough time to recover. “Someone has to make sure you don’t poison us,” she points out.

“Then why am I cooking and you’re slicing?” he winks.

“Because we trust you even less with a knife.” He watches her spin the knife in her hand, a trick her older brother Luca spent a summer teaching her and which had added no fewer than a dozen gray strands to her mother’s hair. His Adam’s apple bobs, and Natasha quirks her mouth seductively. Let Hangman wonder exactly what her hands are capable of now. She strokes her thumb along the handle for good measure.

Distracted by the heat that flares up in his gaze, she doesn’t immediately notice Amelia scrutinizing them until a soft snort redirects their attention. The teen drums her glitter painted fingernails on the counter sending a sudden creep of dread down Natasha’s back. Amusement arches Amelia’s full brows and purses her mouth. “I thought you said they weren’t worth the headache?” she reminds Natasha.

“Who’s a headache!” protests Hangman, leaning around her to give Amelia a look that says she can’t possibly be talking about him.

“You,” Natasha mutters under her breath. She grabs another green pepper and jams the knife into the top. How does Penny live like this! “And they aren’t! Clearly.”

“Well, if you two keep flirting like this, dinner’s not going to be ready by the time Mav and Bradley get here,” Amelia warns cheekily. The girl’s a demon in a tiny, adorable, blonde package.

“Hey!” Penny calls warningly.

Natasha glances outside because it’s too quiet. Payback is checking the propane on the grill, but Fanboy and Bob have stopped talking and are watching the kitchen window with rapt interest. They balance their beers on their thighs like they’re watching a football game instead of Amelia putting everyone on blast. As soon as they see her looking, the two of them start and lean toward one another so fast they nearly bump heads. Apparently no one around here has ever learned the word ‘subtle.’

“Do you even know what flirting is, kiddo?” Hangman deflects breezily. He’s returned to shaping the patties and seems to be enjoying the fun Amelia is having at all of their expense.

She frowns reproachfully, like he’s dared to insult her intelligence. “First, I’m fifteen! And second, I basically live with a pair of horny teenagers so yeah, pretty much. Unfortunately.”

Natasha tries to bury her laugh as a cough in her shoulder.

“Okay, young lady!” Penny reprimands finally, straightening up from icing the cake with a frown. “I think it’s time to find something else to talk about.”

Realizing she may have gone too far, Amelia bites her lip contritely. “It’s just kind of obvious,” she mutters.

She’s right about that, if she’s talking about Natasha and Hangman. As fun and harmless as it is while they set up though, Natasha would rather not make Rooster watch Hangman flirt with her through his own birthday party. Last night it might have been good for him to see that she isn’t holding onto what they had, but she doesn’t need to rub it in his face. They settle on the much safer subject of Thanksgiving plans. Although Hangman manages to turn even that into an opportunity to tease her about showing up to her family’s dinner because her mother had to extend an open invite to everyone to visit when she was on the phone with them.

When Hangman finishes wrapping up the marinating hamburger patties and leaves them in the refrigerator, he asks Penny to point him to the bathroom. Giving him a little bit of a head start, Natasha sets down the kabob she’s stacking and follows. Amelia’s eyes track her across the room, then jump to her mom. Penny raises her eyebrows and bites her lip like she’s holding herself back from saying something.

“I promise you, it’s not half as exciting as whatever went through your heads right then,” Natasha says over her shoulder on her way into the living room. A pair of stifled giggles follows her out.

The bathroom is off a short hallway that ends at Amelia’s bedroom. Through the slightly ajar door, she can see a plush white rug with purple trim and the post of a canopy bed. She leans against the wall, taking in the ocean view from the window while she waits for Hangman to finish. This is about as much privacy as they’re going to get.

He stops in the doorway when he sees her. Being alone with him for the first time since that morning unexpectedly throws her off balance. With no one else around, the current coursing between them buzzes along her nerves. He props a hand on the door frame and lets his eyes drop to her mouth then linger on the sweetheart neckline of her shirt. He shifts his hips, as if suddenly needing more space in his jeans, and leans in. “If I’d known you were bold enough–.”

“Not what I’m here to talk about,” she cuts him off, folding her arms across her chest and fighting with everything she has to keep her own eyes on his face so that this conversation doesn’t devolve into what he was about to suggest. Because the eager clench between her legs would very much like for it to go there. “You need to stop flirting with me,” she says firmly.

He works his jaw, debating how easy or hard he wants to make this for her. “As far as I can tell, it’s been a two way street, sweetheart.”

It’s not worth denying. “And it was fun. Now it stops.”

“Want to let me in on the sudden change of heart?” He pushes a toothpick out of its plastic and pops it between his teeth. Does he buy boxes of them to have such a steady supply?

“It’s not professional.” That’s close enough to a truth and something they should be more concerned about. “You saw what happened in the kitchen, and Maverick’s noticed. He said something about it last night.”

He flips the toothpick and furrows his brow. “That’s all that’s bothering you about it?”

Natasha scowls at him. She knows what Rooster sized button he’s trying to push, and she’s not going to let him go anywhere near it. “ All , Hangman? It’s my career . These things don’t play out for me the same way they do for you.”

Hangman rolls the toothpick to the corner of his mouth. “You know Maverick wouldn’t do that to his favorite child, and your friends definitely wouldn’t.”

She frowns at him even though there’s no animosity in his words. “Probably not. But give it a rest, okay?”

“Are you going to give checking me out a rest too?”

Her face gets hot because he’s not wrong. She’s found every excuse to look at him this whole afternoon. “I’ll stop if you do,” she agrees, unable to look him in the eye.

“Doesn’t sound like you want to though.”

He’s really trying her. “I can keep my eyes to myself for another twenty four hours, and then we don’t even have to worry about it again, right?” Natasha moves her hands to her hips to steady herself. When she looks back at him, there’s a strange, stung expression on his face and suddenly she feels like she said something wrong. He can’t have expected this to go beyond their leave, can he?

“Sure, Phoenix,” he says with a touch of sarcasm, pushing himself off the wall and brushing past her.

They’re supposed to be just friends! Or almost friends and sure, friends who have fucked but that’s never been a disqualifier for her. She runs a hand through her hair. This isn’t exactly the conversation she was expecting to have with him. Well, really none of the conversations they’ve had are ones she expected to have. That keeps throwing her for a loop.

Amelia pops around the corner and nearly collides with Hangman. They both jump back. Startled then sheepish, she blurts out, “I was grabbing a sweater!” Natasha would believe her if she hadn’t grown up with Gabby sneaking behind her every time she had a guy over. And because Amelia is already wearing a hoodie over her flannel shirt. But Natasha will let the teen work that one out for herself.

Instead, she elbows Hangman in the ribs on her way back to the kitchen. “See!”

“Ow! Geez, Rooster was right about you.” First Maverick, now Hangman mentioning something Rooster told them about her. Have Rooster and Amelia teamed up to broadcast her personal life to everyone? She tosses him a smirk over her shoulder instead of confirming or denying whatever her friend might have said.

Behind her, she hears him tell Amelia, “If you keep being so nosy, kiddo, I’m going to start asking you about the boys at school.”

“Who says I like boys?”

“You really need to find some younger adults in your life because that’s not the shutdown you think it is. I’ll take your phone and ask you about everyone who texts you.”

“Is Hangman threatening my daughter?” Penny asks when Natasha returns.

“What would you do if I said yes?”

“I’d say it’s about time.” They laugh, and Natasha finishes off the last of the kabobs. When Hangman comes back, he passes her without a word on his way outside. Maybe she shouldn’t have shut him down so hard or assumed that their intentions were on the same page. Did he want something more to happen? And why hadn't he said it anything about it earlier? She can no longer read him the way she once thought she could.

At Penny’s five minute warning, they clear the house and scramble to their places in the backyard. Amelia and Penny stay out in the open, playing with Theo, while the Dagger Squad hides in the gazebo. The Bronco turns off out front, and Maverick and Rooster’s voices move toward the front porch. Between the balloons and streamers, they won’t have much time to surprise Rooster before he figures out what’s going on. Payback opens his camera and starts recording Fanboy trying to stifle his laughter. Hangman crouches, fingers braced on the ground, in front of him. Bob and Natasha are crammed behind them, Bob’s hands resting on her shoulders while he peers around her for the first hint of Bradshaw.

“So do we count down or jump on the crunch?” Hangman whispers loudly.

“Crunch of what?” asks Payback, standing the farthest back.

“Gravel, buddy. The gravel,” Fanboy supplies. “On three after we hear the door open.”

They should have coordinated this part better because Maverick’s voice comes through the kitchen. “Penny! Amelia?”

“Hangman, you count,” Fanboy decides, tapping his shoulder. “You have the best view.”

Hangman shifts slightly and catches Theo’s attention. The dog bolts for them. “Wait, no! We better just go!”

“Surprise!” they shout, stumbling over one another and Theo to spill out from their hiding spot. “Happy Birthday!”

Rooster blinks at them stupidly from the kitchen doorway, mouth slightly askew. Clearly, he was not expecting to see them so at least they pulled off that part of the surprise. Amelia runs up to him and drags him into the yard. “It’s a surprise birthday party!”

“A what–,” he asks, tucking his aviators into his undershirt.

Maverick claps him on the shoulder and joins Amelia in steering Rooster toward the gazebo. “Penny and the team pulled together a little party for you, Bradley.”

Bradshaw takes them in, takes in the “Happy Birthday, Party Fowl” banner Amelia and Bob made, and the decorations wrapped around the gazebo’s post. A smile spreads beneath his mustache, and he props his hands on his hips. “No shit! I thought you all ditched me!”

Natasha slips under his arm. “We thought about it,” she teases. “But decided we like you enough.” He squeezes her to his side. Hangman’s gaze darts away from them, back to Theo braced on his thighs for an ear scratch.

She lets Rooster go when Amelia drags him closer to the banner so he can appreciate her artwork. Now that he and Maverick are there, Payback turns the grill up all the way and graciously accepts Hangman as his sous chef. The rest of them play a rowdy game of cornhole until dinner is ready. After Fanboy and Amelia are eliminated in the first round, Bob and Natasha manage to eke out a victory over Maverick and Penny.

As Hangman promised, his burgers are delicious. Thick and so juicy they all have to lurch over their plates to avoid staining their clothes. He looks incredibly pleased with himself at all the compliments and promises to share his recipe with Maverick. The sun is setting when Penny brings out the cake lit with sparkling candles. Natasha sits on the side of Bob’s chair, his arm draped around her waist to help keep her balance, as they sing happy birthday to Rooster.

His eyes widen when Penny sets the strawberry shortcake down in front of him and rests a hand on his shoulder. With a huge grin rounding out his cheeks, he looks boyish in the flickering cast of the flames. How long has it been since Bradshaw had a birthday party with friends? Or maybe it’s a reflection of Maverick who’s sitting next to him with unabashed tears dripping off his nose, eighteen years after the last time he got to celebrate with his surrogate son. Amelia discreetly passes him a napkin. Rooster blows out the candles in a single breath while they clap and holler loudly.

Hangman and Fanboy call dibs on their pieces as Penny cuts and serves the cake. “Did you make this?” Rooster asks, passing slices down the table before he has his own.

“Yep, she did!” Amelia says proudly. “So you better tell her how good it is.”

“I second that,” orders Maverick. Penny tuts at the two of them and waves them off with the knife.

“I guess Mav told you this is my favorite?” Bradshaw says shyly. Maverick chokes up again and reaches out to clasp his shoulder.

“He sure did,” Penny says, placing a plate of cake in Natasha’s hands.

Rooster has no problem telling her how delicious it is when he gets his slice, and he’s right. It’s light and not too sweet. Natasha ends up splitting seconds with Bob. Before Penny has to head out to The Hard Deck for the night, Rooster opens the beautifully wrapped present from her and Amelia. It’s a portable cold brew maker. “Since you won’t stop complaining about the coffee on the ship,” Amelia says brightly. He thanks them with hugs.

Payback brings over the squad’s group gift. “Phoenix picked it out so if you hate it blame her,” Hangman announces. At least he’s talking to her. Or at least about her. She chucks her balled up napkin at his face. He ducks and bats it toward Fanboy. Fanboy catches it and tosses it into the trash bag Penny set up. “Bob, tell Hangman to grow up,” he begs.

Bob leans around Natasha. “Grow up, Bagman. And be nice to Phoenix.”

“Tell her to be nice to me! She started it,” Hangman grumbles, slumping back in his chair.

“Yeah,” she says evilly. “But I don’t have to do what Bob says.”

Maverick looks around as if he’s found himself at a table of kindergartners. “What just happened?”

Rooster takes the oversized gift from Payback and sets it in his lap. “Hangman lost a bet to Bob so he has to do whatever Bob says.”

Maverick looks at Bob with new appreciation. “What bet did he win?”

Rooster’s ripping his gift open because, unlike the Benjamins’ gift, Fanboy wrapped theirs with tape and paper in every direction. “He’s a better hair braider.”

Bob blushes, and Natasha ruffles her WSO’s hair. Payback shows Maverick, Penny, and Amelia her braids. “Whoa!” Amelia exclaims, taking the phone and expanding the pictures. “You should post this on TikTok.”

“It’s so pretty, Bob,” Penny compliments.

“Yes! Thanks guys!” Bradshaw shouts, drawing their attention back to him. He holds up the indoor putting green. Natasha smirks at Hangman. She knows her friend, even if he can’t be bothered to tell her he’s stateside.

“What are you going to do with that on a boat?” Hangman demands. “Are you even allowed to have that?”

“Probably not,” Rooster shrugs. “But my commanding officer told me I suck and need to work on my game so he probably won’t mind.”

“If I’d known I’d have shown you some pointers this week,” Payback says. “Hit me up when you’re back here.”

Maverick looks over with interest. “Mind if I take you up on that? Penny kicks my ass.”

Penny grins when everyone turns to her perched on the arm of his chair. “Go ahead and get all the practice you can, Pete. Because I’m going to keep kicking it.”

“She was semi pro,” Amelia clarifies proudly on her mother’s behalf.

Payback whistles. “I’m not going to top that, sir.”

Penny pulls out her phone and hands it down the table to him. “We’ll have to see what you got, Reuben. Give me your number, and we can set up a tee time. One of these days, I can pop up to Lemoore. Make sure some of you are still behaving yourselves.” Hangman looks pointedly at Bob who cranks his middle finger up.

While Payback puts his number in Penny’s phone, Maverick nudges his gift across the ground to Rooster who’s still admiring his putting green. “Last one’s from me. Hurry up because Penny has to go soon.”

The table erupts when Rooster peels off the wrapping. “No way!” shouts Hangman. Fanboy jumps up and runs to Bradshaw’s side.

“Oh my god, that’s so old!” Amelia laughs.

All the guys squawk. “No, it’s a classic,” Rooster says disdainfully. He holds up the Nintendo NES that Maverick got him. “I didn’t know they still made these!”

“Like I said, old,” Amelia rolls her eyes.

Maverick grins brightly, clearly happy that Rooster appreciates the present. “I thought next time you’re here we could play like old times, bud.”

“Yes! It’s on like Donkey Kong!”

“Do you think we can hook this up at the BOQ?” asks Fanboy.

“If you want to try it tonight, I can swing by and get it before you leave tomorrow,” Maverick offers.

Bradshaw looks at him. “I mean, I feel like you should get the first game though? For old times?” Maverick stands and pulls him into a one armed hug. After all they’ve been through, it’s good to see the two of them finding their way back to the relationship they once had.

“You should come by,” Fanboy offers, determined to find a way to get his hands on the game system. Natasha kicks him playfully to get him to leave it alone.

“Or you all can set it up here,” offers Penny, standing up and brushing off the back of her pants. “I have to head out, but I don’t mind you sticking around. Have fun. And try not to destroy my house.” They promise not to as she says her round of goodbyes. She hugs each of them, giving Hangman a final stern warning to behave himself, reminding Payback to text her about golf, and congratulating Bob on beating Hangman at a bet. Maverick puts a hand on her back as he walks her out.

“So when do we start placing bets on when they get married?” Fanboy asks as soon as they’re out of sight.

“I want in,” Amelia demands.

“Uh-uh, kiddo. You have insider information,” Hangman protests.

She raises an eyebrow. “Scared of having to pay up to a teenager?”

Hangman pats the top of her head, drawing a scowl from her. “It’s an unfair advantage.”

Amelia tosses her chin at Rooster. “What about him? Is he out too?”

“Why are you dragging me into this?” he complains. “Also isn’t it illegal for you to gamble?”

“Please call 911 and tell them you know a minor who’s placing a bet on when her mom is getting married,” Amelia offers. “I’d looove to know how that call goes.”

When will these grown men learn to stop setting themselves up to tangle with Amelia Benjamin? Natasha leaves them to her while she starts clearing the table and trash. They get the Nintendo hooked up to Penny’s television, and it’s late by the time everyone’s had their turn at the game. Maverick walks them to the porch while Amelia watches from the doorway.

“Try not to have too much fun without me,” he teases.

“Are you kidding,” sighs Hangman, hands in pockets. “Everything’s going to feel slow after this.”

He’s right. No one has pushed them the way Maverick has in a long time. She hasn’t had to push herself the way she did to make the mission in a long time.

“We can still text you though, right?” Fanboy asks. “About Navy stuff,” he adds hurriedly, when Maverick gives him a subdued look of terror.

“Sure,” Maverick agrees cautiously. “About Navy stuff.”

All of them stand there, hovering in the final moments of their time together. The weight of everything they’ve been through and what they’ve come to mean to one another adds a note of solemnity to their parting. When they walk down the steps of the porch all of that will be behind them as they scatter across the world, their lives stretching in different directions until the next time that they cross paths. No one wants to be the first to let go.

Bob looks around at each of them then sticks out his hand to Maverick. “Well, fair winds and following seas, sir.” Maverick reaches for it then pulls Bob into a hard hug. One by one they say their goodbyes to him and then Amelia before heading to Payback’s car. Only Natasha doesn’t have to lean down when he hugs her.

“Remember everything I said, okay?” he says softly, clapping her shoulder when he steps back. She nods, not trusting herself to speak yet. It’s just her and Rooster left in the soft light of the porch. A slow, mischievous smile spreads across his face deepening the crows feet around his eyes. “And you’re allowed to text me about whatever’s on your mind.”

She tries to hide a smile. “Amelia told me about you jumping out of women’s windows lately.”

That surprises him for a moment, and Amelia hides in the lapels of her flannel when he squints over at her. But he only shakes his head and says, “Just one woman’s these days. Think I’m going to keep it that way.”

“Well, don’t break a leg. The Navy needs you, Maverick,” she laughs.

“Needs me ? Then what did I train you all for?” he jokes. “See you, Phoenix. Take care and keep looking out for Bob.”

“Stay out of trouble,” she waves, stepping down to the walkway. “You too, Amelia. See you!”

Rooster follows her down the stairs. “See you tomorrow, Mav.”

“I’ll let you know when I’m on the way over,” he promises.

“Bye Rooster! Bye, Phoenix!” Amelia calls. “Oh! And tell me what happens with Hangman please? I think he–.”

“All right,” Maverick says loudly, “get in here, munchkin, and mind your own business!” The door closes firmly behind them.

Natasha stumbles, and Rooster almost bumps into her. She turns and looks up into his face, but his bulk blocks the porch’s light and it’s hard to decipher his expression in the darkness. It wasn’t like she and Hangman gave any indication that they were trying to hide something, but Natasha wishes Amelia had left that last part for a text. Why else had she insisted on following her on Instagram?

“What’s happening with Hangman?” Rooster nudges her forward.

“Nothing's happening with him,” she huffs, pivoting and continuing to the truck. He stashes his gifts in the back while she climbs into the passenger seat.

“Was the sex that bad?”

Natasha wrenches around. “What!”

“Well, I’d assume that if it was good and you had another night…”

“Do you really want to talk about that ?” she demands, watching him round the front of the Bronco. She hugs herself against the pending rush of cold air, and Rooster turns up the heat for her after starting the car.

“Then what did Amelia mean by what’s happening with Hangman?” he asks, checking over his shoulder and making a u-turn at the end of the block.

“She’s fifteen, Bradshaw! She thinks that people flirt because they like someone.” Part of her wishes she’d squeezed into Payback’s car instead. But as much as she doesn’t want to talk about last night with him and wishes the conversation hadn’t started with her and Hangman, she knows they have to put everything out in the open before they go their separate ways. She doesn’t want ignoring it to corrode their friendship or for resentment to build up and spillover in an email while he’s on the boat.

“Didn’t he go to your room this morning?”

“That was for an apology, not sex.”

“Those aren’t necessarily mutually exclusive.” Rooster would know. They’d combined the two plenty of times.

Natasha props her chin on her fist, trying to figure out how to steer the conversation away from what she and Hangman did or didn’t do. With Bradshaw, it’s probably best to be as direct as possible. “So, you’re not upset about the whole Hangman thing?” she says.

He’s quiet, running a finger over his mustache. The wind tosses the waves of his hair, black in the dark and gold in the wash of street lights, while it beats at his open Hawaiian print shirt. “Is there something I should be upset about?”

She picks at a hangnail. “I don’t know, Bradshaw. You said everything was fine after the last time we talked then didn’t bother to tell me you were stateside.”

His mouth grimaces ruefully. “You’re right. I should’ve said something.”

“Why didn’t you?”

He leans back into his headrest and tugs his ear while he thinks. She’s glad he doesn’t blurt something out but worries about what he’s considering. His expression is hard to read. “Can I be honest?” he asks finally.

Natasha snorts. “I’m getting a lot of that lately. Go ahead. Let me have it.”

Rooster flexes his grip on the steering wheel and glances over at her. She does her best to keep her face open so that he knows he can trust her to listen. “Sometimes I don’t know how to talk to you anymore, Sash.”

Her stomach plunges like she’s gone into a high speed downward pitch, but she tries to keep her expression neutral. “Why not?”

“Promise you won’t freak out?” he checks. Natasha’s heart is practically in her throat and the heat evaporates right out of her blood, but she nods like he asked her whether she wants something to eat. “I’m going to need a verbal confirmation on that.”

“Yeah,” she practically hiccups, high and breathless. She forces her trembling hands under her thighs. “I won’t.”

He looks skeptical, but they’ve been friends long enough that he trusts her to hold it together if she starts to lose it. She’s trying not to lose it before he says anything. “I know I’m probably crazy for this but sometimes it feels like there’s still something there. With us. And if I say the wrong thing or too much, it’s going to break whatever we have left. So I’d rather not talk to you than lose you as a friend.”

Natasha feels everything she ate jolt in her stomach. “Pull over!” she begs.

Rooster swerves to a stop at the side of the road, and she flings herself out of the Bronco. Her stomach clenches as she braces her hands on her knees in the patch of grass along the sidewalk.

“Shit, Phoenix! Are you okay?” He scrambles out of the car while she grinds her teeth against the urge to heave. Natasha closes her eyes and inhales deeply through her nose, not trusting her stomach enough to open her mouth yet. Rooster rests a large, soothing hand on her clammy back and gently gathers her hair out of her face.

“Fuck,” she hisses, squeezing her eyes and fighting through the nausea.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. He’s seen her puke plenty of times over the years, even been puked on, but she’s not supposed to be freaking out right now. And this is definitely freaking out. Rooster rubs her back until her stomach settles enough for her to straighten up. He doesn’t wait to make sure she’s in the clear before he tucks her against his chest. “All good?” he asks, the thumb holding her hair stroking the back of her neck.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice is muffled in his shirt and broad chest.

“Nah, I’m sorry, Sash. I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean it.” He gives her hair a light tug so she’ll look up at him. “I’m serious. I didn’t mean for it to come out like that.” His hazel gaze is intense and earnest before he runs a weary hand over his face. “Jesus.”

She pushes herself away from him and climbs into the passenger seat of the Bronco, letting her legs hang out the side. Rooster looks like he wants to pull her back to him but then lets his arms fall. He wedges his hands into his pockets.

Natasha rests her forehead on her fingers, staring down at his boots and the drab gray of the cement curb. The sound of his breathing encompasses them while he lets her get her bearings. What she wants to say–it could end their friendship. She wouldn’t blame him if it did. But it could possibly lead them to a better place and a better understanding. Is it worth the risk?

Running a hand through her hair, she sits up to face him. It’s probably time to lay her hand out on the table. Because her gut tells her that a part of him means what he said even if he refuses to believe it. Nervously, she rubs her sweating hands along her jeans. “I need to think for a minute. Can we talk back on base?”

“Yeah. You going to be okay though?” He steps closer now and braces one arm on the truck and the other on the door to search her face.

“I’ll be okay,” she promises.

Rooster straightens and rubs her shoulder. “Just let me know if you need me to pull over again.” He waits for her to swing her legs into the truck then closes the door for her.

They return to the cluster of picnic tables where they passed the bottle of tequila the night before. Natasha climbs up to sit on the table with her feet on the bench. Rooster settles in beside her, leaning behind her slightly to lend her his warmth.

“Feel better?” he asks.

Natasha folds her arms across her knees. “I don’t know yet.”

“Talk to me?” Rooster offers.

Tears prick at her eyes, and she takes a deep breath around the knot in her throat. “I don’t know if I’m ready to say goodbye just yet.”

“That can wait for tomorrow,” he promises quietly. When she doesn't respond right away, he hesitantly reaches up and tucks her hair behind her ear so he can see her face. Natasha clenches her jaw against crying. “We can just enjoy tonight.”

She looks down at her lap. Her voice wavers barely above a whisper. “You’re not crazy, Bradshaw. I feel it too.”

Rooster leans around her so his face is close to hers, but she can’t meet his eyes. She can smell the altoid on his breath, the lingering sweetness of the strawberries from the slice of cake he ate right before they left. “This morning?”

“Yeah,” she breathes, tightening her arms around her knees. It would be wrong to lie to him, even if it will only make the next part more devastating. “Maybe there will always be something. We couldn’t have done what we did without it. And I do love you. I will always love you. More than anything I want us to look back on this together when we’re old and be grateful for everything we’ve meant to each other.

He tenses, sensing there’s another shoe about to drop. Natasha forces herself to look up into his hopeful face, his vulnerable eyes and takes his hand. “But I know that I don’t love you in the way that you need and not in the way that I need. And that’s what’s so unfair about it. Knowing that love isn’t going to be enough to make that kind of relationship work for us, no matter how much of it we have for one another. It doesn’t work to have what you want without having what you need. And I know you want me to try, but why hurt us both and lose the years you could be with someone who can give you what you want and need? Because I know that person is out there for you, but you won’t find them until you let me go.

“So I guess,” and Natasha chokes up, a tear spilling over her cheek and splashing onto her arm, “if that means that we can’t talk so that we can have that someday when we’re older, then I understand. And it’s okay. I won’t stop being your friend. I promise.”

She turns into him and Rooster touches his forehead to hers, their noses pressed together as his tears fall with hers. Natasha hopes with everything she has that this isn't the sunset of their friendship. They've been through too much together over the years. He might not always understand her, but he knows her better than almost anyone. But if this is the last night they talk, she’ll always have something bittersweet to hold onto.

When Rooster draws back, he uses the corner of his shirt to dab her face dry then wipes his own. He kisses the part in her hair and squeezes her hand, circling his thumb comfortingly over her knuckles. "You know what's funny? You've always reminded me of someone, and for a long time, I'd be on the verge of figuring it out but then it would slip away. I couldn't place who it was until recently. Maybe it would've meant missing Maverick more if I thought about him when I thought about you."

"He told me you said I was like him. He didn't say why though."

"Mav was giving me shit about you," Rooster muses. "I don't think I told him why. I mean we all love to fly for one reason or another. But for you two, it's the most important thing. You care about people deeply, probably more intensely than most people. But you can only love them in the way that flying allows you to love them. Guess it took me longer than Penny to figure that out."

She sniffs a laugh, both at the way Maverick twisted his words and the relief that he might be able to let her go without them losing one another. "That's not what he implied you meant about our similarities. More along the lines of playing fast and loose."

"If you'd heard my mom talk about him, he was a saint and a rascal all tied together. Can't say that you're that much of a rascal."

Realizing how Maverick had bent Rooster's vague words to his own, teasing purposes, Natasha has to agree with the rascal part. Now that she thinks about it, Hangman was probably doing the same when he mentioned that Rooster was right about her. The two of them can't seem to help being troublemakers and shit-stirrers. Even when their intentions are in the right place. "What did you tell Hangman about me last night?"

Rooster groans and lets his head fall back. "What did he say I told him?"

"Just that you were right about me. When I was right about something."

"I don't know what he was talking about, but you are right most of the time." A thought comes over his face, and he hunches forward and takes her hand again. "You are right most of the time, Sash. Okay? So I guess I'm going to have to trust that you're right this time too about us." His eyes glitter in the distant halo of light. “We don’t have to stop talking, okay? We won't. We’ll figure it out.”

Natasha scoots closer. "We can take it one thing at a time," she promises.

"I can make that work."

And she believes him. Seeing her shiver, he swings one leg onto the table so she can settle closer to him. Natasha snuggles into his arms, cheek pressed to the steady rhythm of his heart. They sit for a long time looking out toward the black vastness of the ocean, each lost in their own thoughts.

“Can I ask you something? As your friend,” he clarifies.

She nods, growing sleepy in the circle of his strong arms and with the sound of the water not far off.

“What’s happening with Hangman?”

Natasha sighs. It’s not as if there is anything for him to be jealous of or that he doesn’t know. “We hooked up. Maybe we’re friends? Or could be? I don’t know. I’ve known him for eight years and only just found out he had a sister. Does it matter?”

Rooster resettles her, resting his chin on top of her head. “No. It doesn’t."

She wraps an arm around him. There will be plenty of time to worry about Hangman later. For now, she has one last night together with her friend, bittersweet as it is.

Masterlist | Chapter 14 | Chapter 16 (to be posted)

Chapter 15 End Note

#top gun fanfiction #top gun fanfic #tgm fic #natasha phoenix trace #natasha trace fic #phoenix fic #hangman x phoenix #phoenix x hangman #rooster x phoenix #phoenix x rooster #hannix #hannix fic #hannix fics

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sunnyrealist · 4 months

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Chapter 20: I Just Want to Be with You

The Sun, the Moon, and All Our Stars

Summary and Details…

Chapter Background and Summary: Sebastian saved Kate from a terrible, traumatic situation and stayed overnight to help her feel safe and comforted. When they woke up, Kate confessed that she is in love with him, and they've spent the entire morning making love. Now it's time for the plot to move forward. This chapter is generally pretty fluffy and focuses on the two of them making plans.

Pairing: Aged-up, post-Azkaban Sebastian Sallow x female OC (Kate Mayflower)

Content warnings: Dirty thoughts, trauma. In general, this story is rated 18+, so MNDI!

The full chapter is available below the cut; it can also be found on AO3 (link is posted below). Any kind of constructive feedback would be greatly appreciated. A comment, like, or Kudos would make my day!

Chapter 20: I Just Want to Be with You

Kate wakes up feeling content… but also quite sore. She stirs a little in Sebastian’s arms, and it isn’t long before his eyes open as well.

“Good morning… again,” he whispers sweetly and kisses her head.

“Good morning, Sebastian,” she replies, closing her eyes and smiling.

“I love waking up next to you.” Sebastian squeezes her, emphasizing his point, then runs his fingers up and down her body. His hand settles on her breast, and his fingers brush over her nipple several times. “You know what I also enjoy?” He pauses, placing a kiss on her bare shoulder. “Making love to you…”

Kate chuckles, knowing where this is going. She can feel him against the small of her back. “Mmmm… yes, but…” She removes his hand. “... Sometimes it’s good to give it a rest.” She pauses, kissing his hand. “I’m sore, Sebastian,” she admits.

He presses her lips gently to her neck. “Oh… alright…” At first, he feels disappointed, but then he contemplates it a little longer. He grins. “Sore? How did that happen?” He kisses down her neck to her shoulder.

Kate giggles, playfully kicking him. “I think you know exactly how. You did it yourself.” She turns around to face him, observing his cheeky smile. “In fact, I think you’re rather proud of it. You’re terrible.”

“Terrible?!” he exclaims, acting horrified. “Well… If you’re sore, that must mean something unexpected happened to you. Something big…” He practically cackles.

“Something very large indeed,” Kate replies, smiling and shaking her head at his reaction.

Laughing, Kate swats Sebastian. Their giggling lasts quite some time, but eventually, it turns into kissing, becoming less playful and more romantic. Several minutes later, Kate pulls apart from him, looking hazily into his eyes.

“I love you, Sebastian,” she whispers in a serious tone.

“And I love you, my Kate.”

Not bothering to get fully dressed, Sebastian and Kate eventually meander into the kitchen, following the insistence of their hungry bellies. He settles at the table, clad only in trousers, while Kate cooks eggs in just her nightgown.

“Last week of the school year, huh?”

“It is,” Kate replies, flipping the sizzling eggs. “I cannot express how happy I’ll be once this week ends. With all of the OWLs and NEWTs this week, the students will have completely exhausted my patience by then.” She pauses. “Friday wasn’t horrible, but it’s because most of the seventh years give themselves the final Friday and Saturday of the school year to celebrate their graduation. Sunday, they’ll all be back at it for one last push in studying. You know - they’ve got to get those Outstandings…”

Sebastian smiles softly. “So, after this week, you’ll have the entire summer off?”

Kate grins widely, turning around and pointing at him with the turner. “You bet.”

He shakes his head, seeming rather pleased. “It just so happens that next week happens to be the one in which I was able to take off from work, believe it or not. What a happy coincidence.”

Kate’s mouth drops. “Well, isn’t it just?” She strolls over to Sebastian, leaning over to kiss the top of his head. He wraps his arms around her waist.

The kettle begins to whistle, so she returns to the stove and pours two cups of breakfast tea for them. She washes a handful of ripe strawberries from her garden, placing them in a bowl. Finally, the eggs are finished, and she plates them.

“I know this isn’t the most impressive breakfast…” she begins apologetically as she sits at the table.

“It’s perfect,” Sebastian interrupts, not allowing her to discount her effort. “It’s not as though you knew any of this would happen, sunshine. You had no chance to prepare, nor would I have expected you to, anyway. Truly, it looks delicious.”

He gently caresses her cheek, then pulls her in for a kiss.

After a few bites, Sebastian looks thoughtful. “I… You can say no to this, Kate. But… next week, when I’m off work, I’m taking a bit of a trip. A rather adventurous one - into the wilds of the highlands. I plan to explore a set of caves and the hidden ruins of a castle high in the mountains. I’m hunting for ancient artifacts that I’ll study and sell. Would… would you like to accompany me?”

Kate’s eyes widen as she sips her tea. “I’ve never done anything like that…” Sebastian’s facial expression is so hopeful. “...but I suppose there is a first time for just about everything…”

“I… oh, Merlin, you won’t regret it! We’ll have so much fun!” Sebastian replies eagerly, chattering away. “We’ll mostly journey on foot and trek through forests, see the most gorgeous waterfalls, fly up a mountain… and we can have picnic meals and sleep together in a tent… I promise I’ll keep it cozy and warm for you. We can stargaze and… oh, gods! I’m so excited, Kate.” He grabs her hand, and she can’t help but giggle.

“I must tell you - I’ve never really been camping, Sebastian,” she admits. “I hope I’m not a hindrance to what you hope to achieve…”

“Never,” he cuts her off. “Never, not a chance. Everything will be a million times better

with your company. I’m used to doing so much alone, my sun. I’m quite tired of it. This will be fun. We’ll get to spend a lot of time together.” He pauses. “My plan is to leave on Saturday next week, and arrive back on Wednesday.” His eyes flick to hers. “We can spend the entire week together, Kate. Just us.” He kisses her hand.

“You’ll surely get tired of me,” Kate jokes, but when she notices that his face is completely sincere, her tone changes. “In all seriousness, I… I would really like to do that. Spend some quality time with you. No obligations.”

“None,” he affirms.

They continue eating their breakfast, with Sebastian finishing much more quickly than she does. He must have been absolutely ravenous, Kate realizes.

“Now, what about… this weekend?” he brings up hopefully. “I want to stay with you. I don’t want to leave your side unless I have to.” Then, he blushes, realizing how much he is revealing about his feelings. He doesn’t want to seem desperate, but what he said is the truth. “That is… if you have time for me.”

Kate chuckles. “Well, I had the entire day saved just for you, Sebastian. Remember, you were supposed to visit with me today, not last night…” she trails off, and suddenly, her mind can’t help but think back to what happened. It seems to hit her all at once. It had all been a blur… Clyde slapping her, forcing her against the wall, ripping her dress… and then being carried off, hearing distant shouting, the sound of punches… She seemingly forgets how to breathe for a moment.

Her stare is one that Sebastian recognizes all too well. When the Kelpies had broken him out of Azkaban, he saw that exact look in his reflection often - not just in the beginning of his emancipation when he had an unkempt beard, pale skin, purple bags under his eyes, and shaggy, long hair… but even years later, as a double-agent, more put-together yet pained under the surface. Even recently, he caught himself doing it again. A far-off gaze into pure trauma that could never truly be resolved. No one had ever tried to remove the pain for him, but perhaps he could do just that for Kate.

“Kate…” he whispers, scooting close to her. “Kate…” When she doesn’t immediately respond, he puts his arm around her and pulls her into his chest, rubbing her back. In a soothing voice, he continues, “It’s okay, Kate… I know… I know it’s hard to move past something like what happened to you yesterday, sweetheart. Let’s just… try to forget as much as we can. Move forward with me. I promise - you’re safe now. We are together, and I… I will be with you as long as you’ll allow me.”

Kate’s eyes grow watery as she finally gasps for air, and she pushes her face into Sebastian’s shoulder. He can feel her tears against his skin. “I’m sorry, Sebastian. It just… it just hit me all at once.” She sinks into his embrace. “I know it’s over. And you were there for me. You are there for me.”

“Yes, sweetheart,” he whispers into her blonde hair, kissing the top of her head. “I will always be here for you. You don’t have to apologize for feeling upset.”

Kate finally lets go, pulling back to gaze up at him. “Please, I want you to stay with me today again, Sebastian. I don’t want you to go anywhere.”

He nods. “You don’t have to worry about that. And I don’t mind how we spend the day. It can be as mundane as you like. I have no expectations - I just want to be with you.”

Kate’s hands come to Sebastian’s cheeks, and she presses her lips gently to his.

An official tour of the cottage commences after breakfast (which really should have been called lunch, judging by the time). Of course, Sebastian has been in Kate’s home before, but it has never been for an extended period of time, and now, she expects he will be here quite often. It’s only right to show him around.

“I… I honestly didn’t expect a bathroom of this size when I first saw it,” Sebastian admits. “It’s just - I mean no offense at all - your cottage is small. But you have such a large space here. A tub and a separate shower… it’s rather luxurious, really. Feels like it actually belongs in a manor.”

“I must say, I was quite taken with it when I initially purchased my home. I have always loved taking baths,” she explains with a huge smile. “It’s one of the things I do to treat myself, to relax.”

Sebastian’s mind flashes with images it shouldn’t. But now that they’re together, he debates how wrong it actually is to imagine Kate stripping down and sinking into the warm water. More than that, he imagines her sinking onto him, straddling him, already in the bath. In his mind, he can see her clutching his biceps, moving up and down, water splashing everywhere… Sebastian’s cheeks redden, and he tries to cover up what he’s thinking.

“Yes, erm… baths are great,” he mumbles. “I… I just don’t take them very often. I don’t really… I don’t really have access to baths, to tell the truth. I don’t even remember the last time I took a bath instead of a shower. Unless you count bathing in a lake or river.”

Kate pauses, her brows furrowing as she remembers he doesn’t have anywhere permanent to call home. “Oh… yes, I suppose… Most inns don’t have bath tubs - just showers.” She takes his hand. “You’re welcome to take a bath here, though.” There’s a pause, and her face goes pink, but she smirks. “Maybe we’ll take baths together someday…” she whispers suggestively, turning to him and winking.

He barks out a laugh. “Well, you said it…” Clearly, they’re on the same wavelength.

Kate giggles and scurries out of the bathroom. Grinning, Sebastian pinches her arse, then follows her towards a closed door - one that has been shut every time he has visited.

“This room is empty,” Kate begins, opening the door with a creak. “Not much to see.”

The walls are bare, and on the floor sit a few trunks.

“Someday, I’ll make it into a study, a little library maybe,” she muses. “I just have been waiting on it until I save up enough galleons and have the time to put it all together. I’m close to having the money - almost there!”

Sebastian nods, picturing it. “Seems like a good space for that. You could have a desk in here and some bookshelves.”

“Yes, I have some ideas, but nothing concrete.”

Directly across the hall is Kate’s bedroom.

“Obviously, you’ve seen this before, but I do have a rather large closet. It’s enchanted to be bigger on the inside.” Kate gestures for him to step inside.

Sebastian smiles, seeing an endless array of dresses, tops, and skirts, ranging from casual to quite elegant. He touches one - a black and gold silken gown. “Perhaps one day I’ll see you in something like this. I’m sure you’re beautiful in a ballgown. I mean, you’re beautiful in anything. Even your frilly pyjamas.”

Even Kate’s eyes smile in response. “Well, you bring up a good point. I suppose I should get dressed. It’s far after noon now,” she replies. “Maybe we should decide what to do from here.”

The two sit on her bed side by side.

“Do you have any ideas?” Sebastian asks, taking her hand in his.

“Tonight, Hogsmeade will be quite the lively place,” Kate answers. “As I mentioned, it’s the end of term, and most students come out to celebrate with their friends one last time before summer… or graduation. The pubs and shops will be packed, but it might be fun. Usually, a traveling band comes to the village, too.”

“Then that’s where we’ll go.” Sebastian smiles. “I’ll take you out for a date.”

“Alright,” Kate replies, grinning. “If you insist.”

#hogwarts legacy fanfic #sebastian sallow x oc #hogwarts legacy sebastian #sebastian sallow #post azkaban sebastian #hufflepuff x slytherin #aged up sebastian sallow

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beautifulhigh · 2 years

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On the significance of Tarlos and sleep: an essay

@kiras-sunshine made the "mistake" of putting in the tags of a Carlos sleeping gif set something which made me go, "I wanna". So I did.

#i could write a whole essay about this

#because in 3x13 he wakes up simply because tk isn't in the bed with him

#but in 3x18 he sleeps through all of this because tk is there with him

#something about safety and love

To understand the significance of Carlos and sleep in 3x18 we need to establish the significance and importance of sleep in a literary term, define the parameters of the analysis, and establish precedent within the show before looking at the opening beat of the proposal scene.

Or: how Nea set me a challenge to write an essay on Carlos sleeping and I (hopefully) rose to it with almost 5,000 words of an essay. Which you can also read on AO3 if you want. And go leave me a comment and some kudos because I live for validation.

Sleep as a Biological and Social Function

We all need sleep. It’s the part of the day where our bodies basically do inventory, file away memories via our dreams, engage in biological downtime, and do what repair jobs they are able to do. Like night closure of roads so repairs can happen without massive disruption. Our bodies slow down, we go through different cycles throughout the course of the night, and without any input from us our bodies do what they need to do.

We don’t need to be taught to sleep, same as we don’t need to be taught to blink or breathe or swallow. It’s hardwired into us as Stuff We Have To Do To Survive. What is also hardwired into us is the knowledge that when we sleep we are vulnerable. Research shows that when we were tribal and nomadic we kept shifts so that there was always someone awake throughout the whole day and night. If you’re a night owl then congrats, you get to sit by the fire and watch the stars come out. The larks will take over when the sun comes up. Sleeping in the presence of someone (or someones) shows that you trust them: you trust them not to hurt you while you are vulnerable but also you trust them to protect you.

I love the bunk scenes with the firefam for this reason because this is a group of people who trust each other completely and so them sleeping in the same room is an extension of that trust.

But sleeping with a partner? As in sleep-sleep rather than Adult Fun Time sleep? That’s another level.

There is safety in numbers: if one of the group decides to not protect you then others will. They’ll also step in if they decide to smother you or bash your head in with a rock. When it’s you and your partner? Well, no one is going to stop them if they decide they can’t put up with your snoring any longer or you hogged the covers one too many times.

When we share our bed with someone, platonic or romantic, we are telling them “I trust you”. You are at your most vulnerable and you let them stay anyway. And the best part is that they are making the same declaration to you.

We also use the term ‘sleep with’ to mean Adult Fun Times because it often involves a bed (1x02 excepted) but it also involves a level of vulnerability. Even if you’re just hooking up with someone you’re removing barriers (and clothes) and putting yourself in a position where you could be hurt should they choose to do so – and I’m not just talking about feelings. What you choose to do with your body is pretty much the only thing in our control and power and to give that over to someone else shows maybe a higher level of trust than simply going to sleep next to them.

Sleep As A Metaphor

Sleep is perhaps one of the biggest metaphors there is in literature. It is a symbol of peace, of contentment, of trust, and of death.

“To sleep, perchance to dream.”

Hamlet III:i

When Macbeth murders Duncan he finds he can no longer sleep, such is his guilt for what he has done to his king and country in the pursuit of his own ambition. In the Buffy finale (“Chosen”), any character seen sleeping prior to the final battle ends up losing their lives before the final credits roll.

For a show about first responders death is at the forefront of so much of the episodes. The characters work hard to preserve life, to save and protect. It doesn’t always work: the pilot episode opened with the deaths of almost everyone at the 126, and when the action moved to New York we meet Captain Strand, whose whole arc is tied into the tragedy of 9/11 and the deaths that came on that day – and since with it being the cause of his cancer diagnosis.

In episode 3x18 we are faced with death once more: the building has collapsed and Judd is inside. Owen’s cancer may be back. We also have a very adult discussion about death and preparing for it: the 126’s own NDE MVP not having a will tying into a very blasé attitude towards death, contrasted with literally everyone else’s opinion and behaviour lets us know that for (most of) them, death is a constant. It walks beside them and they hope to not have it take them by the hand for as long as possible.

Fandom (and Rafa) are clamouring for some Carlos NDE because of all of the characters he’s one of a few who have not had death brush up against his hand only to not take it at the last moment more than once. The only time Carlos has come close to death in the show was the fire in 2x12 and that happened while he and TK were in bed – the other use of the word “sleep” when it comes to someone. But whilst he was in danger he was not exactly getting up close and personal with death, not like so many of the 126 have.

Still, as the long-suffering partner who seems to collect near death experiences like they’re Pokémon, it is no surprise to anyone (except TK) that Carlos not only has a will but that he keeps it updated. This man is practical and logical and he knows that death is inevitable. The comments the 126 firefam make about being prepared is exactly why you make a will: it gives you peace of mind knowing that those you love will be looked after and that things will be taken care of when you’re not there to do it yourself.

Sleep as a form of peace comes from the idea that we have let go of our daily worries and thoughts and entered a neutral state where we are our most ‘natural’. We aren’t actively trying to convey anything or hide anything from those around us. We’re not in conscious control and so there is a concept of sleep being our true selves.

There’s a scene in the TV show Babylon 5 in which an inter-species couple, Delenn (Minbari) and John (human) are beginning a relationship. The Minbari have a ritual for when a couple start to get close: the woman spends three nights at the man’s place watching him sleep. They believed that in sleep your true self comes to the fore and so she would watch for this true self. If she liked what she saw on the first night she would stay two more and observe further.

When we sleep we have no guards up, no barriers, no walls or protection. We are exactly who we are and it’s why we love watching babies sleep – because we see them exactly as they are. (Fucking adorable.)

Sleep and Death

Ever wondered why Ye Olde Beds were so short? It’s not because we’re so much taller now than we were (although average height today is more than it used to be), it’s because such was the relationship between sleep and death that people honestly believed that if you were lying flat then Death, as it walked past your window, could think you were dead or dying and come and claim your soul. So beds were deliberately made shorter so you couldn’t lie fully flat and Death would carry on its way and leave you to wake the next morning.

Dying in your sleep is generally seen as the “best” way to go. You fall asleep as normal and then… that’s it. This gave rise to a lot of the sayings we have about sleep, most notably the advice to never go to bed angry. If someone doesn’t wake up then the argument will never be resolved. (It’s more likely about not letting things fester, and you don’t really get good and restful sleep when a part of you wants to smother the person lying next to you. But a good essay looks at all possible avenues.)

Before I lay me down to sleep

I pray the Lord my soul to keep

Four corners on my bed

Four angels there a-spread

Two to foot, two to head

Four to carry me when I’m dead

[a wonderful prayer I was taught to say when I was little because nothing help sleep like the thought of dying during it]

Ultimately, we develop a sense that just as death is the end of something, so is sleep. We finish our day, we make peace with our actions, and we hope to wake in the morning and have the chance to do it all again.

The Language of Death

We have come up with so many ways to describe death. We use the phrase “passed away” to make it sound gentler, but the relevant phrase here is “the big sleep”. The concept of closing your eyes and not being on this plain of consciousness or existence. It marries the concept of death being peaceful but also means that we are not present in whatever moment we are missing – be that temporary while we nap or permanent while we are mourned.

Do not stand at my grave and weep

I am not there, I do not sleep

Poem “Immortality”, Clare Harner

We comfort ourselves with faith and a belief that there is something after this because that makes death less terrifying for us. Just as sleep ends with the morning and a new day, death “ends” with a new life or existence or something.

Death isn’t the end for our characters either. Up until 3x18 Owen kept a physical reminder on his desk of all those who died. The memorial to the fallen members of the 126 has been in places of prominence. Tim’s name is painted on the side of the rig so he will always be riding with TNT.

We’ve also seen hints of this with Tommy and her desire for a message from Charles. It doesn’t matter why or how the lights flashed in a 1-4-3 pattern, to her it was a message from beyond and a sign that even though her husband is dead he is also still here. She went to his grave in 3x17 and talked to him.

When Gwyn died TK wanted to honour her through Chinese food (3x08) and remember her through the photo albums (3x13), something tangible that they shared together over multiple occasions and memories sparking the full spectrum of emotions.

Every single one of the characters who has experienced death finds a way to keep their lost loved one’s memory with them because to them, death is not the end of that relationship. They, and their influence, continue on with the living.

I half-remember something about a person having three deaths: the first is brain death, the moment you cease to be alive; the second is when your physical body no longer exists; and the third is when your name is spoken for the last time. We all hope that each of these come as late as possible but they will come for almost all of us. A lucky few will have their names remembered for much longer than normal and so they will continue to live on.

It is a very human trait to try and find positives in the negatives, especially when the concept is as terrifyingly unknown as death.

The Presentation of Death

As different cultures approach death in different ways, it is possible to take every extreme and apply it to the concept.

Death is darkness but we also have the concept of light. Black is often seen as a funeral colour (shoutout to Queen Victoria for never moving out of her mourning phase) but in certain religions white is the outfit of choice. Death is the end of life, the beginning of life. It can be a comfort; it can be a tragedy. It can be noble; it can be senseless. Funerals can be solemn and serious or a joyous celebration.

However you see death, whatever your approach to it, it is the only certainty we all have in this world. Owen’s speech in 3x18 was on the money with this.

Death is also used as a concept: the 126 died in 1x01 and was reborn by the end of the same episode. Paul’s health scare pushed him to reject treatment until he realised he can be who he is and stay alive; TK’s journey to rehab as seen in 3x08 and his drive to stay clean; Judd’s fear at losing Grace in 2x09 which is contrasted with the promise of new life by the end of the same episode. Ultimately, death has come to mean the end of one thing before something else begins and that is both terrifying and uplifting.

So what do metaphors, language, presentation, and even death have to do with the sleeping scenes we have in the Tarloft?

Everything and nothing, such is the joy of an analytical meta. But bear with me as I link in the previous 2200 plus words to the scenes that Nea challenged me to write an essay on.

Tarlos and Sleep in 3x05

The first time we see them ‘sleeping together’ (last night I slept in my stilettos, Holiday Inn) is when Carlos is combing through the footage and TK has fallen asleep next to him, on him, whatever. It’s adorable. TK woke to an empty bed and sought out his partner at three in the morning. The fact TK says “come back to bed” means that they started off there together and Carlos either woke up or couldn’t sleep.

Sleep is when your brain slows down and allows your body to relax and prepare for unconsciousness and so if your brain does not slow down then sleep will be hard to come by.

TK joins Carlos, even taking up a position on his “side” on the couch. Ultimately he falls asleep and Carlos continues to work through the night. There is a level of comfort for them both with this: TK is able to fall back to sleep and Carlos is able to continue working. He had already declared the footage as unsettling and is then able to continue working without having the same reaction that he did when TK startled him.

It's the first clear indication that we have that these boys are fully committed to each other, that the situation and drama of the breakup and ice storm is being put – if you’ll pardon the pun – to bed. They are comfortable and intimate with each other in a way that doesn’t involve Adult Fun Times, or even their bed. But it does involve sleep – and coming off the back of an arc where TK wasn’t just holding hands with Death they were halfway out the door – it will also provide reassurance to them both.

TK’s line to coma!Gwyn, “what if he doesn’t want to take me back?” showed his fear when it comes to their relationship. Does Carlos love TK enough to forgive him? (Yes. A thousand times yes.) Are they fixable? TK had to nearly die for him to confront what he did and the part that he played in their breakup. During his coma Carlos held vigil, and when Andrea joined them she encouraged Carlos to speak to TK and tell him what was in his heart. Even though TK was close to death Carlos engaged with TK and we know thanks to the coma dream that TK could hear him.

Our senses are still processing information even when we’re asleep and it’s deviations from the norm which cause us to wake up: a loud noise, the sun being up suggesting it’s daytime and not four in the fucking morning, the absence of a physical presence which should be there (or one that should not be).

TK is hovering in this state between life and death and it is treated as a dream, a product of sleep. (Oh, so that’s why you talked about death so much, Jen? Yes, yes it is.) Because TK’s coma dream is full of light and love and bits of the real-world bleed in with the pain and the noise and Carlos’ final speech (release the tapes, Tim. We need to hear the whole thing). TK is happy enough in his coma dream, inching towards death. He wants to stay and so Gwyn adds to the timer. The real world is hard and cold and full of uncertainty but it’s a choice he makes to wake up, to come back to Carlos.

And so now that he’s back and he’s home and he’s building this new life with Carlos he wants to wake up and come back to Carlos, over and over again. And once again Carlos is there by his side as he sleeps because he’s done enough sleeping without TK.

Tarlos and Sleep in 3x13

In 3x13 Carlos wakes up alone to an empty bed. We immediately hear TK talking in the next room so we know nothing bad has happened – well not that bad anyway – but his absence is unsettling given the hour. Conversations held in the small hours of the morning rarely tend to be good ones.

When we see Carlos at the start of that scene he’s wrapped up in their bed. The sheets are white, his shirt is white, there is a strong visual sense of light and joy and life there. He’s also the one who’s asleep, so let’s throw peace into that imagery. The room is dark but the bed, and its sole occupant, is light. The contrast between the two echo the different natures of and approaches to death. The contrast of light and dark, of joy and pain foreshadow the scene that is about to unfold.

Carlos turns over and reaches out to the other side of the bed and it’s only when his arm goes all the way over that he realises that TK is not there and he stirs. Carlos is pulled from his peace and rest by the absence of his partner and so that loss is registered in his unconscious mind and wakes him fully. It could be that TK’s gone to get a glass of water, or gone to the bathroom, or unable to sleep he’s sitting on the couch reading a book so as not to wake Carlos by putting a light on. Whatever the reason, TK is not there and this jars with Carlos.

He gravitates towards TK’s voice, overhearing the conversation with Cooper, and he (mis)interprets this as TK not needing or wanting his support through his recovery. The concept of Carlos as the be all and end all for TK died in that moment (and over the episode he comes to realise that’s not a bad thing) and he returned to their empty bed alone. The shot of him in the small gap in the door, slipping into the darkness reflects on how the light and joy that Carlos represented is being lost – but it will only be temporary. The night passes and the sun rises again.

On the other side of the bedroom door, even though Carlos has been framed as the light in the dark in the bedroom, TK is the one bathed in light in the main area of the loft. He has the white throw blanket over his legs and the only darkness there is the one that TK is dealing with on the inside. Contrasted to that, Carlos is light and yet surrounded by dark. The gulf between them in this moment later could ‘kill’ their relationship but they talk it through – Carlos saying he wants every part of TK (no, baby, no) and TK telling Carlos that he needs things that Carlos cannot give him.

This revelation for both of them is them making preparations and being practical when it comes to their relationship: Carlos understanding he can’t be everything for TK, and TK understanding that just because Carlos can’t support him with this specific thing it doesn’t mean he doesn’t get it. Bit like making a will.

They both reach a new level of intimacy in this episode, one that goes beyond them sleeping in the same bed and having Adult Fun Time together (both of which we also get in this episode). We get them both laying out their vulnerabilities on the table while they are literally sitting at it. They trust each other with their bodies and their hearts and their futures and so now they lay out their final pieces for the other knowing that these ones cannot be picked up and looked after by the other.

Trust also comes by telling someone “hey so this is a thing you cannot fix and you cannot make better” and knowing that it won’t be an issue. Showing someone your whole self, every part of your truth, just for the sake of them knowing it.

When Carlos woke in 3x13 it was to a sense of loss and exclusion and by the end of the episode, when he comes into the room and rouses TK from their bed, the whole loft is filled with light (both of them are dressed in darker tones: TK in blue, Carlos in grey showing that things aren’t 100% back to light and bright and happy) and there’s a balance, understanding, and acceptance of where they are going from this point on. It’s been said that this was the moment for TK where he was “I could marry this man right now” and with that the sense of loss and exclusion are gone.

Tarlos and Sleep in 3x18

Carlos is asleep, TK is awake, but this time he is with Carlos. Whatever thoughts are going around in TK’s head he’s not retreating with them to the next room. He’s sitting in their shared darkness, watching Carlos sleep. His brain is now racing with thoughts as we suppose Carlos’ brain was in 3x05.

The contrast between them is different again: this time TK is the one in the white shirt (headcanon of shared clothes is very real), Carlos is in a grey vest. There’s a light and dark theme going on but even the ‘darkness’ of Carlos’ sleepwear isn’t all that dark. The room is dark as it was in 3x13 (round of applause for the gif makers who had to deal with that in this episode) but this time it’s a darkness shared.

Carlos’ sleep is so different here to 3x13 because it takes TK a few beats to get him to wake up. Carlos reacts to TK’s touch by rolling over and so his unconscious body is already aware that his is not alone in their bed. See commentary on 3x05 about our senses when we’re asleep. So Carlos’ mind has no reason to worry because it’s quiet and it’s dark and there’s someone in his bed.

The hand through the hair and TK’s voice is not what is expected and so Carlos snaps awake, immediately on alert. When we are pulled from sleep in the middle of a cycle disorientation is very real. If I were to find a line to describe what your brain is going through when it goes from sleep to is the lizard back? then I would go with something like “I’m not looking for… this”. Ah, 1x02. Such a delightful mess for them.

Once the panic has died down Carlos is immediately attuned to TK and realises that he has been woken up for a reason. And what a reason it is – but TK’s speech is another essay and we will focus instead on sleep.

Firstly, Rafa is fucking adorable with his line delivery so jot that down.

“You’re not just saying yes so you can go back to sleep are you?”

“I mean maybe, maybe but…”

Secondly, he still needs his sleep. He wants his sleep. Being woken up in the middle of the night to be asked “hey, wanna spend the rest of your life with me and make a serious commitment in front of our loved ones together?” isn’t exactly the kind of danger the larks relied on the night owls to protect them from.

Finally, I will be a language nerd on Carlos’ line because he’s being playful and half-serious but… it’s the but. A contrasting connective which basically means “ignore everything I just said”. Maybe he was saying it to go back to sleep. BUT. This is what he wants, what he’s wanted since 1x01 if we believe Rafa, and certainly since buying them the loft.

And so they fall back onto the bed for the other kind of sleeping together, before falling asleep together.

The Significance of Sleep For Tarlos

For a show that runs parallel to death so much, the instances of sleep show moments which walk the line between sleep and one of its metaphors or representations. From TK’s coma dream through to the sharing of the moment in the darkness, each instance highlights a new aspect of their relationship, develops it further, and shows us how much these boys have come to love and trust each other over the three seasons.

Prior to them officially moving in together in 2x10 we know that TK has been spending a lot of time at Carlos’ house – enough to have left things lying around the place and be given a key (2x04), spending extensive time together (couch cuddle scene in 2x07) – and so they have moved beyond the point where TK stayed over on nights where they had Adult Fun Time. Now he’s staying because he’s staying and they are at the point where they are sleeping together without sleeping together.

When TK declared in 1x10 that they made a “pretty good team” he was setting out his stall for where he saw this relationship going. Since then they have been a team: in life and in Catan. They have learned how to trust each other, let the other in, show the other parts of themselves for nothing more than information’s sake. They have made decisions together and built a life together, all of which culminated in their bed in 3x18, with TK rousing Carlos from sleep to ask Carlos for everything “until death parts them”.

(Also the line about it being “the kind of love you can’t get away from” is just everything, especially if like me you grew up with Ghost being the big romance movie of your childhood. Sam’s line “the love inside, you take it with you” adds weight to the concept of death being a part of a story rather than the end of it, and so sleep and dreams are but one part of the Tarlos story.)

#tarlos #tk strand #carlos reyes #911 lone star #911ls #overthinking jen is overthinking #kirassunshine #this was a lot of fun #thanks for letting me run with it

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mejomonster · 1 year

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I have branched off from Yakuza games and am now playing Judgement

1 this game is so fucking pretty

2 Ryu ga gotoku games are like. 1/3 fun weird do what you want slice of life 1/3 serious deadly angst crime drama 1/3 cutscenesssss (the movies so many movies and I'm used to kingdom hearts level cutscenes but damn rgg games feel like I'm Playing a yakuza TV show sometimes for both good and bad)

3 Yagami wears skinny jeans I'm calling him a millennial (although he may be Gen x and older than me? Depends how much younger he is than kiryu I guess o3o) I just think it's funny I'm playing this adult private detective in a white undershirt a leather jacket and skinny jeans he just looks like me in college lmao. U roll up to the yakuza family who paid ur lawyer degree and can commit crimes while ur fucking Ace Attorney Phoenix Wright who accidentally got a real serial killer acquitted and u look like a bisexual college disaster. Congrats. Ur really rocking A Specific Vibe my dude. Nothing like Kiryus "I'm wearing my 80s suit forever or else a Hawaiian flower shirt" vibe but definitely A Distinct one. It makes Yagami feel way more modern but like... My age group modern rather than the gen z modern kid who probably just turned 18 when this came out

4 Yagami. I'm a gay shdjfj I'm sorry death note did this to me. It's beyond hilarious to me he's got a same last name as Light Yagami thank FUCK this Yagami is an ex lawyer and now private eye. If he'd have been yet another cop I would've well. Dreaded his potential as anything but evil frankly. Even Date, Kiryus bro, quit the force to be a journalist (at least for a while).

5 finally a return to form in the sense there's MULTIPLE CUTE MEN ON SCREEN. Yakuza 0, Kiwami 1, Kiwami 2 all basically gave u hot leads and hot bad guys. Basically if a fucker was hot and not ur best friend then he was gonna be the main villain. Then I played Yakuza 7 Like a Dragon and for the most part very few hotties (saeko, tianyou, the guy with white hair, and maybe ichiban if you happen to like that kinda guy but if u didn't think kiryu was eyecandy then ichiban isnt really either). I'm glad there's now like at least 1 cutie on screen again at all times. Cause I can be shallow sometimes. Djdjf also the pick for Yagamis coworker ex yakuza guy is like nishiki eye candy compared to the kiryu/ichiban variety (which I love with my whole heart but it's not oogle type). His coworker is like akiyama or Tachibana or majima design wise. It's <3 and with a flowery kiryu type shirt but long sleeved and silky

6 I am still reeling that ur basically playing Phoenix Wright if he fucked up and saved a serial killer. But still impressive u know, to win as a defense attorney in Japan with that 99.9 conviction rate (also kudos to the game saying it immediately). I wonder if Yagami has his own Edgeworth? (God but not shinitani his sempai nooo not him he's introduced to early! Tho... u could argue he's his lawyer rival kinda).

7 playing all evening I still haven't found any side missions? I hope this game still has side stories??

8 I actually love the detective portions which I imagine annoyed some people but I love being a little fucking detective figuring stuff out it's why I love Devil Summoner Raidou game and mystery shows and novels and its just fun to me puts a little spice on a murder mystery story shdhd in yakuza games kiryu just hears a bitch dies, now I get to go figure out if the fucker actually killed someone. It's fun to be in like a random outsiders shoes while functionally the same opening to Yakuza 0 happens where kiryu doesn't kill a guy but is suspected. Except instead of playing the suspect, u play the outsider trying to figure out who's actually dropping ppl dead in kamurocho. It's a nice fresh perspective shift on a pretty common plot occurrence in the yakuza games.

#rant #lb #judgement #yakuza

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tracingdreams · 2 years

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If the Moriarty brothers were to have a niceness contest...

William would win.

It’s a weird kind of twisted conclusion I came to, but yeah.

William is the ringleader and the puppet master but at the same time he does care about helping people in trouble, and he also cares about Louis to the point of trying to keep him out of trouble.

I have serious worries about Albert pretty much right from the off. Yeah, his family suck, and they really do suck. But even so. What I can never get away from completely is that as sucky as Albert’s family are, and as wrong as his mother and brother are in trying to frame Will and Louis, it was still the Moriarty money that provided Louis’s surgery and, even though that was done for public kudos, it’s still a fact that Louis is alive and well and able to wave knives at random people he doesn’t like because of that.

I also hold Albert responsible for what happened to his family. It may have been William’s plan. But it was Albert who put it in motion.

As for Louis, if I had any doubts about it, that scene from the Hunting of the Baskervilles (not to mention the fact he’ll bring out a knife at a moment’s notice, or even plot to use a dinner knife, if necessary) would have settled it for me.

Although this moment:

He looks so much like William it’s untrue. That smile...

I still wonder how nobody realised the obvious obviousness of the fact Louis and Will are clearly NOT adopted siblings but biological ones, because they really do look a lot alike, and nothing like Albert AT ALL.

The silly thing is that while I am super creeped out by Albert, most of the time - I can’t help liking Louis :/ Brother-obsessed sociopathy and all.

I have to add some credit here to @scarlet-threads-and-cigarettes for two reasons. One, because the picture of Louis I was looking for I found on their blog and two, the post it was included in was basically exactly what I was thinking about the Moriarty brothers and their level of evil.

I linked it rather than reblogged it because otherwise this post would be industrial length.

And then there’s Sherlock. We could talk a bit about his moral compass as well, tbh.

Good luck 19th century England is all I can say...

#yuukoku no moriarty #moriarty the patriot #William #Albert #Louis

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bitletsanddrabbles · 2 years

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WIP Wednesday: Writing At The Speed of Quick Before It’s Gone!

So last year, this trope mashup thread was going around, and I gave @o-rchidae a mashup which resulted in two ideas that both needed to exist. We each took one and mine resulted in a silly bit of fluff that I had loads of fun writing.

It also threatened to spawn a sequel. Of course, the sequel was full of stuff that was an even bigger mystery to me than the British medical system and I had other things to do, so it kinda foundered.

Until yesterday.

Yesterday, someone happened to leave kudos on a completely unrelated work, which got me listening to my Go To Peter song on loop for the first time in ages, which...actually convinced the little photojournalist to come back and start chattering at me.

Since then I’ve been writing as fast as I can and peppering o-rchidae with questions in hopes of getting something worked up before Peter decides to wander off to Adamstown or something.

Peter listened to the rise and fall of his host’s voice, committing the words to memory as best he could, even though he was certain that, to the outside observer, he wasn’t paying the first bit of attention. He adjusted the focus on his camera, honing in on the words carved in the beam in front of him: Al + Bobby. There was a heart carved around them. The wood had clearly been refinished since they were carved, but the edges of the wood were surprisingly unworn. They could have been put there yesterday, rather than almost a hundred years ago by a pair of men who were undoubtedly dead by now.

“The police raided the place in 1927,” the building’s current owner, a man named Tim Bradley, explained. “It was bought again two years later by a company that used it as a furniture warehouse. It’s traded hands a number of times since then.” He waited for the snap of Peter’s camera, then walked over and ran his fingers over the carving. “Various owners tried to get rid of the graffiti. They had it filled and painted over. Finally, probably around the fifties, someone just drywalled over it.”

Peter snapped three more pictures while Tim was talking. He knew it hadn’t been the other man’s intention, but if the words themselves had been poignant, the sight of his fingers running reverently over them was even more so. “The whole building?” he pulled away from the camera and looked around him. Tim’s redecorating had done nothing to disguise the fact the place had been built as a warehouse: it was huge, with high ceilings, and no windows. Peter couldn’t imagine the cost and difficulty of putting sheet rock over everything.

“Not all of it. They only went about half way up, just enough to cover the graffiti. We found the original wood when we got the go ahead to pull the asbestos sheets off.”

“They still had asbestos in them?” This just got better and better. “The previous owners hadn’t dealt with that?”

Tim shrugged. “No reason to. It was already up and painted, so there was less health risk just leaving it than there was pulling it out. Besides, this place had been pretty much abandoned since the late eighties when I bought it. There have been several movements to pull it down, but it’s such a landmark the locals wouldn’t hear of it. A few other people have proposed buying it and putting it to use again, but it’s always fallen through.” He smiled and looked up toward the ceiling, which now boasted lights and fans, some of the only signs of modernization. “It just seemed right, you know, to honour it’s history and turn it back into a club.”

Peter looked back at the names carved into the wood. “You said that the carvings had all been filled and painted over. Did you restore them on purpose, then?”

“Yeah. Took plenty of time and effort, let me tell you, but it seemed the best way to recognize the men who were here before us…and give a big, postmortem fuck you to the cops who arrested them.”

#downton abbey #downton abbey fanfiction #modern au #wip wednesday #peter pelham #turton's bar

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thescrapbookingscientist · 2 years

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Biweekly Media Roundup

- Fire Emblem (Game Series) - Admittedly I don’t plan to play Three Hopes as the hoard action game style isn’t my thing, but I am enjoying seeing the new designs for all my fave Three Houses blorbos. Excellent for having a new influx of fanart.

- Star Trek Strange New Worlds (TV) - My dad is a huge Star Trek fan, so we’re watching the new series together. Not too far in but it’s pretty cute so far, the advanced space cult protecting the divine path of a “living” asteroid plotline was a pretty creative one, and the characters at least have potential, though I’d prefer them to just be fully original rather than retreads of TOS.

- Danganronpa 2 (Video Game) - According to my calculations the Grumps playthrough should be finishing up here in the next two or three weeks, so looking forward to that.

- The Owl House (Cartoon) - Caught up just in time for the finale and WOW did the second season outdo the first by a long shot. Not that I thought that season one was bad per say, but it had a habit of being clumsy and meandering. I liked the characters, but I never felt like they were given as interesting things to do as they could have been. Season two fixed that in spades-All the major characters are given interesting lore that has lasting effects into the future plot, the supporting cast actually gets to contribute to the story in interesting ways, Luz and Amity get to be gay as hell and are adorable together, tragic emotional mess sadboi Hunter is here now and I love him dearly, and there’s actual stakes going into the next episode as I genuinely don’t know where they are going to go with it. I’m of course mad at Disney for canceling it prematurely, but kudos to the writing team for managing to keep it engaging given their unexpectedly condensed timeframe.

- Spy X Family (Anime) - Man Anya is so cute, I’m surprised about how invested I am in her school hijinks given the actual espionage happening in the show, but the telepathy aspect combined with her impulsive gung-ho attitude makes her interactions with her classmates just hilarious. Damien seems like he’ll be an entertaining little shit, and I’m looking forward to meeting Yor’s brother.

- Pathologic (Video Game) - Pretty far into Patho 2 now, and while I don’t know if I can say I like it better than Classic, I do think it’s an improvement on the Haruspex’s route overall. You really do connect to the town and its people more, and giving Artemy actual connections and childhood memories beyond what he received in the original is quite nice. I do kind of miss how weirdly nice Daniil and Artemy’s conversations were in classic, but admittedly their dialogue here is a lot more snappy and entertaining overall-Daniil’s just such a little prick and Artemy is having none of it. To be fair it’s not like they retconned Haruspex route Daniil to hate Artemy or anything, he still seem to quite like him, he’s just mean about it now which I for one find hilarious. Artemy’s individual dialogue is also pretty entertaining, most of the time it’s pretty relatable “I’m exhausted and over this shit” type of stuff but every so often he just pulls out these insane lines like “I’m somewhat of a kitten myself” or “Normally people call me ‘Help, I’m Dying’”, like what??? Artemy what are you doing man?? I love it.

- Schitt’s Creek (TV) - Starting to get actually attached to these characters at this point-David’s budding romance with his is business partner is quite wholesome, I’m really loving all Alexis’s looks, and the Stevie/Mr Rose dynamic is a fun addition.

- Return of the Obra Dinn (Video Game) - Finished, and what a game it was! It really can only be played once due to it’s single puzzle nature, but it was definitely worth that single playthrough, with a truly unique aesthetic, memorable music, great creature design, and an interesting puzzle that is just difficult enough to make you feel smart for solving it. If your the type that likes escape rooms or just puzzles in general, I’d 100% recommend this is was a blast.

- Dracula (Original Novel) - Good the cowboy has arrived.

Listening to: Dead Man Walking by City Wolf, Fear & Delight by The Correspondents, Begin Again by Purity Ring, Curses by The Crane Wives, What Else Can I Do (Encanto OST), The Mother We Share by CHVRCHES, Sweet Talk by Saint Motel, Go Get Your Gun by The Dear Hunter, Hawaiian Roller Coaster Ride by Mark Keali’i Ho’omalu, Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! by ABBA

#My posts #weekly roundup

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vitos-ordination-song · 4 months

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Having listened to interviews w David Foster Wallace and looked into what eventually gets around to happening in Infinite Jest, can I just say, he has to be one of the most insufferable authors of all time. I actually agree w him on almost everything, but god, he was so annoying with how he went about things.

The central conceit of Infinite Jest is good, but its style undermines it. For instance, the idea of a video that’s so entertaining people can’t stop watching and then die is potentially good. Could work for satire. But the book is so unbearably overwritten that every single flourish like that just becomes irritating. The “sponsored years” too—so many of these gimmicks could work for a short story, but for an incredibly long-winded and verbose book, they’re just painful. Like Kafka if he was trying to convince everyone he’s smart.

DFW was concerned about how life lived for entertainment and consumption was draining us of our humanity. I’m worried about it too. But what exactly did he accomplish with his book? I mean, no one’s gonna read it except people who already agree with him. I was also shocked to hear him say he was trying to write a “sad” book and was surprised anyone thought it was funny. The whole book feels like it’s trying desperately to be witty. Some of it actually is witty, but did he actually not know how he was coming across?

As to sad, well, I’d say there was pathos in one of the chapters I read, but that was about a throwaway character. And even that section was repetitive. DFW was good at capturing the mindset of an addict, but he did it so many times in the first 200 or so pages, with nothing new added each time, that I just got bored. Aside from that, I felt the book was devoid of feeling. It’s too up its own ass for most of the characters to feel like people.

I decided to drop it after a passage where Hal thinks about how the “defecatory posture” is “religious.” A single passage like that might be interesting or funny, but I have to stress how often quirky little musings like that were included. Nothing is ever phrased normally—it’s always trying to be as Clever and Unique as possible. Frankly my impression of DFW is that he was a pretty arrogant person who neurotically tried to pretend he wasn’t, so his writing turned into this mess of superfluous show-off moments which then undermine themselves. Frankly he should have just written a couple silly short stories or an essay and left it at that. I don’t think long-form fiction is ever good when it’s written exclusively to Make A Point About Society—there’s got to be some grounding and humanity to it.

In an interview, DFW discussed the issue of entertainment, saying that someone interested in making art these days either has to be anti-entertaining or entertaining while still critical of entertainment, which is paradoxical. He went the anti-entertainment route, which won him kudos with people who think Challenging Art is good regardless of actual quality. I can think of several auteurs who handled these issues better than DFW, though.

First is Ikuhara, who’s said that his goal is to “create a new value for entertainment.” I don’t think he set out to make avant garde anime—he just can’t help himself. He is uninterested in empty corporate entertainment. He works within the current paradigm of anime, essentially taking genres to their extreme. Rather than creating simple parodies, he instead finds the radical potential that does exist within entertainment and then uses it to create narratives about liberation from the alienation of modern society, along with other profound issues. I like Ikuhara more than DFW because, rather than self-denial, Ikuhara deals with his ego with unforced humor, acknowledging his dark side without apology. Skeptical of all human social behavior, he nonetheless also has a very earnest and authentic streak. I think that that stance is a lot more subversive than DFW’s interminable over-intellectualization and regressive ironic distance.

Another example would be Satoshi Kon’s Paranoia Agent. A lot more harsh and unforgiving than Ikuhara, Kon presents modern people as incapable of taking responsibility for anything. Immature and selfish, they entertain themselves until they reach a breaking point, at which time they explode, hoping a breakdown will get them out of all the troubles they’ve been trying to avoid. Inherent in this is self-victimization. Kon posits that some people are able to see through the system and retain a grasp on reality, but that society as a whole likely will not be able to get through the nuclear age.

I could go on about the many layers of social critique presented in the show, but that’s not really the focus of this post. I’ll finish by saying that Kon only needed 13 episodes to accomplish all this. I really question the type of artist who equates length and difficulty of parsing a story with quality. Now, I’m not saying that long and challenging stories are bad—I just don’t think they inherently make something good. Infinite Jest feels like an amalgam of writing flourishes which are considered to be elevated by today’s critics—multiple storylines, etc.—rather than a story someone wanted to tell from the bottom of their heart. Paranoia Agent is primarily social commentary, rather than straightforward narrative fiction, but it is still “entertaining”—as in, it tells a story I care about. Infinite Jest wasn’t boring, but it was annoying, because I couldn’t figure out what in the hell I’m supposed to be emotionally invested in. That’s fine for a short story, but doesn’t cut it for a novel that’s over a thousand pages long.

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darkx-the-dragon-kn1ght · 5 months

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Chapter 5- Part 3

Geez- I thought it was just that it was so polluted, it was making people sick and making travel difficult, I didn’t realize the water was straight-up hyper acidic. How many chemicals are they dumping into the lake for it to get that bad??

Questions about pollution aside, there’s a blonde guy over there, and I think we can battle him? Hopefully, anyways.

Aha, he is a Trainer! Perfect- still haven’t found the way to that upper area, but at least we can get some exp. points here instead!

Ooh, Wimpod, I love Wimpod and Golisopod- so much so, I even used Golisopod as part of my teams for both Sun and Ultra Sun. Sadly, this one is not for us to catch, we have to beat up this one.

Riptide can handle this easily. First, we start with Leer…

…and get a Special Attack drop due to Struggle Bug, which isn’t great, but Riptide wasn’t going to use Water Gun anyways. No, rather, he’s going to defeat Wimpod with a few well-placed Scratches!

Slowly but surely, my ego is being rebuilt after what happened in the last chapter- for better or worse, who can say.

‘Ultra’ Potion? That’s a new one- is that supposed to be, like, a Potion in-between Super and Hyper Potions? Mm, we’ll check in a little while.

Oooh, into the suspicious shady alley we go!~

Also, love the brown-haired lady right there just watching all of this without a word, love that for her.

Hah- finally, Xera gets some respect from people who aren’t her immediate rivals! Also- lots of Starly chilling up there, but it seems we can’t catch any of them…not that we’d be able to anyways due to a lack of Poké Balls.

At any rate, there’s an item up on that ledge with two NPCs in front of it- this definitely looks like a double battle situation. Still, training is training, so onward we go!

Nevermind, only the lady here’s ready to throw down! Fine, a battle is a battle either way.

Streak should be able to handle this easily. Leer coupled with Headbutt do pretty good damage- Buneary here tries to use Endure at the end, but it’s not enough.

See, respect! Kudos to these two specific punk Trainers!

So if the guy there doesn’t battle, what does he have to say instead?

Hm- I wonder if there have been more of those shadowy-looking tiles indicating the entrance to an alleyway scattered about, and I just haven’t noticed. Maybe we can look around for that later.

So now, what’s this item up here?

Oh, that’s handy, even if no one’s HP is quite that high yet. But speaking of Potions- what’s that Ultra Potion all about?

Huh- isn’t 200 HP the amount Hyper Potions used to heal, before Gen VII changed it to 120 HP? So Streak just up and found himself an even better Hyper Potion before we’ve even beaten the first Gym?

Just Pickup things, I guess.

But hey, at least we’ve got ourselves another normal Potion! Who needs to buy those from the PokéMart when we can just find them in random crates all over the place?

At any rate, our business here is done. So let’s head back out and- HEY WAIT I WAS JUST ABOUT TO EXIT WHY IS THE WILD POKÉMON THEME PLAYING-

You can encounter wild Pokémon down here? I was, like, one step away from exiting this area! Why did it take so long for an encounter to happen??

Regardless- we still don’t have any Poké Balls, so let’s just defeat it- even a tiny amount of EXP is good.

#pokemon reborn #pokemon reborn spoilers #pokemon fan game #pokemon reborn screenshot let's play

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tuhbanbuv · 1 year

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Mario’s Lil Sis has 120+ hits and 20+ kudos, so I’d like to give you a bit more lore behind the series or AU it belongs to. These are more random ramblings so I’ll put a READ MORE here.

Yes, Lucia is part of the new and refurbished Mario Magus AU. It’s a series more magic-oriented, kinda like the Owl House in a sense. It has a real world/“Mario” world separation like the movie and old tv shows but it’s easier to go back and forth.

In the AU, Mario and Lucia are real people and have a licensing deal with Nintendo to have “mascots” retelling their stories for younger audiences. It helps me have an excuse to cherry pick what is and isn’t canon when talking about the media; it’s like the “Mario is a stage play” theory but more comfortable for me.

Things like Lucia being brainwashed by Natasha and Dimentio are canon, Mr. L, a lot of M&L and Paper Mario content up to Sticker Star are canon. Things like the Blorbs and baby characters are vastly censored incidents and story beats by Nintendo to make it more “child friendly” or more entertaining.

Lucia has Chaos Heart scars along her chest that basically looks like if you told a drunk guy to give you a heart tattoo. She doesn’t like to talk about it at all, but she’ll be forced to confront it mentally and physically later on…

Bowser Jr is real, but at least 95% of Sunshine isn’t canon because he was just a newborn when it came out. IRL Junior is vastly different than game Junior, and the Koopalings are adopted IRL while they’re just sidekicks in the game.

Bowser is not only ftm, but not as big of a villain as the games make him out to be. It was just like the inciting incident when Mario and Lucia first came to the Mushroom Kingdom, some battles here and there until the events that led to the Superstar Saga game came to be. (Which in universe is right before Bowser has Junior)

Bowser, not only with a new baby but after teaming up with his enemy, brainwashed, amnesia’d and possessed by “Cackletta”, he has a change of heart and actually reaches out to Mario during a breakdown after many sleepless nights dealing with a newborn Junior. I might make a fic out of this but in universe this was where the animosity between Mario and Bowser ended, leading to a peace treaty and later ally-ship between him and Peach’s kingdoms. The whole rivalry initially broke out because their parents basically killed each other in a war during their babyhood and they carried it with them cuz it’s not easy to forget that kind of thing, but they at least know that it was their parents rather than each others faults.

Lucia, Peasley and Daisy are in a poly relationship. What started out as jealous feelings of each other quickly became “oh they’re actually hot tho”. Lucia developed feelings first, because she and pretty much her entire family are to type to fall for people VERY FAST. (And her type is strong men and women) Peasley second because the moment he got knocked out outta his Dragohoho form and woke up in Lucia’s arms? Yeah no he fell for her and later Daisy in a similar fashion. Daisy? What started out as a silent rivalry turned into her actually finding him attractive and then collective panic until the idea of polyamory came up. I call them the Flower Throuple.

Polterpup is named Pesto and he’s the ghost of Lucia’s childhood puppy who died after being hit by a car. Because his death was so sudden he harbors no I’ll will and only just wants to continue the game of fetch that the car so rudely interrupted. Lucia only finds this out much later after she meets him and the obvious happens. She cries and holds him because he waited so long to find her again. Because he’s happiest with her, the idea of “passing on” isn’t a thing because all he wants is to be with her, essentially making him immortal until Lucia’s luck runs out.

There are certain creatures called Mimicks, basically imperfect copies of people made out of pure magic, like the fake Bowsers or Bowser Jr’s Mario disguise. They either have to possess other beings or steal their original’s soul, but rare moments they can be their own thing, but it doesn’t last for long before they need to find a host or another body, lest they want to die.

Okay that’s all I have rn. I’m glad you like my Lucia fic so much, I had no idea it would blow up like it did and it means a lot to me. Expect more fics in the near future; now with AO3 I more motivation and more flexibility. Make sure to check out my other works if you liked my Lucia fic, too!

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roughentumble · 4 years

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i wonder why the main actor boy from prodigal son isnt in more things+better things. hes at least alright at acting, he has nice cheekbones, his eyes are VERY pretty

#i guess the answer is ''hes in prodogal son now''#but like. watched the movie mindgamer with my mom and #it is EVEN WORSE than the title would lead u to believe #it was a completely incomprehensible film and absolutely terrible on every level #but he looked rather pretty while all that was happening!!! so. kudos to him #best thing to look at in the film

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aziraphales-library · 2 years

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Hello! I love the fic recommendations you guys find! You're doing the Almighty's work.

So I was wondering, is there any fic in which the show characters somehow get in touch with the Good Omens book? Not with the characters of the book, but the book itself. As maybe the or one of the main uhh plot-points? Rather than just something little that happens. I've only found one in which that happened in the background and another in which it wasn't in the background, but it also wasn't explored much either.

I've just recently read (most of) the book and would like to see their reactions to all those little minor differences and similarities between their experiences and the book ones. Is there any fic like that?

Thank you in advance!

Hmm. Not sure of any exactly like this, but here are some in which the source material and the characters interact in someway, and a couple in which a book about parts of the story is written by one of the characters...

You've Got Kudos by curtaincall (M)

Aziraphale and Crowley both write fanfiction. As it happens, they both write Good Omens fanfiction.

Of course, neither of them would ever admit this to the other.

(A love story told primarily in AO3 comments)

Absent Friends by CopperBeech (G)

In autumn of 2014, a caller at Aziraphale's bookshop is searching for something, but it's not a book.

“Thank you for looking after these. So many shopkeepers would just toss them out, it’s been a while, but – I don’t know why, he's owned loads of hats and scarves, but I gather he’s been asking for these in particular for some time."

The Audition by Quefish (G)

Aziraphale sees an interesting casting call and convinces Crowley to accompany him.

Truth is Stranger Than Fiction by asideofourown (T)

Onscreen, the interviewer gave a blinding smile and then said, “Mr. Dowling, since I have the privilege of being the first to interview you, I get to ask— what inspired you to write your novel?”

“I had a bit of an odd childhood,” Warlock said slowly, his head tilted slightly. “While I was living here I had a nanny who took care of me for a few years, and she… inspired a bit about Ms. Cassandra in my novel. Likewise, inspiration for Mr. Felix came from my family’s gardener when I was a kid.” His lips twitched into a tiny, fond smile. “They were a bit of an odd pair, Nanny Ash and Brother Francis, but they had a pretty big impact on me. I guess you could say a little of the novel was inspired by what I wish my childhood could have been like— just a bit special and fantastical.”

The TV screen went black, and Crowley looked down at his fingers, frozen in a snap. He had miracled the news off without even realizing.

Crowley leaned back against the couch and then ran a hand over his face. “Bloody fucking hell,” he whispered.

[Warlock writes a book, and reunites with some old friends]

Pleasant Flames by WednesdayTheWriter (T)

Crowley gets so bored he decides to take up writing. He writes a book about the adventures of Ez and J (who are, obviously, Aziraphale and Crowley.) The only noticeable difference in Ez’s character, Crowley thinks, is that he loves J back.

He brings his book to Aziraphale, not mentioning that he was the one who wrote it.

Fluff and comfort ensues.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #metafiction #mod d

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duskandstarlight · 3 years

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Embers & Light (Chapter 39, NSFW Nessian)

Notes: Well, over a year you've had to wait for these two to seal the deal... BUT NO LONGER. And because I'm thankful to you all for sticking with this story, I've granted you with over 16k of sinful naughtiness. I think it's safe to say this is NSFW but you guys have read my smut before, you know the drill.

Embers & Light has always very much been the alternative story to Habits, but I couldn’t help but write in some crossover moments here to highlight the differences in events--timeline is a fascinating thing! Lemme know if you spot the moments :)

Please let me know what you think :) Comment and kudos will make my day!

I won't be able to write much of August (wedding & mini-moon) but I'll be doing my best to get you guys something as soon as possible. Hopefully by the end of the month, anyways <3

Oh! And I got a bookstagram. Find me at bookships.and.fandoms (and bear with me, I cba to take pretty pics atm)

Chapter 39 Cassian POV

Cassian stared at the doorway and the staircase beyond it, his gaze fixed and unwavering. Nesta had slipped out of the living room to follow Feyre up the stairs over ten minutes ago and he was already consumed with the biting sort of worry that gnawed at your insides.

He wasn’t concerned about what Nesta might be discussing with Feyre—that was her business—but because he couldn’t help but fret when it came to Nesta’s wellbeing.

It was a myriad of concerns that trampled through his mind like a herd of cattle. Had she slept enough? Had she recovered from being caught in the crowds the day before? Was her conversation with Feyre going to have her take three steps back rather than one forward? Cassian had spied the book of fairytales she’d slipped into her bag. Had guessed what she’d intended to do with it.

And then there was the fact that Nesta had left the bed before he’d woken again. Cassian couldn’t help but feel disappointed that she’d not been there when he’d opened his eyes, especially after the night before.

But that was how it was with he and Nesta. When the sun dipped below the horizon, Cassian often felt as if they were on the right path; as if once the world shut its eyes, the pressure was off and their play could continue. But as soon as light bled back into the sky, things weren’t the same. They weren’t cold… but Cassian felt suspended in a limbo of flirtatious banter and respectful distance. Which was hard, when all Cassian wanted to do was be as close to her as possible: to hold her hand and wind a hand through her hair. To kiss her brow and mouth and sink his teeth into her neck—

Cassian’s jaw tightened. He wanted to do wicked things. He wanted to make her moan and shatter. Wanted to know how she felt wrapped around him. Wanted to see if she’d gasp awake as he pushed inside of her.

Their trip home was going to be a turning point. Or at the very least it would be a milestone—a hammered notch as they progressed towards something. Yet, Cassian wasn’t naive: he wasn’t expecting Nesta to fall into his arms and never leave. But he hoped that it might make Nesta see their connection—not the tie between them, but the chemistry that Cassian knew would forever exist even if the mating bond was severed.

From the very first moment his gaze had settled on the haughty, vicious sister Cassian had known. Had nearly been brought to his knees—the heart-stopping moment so powerful, it suspended time as he felt something turn inside of him, as if something that had lain dormant had finally snapped open an eye.

And because of that Cassian would willingly allow Nesta to forge the reigns when it came to whatever it was between them. He could go slow. He would take the chance that Nesta might grow to accept him, even as he was seized by the terror that she might grow bored and draw a line under things before he had the chance to prove that he was worthy.

Cassian took a deep, steadying breath that made his ribcage heave. Thought of the lullaby that sat in his room at the House. Used that to ground himself and banish the painful thoughts.

Nesta had cared enough to gift him a piece of his past that nobody else had ever gone to the effort to find for him. And that was… everything. It was everything to him.

“I can hear the worry grinding gears in your brain.”

Rhys was standing where Mor had been a few moments earlier, his hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers, his eyebrows raised. Cassian hadn’t noticed Mor slip away. Couldn’t even recall what she'd been saying to him. Had he ignored her? He didn’t know. Didn’t really care. They all knew he was head over heels when it came to Nesta anyway.

Cassian blinked. It took him a moment to process Rhys’s words, but his body finally caught up. An instinctive grin tugged at the corners of his mouth and he commanded his eyes to sparkle, even though it was all fake. “I was under the impression you didn’t think I had one.”

Rhys didn’t chuckle or retort with something dry. Sometimes his brother allowed him to indulge in his self-deprecating behaviour, but it didn’t seem like today was one of those days. Instead, he cut to the chase. “They’re fine.”

Cassian bristled. Didn’t bother to pretend his mind wasn't solely on what was happening upstairs. “Feyre’s speaking with you now?”

Nesta would hate that. Would know if her sister was communicating to her mate whilst they were talking.

His brother’s laugh was as smooth as velvet. “No, she locked me out. It’s a habit she’s started recently and it’s usually coupled with the mental finger.”

This time, Cassian’s smile was genuine, as was the chuckle that chased it. “Feisty.”

“You have no idea,” Rhys responded with a wink.

Mor, who had breezed back to Cassian’s side with a new cup of coffee, rolled her eyes. “We do actually, you two are like rabbits.”

“We’re mated,” Rhys replied with a wave of his hand. “It’s to be expected.”

Mor lifted her eyes to the ceiling. “Cauldron, I need to bed someone rather than hearing about my cousin’s exploits with my best friend.”

“Head to Rita’s and find yourself a pretty fae,” Cassian drawled, tugging Mor into a one armed hug.

“Mmm,” Mor hummed, but she chewed on her lip again. Glanced nervously at Azriel, who was in deep conversation with Elain. His shadows were tucked in neatly to his frame rather than trailing, ever-moving and loose around his body, but Cassian knew he could hear them.

Cassian dropped a friendly kiss to Mor’s head before he let her go. Tussled her hair, grinning mischievously when she squawked in disapproval.

As if sensing that his cousin wanted a change of subject, Rhys looked square at Cassian. “Azriel will come over later to update you on the latest movements.”

Cassian sobered as if someone had poured icy water down his back. “Not later,” Cassian corrected firmly.

Tomorrow. No the day after that. Cassian couldn’t guarantee that he’d be able to stop once he’d had his first proper taste of Nesta.

But of course they couldn’t do that—wouldn’t. The situation in Illyria was too dire for them to be so selfish as to lock themselves away for days.

It didn’t mean Cassian didn’t want to, though.

“You’ve got plans?” Rhys asked lightly and Mor froze.

You’ve got no idea, Cassian thought. But then realised his brother knew. Of course he did. Surely everyone in this room knew how desperate he was to get back to Illyria. To have Nesta in his bed again, writhing and moaning, their bodies slick with sweat as they moved in unison.

Clenching his jaw, Cassian grounded that desire between his teeth, until it was nothing but broken, delicious shards that scraped down his throat. His blood coiled. “Yes. Maybe.”

If she doesn’t change her mind.

“It has to be tomorrow, Cass.”

Biting back a sigh, Cassian nodded. “I know. Come at noon. I suppose I’ll be camped out in Illyria for the foreseeable future.” He cast a stern look at Mor. “Send me letters.”

“You have a housemate,” Rhys reminded him. “You’re not going to be entirely alone.”

Mor grinned slyly. “A very beautiful housemate.”

Cassian was more than aware of that.

He grunted and unable to stop himself, he voiced the fear that always niggled away at the back of his mind. “For now.”

But Rhys just loosed another manicured shrug, that was at odds with the ground-breaking revelation that followed it. “For a long while. Nesta has expressed her desire to remain in Illyria long-term despite the discontent. Assuming you don’t mind sharing your bungalow.”

It felt as if an iron band of hope was clamped around Cassian’s chest. He stared at his brother. Tried not to blink. Crossed his arms firmly over his chest, protecting his heart. “And you know this how?”

“Nesta spoke with me. We have arrived at a truce, of sorts.”

That must have been what they’d spoken about yesterday on the balcony. He wanted to know more—everything—but Cassian would not press Rhys. If Nesta wanted to tell him, she would. He had to respect that.

So, he bit back his curiosity and grumbled, “About time.”

Rhys clapped his hand on Cassian’s back, but there was something wary in his expression, as if there was something he wanted to say but wouldn’t. Finally, he said, “Patience is a virtue, brother.”

“I’m not the patient sort.”

“You are when it counts,” Rhys countered, and Cassian didn’t say anything because they both knew what he was referring to. Rhys had been the first to know. Had witnessed Cassian in a tangled web of despair and longing and unwanted visions. His brother had immediately put two and two together. Because he’d been there, too. Knew what it was to want someone you thought you couldn’t have. To hope that someone might finally grow to see you in colour rather than in black and white.

Cassian cast another look towards the empty doorway and the quiet hallway beyond it.

A shiver of anticipation ran through him. It was time for them to go home.

***

In the end, Cassian folded to his worry and had Elain fetch Nesta from upstairs. It was time to go, he’d insisted, even though there was no true reason as to why they needed to leave quite so quickly.

“No guesses required to identify why you want to head back to Illyria,” Mor muttered out the side of her mouth, as the creak of the stairs a few flights above heralded the sisters return. Cassian jabbed his elbow into his friend’s ribs and Mor yelped through her grin, even as she had to sidestep, the nudge throwing her off balance. “What? It’s all over your face. You think I can’t read you after five hundred years?”

“Don’t announce it to the room,” Cassian muttered darkly under his breath, “and you won’t find yourself torn to pieces.”

Mor briefly bumped against his arm, the jostle affectionate. Unfazed by his threat, she glanced sideways at him with rich chocolate eyes. “I won’t. We just want you to be happy, you know.”

Cassian’s mouth flattened into a thin line. “Now isn’t the time for a lecture about finding a more suitable mate.”

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. He hadn’t meant for it to happen, hadn’t meant to voice what he’d kept inside for so long.

Mor’s eyes widened, but she wound her arms around his waist. Cassian allowed her to tuck herself under his arm. His friend scented of citrus and cinnamon. When she craned her neck to look up at him, her expression was glowing with sincerity and Cassian realised that she hadn’t been insinuating that Nesta wasn’t right for him at all. “We’re all cheering you on from the sidelines, Cass, I promise.”

The muscle in Cassian’s jaw flexed. He looked away from her, towards the doorway again, unable to help himself. “Don’t say anything.”

She tightened her grip on his waist. “I won’t. I promise.”

“She doesn’t want it.”

Mor untangled herself from him. Shook her head in disagreement. “She does. She just isn’t ready to admit it yet.”

They both fell quiet as Nesta walked through the door with Elain and Feyre. The first thing Cassian noticed was that she scented of water and salt—tears.

Heart pattering with concern, Cassian quickly scanned Nesta’s expression and body language, searching for clues. But Nesta remained close to her sisters rather than apart, her fingers snagged in Feyre’s, her expression not in tatters but smooth and calm, like still waters.

“Ready to go?” Mor chirped from beside him. “I can winnow you back when Sala arrives.”

Nesta’s grey-blue eyes slid to Mor. “I called her on my way down.”

“Then you have time to see the snowdrops you gave me before you leave,” Elain responded eagerly, tugging at Nesta’s arm. “The cuttings took well to the soil. I planted them beneath the shade of the birch trees near the river.”

Cassian watched Nesta disappear into the garden. Surveyed the way a strand of golden brown hair that had escaped her loose braid floated on the breeze, as if it was part of the element rather than separate, as Elain bent to show her the snowdrops.

Yet despite the clear ease to Nesta’s movements, Cassian couldn’t help but ask Feyre whether everything was okay when she came over to hug him goodbye.

“We’re fine,” Feyre assured him, as together they watched Mor tentatively sit beside Azriel on the couch. For once the Shadowsinger’s shadows didn’t lighten, but Azriel still turned to her, drawn by some magnetism as she began to speak with him.

Slim fingers closed around his. Squeezed. “Thank you for fetching the book of fairytales for Nesta.”

The strand of ebony hair that had wrangled free of Cassian’s hair tie tickled the side of his forehead as he inclined his head. That had been a long time ago, when Nesta was a viper that he dared to poke with a stick, just so he could get a reaction. “Of course.”

“You travelled all that way on barely healed wings just to fetch a book.”

It wasn’t just a book, but Cassian knew Feyre understood that, so he only grunted, “Az took me most of the way. He waited to winnow me back.”

But Feyre’s eyes were burnished, as she asked, “Is there anything you won’t do for my sister?”

“It depends,” Cassian replied honestly. Because although he’d rather die than see Nesta hurt, Cassian wouldn’t hesitate to stand up to her when her fire was ill-wrought. And that’s what he liked about the both of them: if he was an ass Nesta told him straight, and he did the same for her. A grin slashed across his face. “Your sister has claws and teeth when she’s angry.”

It wasn’t long before Sala landed on her four large paws in the garden, prompting goodbyes. Mor winnowed Nesta and Sala, whilst Az’s scarred hand closed around Cassian’s arm.

Together, Cassian and his brother passed through realms of shadows and light and raging wings. Then Illyria was taking shape before Cassian bit by bit: there was the sting of winter on his cheeks, the crunch of snow beneath his feet, the scent of pine and untamed air. It felt like that wonderful first heave of your lungs after being starved from air. It alerted Cassian senses—woke him up.

Not bothering to say goodbye for the second time, Azriel bled straight back into shadow, but Mor raised a hand in a parting wave from where she stood beside Nesta and Sala. Her long golden hair caught on the breeze. It tussled behind her like its own puff of wind, before she vanished into nothing.

When Cassian’s eyes snapped to Nesta, he found her standing with her eyes closed, breathing in the wilderness of their surroundings. After a few beats, Sala jumped onto her hind legs, climbing up Nesta’s body with her snow-crusted paws to knock her head impatiently against Nesta’s.

A breath of laughter clouded in front of her as Nesta ruffled Sala’s ears. She murmured something Cassian couldn't identify in the manticore’s ear, before Sala dropped onto all fours and padded through the snow in the direction of the main camp.

Cassian watched the manticore go. He suspected Sala was going to seek out the widows camp and check everything was in order. It was the kind of thing Nesta would fret about—that whilst she was warm and fed, others might not be extended the same courtesy.

Or, the dark part of his mind whispered, she wants Sala out of the house.

You can fuck me wherever you like in the bungalow, Cassian.

The many needles of thrill pierced through him just as Nesta met his stare from across the snow. Suddenly, Cassian didn’t know what to say. His tongue felt swollen and thick in his mouth, words suddenly as viscous as tar. The atmosphere had altered—the aura surrounding them despite the distance suddenly heavy with promise: a change that pointed to something new.

The siphons on the back of Cassian’s hands glowed in anticipation. Nesta merely raised an eyebrow at him. Turned. Walked towards the house just as he caught the thick scent of jasmine and vanilla on the wind.

Cassian’s nostrils flared as it wound around him; invisible ropes of arousal. And then he was moving, following Nesta’s footprints.

His friends had winnowed them to the back of the house, halfway between the small stone outhouse and the backdoor. They weren’t far from the bungalow, but it felt like miles as Cassian stomped noisily after Nesta, his boots compacting the snow as if they were grinding shards of glass into powder.

When Cassian drew up behind Nesta, she already had a hand half-raised towards the door. Even though he wasn’t touching her, she was a whirlpool of warmth. It sucked him in, begging him to line his torso against her back, so when she cursed, realising she hadn’t taken her gloves off, Cassian didn’t hesitate to reach over her shoulder and rest his palm against the wood, encasing her.

The touch of his bare skin—or Nesta’s—was the key to the magical lock. A thunk sounded as the bolt released but Cassian didn’t push open the door—was too preoccupied with the female before him—who had twisted to stare up at him.

As soon as their gazes snagged, history began to knit together in a rush of thread, until it was a tangible, living thing. Because this moment had been written in the stars as soon as Cassian had seen Nesta in her amethyst dress in the human realm; her hair wielded into a mighty crown, her expression haughty and defiant, yet burning with the potential of a life not yet lived. They’d denied that history, even as it waited patiently in the wings. It had watched as they danced around each other, fumbling and snarling their way to this very moment—

They moved in unison. Cassian’s head bowing just as Nesta reached upwards; her body bowing to his, her palms sliding across his jaw until they were around his neck. Their lips met with a force that rattled Cassian’s bones. This wasn't a brush of a kiss. This was immediate and awakening: Nesta tasted like life and breath, like destiny. And yet again, Cassian knew with startling clarity that they were meant for this, he and Nesta. They were meant for each other and nobody could tell him otherwise, including her.

A soft breath whooshed out of Nesta as her back hit the door, but then Cassian was pushing it open, guiding her inside in a whirlwind of noise and wreckage.

The scrape of wood on the flagstone tiles sounded as Nesta’s back knocked against the table before Cassian turned them, his wings grazing against cupboards and the cool walls. Items clattered and shattered, but Cassian used his wings to keep a check on his surroundings, the touch guiding him to the left-hand wall where he could press her against the wall and devour.

Because Cassian could not tear his mouth from Nesta’s. Couldn’t stop tasting her. Couldn’t stop craving the roll of her tongue and the sound of her guttural moans. It fuelled a fireball inside of him; it roared into life in the centre of his heart, before spreading throughout his limbs, rushing through his body until it settled deep in his groin, aching and burning—screaming for relief.

When they finally hit the wall, the thud of their bodies shook the cabinets and the porcelain within it. Without thinking, Cassian took the brunt of it, his hand flying to cup Nesta's lower back and head to purposefully shield her from the hurt.

Because he was coarse and rippling, galloping towards a primal sort of wilderness that Cassian wasn’t sure he could control.

If Nesta was ignorant to the fact or wholly aware Cassian didn’t know. All he knew was that her hands were scrabbling at his leather like dancing flames, tugging him closer.

When he pressed his body over hers, aligning every inch of her to every inch of him, she whined.

Cassian swallowed it. Slanted his mouth across hers. Tucked his wings in tight as every muscle in him tensed in anticipation.

Nesta tasted of chai and vanilla and embers with a destiny to roar.

Another strangled noise came from her throat as Cassian sank his hands deep into the hair at her scalp, coaxing strands free from her braid as his fingers threading through her hair, just as he had done the night prior when he’d coaxed her to sleep. But this wasn’t a soothing touch. This was a touch to startle every nerve ending to life.

Time began to bleed around them, but Cassian only registered the fluidity of the frantic dance they had not learnt. The way Nesta arched into him as his palm slid back to span her waist. The pant of her breath against his skin. His heaving chest. The way his wings began to spread again of their own volition, like a fan unfolding to reveal a secret pattern—as if they were controlled by nothing but the ache of his cock as it strained against the leather of his pants.

As if in acknowledgement that his body was no longer ruled by him, his hips slanted upwards of their own accord. It was a desperate bid to relieve the ache, and his throat vibrated with a thunderous growl as Nesta dug her nails deeper into the leather of his jacket, using it for leverage as she arched into him.

Something turned further inside of Cassian, like a lock beginning to grind as a key turned. And then it felt as if he were plunging beneath water; ducking into the depths and travelling beneath an invisible barrier before emerging on the other side buoyant and surging with power.

Ruby crashed through his veins, like the walls of a dam broken free and… singing light. Magic roared so loudly in Cassian’s ears that he no longer heard the galloping beat of his heart or the sawing of their breath.

Reeling, he tore his mouth from Nesta’s. Her eyes were just as wide, puddles of startled moonlight—endless mercury—and Cassian didn’t need to look down to know that her hands were wreathed in silver.

For a moment they stared at one another. Time slowed until it was sluggish around them and then the feeling receded, as if Cassian was being carried by a wave as it was dragged unwillingly from the shore on thundering feet.

Sound bled back into Cassian’s ears, like raindrops slowly blotting paper. A moan whispered on a wind carried through him, the words fleeting—her name three times, like always—before they dispersed into nothing and ragged breathing filled the hole.

Fuck, they needed to be careful. He needed to be careful if just kissing her led to some transcendental experience. Cassian knew Nesta became open during sex—had seen tumbled images of tangled limbs and heard her moans—and he couldn’t afford to lose her when she had finally let him in. Couldn’t let her down, even though he wanted nothing more than to finally be found worthy by someone.

That twisted rope between them couldn’t widen and strengthen. Couldn’t finally open and click into place with a consensual snap.

Because Cassian had heard stories of mates who had gone to bed. Who had fleetingly accepted what they wanted in their hearts but not in their minds. And after they had both finished and life had been breathed into that bond, only death could sever their Cauldron-blessed connection.

Cassian would not have a mate with regrets, but he didn’t have the will-power to deny himself of her any longer. Not when he could scent how much Nests wanted him. When he could feel it like an unquenchable ache in his bones—an ache which made him tremble and shake. His rocky warrior exterior ground to nothing but sand.

As if Nesta could read his thoughts she tipped her head back, baring the column of her neck.

A resounding guttural sound dragged from his throat. The noise was animalistic and unchained. A booming crack ricocheted around the walls, the muscles in Cassian’s back burning as his wings snapped outward.

Something toppled from somewhere and crashed to the floor, but Cassian didn’t bother to raise his head to look at what it was.

And then time seemed to both slow and drive into a frenzy. Cassian launched at Nesta’s neck at the same time he tugged at her hair, urging her head to fall back even farther.

His lips were against the column of her throat in the blink of an eye; his teeth scraping, his mouth sucking until her blood pounded in his ears. Nesta’s knees buckled but Cassian quickly pinned her body to the wall, holding her up, his knee sliding firmly between her legs…

And… nothing. There was no panic or sensation of being trapped—no sudden fire launching him back thirty feet—but Cassian still tore his mouth from Nesta’s neck. Had to know she wasn’t panicking. “Ok?” he rasped.

A frown burrowed Nesta’s brows. Her swollen lips parted in confusion. Somehow it made her look more beautiful.

Cassian raised a shaking hand to trace it away. “Nesta. Are you ok?”

Understanding dawned like millions of unfurling petals.

When Nesta spoke she was short of breath, the words an exhale. “Don’t hold back.”

Cassian practically arched into her at the words but he made himself remain still, even as his body vibrated with tension. His bones creaked but he held fast.

That stubborn, beautiful chin lifted and Nesta’s eyes glinted wicked yet pure. Always an oxymoron, his Nesta.

“Don’t hold back,” she repeated, her voice stronger this time. She pushed her hips against his thigh and the friction had her lips parting, a shaky breath tumbling from her lungs. “I can take it.”

The words were like slashing knives of pleasure, severing the leash on any control Cassian thought he had.

The subsequent rush of air Cassian loosed was akin to a snorting horse.

Then he was moving and their mouths were fused together again, their tongues a delicious push and pull of control and pleasure before he yanked away.

“Thank fuck,” he gasped. His hands flew to her hips, guiding her to ride his thigh. “Thank fuck, Nesta.”

The friction had Nesta moaning, her fingernails digging so hard into the leather of his jacket Cassian was sure she had dented the material. But he didn’t care. Didn’t care about anything but the living fervour that clawed at them.

His hands were everywhere at once. Tangled in her hair. Sliding over her cheek. Cupping her ass. Attacking the buttons at the back of her dress, until they popped and scattered. Until he could pull the material down her arms, exposing tantalising creamy skin.

At the first sight of her breasts, Cassian growled. He bowed his head to capture a nipple sharply between his teeth before he laved over it with his tongue, smoothing over the wound. He relished the way Nesta cried out. Arched into him. She began to tear at his jacket. It snagged on his wings but Cassian shrugged it off until it hit the floor with a thud.

The first slide of Nesta’s palms beneath his tunic was like oil sizzling in a pan. Cassian hissed as the callouses of her palms scraped deliciously over his skin and scars and ink. Snarled as she made quick work of the stays and fastenings. Tried to focus on her other breast as she inched her hand beneath the tight leather fabric and eased him free.

Fingers wrapped sinfully around him, causing Cassian to snarl around a peaked nipple—to buck sharply—pressing them more firmly against the wall.

“Don’t bother,” Nesta moaned as Cassian wrenched desperately at the fabric of her dress, trying to coax it further down her body. She ground down onto his thigh as it to emphasise her point—her need—and the heat of her burned.

It was all Cassian needed to hear. He fumbled desperately with her skirts until a hand was under the material and sliding up her thigh. Until fabric ripped and her underwear fell away in what Cassian imagined to be a ripple of lace.

In one swift movement, Cassian lifted Nesta’s body upwards, until her legs were gripped tightly around his hips and her back was flush against the wall. Her hands flew to find purchase, grappling at the back of his neck, and when she was steady she raked her hand purposefully through the hair which had come loose from his tie. Tugged at the leather until his hair fell over his face. Whined. Tangled her fingers through the ebony strands as if they were her reigns.

Cassian splayed the hand that wasn’t supporting her body against the cold wall. Tried to catch his breath, but the position evened out the height between them. Just a slight movement would allow him to capture her lips with his, and Cassian couldn’t deny that demanding tug that drove him to devour. Nesta seemed to feel the same way. Moaned in relief as Cassian tasted her as if he couldn’t get enough, gave back as good as she got. Over and over they moved, until they were nothing but an undulating wave of tongue and teeth and groans. The pleasure was a surging, roiling entity. It was all consuming. It overtook Cassian’s body, demanding that his hand drag from her ass straight to her core.

When his fingers slid through wetness, Cassian’s groan sounded like thunderous defeat. He dropped his head to Nesta’s collarbone. Gently pressed his lips to her clavicle. To her shoulder. Tried to ground himself as he slid straight to the spot that made her keen—as pleasure ignited down the bond like a crashing wave. Brushed over it again and again and again. Relishing in the noises he coaxed from her. At the curling fists of desire that clenched agonisingly inside of him.

Cassian had to see Nesta fall. Had to look into her eyes as she broke.

But he wanted to be inside of her when it happened.

Cassian was reaching for his cock at the same time that Nesta let out a broken moan. “Do it,” she breathed. There was no bite of authority in her voice, as if all of the energy she had directed in the pursuit of pleasure had smoothed over the serrated edge of her personality he loved so much, leaving a softer version in its wake. “Please. Just—”

A satisfied snarl ripped from Cassian as he felt her want. And in that moment, Cassian knew there would be nothing gentle about how this was going to play out. It was going to be rough and frantic, riding a wave of pleasure that had been building for too long. Knew afterwards that they would sink to the cold floor in a mass of tangled limbs and mingled breath.

And Cassian wanted that. Had never wanted release so badly in his life.

Something clambered in the back of his mind. Something he needed to remember, but his limbs were moving of their own volition. He didn’t even bother to pump his cock or squeeze it to relieve the tension. Only cared about finally being inside of her.

The heat and slickness of her was sinful and divine when he lined himself up at her entrance. The hand he had braced against the wall came to span her cheek. It relied on Nesta clamping on tightly to his waist with her legs and the press of his torso against hers, but they managed it.

Shaking, Cassian raked back the hair that had fallen free from her braid back from Nesta’s face, just as she tugged him in for a bruising kiss.

There was a moment when everything paused and trembled. As Nesta pulled away and stared at him, her eyes swimming silver—glowing with it—her pupils obscured.

His magic surged at the sight of it. Crashed against his skin as if it was trying to escape. His siphons burned bloody.

“Cassian,” Nesta panted. Despite the keen desperation, there was cushion to his name. Gently, Nesta bowed her head until her forehead rested against his. The gesture was surprisingly tender. It tugged at his heartstrings, triggered his hips into movement as they finally pushed forward.

The tight heat that wrapped around him like velvet was so immediate that Cassian swore. Sweat trickled down his back and seeped into the tunic Nesta hadn’t gotten round to discarding. He trembled as Nesta’s breath stuttered and he felt the burning pain mixed with pleasure as he sunk in an inch. Felt the stretch of Nesta’s body as it strained to fit around him.

Claws dug into his back—Nesta’s nails—biting into his skin, until the metallic tang of blood infused the air.

Cassian’s body stilled before he even had a second to register that he needed to stop. That instinct buried deep to make sure she never hurt.

And then a knock rapped at the front door.

“No,” Nesta moaned. She shifted her hips and Cassian sank a little deeper. That pain flared again through the pleasure and Cassian grip on her turned vice like.

Sense stumbled into his desire addled brain, like a fawn on gangly legs.

But then it righted itself.

Another sharp rap at the door cleared his head completely.

He bowed to bury his face in the crook of her neck but Nesta whined. Tilted her hips again, urging him deeper. “Nesta, stop.”

“No.” Her whimper was doused in frustration, but all Cassian could feel was that sharp needle of pain.

He tried to pull back, but Nesta clamped down around him with that incredible strength of hers. The strength that only seemed to appear at times of desperation or anger.

Cassian’s jaw flexed, his features hardening. “I’m hurting you.”

“You’re not,” Nesta countered, defiance colouring her expression.

“I am,” Cassian retorted, not allowing for a passing beat of their hearts to pass before he replied. “I’m hurting you. Don’t pretend that I’m not.”

I can feel it, Cassian wanted to explain, but didn’t. Knew somehow that if he did they might not end up joining at all.

Desire fogged Nesta’s mind and it fuelled the punch to her next words. “I don’t care.”

Ire punched through Cassian’s desire enough for him to see red. “Well, I do,” he snapped.

Nesta’s nostrils flared at his tone and her eyes burned silver. Cassian wondered how everything had gone southward so quickly—they were on a sinking ship and he needed to patch it up. Knew she felt rejected. So, he kissed her and pushed back that unquenchable ache he felt for her. Knew it hit home because she gasped softly into his mouth, her surprise tart on his tongue.

He pulled out. As soon as his cock fell free that pain throbbed and ebbed. But Nesta moaned all the same.

Moaned again as he drew his head back to stare at her.

She surprised him when her eyes remained open rather than closed off. There was no hard shield. Nothing but want and a vulnerability that made his heart squeeze.

It gave him the courage to do the right thing.

He kissed her again. Trailed a thumb across her swollen lips, ignoring the desire that roared as Nesta sucked it into her mouth, her tongue darting across the top before the bit down lightly.

“This is how things are going to go,” Cassian murmured lowly, pulling his thumb out of her mouth and across her jawline, trailing the wetness all the way to the sensitive spot behind her ear. Nesta shuddered.

“I’m going to get the door and send whoever it is away,” Cassian continued. He paused to let the words sink in. Lowered his head to trace a path with his nose, up the slope of her shoulder, all the way up her neck until his lips were grazing the shell of her ear. “You will go to your bedroom. When they’re gone, I’ll find you.”

Another shiver coursed through Nesta’s body. Her fingers tightened around his neck.

When Nesta next spoke, Cassian knew he’d piqued her interest. “What then?” she demanded.

“Then I’m going to make you come until you see stars.”

Nesta’s entire body froze. For a long moment, she didn’t so much as breathe, but Cassian felt the throb of her blood and magic as it pounded against her skin.

Then, Nesta’s hands worked between them, until her small palms were splayed across his chest. She pushed firmly, indicating that she wanted to get her down. Her body slithered to the floor, her lean legs falling away from his body.

The sudden distance between them felt like miles.

Nesta lifted her chin. “Hurry or I’ll start without you.”

A breath heaved at Cassian’s lungs and he felt his pupils contract, pushing out his irises until they were swallowed by black. The image of Nesta sprawled on the bed wearing nothing but skin, her legs open, a hand moving between her legs had that coil within him tightening to the point of pain.

A growl spiked through the air as another knock sounded at the door.

Nesta must have known she’d wrangled back control, because she arched a cool eyebrow at him. “I thought you were going to answer the door?”

A dark chuckle forced its way out of his chest, but it was mechanical rather than true. Because there was nothing funny about resisting Nesta right now and his body seemed to know that.

Cassian reached for her before he knew what was happening. Rested his forehead against hers. Breathed once. Twice. “I need to calm down,” he confessed.

Nesta snickered, but the sound fell flat as her breath hitched upwards at the end. It betrayed the effect he had on her, even as she said silkily, “Did the image of me pleasuring myself get you hard?”

“I was already hard,” he growled. He pressed a lingering kiss to her mouth. “As you well know.”

A hand reached between them. Stroked over him—the touch feather light but tantalising enough that Cassian bucked into her touch.

And then cunning words, “Maybe I’ll let you watch.”

A string of swear words left Cassian’s mouth. He yanked back from Nesta, as if someone had tugged firmly on a leash. Tugged up his pants and jerked ruthlessly at the ties until they fastened, trapping his cock back into the leather.

With a growl, Cassian waved a hand towards the living room—to Nesta’s room to the right of it. “Leave before I fuck you against the wall, Nesta,” he barked.

Nesta’s sly laugh skittered over his skin, and without pulling her dress back up to cover herself, Nesta sashayed through the nearest arch and disappeared.

*** It had been Mas and Roksana at the door, laden with bags full of groceries and supplies from the market. With full access to the house, there was no reason why they shouldn’t have just come right in. Which meant Mas had suspected somehow, enough so that she had left the bags on the front step and remained standing with Roksana a few feet back.

“I am sorry Sinta, but the meat might spoil,” the housekeeper had apologised as soon as he’d opened the door, his hair a tangled mess from where Nesta had yanked it free of its tie. He hadn’t had the sense to recover it from the floor, but he had righted his tunic and fastened his pants.

And thank the Cauldron for that, because Roksana peeked up at Cassian with wide eyes from her position of safety behind Mas’s legs. He didn’t know when Lorrian had brought the youngling back to the camp, but Cassian guessed it hadn’t been easy on the two of them to take a little girl out of the warmth and back into the snow.

Cassian tried to soften the eyes that he knew were a little wild. He raked his hands through his hair and sent them his most disarming smile, but there was fuck all he could do about his scent. So he thanked her, trying to keep his voice light and conversational. Ordered her to take the rest of the day off.

To the housekeeper’s credit, she did not linger. Had merely nodded and rushed Roksana back into the snow, towards the main vein of the camp.

Yet, whilst the housekeeper’s interruption had been unwanted, it did grant Cassian some breathing space as he rammed perishables into the cool box. Because even though Cassian would allow Nesta to decide how this all played out, he needed to lay down a rule of his own: he could give her the space to decide what she wanted—for him to prove that he could be what she needed—but there was one thing he could not suffer through.

And if they had stormed ahead in a hurricane of lust; with Nesta’s back against the wall as Cassian pounded into her… Well, it would be too late for Cassian to lay down his one condition once they were sweaty and sated. Nesta was more likely to get up and walk away. To not look back.

Cassian found Nesta sitting at the dresser in her room re-braiding back her hair.

Leaning against the doorjamb, Cassian opened his mouth to explain who had been at the door, but an iron band closed fast around his chest, robbing him of breath.

“What are you wearing?” The words came out of him eventually, entirely uneven to the point of being choked.

Because Nesta was wearing his shirt. It was the same steel blue shirt she’d worn that first day in Illyria. The shirt that was an identical match to her eyes, purchased before Cassian had realising what his subconscious had done. A shirt he’d had to hide away in the spare room because Cassian hadn’t been able to bare seeing it in his closet—of being reminded that his mate was a ghost who had banished him away.

Go home, Cassian.

Nesta met Cassian's eyes in the mirror. Announced with cool simplicity, “You ripped my dress.”

“And this is your way of torturing me?”

An indifferent shrug. “Why wear my own clothing when I know what fate it will suffer?”

Cassian knew his nostrils billowed, but he remained propped up against the doorframe. Pretended he was stuck to it like glue because his body was trembling for him to launch across the distance and claim her mouth. Her neck. Her.

The silence seemed to unnerve Nesta. Cassian knew that from months of living with her. From months of studying her slight tells when her masks slipped.

Right on cue, Nesta reset her posture—a gesture that most people read as defiant. But Cassian knew it was also a sign of nerves. She shrugged with feigned indifference, even as her throat tightened and that damned pulse fluttered temptingly against her throat. “You liked it the last time I wore it.”

Cassian huffed a breath. He had liked it the last time she wore it, even if she’d been so gaunt that he’d worried she might wither away. But the shirt… it had put images in his mind that Cassian had long tried to store away, imprisoned in rock and flame: her in his clothing, not fucking other males but him, her lithe legs wrapping around his waist as he sank deep—

Which brought Cassian neatly to the point he needed to discuss with her…

Nesta’s eyes tracked Cassian in the mirror as he peeled himself out of the doorway and came to stand behind her. When their eyes locked into place, it felt as if someone had punched him in the chest. There was something deep in Nesta’s gaze that made it feel as if he was tumbling down a rabbit hole, that magnetism between them drawing him in like gravity.

When Cassian’s fingers brushed Nesta’s neck—ran down the braid she had draped over her shoulder—Nesta shivered. “You had your hair down then,” he rasped. Didn’t wait for her to protest, as he slowly coaxed the tie free from the end of her hair.

Nesta turned preternaturally still, watched him gently part her hair in the mirror until it fell free from her plait, his calloused fingers brushing over her skin as he coaxed her hair to fall down her back.

The pulse hammering at her throat and the warmth radiating from her skin were the only indications that Nesta was alive rather than stone.

Only when Cassian had finished and lifted his hands from her neck, did Nesta come back to life.

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. But she cocked her head slightly to dissect him. “It’s a nuisance like this. It gets in the way.”

“It’s beautiful,” Cassian corrected, his voice rasping, like sand scraping against skin. He ran a hand through her hair as if to emphasise his point, his fingers running down, down, down until her waist.

When Nesta stood and turned into the warmth of him, Cassian scented what she wanted. But there was something else simmering in her expression—surprise. As if she’d caught the truth in his words and hadn’t expected someone to truly think her beautiful.

She stepped closer, until the lines of her torso ghosted his. Until Cassian’s heart pounded so hard he could hear the frantic tempo of it in his ears. Nesta tilted her head back so she could stare up at him and Cassian’s hand weaved through the mane of her hair before he could stop himself.

He was desperate to touch her again. Desperate.

But Cassian waited. Waited for Nesta to reach up on tiptoes and press her mouth to his.

The kiss was not like their bruised, desperate kisses from earlier. It was coaxing and unsure; the tentative beginning of something that was not merely fuelled by ardour. But it soon blossomed into something more, like a snowball rolling down a mountain blanketed white, gaining speed as it grew and grew—

Dragging his mouth away from hers, Cassian fought for breath. Battled to remember what he needed to do and say. But then Nesta was tugging his head back down again, her fingers tangled in his hair, the gesture indicative of an insistent need that Cassian knew would not go away.

As always, Nesta tasted divine. Addictive. He could taste the curl of her power on his tongue—silver and white, life and death—and he wondered if she could taste his. Knew his siphons were glowing scarlet—

“Nesta,” he murmured hoarsely, her name a caress against her lips. He couldn’t invoke a distance between them, couldn’t stop touching her. His nose brushed hers as her drew back an infinitesimal amount. Closed his eyes. Inhaled deeply, summoning courage. “You can dictate how this goes between us. But if we do this, I can’t—there’s no-one else. Just you and me.”

The subsequent pause was one of the worst of Cassian’s life. It was barely a breath. The blink of an eye. But it felt as if it was malleable and elastic, drawn out by the hands of fate as everything suspended in time.

He didn’t want to open his eyes, but in the end he managed it. Caught Nesta’s eyelashes flutter downwards, casting shadows on her skin. Her fists tightened in the fabric of his tunic, anchoring him to the moment.

She swallowed. Shook her head. Agreed with a conviction he had not been expecting, “No-one else.”

The relief that swooped through Cassian was so fierce it was painful. But he still didn’t dare to believe it.

He caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger so Nesta could not look away. So he could look into the deep waters of her irises and know she was telling him the truth.

But her gaze was steady and unwavering, as he demanded, “Say it again.”

His voice cracked but Nesta didn’t appear to notice. Her grip on him tightened. “No-one else,” she repeated on an outward breath.

A low, ravaged moan sounded from Cassian’s throat. “Diyosa,” he murmured, slipping into Illyrian. Goddess.

“Bruha,” Nesta corrected. She fumbled over the pronunciation but Cassian felt as if he had been an ember that had burst into flame. Witch.

He let out a rough bark of laughter. Then he swore in a long, drawn out moan. “No Illyrian,” he ordered roughly. Pressed his mouth firmly against hers, the kiss searing. “Otherwise this will be over far too quickly.” Another kiss. “And I want to take my time.”

The smile Nesta painted against Cassian’s lips was feline. “You’ve made a lot of promises, General. I hope you don’t disappoint.”

Cassian snarled. Spun her body until her back was cradled against his chest. “I have, haven’t I?” he mused lightly, even though the hammering of his heart must have beat a betraying rhythm against her shoulder blade.

In the mirror, Nesta’s expression grew less poised and controlled. Delight mixed with anticipation clung to her features at this game they played; this tussle for control. She did not try to wrangle free from his hold or shift uncomfortably in his arms at having her back enclosed against his.

It thrilled him—that trust. Enough so that when he met her eyes in the mirror, Cassian found that his irises had been swallowed by his pupils until they were only a ring of chocolate gold.

Slowly, Cassian brushed Nesta’s hair over to one shoulder with his left hand. Traced his fingers down the arc of her neck to her collarbone. Continued a path down the centre of her chest, to the pyrite which glittered between her breasts.

When his fingers met the first button of his shirt, Cassian toyed with it. Purposefully grazed his nose against the shell of her ear. “Shall I start here?” he murmured. “Undress you in front of the mirror whilst you watch?”

Nesta suppressed a shudder, but Cassian caught it. Could swear he felt her blood boiling beneath her skin as he slipped the button free of its hole. Then another. And another. Until there were no more buttons and the material hung free.

Leaning back into his body, Nesta rested her head against his chest. Curved her back slightly so her chest thrust upwards, silently instructing him where she wanted his hands.

And Cassian couldn’t deny her. He turned his palm so it was face up and curled into a loose fist. Brushed his knuckles down her sternum all the way to her bared naval, before bringing it back up. His fingers ran up the side of the material free of buttons, until he was at her collarbone—her shoulder—leaving a litter of goosebumps in his wake.

This time, Cassian snickered when she shivered. Dropped a slow and deliberate kiss to her bare shoulder as he slowly, slowly inched the material down, down, down over her arm. Repeated the motion on the other, until the shirt pooled onto the floor, exposing her bare body to the mirror: endless creamy skin, divine curves, the luscious full weight of her bare breasts, and… lower.

Nesta’s eyes, which had been tracking the fabric as it fell away, snapped to his as a feral growl ripped from him. And she moaned at the expression on his face. Grabbed at his hands, pulling them to her body.

“Touch me,” Nesta hissed, but it came out strangled. Almost pleading. Another crack in her armour as it broke and fell away.

The sight was enough to threaten Cassian to his knees. He guided her body backwards, his hands splaying firmly across her stomach despite her whine, until his legs hit the edge of the mattress

Neither of them broke eye contact in the mirror. Not when Cassian coaxed Nesta down to sit on the bed with him. Not when he pulled her between his legs, her back firmly against his chest. Not when he bowed his head to kiss the slope between her neck and shoulder.

When Cassian finally brushed a thumb over her nipple, Nesta back bowed so fiercely Cassian was thankful he had an arm strapped across her stomach.

The small noise she loosed fuelled his fire and Cassian held on to her. Stroked over that peaked nipple again as Nesta careened into his touch. Followed it with a firmer roll with his thumb and forefinger. Used the fingertips of his other hand to draw slow, tantalising circles across the silken skin of her lower stomach, before he moved southwards…

The air around them hushed when Cassian’s fingers stilled. Anticipation built and only when it vibrated with tension did Cassian slide his hands to cradle Nesta’s hips.

A snarl of frustration, but Cassian paid the sound no heed. Only grazed his thumbs over Nesta’s hipbones. Watched her expression in the mirror—the way her face contorted as she squirmed into his touch as if she was a puppet on strings. Ground back onto him, pressing into that building ache that was bordering on painful.

Fuck, Nesta.

Cassian wasn’t sure if he had spoken out loud or in his head, all he knew was the blessed, fleeting relief he felt as he bucked into the small of Nesta’s back on instinct. He was rock hard and thirsting to be touched, but the thickening scent of Nesta’s arousal pulled his focus.

A groan rumbled from Cassian’s throat as Nesta’s hand darted between her legs. He caught her wrist just in the nick of time. Kissed the heart of her palm. Rumbled into her ear, “Not yet, sweetheart.”

His voice was coarse enough that Nesta shivered, the goosebumps travelling down her skin like a cresting wave. She didn’t struggle against him, nor did she move to disobey him as he dropped her wrist. Instead, she waited, trembling and shaking at every pass of his thumbs over her skin.

Cassian buried his nose behind the shell of her ear. Breathed Nesta in, steadying the drum of his pulse.

Not once did he take his eyes off of hers in the mirror, especially as he murmured, “Shall we find out if you’re wet for me?”

Nesta squeezed her eyes tightly shut, as if the movement would steady her. Swallowed hard. It was so unlike her to take stock, to show any signs that she was rattled, that Cassian softened. He nuzzled at her neck, trailed a line of kisses instilled with promises. A hand flew up to tangle in Cassian’s hair, keeping him there.

“Yes.”

The word stuttered out of Nesta on several staccatos, but she forced her eyes open and met his gaze in the mirror. Watched as he pulled her tighter against him and hooked her legs over his thighs so she was spread wide. Slipped his hand across and down…

The first ghost of a touch had Nesta panting through her nose. The second had her gritting her teeth. The third had her moaning, her back bowing so sharply as he skimmed straight over the place she wanted him the most.

Her head hit the centre of his chest with a resounding thud that had his bones creaking, but she did not look away from him. Seemed to know the game they were playing without him having to express it.

When Cassian brought his fingers lower and discovered just how wet Nesta was, he had to force his wings in tight to his back to hide his surprise. Growled, “You’re soaked.”

Pleasure and embarrassment twisted in Cassian’s stomach, and Cassian wanted to tell her that it was not something to be ashamed of, that he wanted her just as much as she clearly wanted his fingers between her legs.

Her eyes glinted steel, her stare commanding. “Make me come—“ she ordered, but Cassian chose that moment to roll his finger over that spot at the apex of her thighs.

The command bottomed out of Nesta as she inhaled sharply. Satisfaction bloomed inside of Cassian; because he may have done this countless times before but barely enough with her. And nothing seemed to matter apart from him seeking out her satisfaction. Of learning about what made her body freeze with pleasure and what made her come undone. “There?” he murmured into her ear, repeating the movement, before he passed his fingers down further. Until they were at her entrance, playing gently before he drew upwards and circled.

This time, Nesta groaned. Her hips jerked sharply beneath him, tilting, guiding him to just the right place.

Picking up on the cue, Cassian increased the tempo and friction until Nesta’s hips were rolling in a punishing rhythm against the hard length of him.

And Cassian snarled in satisfaction, his fingers tightening around her hip in a plea for her to keep moving—to not stop pushing back on him—because it was blissfully good. The rapid tightening in his groin was almost painful, the cord so tight that Cassian thought it might snap. But he couldn’t stop Nesta, not when she looked so bewitching, the arousal so stark on her face as he stroked and circled and pressed.

Burning pleasure clambered to its peak and Nesta’s eyes grew so heavy they fluttered closed. Something unintelligible left her lips, her head tipping back into the heart of his chest.

When Nesta’s arms wound around his neck, her knuckles accidentally grazing the leather of his wings, Cassian part-snarled, part-roared. Swore. Held her even tighter as his wings snapped out high and mighty behind him. They wrapped around Nesta’s body before Cassian’s pleasure-fogged mind could stop them curling towards her, starved for her touch.

Fuck, he was unhinged. So desperate for relief—in the scent and feel of his mate—that his control was barely there. Enough so that he didn’t react when Nesta reached out her hand—

Sense knocked Cassian for six only when Nesta’s fingers were millimetres from touching the membrane. He drew back his wings so fast the air around them stormed, but he swooped in before surprise could register on Nesta’s face. Dipped his chin and coaxed her head even further back so he could claim her mouth.

The taste of her lips was as vital as breathing, the scrape of her nails on his scalp grounding. He moaned into her mouth at the same time as she whimpered. His hand was still moving between her legs, interchanging the same three patterns over and over again, mixing things up as soon as Nesta’s moans grew too untamed: he wanted to draw out her pleasure, not sate it with a few choice strokes.

Pulling away, Cassian pressed a kiss to her forehead. Coaxed her to dip her chin until she was looking back at their reflection in the mirror: ebony and golden brown, tan and cream.

Nesta’s irises were wisps of silver, but when he traversed past that bundle of nerves so he could slip two fingers inside of her, they flickered into living flame.

That was indication enough that she liked what he was doing. Cassian had quickly learnt that Nesta became completely readable between the sheets, that mask slowly crumbling away until she broke completely.

Curving his fingers as much as he could, Cassian pressed upwards hard—again and again— revelling in the strangled sounds Nesta made. The way she writhed but tried her best to hold his gaze.

Cassian dropped a lingering kiss to the crown of Nesta’s head. Murmured into her hair, “Is that good, sweetheart?”

The only response Cassian received was a long moan which extended into a whine as he withdrew his fingers. Then a sharp cry as he swept them upwards, swirling them in a well-practiced motion that had Nesta’s lower half seizing in pleasure.

Cassian circled again. Again. Firmer. Faster. Nesta’s cries grew louder, her breathing became more laboured. A silver wreathed hand flew to his forearm—not to stop him, but to keep him there.

Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.

The bond between them creaked and cracked as it expanded.

Nesta panted his name.

“Are you going to come for me, sweetheart?” Cassian scratched out.

In vain, Nesta attempted to burrow her head into his shoulder, but Cassian’s voice dropped out of soft and into the role of general within the fraction of a heartbeat. “Eyes on the mirror, Nesta, or I’ll stop.”

It seemed to take all of Nesta’s energy to fight her leaded eyelids and meet his dark eyes in their reflection. When she did, Cassian’s magic roared and pounded beneath his skin, as if it was trying to break free and join Nesta’s. There was a pressure and power fuelling the sensation that was separate to him. It was like the magnetic force which rules the relentless ebb and flow of the tide—that desperate crash followed by a scrabbling, thundering retreat.

That twisted rope between them grew corporeal, tugging at their ribcages as if it was clambering to remind them both of its existence. Of the cost of this exchange.

Something deepened in both of their gazes, but if Nesta had felt what Cassian had, she gave no indication. She only arched her hips back into his, grinding backwards.

Cassian loosed a rough groan that skittered across the shell of her ear. Her gaze was purposeful but hooded, as if she was in a continual battle with the pleasure weighting her eyelids.

“Good girl,” he praised as Nesta’s eyelashes fluttered from the strain of maintaining eye contact. And then his fingers were everywhere at once and Nesta’s moans fell away to short gasps that rose in volume.

Nesta tightened her fingers around his neck, scrabbling for purchase, for some sort of tether as her pleasure launched high into the air. The hand that had been at her hip, steadying her, encouraging her to roll back on him moved to her breast; cupping and pinching and rolling as she stuttered pants and words that Cassian couldn’t make out.

When Cassian slid two fingers inside of her again and pressed down firmly on her clit with his palm, Nesta’s cry was wild.

“Look at me,” Cassian ordered as Nesta’s eyes flew shut. His voice was resonant—startling—even to him. It punched through the bubble that had encased them—their entwined scent—and Nesta’s eyes snapped open.

For a beat, time seemed to stand still around them. Their gaze fastened back into place and for a moment, Cassian could see a conflict of thoughts swirl in the magic of Nesta’s irises.

He froze just as anguish crashed down that bond, right into the heart of his chest.

It knocked the breath from him. Confusion rattled inside of his head but he came up empty of answers. Had he gone too far? Had he hurt her somehow?

“Sweetheart—“ he started, but stopped. Unsure of what to say because he could still smell how much she wanted this. Could feel how soaked she was. But perhaps that was what the mating bond did. Fooled reason with an overwhelming drive to pleasure and claim.

Cassian went to draw his hand away but Nesta’s hand whipped out, her fingers curling around his wrist. Desperation flooded her next words—the plea in them stark. “Don’t stop.”

As if to punctuate her point, she rolled her hips. His fingers slid over her of her own accord and she stumbled a moan. Light barrelled down the bond and Cassian’s blood spiked, thrilled as he felt the truth of her words, as she ground back into him again.

“Fuck that feels good,” Cassian grunted into her ear. His hips pushed into the small of her back, accentuating his point. It chased the delicious reprieve from the ache in his cock, even as he knew this moment wasn’t about him. As he pulled her back into the solid muscle of his chest, steadying her movements so he could pick up where he left off: so he could watch the pleasure whip away her conflicted expression until her eyes were once again blazing with the promise of flame.

Silver mist climbed from Nesta’s fingertips into the air. It crawled over the glowing ruby siphons across the backs of his hands, past the corded muscle of his forearm and the rolled up sleeves of his tunic, to his chest, his neck…

A sheen of metal shone in Cassian’s eyes, flickering across his irises so they appeared to turn a metallic gold. The lick of Nesta’s magic didn’t burn. It was a rush of heat—the tender caress of a lover’s kiss instilled into his skin over and over again, ascending Cassian to another realm of pleasure, as if he’d climbed a staircase to an entirely new place.

It felt like an extended method of foreplay Cassian had never been privy to before, lighting up every nerve ending until he was so hard he could cut stone.

Gritting his teeth through the pain-cloaked pleasure, Cassian focussed instead on Nesta’s bare skin.

The tempting fullness of her breasts. The way desire had completely rewritten her countenance. The way she whimpered and then cried out.

Cassian sped up his movements. Until his fingers were no longer teasing, but dancing over her with sure, quick movements designed to thrust her towards a crescendo.

Nesta’s magic swirled into flame, the heat of it a licking promise down Cassian’s limbs. He groaned, swore at the exquisite pain on her face as she hung at the precipice, ready to plummet into rapture.

Her climax became a tangible, living thing and Cassian wanted to see it play out for as long as he possible could. Wanted to see her break for him again and again and again.

So, he waited until she reached the summit and when she was there he slowed down his movements. Ordered through her whimpering, “Look at me Nesta.”

Metallic irises met his, and then Nesta was trembling and shaking in fits and bursts as her release ripped out of her like a taut cord cut loose. Cassian drew her orgasm out as best he could, suspending that pleasure until finally Nesta slumped against him, spineless.

She turned her head to bury it in his shoulder and Cassian let her. Stroked her hair. Pressed a kiss to her sweaty head. Murmured, “Good?”

Slowly, Nesta nodded, but for a long while, that was the only communication he received. But Cassian let her recover. Watched the way her ribcage moved as she heaved for breath. Relished the way her body was splayed out over him, her legs held wide open from where they were hooked over his thighs.

Unable to help himself, Cassian brushed over her sex. Delighted in the way Nesta shuddered rather than batted him away. Fresh desire reignited across her expression and Cassian played gently for a few minutes, revelling in the wetness that had gathered from her release.

Finally, Nesta lifted her head to meet his gaze again. “Did I burn you?”

“No,” Cassian replied hoarsely, his heart squeezing at the genuine fear in her words. He let out a rough laugh, passed his fingers lightly over the knot at the apex of her legs for the last time before he withdrew them.

Nesta moaned softly, even as her brow twisted into a small frown.

“It felt good,” Cassian elaborated. He kissed her shoulder at the same time that he pushed his hips into hers as if to demonstrate just how much he’d liked her magic. “I’m being strangled to death in these pants,” he confessed.

When Nesta cocked her head, her hair moved in a golden tangle. Then she smirked. Unravelled her limbs from him and turned.

Nesta slung her legs over his waist so she was straddling him just as Cassian’s hands caught in her hair. A booming sounded as his wings snapped out and fanned behind him, settling like falling fabric.

“We can’t have that,” Nesta remarked, her breath a whisper against his skin.

“No,” Cassian agreed roughly. “It’s your favourite part.”

Nesta snorted a laugh, but it was not derisive. “Egotistical bat,” she muttered.

A slow, smug smile was Cassian’s only reply. Because he was more focussed on her mouth. With the feel of her silken skin beneath his palms as he ran them up her legs and over her rounded ass. His touch was a promise as he tugged her into his body and ground up into her core, the seam of his trousers doing nothing to relieve the damning ache in his cock.

Together they gasped, and then, as always, they moved at the same time, their mouths slanting one another within a fraction of a second.

The heat of Nesta was liquid, the touch of her smoke—feverish and everywhere all at once. It was the same heat that had roared into existence when Cassian had pinned her against the wall earlier, yet… better somehow. Passionate and awake rather than fogged with lust. Life-giving.

A shuddered groan was pulled from Cassian’s chest as Nesta’s hands slid beneath his tunic and met his burning skin. And then the tunic was on the floor—the rest of his clothing was torn from him soon after. It all happened at such speed Cassian could barely keep up, but when Nesta reached for his bare, burning skin—the tattoos on his arms and the faint scar on his stomach—her fingers were gentle.

“Battle scar,” Cassian panted in explanation, as Nesta’s fingers lingered on the silvery tissue that wound over his lower abdomen: a permanent reminder of what had happened to him during the final battle with Hybern. “The trauma was too great for Madja to heal completely.”

“I remember,” Nesta replied shortly and she looked so fierce that Cassian reached for her. Cupped her cheek with his palm.

“Still breathing, Nes.”

Nesta nodded, but when she kissed him this time there was something fierce and desperate about it, her fingers burying deeper into the mane of his hair.

And then a hand was trailing down his skin and closing around his cock. The touch was sinful and a glimpse of the heavens. When he hissed into her mouth, Nesta gripped tighter—until pain laced the pleasure—just how he liked it.

His groan was that of rumbling thunder as she began to move her hand. It was everything Cassian needed, but it was too much, too good. He scrambled to hold on to some sense of control, because he’d never been this close to losing it from just a few touches.

Then Nesta stopped. Glanced downwards—

The realisation thumped through Cassian so loudly his heartbeat punched like a fist against his ribcage.

“Don’t you dare,” Cassian choked out.

Nesta’s eyes shot to his, but rather than looking startled she arched a challenging eyebrow.

“If you so much as try to put my cock in your mouth I’ll explode,” Cassian rasped.

Before she could protest, he was gathering her to him and had slipped a hand down between her legs.

Just the touch of his fingers had Cassian seizing back control. Nesta stilled at the sudden pleasure, as if she was trying to coax time into suspending the sensation.

“Still so wet,” Cassian purred against the tip of her ear.

Gliding his fingers over the centre of her, Cassian paused briefly at the apex of her legs, toying with her clit, before he ran them back down. When he drew his fingers back, rubbing them together and raising them to the faelight, they glittered.

Nesta’s nostrils flared as if she was an animal in heat. And Cassian knew before he spoke that his voice? would be what pushed them over the edge. But he said it anyway, his voice dropping impossibly low, “Is this all for me?”

Nesta launched at him until their mouths collided, until they were nothing but a clash of teeth and tongues, their skin so flush they may as well have been fused together.

Burying her fingers deeper into the tangled mane of his hair, Nesta tugged sharply. Met his gaze head on. Demanded, “Fuck me.”

All it took was those two words. Cassian moved, flipping them so Nesta’s back was flush against the mattress. He covered her body with his and Nesta whined at the contact, her body bending and arching towards him as if she were a plant and he was sunlight.

Cassian ran a hand up her bare thigh to her ass, coaxing her leg to bend, but Nesta was too impatient. She broke free from the weight of his body, repositioning herself until legs were wrapped tightly around his hips.

An uneven laugh choked out of him. “So stubborn,” Cassian chided darkly, but he allowed his hips to fall into the cradle of hers. Hissed as he loosed his control and thrust so his cock could glide through her centre. “Fuck,” he grunted. “Nesta, fuck.”

Nesta’s breathy whine fuelled the sparks of pleasure that crackled through him like static energy. He kissed her hard. “There’s a high probability I won’t survive this.”

The snort Nesta loosed tried to sound unaffected, but her voice shook as she accused him, “Liar.”

But he wasn’t lying. And Nesta knew it. She had to know it because his walls were now shattered around them in splintered shards.

Yet, Cassian found himself assuring her. “Not lying," he grunted as he passed over her again. Pressed a lingering kiss to her mouth—a parting goodbye as he moved to kiss the underside of her jaw, down the column of her throat. Down further, to flick his tongue and scrape his teeth over both nipples.

He moaned when she moaned; their sounds a chorus of want until he couldn’t take it anymore. Cassian’s claws clipped around the metal of the bed frame at the same time that he pushed off of the palms that were framing her face, until he was on his knees before her.

Despite the desire coursing through him, Cassian’s head was nothing but clear as he slid his hands under Nesta’s ass and lifted her effortlessly, positioning her so that the undersides of her thighs were flush against his knees.

Nesta’s hair was tousled over the pillow, her lips swollen and parted as she surveyed him. When she tried to wrap her legs back around his hips, Cassian held firm. And despite the fact that Nesta listened to nobody, she allowed him to bend her knees and press his calloused palms to the insides of her thighs in silent instruction.

They fell open and a growl rumbled in Cassian’s throat. His hand was fisting his cock, lining it up to her entrance before he knew what was happening. But then he remembered the pain from before. And even though Nesta was more than ready for him, the thought of hurting her made him feel physically sick.

When he moved away, Nesta let out a strangled noise. A hand shot out, closing around his wrist. “You said you’d fuck me.”

Cassian wanted to explain, but that meant alluding to that tie between them, that instinct that couldn’t allow him to see her hurt. Cassian knew Nesta wasn’t ready for that. Knew that if he so much as breathed a word about it that this precious moment would fall away.

And Cassian was selfish. He had to see how this played out. Had to know if Nesta could grow to accept the bond between them—deem him worthy enough to accept something that was Cauldron blessed.

So, he only drawled, “Patience is a virtue, sweetheart.”

One swift movement had Cassian gathering Nesta into his arms. This time, he allowed Nesta’s legs to wind around him. She gripped him like a vice and Cassian knew it wasn’t from fear of him dropping her. When he sat back against the headboard and guided her onto his lap, Cassian expected her to bite out a comment about doing all of the work, but Nesta only let out a pleased sound. Weaved a hand back into his ebony hair. Wrapped a tight fist around his length, twisting once at the tip, before she guided him to her entrance.

Cassian hissed a curse as she closed around the head. Murmured her name into her mouth. Gripped tightly at her hips when she didn’t stop sinking down on him, as he felt that pain mixed with the sweetest pleasure.

“Nesta.” The way he said her name was firm and commanding, but he still had to dig his fingers hard enough into her skin that he was sure it would leave temporary bruises. The thought made him falter, but then that sharp pain flared again as she resisted against him, and he knew that the bruises were a necessary evil. “Nesta,” he barked, “Go slowly.”

Something creaked and cracked between them. A stretching, growing pain reached its fingers down that bond, the sensation strong rather than constricted as it fought to make its way down their usually thin tie.

Nails dug into Cassian’s neck. A whimper sounded in his ears as Nesta fell forwards, burying her face into his neck. “Please,” she whined in frustration. “Cassian—”

She broke off as she clamped down around him and Cassian felt an ebb of pleasure cut through the pain—that promise of something more.

“Don’t make me hurt you, sweetheart,” Cassian pleaded and the rawness in his voice stopped her resisting against him. He eased a hand between them, touched her right where she wanted him. Allowed her to tug his face upwards so she could kiss him. It was infused with desperation and Cassian eased his hold on her hip. Allowed her to lower herself downwards until she had slid another inch deeper. Continued to stroke her until Nesta began to shake.

“I’m going to—,” Nesta gasped against his mouth. Her body trembled and Cassian’s blood roared at bringing her to the edge again so soon, despite the pain. “Cassian—”

Abruptly, Cassian moved his hand away.

Nesta’s snarl whipped around the room, but Cassian smoothed the sound away by fusing his mouth on hers. She stopped shaking but the sharp bite of Nesta’s glare pierced its teeth through his flesh in a flash of silver.

“It will be better if you wait,” Cassian gritted out in explanation when they parted. Nesta’s breath gusted against his skin. “And I don’t think I can hold on if you come so soon. You feel so good, Nesta. So tight.”

As if on cue, Nesta contracted around him and Cassian ground his teeth together so hard that the muscle in his jaw worked. But he let Nesta slide down on him another inch. Then another. And another. Until their hips were finally flush with one another and that pain had bled away until it was nothing.

The moaned words that fell from Nesta were indistinguishable, but he felt her tremor. Felt that surge inside of him as Nesta repeated herself with a whine that indicated she was toppling over the ledge of control, like a glass teetering before it fell.

And then she was moving and Cassian let her. He was unable to think or breathe. Could only focus on the feel of her.

“Fuck,” Cassian groaned. His head thunked back hard against the headboard as she ground her hips into his, testing the feel of him. “This is better than I’d dreamed.”

No soft snicker, only an untamed whine. Then teeth scraping a sinful path down his neck to his pulse.

Cassian’s hips kicked up hard as her teeth nipped.

“Sorry,” he gasped, because even though Nesta had told him not to hold back, he was still concerned about hurting her. But Nesta’s fingernails bit into his skin and her body moulded to him—a delicious second skin—as she inhaled sharply. “Again,” she demanded with a fierceness that did not allow disobedience. “Do that again—”

It didn’t take a second command for Cassian to thrust up hard. And true to her word, Nesta took him all. Did not change her mind and ask him to hold back. Instead, Cassian knew that this was exactly what she wanted—no, needed. She needed this punishing rhythm just as much as he did.

And it felt… incredible. Beyond anything Cassian had ever felt before. The blood roaring in his ears intermingled with Nesta’s cries and the slap of his hips meeting hers, was the only thing he could hear, his senses narrowed down to the sensation of her wrapped around him, so tight …

It was too good. It threatened to break him, to take everything that he was and reform it entirely, as if he was going to shatter and be pieced back together as someone else entirely. The air around them became taut with pressure, tanning leather stretched too tight over a rack, as if their joining controlled one of the essential elements.

“Cassian.” That one word threatened to break him. Not bat or it or you, only his name falling from her lips as if it was their secret. “More.”

Exhaling a curse, Cassian planted his feet firmly on the mattress and thrust up with as much vigour as he could muster. The movement had them slipping from their upright position and Cassian’s claws absent-mindedly closed around the metal bed frame, strapping them in for the ride as his body coiled and tensed as he slammed into her over and over.

Nesta cried out. Grabbed fistfuls of his hair as they moved together as if they had been made for this moment, their wild gasps melded together until they were one.

Only when release teetered too close to the edge did Cassian drop the rhythm. Cupped the breasts he had dreamed of more times than he could count. The breasts he’d had the privilege of seeing bare and glorious only twice before.

Capturing a nipple between his teeth, Cassian scraped his teeth hard enough that Nesta stopped rocking and angled her hips until he was pressing impossibly deep inside her. She whimpered. Clenched and unclenched. Throbbed in a way that told him she was as close as he was—that if he wasn’t so close himself, he could drive her over the edge with a few well-timed thrusts.

The understanding had him letting out a jagged groan. “Are you close, sweetheart?”

A whine in response, but Cassian didn’t let it go. He raked back the hair from her sweaty forehead. Pressed his lips to her swollen ones in a lingering kiss. Watched the frown that knitted her brow as she was overtaken by the feel of them.

“What do you need, Nesta. Tell me and I’ll give it to you.”

Nesta wound her hands around his head, buried her face into his neck. Began swaying and circling her hips in a rhythm that was dictated purely by the chase of pleasure. “Just… this,” she panted. “I just need this.”

Then it was only the licking fire of her breath against his skin. The magic that curled around them like a heated blanket and the building anticipation of both of their releases, which pulled at him like a strange sort of magnetism, begging him to fall with her in unison.

“Cassian—” Nesta began in warning, but he had already felt her begin to quake, as if the ground was moving beneath their feet—the mountains trembling.

That pull became a driving force—a cresting wave of pleasure so profound that Cassian felt that twist inside of him—that signal that he was about to join her.

He groaned, jerking his head back so it collided with wood, the pain grounding him enough that he could say, “That’s it, sweetheart. Come for me.”

As soon as the words left his lips, Nesta broke, as if she’d been waiting for him to ask it of her. Her cry was muffled and Cassian wanted to tear her mouth from his neck—to hear her break for him—but then she was sinking her teeth into his skin right over his pulse.

Roaring, Cassian kicked his hips up hard on instinct as she marked him, but the shock distracted him. Clouded the desperate clamber of his release so he could hold himself back.

Cassian held tightly onto Nesta as she slumped against him. When she lifted her teeth from him, Nesta whined like an animal. Dragged her tongue over the dent she’d made in his neck—once, twice, three times.

He shuddered. Couldn’t help it. Turned his face into her hair. Breathed her in. The gesture was tender, like an animal tending to the wound of a significant other—its mate.

And wrapped in this moment, Cassian could almost believe that this was something more than sex for Nesta as her forehead came to rest on his collarbone. As she kissed the hollow of his throat. Then the knot. His lips.

“Good?” Cassian asked softly. He lifted a hand to her face, ran a calloused thumb over her cheekbone.

Nesta made a rare, content sound that vibrated through him like a balm. She leant into his hand, her eyelashes swooping down.

When she finally pulled back to survey him, her eyes were still dark. She shifted her hips. Moaned quietly. Rasped, “You’re still hard.”

It was a miracle Cassian hadn’t followed. If it hadn’t been for her teeth in his neck, Cassian would have been wrestling with the embarrassment of finishing too soon.

“I was too preoccupied with your teeth in my neck.”

A flush crept its way up Nesta’s face, like vines reaching their wicked encroaching fingers up a wall. But she raised her chin. “You wanted me to do it.”

It was true, he had wanted her to. And he wanted to do the same to her—to mark her as his so everyone would know that she was off limits for the brief hours before her body healed.

“And what about you?”

The patter of Nesta’s heart broke into a sprint. It was the only thing that betrayed her feelings, her expression devoid of any reaction. “What do you mean?”

Cassian leant forward until their noses brushed. Lifted his eyebrows. “Do you want me to bite you, Nesta?”

Nesta’s nostrils flared. If she had wings, they’d have flung wide by now. Would have collided with furniture and cut through air.

That was answer enough.

In one movement, Cassian lifted himself up and over, until Nesta was on her back and he was pressing her body into the mattress. Breath gushed out of her lungs but it was not from fear, not as Nesta turned herself out bare and tilted her chin for him—for once not in defiance but as an act of vulnerability—of complete and utter trust.

Every instinct in Cassian clambered to the surface, but he closed a fist around it until its life fluttered against the cage of his palms and fingers: his to control, rather than the other way around.

Slowly, Cassian lowered his nose to the exposed skin and breathed her in: her scent and the life that pummelled beneath her skin, the roaring of her blood as it crashed through her veins. It took everything in him not to move inside of her, to thrust up hard and feel the way her breasts would move against his chest.

“I could do it right here,” Cassian murmured, his mouth ghosting over the pale column of her neck until he came across that pulse. He brushed a tongue across it.

The movement was a mirror of what he’d done before in the human realm and Nesta knew it. But this time she did not jerk back from him demanding what he’d done. Instead, her body drew up beneath him, exposing more of her neck, begging for more.

Cassian groaned, raking his teeth over that swell at the same time that he pushed in deep. Nesta’s groan was guttural and everything. His blood turned molten, so hot that he expected his skin to melt away until he was nothing but bones.

“Please,” Nesta panted, her fingers tightening around his back.

Another flick of his tongue over her pulse. “Do you want me to bite you or fuck you?”

“Both.”

That was enough to loosen the fist on Cassian’s control. He sat back on his knees, prying her hands from his neck, coaxing her fingers until they were above her head and clasped around the railings of the headboard. Nesta’s breasts rose with the movement, her peaked nipples so tempting he bent to take one into his mouth. Then the other. Suckled until she mewled and her nipples were no longer rosy but red from his attention.

Cassian lifted his head and surveyed Nesta. Warned her, “Hold on tight.”

And then there was no thinking, no worrying or desperation to hold back. It all came as easy as breathing, their tempo,the snap of his hips and the shift of the mattress as her body shouldered the impact. At some point, Cassian’s body fell over hers, needing to feel every inch of her against him. His wild, punishing rhythm dropped into a rough rocking that was intimate at the same time it was claiming.

Nesta didn’t seem to mind—let out a pleased moan of consent, her legs clamping tighter around his hips until they were flush with hers. When he next moved she whined, and Cassian felt that change inside of her—somehow—that twisting fist of pleasure that glimmered down the bond, pushing against the walls of that thread, pushing it wider and wider, like a heart expanding.

Silver-wreathed fingers tugged his head down until Nesta could claim his mouth, fusing them together so they were complete. Cassian shuddered as her fire cascaded from her fingertips and down his body. His magic, attracted to hers, began to suck out of his pores, but it didn’t leech him of power. Instead, it was like his magic was searching for its mate, desperate to be reunited.

Then that sensation again, as if Cassian had ducked beneath something and had come up for air somewhere else.

Ruby greeted silver like a long-lost lover, blending until their magic was a metallic sheen of scarlet—a fog that misted their bodies, rubbing tantalisingly against their skin as they rocked and moaned their way to release.

“Don’t stop,” Nesta begged desperately through stuttered breaths, and Cassian wondered how many times she’d reached this pinnacle with other males only for it to be taken from her.

Cassian’s hand found its way to her face, his thumb stroking over her cheek as that coiled release twisted across her devastatingly beautiful face. “Can’t,” he panted honestly, his other hand searching for hers across the mattress until he was clasping it—holding on for dear life. “I’m so close, sweetheart. You have no idea how good you feel.”

“Come with me then,” Nesta pleaded. Her eyelashes had fluttered downwards as she took in a sharp breath of pleasure, but now they opened. Stared deep into his soul. “Come with me—”

Then her body turned both loose and taut, clamping yet completely molten as her release ripped out of her.

“Fuck,” Cassian swore. Invisible hands clasped around his ass, tugging him deeper—deeper. Everything in him tightened as Nesta crashed around him, and that siren called to him, singing her name, over and over as pleasure clawed at him, desperate to whip out of him.

Nesta, Nesta, Nesta.

Cassian launched at her neck, his teeth sinking deep enough to claim as Nesta cried out, her body trembling as he continued to thrust into her, wringing out her release at the same time he desperately clambered towards his own.

He managed to pull out just in time, his teeth still deep in her neck, his release spilling hot onto her stomach in bursts of pleasure.

And even though Cassian had vowed to bite her and Nesta had already marked him, he found himself apologising at the red, angry dents in her skin. How was it that he couldn’t bare to hurt her but biting her neck was a completely different story?

“Sorry,” Cassian rasped. His mouth was as dry as a desert as he gingerly touched his fingers to the marks, but Nesta’s fingers clasped around his, halting him. Then she raised her other hand and brushed her knuckles over the identical marking on his. Reminding him that she’d done the same—had been the first to do it.

“I liked it,” Nesta admitted brazenly, but she didn’t stop him from dragging his tongue over the marks. Shivered instead. Held his head to her.

“That was intense,” Cassian rasped eventually against her ear, after the quiet had settled over them like a blanket. He nuzzled at her neck again, unable to help it—just one more precious moment like this until he had to pull away.

When Cassian pulled back to meet Nesta’s eyes, he found that the blue bled back into her irises. “It was always going to be intense,” she replied frankly.

Then Nesta looked down at her body, as if she’d only just remembered how he’d marked her in a different way. “You didn’t have to do that—pull out. I can take a tonic.”

Cassian hadn’t wanted to pull out at all—and neither had that tie which bound them together—but that wasn’t the point. “I’d rather be cautious,” he explained—a little too shortly, because Nesta bristled.

“Neither of us have had a tonic in a while,” Cassian elaborated when Nesta’s expression hardened.

He tried not to think about how his body had been desperate to spill inside of her. For him to press as deep as he possibly could until he was spent.

Climbing off of the bed, Cassian disappeared down the hallway and into the bathroom. When he returned, he was holding a wet towel.

“A while?” Nesta queried, picking up their conversation, as he began to clean her up.

Cassian cocked an eyebrow, but he didn’t dare meet her eyes lest she read him. His shoulders turned rigid at the thought. “Have you been sneaking people in and out of the bungalow that I’m not aware of?” he asked.

They both knew that Cassian would tear any male she brought back to the bungalow to pieces, but neither of them voiced it.

“You go back to Velaris,” Nesta accused. “You visit the other camps.”

For a moment, Cassian stared at her. Did she believe that he’d been fucking other fae? She had taunted him in Velaris the other day, but Cassian had thought that it was just their extended, agonising tussle of foreplay.

Perhaps you should go in search of some female company tonight.

Cassian managed to huff a breath, but it wasn’t one of amusement. He knew that his expression was steely as he said, “I told you that I don’t sleep with Illyrians. And I haven’t been fucking around in Velaris.”

From the way Nesta’s expression darkened, Cassian wasn't sure she believed him.

She opened her mouth to throw back a retort, but Cassian wanted the discussion to end. If she knew he’d barely touched another female since he’d met her, she’d run the other way. It was too intense a confession for someone who didn’t know what they wanted.

“It was self-inflicted,” Cassian supplied, his tone flinty enough to warn her that he wasn’t willing to discuss the subject any further.

Climbing off of the bed to further his point, Cassian extended a hand towards her. Banished any of the rigidity to his posture. “Come stand in the tub with me.”

There was a sinful promise behind the order. Already Cassian could envisage how he’d press Nesta against the tiles, his lips trailing open mouthed kisses as he kneeled before her—

Nesta must have thought similarly, because the pleasure that sparked in his stomach was not his own. But still she studied him, her head cocked as if she was trying to figure him out. Her hair was a muss of golden brown, her skin glistening with sweat that Cassian wanted to lick off.

Nesta parted her lips, taking stock, but Cassian didn’t allow her to speak. “I’ll make it worth your while,” he vowed. Meant it. Because already he was turning hard again, that desire to have her roaring.

He’d known this would happen. Knew that finally being inside of her wouldn’t sate him but stoke the embers into flames. But Cassian didn’t hide it—utterly unashamed of this need for her. From the way Nesta’s nostrils billowed, he knew she'd marked the change in his scent.

Nesta’s eyes flicked to his cock and the she-devil smirked, her lips curving in a way that had Cassian thinking about how they might wrap around him—how her tongue might feel, how warm she’d be…

In one supple movement, Nesta stood. Took his hand, her slim fingers threading around his large ones. Raised her chin and levelled him with a smoky blue gaze that promised wicked, wonderful things. “Then lead the way, general.”

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