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supercutszns · 5 months

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a place with you; luke castellan

wc: 2.8k (got a little carried away whoops)

pairing: luke castellan x f! reader

synopsis: luke is used to people coming in and out of hermes’ cabin without a second thought. so when you’re having a hard time adjusting to camp life, he doesn’t expect you to stick by his side, even after you’re claimed.

warnings/notes: shy reader going through a tough time, hurt/comfort, pining, kisses, fluff, potential ooc luke i don’t know what i’m doing, most of this is prob inaccurate lol, i got wayyy too attatched to this i am sorry, title inspired by dragon eyes by adrianne lenker

Luke Castellan is the son of a messenger. He’s used to delivering, passing things along, letting them enter his life and leave him. Sometimes it makes him angry. At his father, at the world, at himself.

So when you passed through the Hermes cabin for the inevitable few weeks before getting claimed by your Godly parent, the last thing Luke expected was for you to stay.

When you first got to camp you were terrified. Luke remembers that much. He can still picture you in Chiron’s towering shadow as he led you up to Hermes cabin. He gave you the usual spiel about the cabin, the land of the unclaimed, but it clearly hadn’t quelled your nerves. You were wringing your fingers together when Luke first spotted you, your eyes blown wide in what he knew as shock and a sort of . . . grief. For a life you’d left for what Luke knows as a life you’d never really have. He’d seen it in so many campers before you. He’d see it many times after.

“This is Luke, Hermes’ head counsellor and one of Camp Half-Blood’s finest,” Chiron pointed him out to you at the entrance. After Chiron introduced you, Luke held your name in his memory. Not because there was anything particularly intriguing about you at first, to be honest, because he’d seen a lot of people like you that needed help settling in (although maybe not many his age). It was harder for some people to adjust than most. He knew that better than anyone.

“Nice to meet you,” he stuck out his hand for you to shake after Chiron left. “I’m Luke.”

You sniffed, shaking it without looking at him. You were so, so embarrassed. This whole time you’d been too stupidly overwhelmed to process anything. Why was this so hard for you? Was it this hard for everyone? “Hi,” you managed, and that was it.

Now, weeks after your first meeting, you’ve concluded that it was not, in fact, this hard for everyone. The camp is crowded but full of life. You’ve never seen more happy kids in your life. There’s a sense of community on the wind.

So why can’t you feel it? Why is it so hard to connect with people? To participate in the fun? Everywhere you look there’s people but it’s all just so . . . lonely. You don’t fit. You’re lost.

Luke wakes up at night when the cabin door creaks open. He’s already tossing, so it’s no surprise he catches it. Unfortunately, he’s supposed to be a good counsellor—sneaking out at night is against the rules, and you’ve gotta reign the strays back in before they cause a ruckus. Sure, Luke’s not exactly a stickler for the law, but the least he owes is to make sure everyone’s safe.

Groaning, he draws himself out of the comfort of his bunk but doesn’t get far when he spots a familiar silhouette slipping out the door. He knows it’s you. He’s been hearing crying at night, and this is confirming his suspicions. It makes him ache in a million different places. Every time he thought about approaching you he shut himself down almost instantly, because who the hell wants some random guy coming up to them in the middle of the night and drawing attention?

This time, though, he’s a little worried.

It’s chilly tonight but not too bad, especially when you’re huddled up in a ball on a hill in front of the lake, grass tickling your ankles. Your tears keep you warm.

It’s a sorrow that feels bottomless. You don’t know what’s gotten into you. You don’t know why everything’s so hard.

There’s a scuffling of shoes, and your name is carried to you on the heels of a breeze. Oh God. There’s someone else here.

You sniff and smear your tears on the palms of your hands the best you can but a little part of you only wants to cry more now that you’re all anxious, and you only have a few seconds to collect yourself before you turn around and see Luke, your cabin leader, with furrowed brows. “Oh, h-hi, Luke.” It’s hard to ignore the splinter in your voice. You curse yourself a thousand times.

“Hey,” he says hesitantly, eyeing you in a way that makes you feel entirely exposed. “You, uh, you know you’re not technically supposed to be out here, right?”

You start to scramble to your feet with an apology on your tongue but surprisingly he laughs, a gentle sound, and beckons you to sit back down. “No, no, I’m not gonna get you in trouble or anything, just . . . letting you know.”

It’s uncertain if you should keep sitting, but you decide to because well, you’re already down here, and things can’t go lower than this. Luke comes to sit next to you and you stare out into the sea like your life depends on it. “Wanna talk about why you’re out here?”

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“I mean,” Luke sighs, scooting a little closer to you. “Most people don’t up and leave in the middle of the night because they’re having a great time.”

The answer is too hard to say so you don’t reply.

Again, Luke sighs, and you try not to look at the shadow the moon casts on his admittedly handsome face. “It’s hard settling in, I know. It happens to a lot of people. I’ve . . . I’ve seen a lot of them, and it doesn’t get any easier.”

“Well it sure seems easier,” you snap, and your self-control flies away before you can stop it. “I have no idea why I can’t just suck it up and fit in here. Everyone seems so happy and it’s driving me nuts because I’m just so confused on why I can’t—why I can’t—process any of it.” Tears burn your eyes. “I’m just miserable. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

In the corner of your view, Luke’s face falls. “I’m your guide, you know that, right? I can help you.”

You sniff, embarrassingly pathetic. “I know.”

He comes even closer. “So why didn’t you ask?”

“Because I—I don’t know, you’re busy all the time with all the people in there, so I’m sure your job’s already stressful as is, so—”

“My job is to help you,” he says, a hand on your shoulder. “That’s what I signed up for. If you need something, I’m the one to ask.”

“I’m not sure you signed up for me crying like a baby,” you swallow, the ripples of the lake blurring together. “I mean, I’m like, older than half the kids here, and they’re all so much better than me. I’m not good at a—anything, and I’ve tried it all, and nobody’s claimed me yet, and I feel so weird and old and alone and . . .” It’s too much to think about so you dig the heels of your palms into your eyes, hoping the sting wards off the thoughts. “What if I’m nothing? Why am I here?”

You’re crying again, hiccuping into your hands. Shame sears into you. Luke’s arm curls around your shoulders and you realize how cold you are when he’s warm, so warm, and you want to cry even harder. You don’t even know him, but it’s the most tenderness you’ve received in what feels like years. “Hey, deep breaths,” he murmurs, rubbing your arm with his other hand. “It’s okay. Look at me.”

It takes a ridiculous amount of strength to heed him. His hand catches your cheek and you can’t bear to pull away. Something strange rustles in your stomach.

Luke’s taught instinct when faced with situations like these is to reassure that the Gods always have a plan. But he doesn’t feel like much of a liar tonight. Both his hands steady your face towards his, your skin damp and cold beneath his thumb. “It's not your fault. It always takes a little bit of time for people to get claimed, it’s never . . . well, you can never tell.”

“What if I don’t get claimed?” You say it so quiet you can pretend it was imaginary.

His eyes crinkle at the sides when he says, “Well, Hermes’ll always have a place for you.”

I’ll, Luke wants to say, I’ll. His father is not responsible for his cabin’s kindness.

“No one really prepares you for how overwhelming this is,” he continues, thumb rubbing the apple of your cheek. Your vision is clearer now, and Gods, he is handsome, isn’t he? Even when his eyes are forlorn. “It’s harder in a way when you’re older. More to leave behind. Less to look forward to. It’s easier when you have a friend. Or a great cabin head.” He tilts his head with a faint smile, “Lucky for you, I’m both.”

It almost makes you laugh, and that’s enough. “It’ll get easier,” he promises softly. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

Your cheeks burn. It’s hard to keep his gaze, so you blot at your eyes with your hands as Luke gently slides his off your face. “Thank you. Sorry for, um, all that. And the crying.”

He chuckles, “Don’t even worry about it.” You watch him rise in the throes of starlight. He offers you a hand. “Aren’t you cold?” He asks after pulling you up, and you sheepishly nod your head. He tosses you a sweater he’s been wearing, and it smells like firewood. Nostalgic, in a way. “I’m gonna poke around for some tea. Wait for me back at the cabin.”

Before he leaves, he squeezes your arm and that thing happens again in your stomach. “No need to be embarrassed, by the way. You can come to me anytime. I’m probably less busy than I look.” As he walked away, he added, “And don’t worry about the crying. You’re pretty either way.”

Either way. The tea doesn’t seem important anymore because your face is on fire.

Time reveals that Luke is right. He is a great cabin leader and a friend, and it’s hard to tell which he’s better at. You fall in with him right away. Soon enough, you’re drawn into your new life, so slowly you barely realize it’s happening. The days get shorter and you start wishing they were longer. The nights get easier. And when they’re not, Luke tucks you into his bunk and folds you in his arms until you drift off. You pick up a bow. A sword. Luke tells you to straighten your shoulders with a hand on the small of your back, and you swear it always lingers. You braid garlands of carnations for your cabin mates and they wear them with pride. It’s warm, your cheeks hurt from smiling, and things start to feel like home.

Until you’re claimed.

Now you’re a ghost in Hermes cabin, another empty bunk to be filled, and Luke stares at it until he can remember every last detail of what it looked like when it was yours. A beautiful, gentle daughter of Demeter, no longer in arms’ reach. He should’ve seen it coming.

He sees you with your siblings all the time. You’re so happy and he envies it. You belong there, he knows that, the way your face lights up at the dinner table and how you giggle when your half-sister presents you a flower. But sometimes your eyes wander, and something inside them dulls, until you look at him, too.

Luke’s place at camp is to be nothing but a funnel for lost campers to find their home. He’s a temporary stop in everybody’s journey. He’d made peace with it a long time ago. But here you are, messing it all up, because you still don’t leave him.

You beg him to give you another sword-fighting lesson. You sit next to him at bonfires. You pick him for partner camp activities. It doesn’t matter how many younger boys want to latch onto him for guidance—he sees you heading towards him, and he can’t imagine choosing anyone else.

But you’re always whisked away by your siblings, separated at meals and in sleep and in activities so it’s never, ever enough. Why did he delude himself into thinking you’d stay forever?

After weeks of distance from you, he’s elated when you have even a fraction of a conversation. “Hey, Luke!” You call out to him, and he finds you instantly. You’ve broken away from your siblings to get to him.

“Hey,” he smiles, and hopes he doesn’t look too pleased.

You lean a little towards his ear, and you smell like every wonderful thing in the world. “Can we hang out tonight? On the hill?” You’re a little bashful when you say it and it’s entirely endearing. Even now, you’re still so unsure. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” he says almost instantly, and it makes you look less nervous. “Yes. Absolutely. But don’t get caught breaking curfew now, you hooligan.”

Someone calls your name and you give a curt, playful nod. “Yes sir, camp counsellor sir!” He carries your laugh close to his heart until night falls.

You’re already there when he arrives, a vision in the moonlight before he even sees your face. “Hey, angel.”

When you turn around you look flustered. He won’t pretend like it doesn’t flatter him. “H—hi, uh, hello.”

There’s a moment where the world is still. The two of you, alone, for the first time in ages.

He sits down next to you, and it’s like the first time all over again. You get to talking, about your days, your anecdotes, your cabins. The strangeness of it all. “It’s so weird waking up in the morning and not having you yapping in my ear,” you remark, and he teasingly pushes your shoulder.

“Well, one of us has to be the talker, and it’s clearly not you,” he retorts.

You fiddle with blades of grass between your fingertips, weaving them together. “I’ll have you know I had a cabin-wide conversation about Capture The Flag yesterday, and I contributed greatly.”

“Oh, really?” He grins, knocking your elbow to steal your attention. “Look at you, coming out of your shell. I’m so proud.”

It’s hard to hold his gaze for more than a second. You’re afraid you’ll do something stupid if he keeps looking at you like that, but you almost want to. “Oh, shut up.”

He puts a hand on your shoulder. “No, I’m serious. I’m proud.” His eyes rake over your face. “You’re flourishing. You found your place.”

You can’t stop yourself from saying, “I kind of miss my old one.”

There’s a way he studies your expression that makes you feel utterly helpless. You wish you could dish it back to him, but you know you just look awestruck whenever you stare at him for so long. He’s quieter when he replies, “I miss it, too. A lot. Sometimes, I—” His face scrunches up like he just tasted something sour. “Nevermind.”

Frowning, you prod, “What? What is it?”

He sighs and turns to the horizon. This is the first time you’ve ever seen him struggle. “Sometimes, I wish you hadn’t been claimed. Sorry, that’s . . . that’s awful, I know.”

His surprise is evident when you say, “Sometimes I wish I wasn’t either.”

He turns back to you. “Really?”

“Really,” you nod, staring at the beads on his necklace. “You’re the only reason I’ve adjusted here at all.”

“Don’t sell yourself short.”

“It’s true. And I miss you.” A few months ago you would’ve kicked yourself for saying this. But Luke has a way of inspiring confidence in people.

“I miss you, too. So much.” He gently prys the grass you’ve been weaving out of your hands, now a small necklace. “But look at how talented you are. I’ll tell you, I’m lucky you’re still sticking around. For most people, Hermes is touch-and-go.”

Luke leans forward to tie the garland around your neck, and your pulse picks up. “This isn’t about Hermes, Luke,” you try to be firm but it comes out soft. “It’s about you.”

His hands stop fiddling and rest on your neck. When he speaks, you can feel his breath on you. And you have no idea that he’s been waiting to hear that his whole life. “What’s about me?”

It’s not fair, your inability to string sentences together only worsens right when a beautiful boy is this close to you. “Hermes isn’t—it’s not special because of your father, it’s special because of you.”

There is nothing else you can possibly think of saying with the way his fingers trace up your neck and hold your jaw. “Yeah, well,” he murmurs, “The only reason anything in my life is special is because of you.”

You don’t know if it’s a lie or not; you don’t care. His nose nudges yours. There’s a moment where you wonder if this is as close to Elysium you’ll ever get. Then he slips a hand to the back of your neck and pulls you to his mouth.

He kisses you in a near fury, then when he knows you’re not going anywhere, it’s the gentlest thing you know. It’s hard to believe this is even happening. Your hands weave through his curls but he holds you steady, and thank the Gods for that because you’re pretty sure you’re melting. You kiss again, and again, and again, until you genuinely think you’re going to pass out and you have to pull away.

“Aw, look at you,” he murmurs when you can’t meet his eyes, a playful lilt in his voice. “Still so nervous.”

“Would you shut up?” You press your face into the crook of his neck with a huge smile.

He kisses the top of your head. “Love to, angel.”

Luke Castellan is the son of a messenger. He’s supposed to believe he’s bringing the best of humanity to the Gods and glory above.

But screw the Gods. He’s keeping this one for himself.

#perrie’s fics #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #pjo #pjo series #pjo x reader #luke castellan x you #luke castellan fluff #heroes of olympus #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #charlie bushnell #this is far longer than i wanted it to be so sorry.#don’t usually write in 2nd person or present tense so i’m just trying not to look at it #the evil men with curly hair have won again

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not-rab · 2 months

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part four of Music and Memories, a Marauders band AU

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2014

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part three | part five

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thebirdsandthebats · 6 months

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TIMBER FICLET

Bernard washes Tim’s hair for him.

(A little angst/fluff and hurt/comfort, mostly just these two being in love and domestic)

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“Ow.”

The complaint is quiet. There’s no real fire behind Tim’s voice, more a sound made for the sake of breaking the silence than anything else. He doesn’t even wince as gentle fingers poke at the cut on his temple. He’s sitting in a dining chair, moved in front of the kitchen sink so Bernard can stand in front of him and clean up his cuts. Out of the two of them, it’s Bernard who hisses at the touch, looking a little queasy.

He still has it in him to steel Tim with an unimpressed look. “That didn’t hurt, so don’t pretend it did.”

Tim huffs out a laugh as the hand tilting his chin up moves to squeeze his cheeks. “Why do you look like you’re gonna be sick, then?” He asks, words muffled by his squished lips, and Bernard shakes his head. He releases Tim’s face in favor of picking up the damp rag and dabbing again at the cut. It stings, but not bad. Bernard has already gotten all the grit out, and his dabbing seems to just be a distracted motion at this point.

He chews his bottom lip. “Because it looks worse than it is. I don’t like seeing you hurt at all, but I really don’t like knowing they got close enough to do this,” he sighs. Tim slumps in his seat. He reaches out and takes Bernard’s free hand in a silent apology. Their fingers fit together easily, a familiar comfort to both of them. Bernard drops the rag on the counter and pauses to look Tim over again. Distractedly, he reaches up to play with a strand of Tim’s bangs.

He smiles. “You keep your hair so neat now. I remember when there was a bottle of gel in it every day.” He fingers a strand of black hair, soft and freshly trimmed. Nothing like when they met. Tim cringes at the memory. Yeah, he’d had a big thing for spiking his hair back then. Nowadays he prefers to keep it short and out of the way, even if Stephanie had lamented the loss of the longer hair he’d settled into for a while.

Tim leans into the touch. “And yet I still get all kinds of gross stuff in it every patrol,” he teases. Bernard’s fingers still. His eyes light up the way they always do when he comes to a realization that he likes.

He leans forward, further into Tim’s space, and beams at him brighter than the sun. “Can I wash it for you?”

“I—” Tim leans back and blinks rapidly. His nose scrunches as the question processes. “You want to wash my hair?” He asks. It’s an odd request. Nobody has washed Tim’s hair for him since he was a very small child. Even through his worst injuries where he needed help getting to the shower, Tim has managed to avoid it because hair just wasn’t a priority. He reaches up to feel his own hair, fingers brushing Bernard’s as he rakes them through his bangs. Hm. Not so overwhelmingly gross that Bernard would make washing it a personal mission.

Tim’s head falls to the side in a bewildered tilt. “Why?”

Bernard shrugs. “I like taking care of you.” He speaks simply. “I think it would make both of us feel better.”

It’s not something Tim would have imagined allowing someone to do. But when Bernard asks, he can’t find any reason to say no.

Tim doesn’t even leave the kitchen. They’d never both fit in his tiny shower. Within a couple minutes of Bernard grabbing their supplies, Tim finds himself leaning his head backwards over the sink’s edge, the back of his neck cushioned by the towel draped around him. He hears the water running for a bit to heat up, and he watches Bernard’s face as the blonde tests the temperature.

He chews the inside of his cheek when he concentrates. Always has. Cute, Tim thinks.

The detachable sink head is pulled down. “Ready?” Bernard asks gently, and when Tim lifts his eyes to Bernard’s own, he’s struck dumb by the sheer amount of adoration softening his expression.

Bernard…really cares about him. Enough to dote on him, to cook for him, to wash his hair for him, and what has Tim done to deserve that? He’s so troubled by this thought that he doesn’t answer immediately. It takes Bernard tapping his forehead with a finger to chase those thoughts away.

His expression is…difficult to put a name to. “Still with me, love?” He whispers. Tim nods. He clears his throat.

“I’m here. Sorry.” He shakes his head a little. “Ready when you are.”

Bernard smiles. “I’d give anything to spend a day in your mind.”

Tim would never want him to experience that.

Warm water showers him as Bernard moves the stream to his head, and Tim sighs at the feeling. The water thoroughly soaks his hair within a few moments when Bernard pushes his bangs away from his face and into the spray. It’s the perfect temperature, and the sink head’s pressure feels nice from so close.

It isn’t long before the spray is moved, and Tim hears the pop of a shampoo bottle’s lid. He glances over, and Bernard is letting a decent amount of Tim’s expensive shampoo pool in his palm. He sets the bottle aside and moves back in, and Tim hums as he feels his boyfriend’s fingers start to work the shampoo into his hair. He works first to build a lather but Tim’s hair is shorter these days, so it only takes a moment before he’s running his fingers from root to ends, coating every strand in soap. He blinks down at Tim when he notices him watching his face.

“Baby, relax. You don’t have to keep your eyes open,” Bernard insists. Tim hadn’t realized how intense he probably looked while staring. He laughs a little, and though he doesn’t always like the vulnerability of closing his eyes when he relaxes, it’s Bernard. He trusts him. His eyes fall closed as short nails scratch at his scalp lightly. The scent of his shampoo floats in the air like steam from the water’s heat. It’s a scent that he loves. He’s used the same shampoo for most of his life. It was the same brand and scent his mother used. It smells like home, the same way that Alfred’s laundry detergent and Stephanie’s body wash and Bernard’s hoodies do.

Tim sighs again, but this time, the tension bleeds out of his shoulders. He smiles a little. The scratches against his scalp and the slight tug of his hair as it’s washed feels…really nice.

He isn’t sure how long Bernard shampoos his hair before he finally pulls the warm spray of water back overhead to rinse the suds away. It was definitely longer than his hair length warranted. There’s something so domestic about this moment, and when he drowsily blinks his eyes open to check in on his boyfriend, the blonde’s expression looks just as content as he feels.

“Conditioner next,” Bernard says quietly, like he’s hesitant to break the silence that had fallen over them. “Doing okay?”

Tim nods sleepily. “Mhm,” he confirms. It was probably for the better that he’d be finishing soon, because once Tim let himself melt into the feeling, he knew he could easily fall asleep under Bernard’s affectionate ministrations. The conditioner goes on with just as much care as the shampoo. Tim actually leans his head back into the feeling as one hand scratches at the nape of his neck, the other one running through his bangs almost leisurely. Caressing his hair, almost like he’s being pet. The mental comparison doesn’t make him bristle the way he usually might. Nothing about the gesture feels condescending or insincere.

Soft lips brush his forehead. Butterflies stir in Tim’s gut at the unexpected affection, and a smile tugs at his lips. “Love you,” he murmurs. Bernard’s hands still for just a moment. Then, the lips are back again, this time kissing his cheek. The tip of his nose. His chin, just below his lips. When he finally kisses Tim’s lips, they get lost in it for a moment as Tim stretches his neck upwards to meet him.

Tim’s gripping the sleeve of Bernard’s sweater by the time he pulls away. “I love you, too.” He says like he’s desperate for Tim to believe him.

Tim does.

They sink into comfortable quiet again as Bernard rinses his hair. He’s thorough, making sure all of the conditioner has been washed out before he finally turns off the tap. The room suddenly seems much quieter now that the constant shower of water has stopped. Bernard tugs the towel around Tim’s neck up to tousle his hair. He rubs firmly enough that it jostles his head around, and there’s a mischievous glint in his eye as he does it.

Tim sticks his tongue out, rising to the bait but not truly annoyed. In fact, he’s relieved to see Bernard teasing him again. The tense worry from earlier had faded into something far sweeter.

Bernard finishes with the towel and drops it unceremoniously on Tim’s head. “There. Do you feel any better?” He asks. The smile can be heard in his voice, even while Tim is busy tossing the towel aside.

“Yeah. I think I do feel a bit better.” It’s an understatement. Tim feels lighter than he has in ages. Bernard looks relieved to hear it.

“Me too,” he confesses. Tim stands and stretches, lifting his arms high until his back pops. What he really wants after all that is to crawl into bed, preferably with Bernard, and sleep until his body feels fully rested. It’s not a luxury he often gets.

Tonight he feels like indulging. “Thank you, Berns. Really.”

“Tim, it’s no problem. I wanted to—oh,” Bernard perks up as Tim starts towards his bedroom, rather than his laptop where he’d usually spend hours after patrol finishing reports. Tim’s heart stutters pleasantly when he hears the footsteps immediately begin following him. “You’re sleeping already? Did I break you?”

Tim shakes his head at the last question. “Big spoon or little spoon?” He glances backwards as he pulls back the comforter. Bernard looks thrilled.

“Big. I wanna hold you,” he says, painfully earnest. And Tim still isn’t great with earnest, but god, Bernard makes it look so easy. So he lets himself be held. He lets himself drift off, feeling secure with strong arms squeezing tightly around his middle. He lets himself sleep in far later than he usually does.

And every now and then, after a particularly close call on patrol, he lets Bernard wash his hair for him.

#this was an exorcise in present tense and it kicked my ass #this fic has HANDS #anyway they’re gay and they make me sick /pos #why do they act like that. i cant stand them #batfamily #dc comics #tim drake #bernard dowd #timber #timbern #fic #fanfic #ficlet

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rodolfoparras · 1 year

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Thinking about all the ways you can be intimate with Price that doesn’t involve having sex

One thing about Price is that he’s known for his love for hats. But very few people know the reason as to why he wears them in the first place.

Truth be told, more often than not, he will let his hair grow past the length that’s stated in haircut regulations. Curls will start forming at the back of his neck , unruly strands will stick to his temple as he sweats and if it’s a particularly windy day, wisps of hair will fall into his eyes and obscure his vision. So to cover up the fact that he’s clearly breaking regulations and to keep his hair in check, he’ll wear a hat on his head.

He always tells himself he’ll cut it short. Hell, he even goes out his way to take down the box of clippers from the shelf where they’ve been collecting dust for God knows how long. But every time he intends to cut it something comes up and he opts for wearing a hat instead.

However this time around, it’s a different story since inspection week is coming up and you’re the first to notice how long his hair has been getting lately.

As you lean in for a kiss, you feel the unruly strands of hair wrap around your fingers tips. You smile as you twirl them in your grasp, lips still kissing Price’s.

He pulls away, mirroring the smile on your face as he says “what are you smiling about?”

“Your hair’s been getting so long lately” you say as you run a hand through his hair, tugging lightly at the long strands as if to empathize your point.

His brows furrow, before a look of realization crosses his face “I guess it has, hasn’t it? I’ve been meaning to cut it, just haven’t gotten around to doing it,”

You nod as you continue to play with the hair at the back of his head, already aware of the box of clippers that’s been collecting dust on his desk “when’s inspection now again?”

“Next week. Cut it for me?”

The bathroom connected to his room is rather small, barely fits two people but you make it work as you sit down on the toilet seat while he sits down on the floor.

He sits so close you get a whiff of his cologne. The scent’s a familiar one, one you know not only by smell but also by name. It’s a cologne you’d spontaneously bought one day and had managed to use once or twice before it somehow ended up in Price’s hands. Now it’s a scent solely associated with him.

You can also smell the cigars he smokes. The scent is sickly sweet but also earthy- reminds you of mahogany much like the mahogany curls he's sporting at the moment.

You gently grab onto his shoulder, forcing him to shuffle closer. He’s now perfectly slotted between your legs, as you go to inspect his hair.

“Any special request ?” You ask as you card your fingers through his hair, carefully inspecting the length. The man lets out an appreciative sound at your gently touch before he shakes his head in response to your question.

“Just want it short?” You ask again, fingers still carding through his hair.

“Yes, please”

“What if I mess up ?” You joke as you continue to inspect the length.

“Don’t really care, I’ll wear a hat either way” he shrugs, and flashes you a smile over his shoulder.

“Alright” you say, before you reach down and gently grab onto the edge of his shirt “May I?” You ask, lips brushing his ear as you lean down to ask for permission.

He shivers at your touch, but nods his head at your question.

You gently pull the shirt off of him, leaving him in just the undershirt that he’s wearing. The sudden exposure to the chilly bathroom air has goosebumps raising on his skin and your hands quickly find his arms as you attempt to warm him up.

“Sorry” you say as you plant a kiss on his shoulder. He just smiles and shakes his head “it’s okay, not your fault yeah?”

You grab onto the box where his clippers lay and take out the one you needed for his hair. You quickly adjust the settings on it before bringing it to his head.

As you turn on the machine you feel the familiar buzz coursing through your fingertips. You try not to let your nerves get the best of you as you get ready to cut his hair for him. However, sweat still trickles down your spine, the clippers almost fall out of your hand and you have to take a deep breath and apologize beforehand in case this doesn’t go as planned.

You do the first swipe with the clipper and watch as strands of hair fall to his bare shoulders. You quickly take the brush that came with the kit and gently brush the hair away from his skin. He hums in content as he relaxes into your embrace

“Good?”

He nods with a giggle “tickles”

You chuckle at that as you continue to cut his hair, tufts of it steadily falling to the floor and sprinkling across his shoulder. You even see the loose strands of hair sprinkling onto the undershirt that he’s wearing. However Price doesn’t seem to mind it, seemingly relaxed as ever.

Nothing can be heard except for the steady buzz coming from the machine, along with the soft noises Price will give in response when you ask him something. He’s long given up on talking, mind and body too relaxed to bother with it.

Your hands are gentle as ever as they grab onto his chin, cheeks and temples, turning his head in whichever direction is needed at the moment. His eyes, although closed, flutter at the touch, as he chuckles at the ticklish feeling that comes from your hands.

However you still check up on him to make sure that you aren’t hurting him.

“Am I hurting you?” You ask as you bring the clipper a bit closer to his ears. “Is this okay” You ask again when you fear you’re holding too tightly onto him. You even drop a “you tell me if I’m doing anything to hurt you yeah?” when you notice the flush on his skin.

Sometimes Price responds with a hum, sometimes with a nod and sometimes with the shake of his head (You almost have the mind to scold him for his careless movements but you allow him to do so anyway)He even chuckles at the last sentence as if saying not you, never you and that’s all the reassurance you need to continue cutting his hair for him.

At some point he does talk - asks if he can go for a smoke and of course you allow him to do so. If you smoke he’ll let you take a couple of puffs of his cigar. However he’ll use this as an excuse to steal a kiss since every time you lean in to put the cigar between your lips, he’ll place a kiss on your lips. If you don’t smoke he’ll have you light his cigar for him. He’ll playfully pulls you closer by your wrist, as you go to light his cigar for him, callused thumb mindlessly stroking it while you light it for him.

He stays in your embrace while smoking his cigar, enjoying your presence and your gentle touch.

From the bathroom window you can see that the sun is starting to set and the clouds of smoke that whirl around in the air become more prominent.

Price hooks his arm around your leg and mindlessly drags his hand along your thigh while he smokes his cigar.

“Thank you for doing this for me, love” he says and despite the clouds of smoke that swirl around in the air, you can still see the grateful smile on his face.

“No need to thank me ” you chuckle as you continue to cut his hair for him.

Once it’s done, you hand him a small mirror so that he can take a look at his hair. He takes a brief look in the mirror before he turns to you with a big smile on his face.

“It looks great,”

Truth be told he barely looked at his hair, didn’t see the crooked line or the uneven patches around his head (not that he would mind if he were to notice it anyway). All he saw in that very moment was your reflection in the mirror, the way you nervously chewed your lip, and the hopeful look in your eyes as you waited for him to comment on his new haircut.

Once it’s inspection day you’re back in that very same bathroom with him. He’s looking at himself in the mirror while you’re standing behind him with a comb in hand. His hair is still short and will surely pass inspection but you still want to comb and style it for him, claiming he needs to look professional and well groomed, seeing as he’s the captain.

“There, all done” you say with a smile on your face, finally feeling satisfied with the look of his hair. All of sudden he turns around, hands gently grabbing onto your hips before he pulls you closer to him. You’re still looking at his hair, searching for any imperfections that need to be corrected while he’s watching you with an adoring gaze. Once you spot a strand out of place, you lick the pad of your thumb before gently slicking it back with the rest of his hair.

You go to pull your hand away but before you can do so he gently wraps his hand around your wrist and brings your hand closer to his lips before he kisses it.

“Thank you again, love”

#captain John price #captain John price x reader #captain John price x male reader #John price #John price x reader #John price x male reader #Alec writes #happy pride month to my absolute favorite way of being close with another man #I apologize for any mistakes #idk man I make this so hard for me by using this writing style #it’s like future and past and present tense all at once I hate it djdjdj #anyway #I hope it’s okay #army shabang is probes not accurate but none of this is real so let’s kiss #my goal here was to showcase how such a simple act can be so intimate I hope i managed to do so #since this is sort of a love language to me #and first fluff on here #wooo #weird to say that since I have always written fluff fics believe it or not

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watchyourbuck · 7 months

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★ Wip Wednesday ★

tagged by the marvelous @theotherbuckley @daffi-990 @wikiangela @thewolvesof1998 @disasterbuckdiaz @forthewolves @fionaswhvre @try-set-me-on-fire @eddiediaztho @eddiebabygirldiaz & @jamespearce9-1-1 I appreciate you all so much💗✨

Buck’s uncomfortable. He’s smiling out of courtesy, and following the conversation, but he’s uneasy. Eddie knows him well enough to notice. He’s doing that thing he does where he desperately tries to sway the conversation a different way. As always, he accompanies it with timid eye contact and a lot of hand gestures. Buck’s looking around for Eddie, so Eddie walks towards him. A long time ago, surrounded by a fence, he promised to Buck he’d never be confrontational again. He’s kept his word. It doesn’t mean he won’t step in if he has to. The man has him cornered. He has one hand on Buck’s upper arm and the other wrapped around a tall glass of champagne. He’s leaning way too close, his breath probably lingering on the tip of Buck’s nose. “Is there a problem here?” Buck’s eyes widen when he sees him. He’s surprised, but Eddie swears he sees them whisper ‘thank god.’ The stranger half-glances at him from over his shoulder, flicking the wrist he’s using to hold the glass dismissively. “Back off,” he says, with a hint of ownership that doesn’t sit quite right with Eddie. He clenches his jaw before speaking. “I’d love to, but that’s my husband you’re harassing.”

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Tags!! @eowon @hippolotamus @lover-of-mine @wildlife4life @buckleyobsessed @evanbegins @mattsire @eddie---diaz @giddyupbuck @cowboydiazes @princessfbi @911-on-abc @butraura @buttercupbuck @housewifebuck @honestlydarkprincess @bucksbirthmark @firemedicdiaz and anyone else who’s interested!

#this is a one shot #I think it’s my first time writing in present tense #not my favorite but I’ll give it a shot #I’m writing it on my phone so I can write in the subway and shit like that andndndns #still a public menace and y’all can see sjdjdjs #lmao ANYWAY #enjoy #buddie #911 fox #911 #eddie diaz #evan buckley #911 tv show #evan buck buckley #buck x eddie #buck and eddie #911 abc #buddie fic #buddie wip

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prokopetz · 2 years

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Inadvisable video game premise #137: Time-travel parser fic where it’s the narrative viewpoint that travels in time, not the player character, shifting the verb tense of the narration accordingly. The narrator is always describing the same “present moment” for the player character, but from different temporal perspectives: looking back from the future, speculating about it from the past, or describing it in the moment.

Past-tense narration is the most restrictive in terms of what actions you can take because the narrator can say “no, that’s not what happened”, but is more informative than other tenses because the narrator may provide information that the player character couldn’t possibly have known at the time, or explain why certain requested actions were not taken.

Future-tense narration, conversely, offers nearly unlimited freedom in the player character’s actions, and allows you experiment without risk (i.e., because the narration is describing what would happen if you took the requested action), but the information gained thereby is unreliable on account of being speculative.

Present-tense narration has no special features, but serves as the temporal foundation for the other tenses; for example, if you do something in present-tense narration, that becomes What Happened, and you can then shift into past-tense narration to get more information about it.

Opportunities to shift tenses are limited, and many puzzles revolve around figuring out how to swap tenses in the correct order, or being stuck in an inappropriate tense (e.g., a looming disaster which you can’t do anything about because you’re currently stuck in past tense, and the disaster is What Happened, thereby ruling out any past-tense action that would prevent it).

#concepts #gaming #video games #game design #interactive fiction #parser fic #one of the late game puzzles involves the description of a room being completely different in past tense than in present tense #the solution involves realising that the past tense (and thus narrating from the future) narrator is misinformed #and figuring out what has misled them

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lullaebies · 4 months

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If you are still taking requests, my darling, how about a blurb of Daeron coming to KL in the days before Jaehaerys' funeral and reuniting with his siblings or momma? xoxo johannawesterling. 😘

“Daeron,” his mother's voice was the first one that welcomed him in that lonely hall. The warm brown of her eyes sad, as always sad— he hated seeing it as a child, and hated seeing it now. Alicent rushed over to him to envelop him in an embrace. “My sweet boy.”

Grandsire was the one who wrote Daeron of the news. He said his Alicent’s temperament was fickle with grief, caring for Helaena’s babes. Daeron always knew his mother would hug him upon his return, but he felt a babe himself cradled in her arms.

“Mother, I missed you,” he held her back, feeling his own throat dry. Her hunched frame, her head on on his shoulder in defeat; his brother’s coronation should’ve given her the opportunity to find joy in a respectable posture, not a reason to wither. He hears some shout from within the hall in front of him, followed by another by a different voice, both filled with fire. “Are those…?”

“Aegon and Aemond,” Alicent answers, lifting her head. “It’s been a difficult time, and yelling is all they could do.”

Daeron doubted it. He saw the hanged people by the Tower of the Hand. No, his brothers are all flames searching to consume all, as they always were. “And Helaena?” he asked. His sister has always been calm in the midst of fury, but as things are…

“They are by her door. She has not come out of her room since…” Alicent said painfully.

Since sweet Jaehaerys had died. The funeral was due in a few days. He came for it; he has not been here for the birth of his nephew, he missed his years in this world, but he would not miss the boy’s departure from it too. But if his mother couldn’t bear to come… No. Helaena would never forgive herself if she did not come. He knew his sister, and he knew it to be true. If his brothers’ shouts were anything to go by, they were in a similar place.

Seven hells, he was too. After all this time, returning when it was all too late to help… How could he forgive himself?

Daeron always wanted to come back home in triumph.

It was a dream of his, ever since his mother sent him to squire with Lord Ormund. To come back a knight of the order, robust and reliable for his sister and mother to be proud of and his brothers to trust in. He wanted his nephews and niece to imagine him in their heads as an uncle they could count on, to become a figure his family whole could believe in.

He was lost, away from his family for too long, but Daeron knew he can’t leave his siblings alone now. He kissed his mother’s cheek, and went ahead towards his brothers.

“After all these years, you think you can preach to me about restraint?” Aemond’s eye flashed like a dagger. He grew much taller, taller than their older brother. Aegon, on the other hand, had not grown much since their teens, and he had been hunched as it is. With a pale face, bloodshot eyes and clenched fists he had not seemed any less fiery.

“When it is all your fault, you cunt? Yes I can.” Aegon replies venomously.

When they were young, Daeron was always lost when they fought. He could rise up together with them against Rhaenyra’s boys, but when they trifled with one another, he always found himself a bystander, staying by Helaena until the storm calmed. Alas, Helaena was in the room in front of them, and from within he heard soft sobs. His mother steps forward to intervene between them, but Daeron stops her, and walks to them instead.

Aemond noticed him first, halting at his sight. Aegon stepped toward Aemond, as if to yell at him some more, but Daeron brought a hand to hold his shoulder. Aegon nearly snapped his shoulder towards him to hit him, but Daeron stopped his hand too.

“Brothers,” he called them, his hold on Aegon’s wrist growing looser. “Stop it.”

Something in him snapped when he saw their faces closely. Aemond looked as if he had not slept a week, Aegon looked as if his blood had been running cold for a moon turn, hair a mess even if he wore a crown. They both try to pick themselves up, upon his arrival, Aemond fixing his gloves, and Aegon clearing his throat.

“You’ve grown tall, you twerp,” Aegon said, looking up to him. “It is good to see you. But don’t get involved.”

Daeron frowned. “Don’t tell me that. I’m your brother. I can talk to my brothers,” Daeron then looked at the door. “And my sister.”

Aemond shook his head. Some shame came upon his face. “She doesn’t want to see us, Daeron.”

What she didn’t want to see never mattered, though. Helaena often told him she saw strange things in her mind. When they were children, when she sent letters, it was often all the same. Sometimes, those were things she did not want to see at all. She managed through it all; she was the bravest, even when she cried waking up from a dream. She needed to see them, instead of further falling into loneliness.

“So we leave her to the darkness of her room instead of showing her she is not alone?”

“I don’t know how to convince her out, Daeron. I tried,” Aegon said. “Aemond tried. Mother tried. Grandsire tried. Jaehaera and Maelor..” he trailed off.

Daeron looked at the door again. His sister was never stupid, she knew they were outside. He knew she was listening, too. If she heard them, she only heard strife and more frustration, things she had likely enough of within her. Whenever Daeron played with Lord Ormund’s children, it was always similar with his one daughter, Bethany; if her brothers quarrelled and brawled while she was upset, she would lock herself in her rooms until she felt safe to get out. She wouldn’t go out to thundering knocks and threatening yells, but to safety.

Daeron didn’t know if Helaena would ever feel safe again. Not after all that happened. But if anyone was to give her hope it was them. He remained steadfast in his stare against his brothers.

“When ships are lost at night, we light the Hightower’s beacon until they find their way back.”

Turning around, Daeron knocked on the door, in an odd rhythm. A rhythm Helaena taught him when he was around eight, and plagued with nightmares of plucked eyes and stormy seas. When mother could only take care of Aemond, Helaena told him she would never turn him away should he come by her door.

“It is like the summer songs of cicadas, stuck to their trees. They sing when they know when they feel safe.”

The sobs from within the room suddenly quietened. No rustling came from within, but it was a change. He knocked on the door again. Sniffles came in response. His brothers stared at him, and for once, he met them in an equal gaze.

Biting his lip, Aegon brought his clenched first forward to the door too. He looked at Daeron, and they knocked together. More sniffles came, but they sounded closer. Aemond seemed to be most skeptical, but with both results and a glare from Aegon, they knocked again together, all three.

It felt like forever, until they heard something being moved from behind the door. The heavy door opens only slightly, but the sniffles are suddenly all clear. The light finally shone on her; Helaena’s face was red, her eyes were glassy, her hair unkempt and her dress crumpled upon her figure, but she was there.

She saw them all, and tears fell down her cheek again. “I…”

It was not clear, amongst the three of them, who came to hug her first. All Daeron knew is that they ended in sibling embrace. She fell into sobs again in their arms, this time holding them dearly for life.

We will not let go.

#i tried to return to past tense for this sorry for mistakes im so used to present tense lately lol #it only took me two million years to finish this but YAY I DID IT #while crying ofc lmao #daeron the daring #daeron targaryen #helaena targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #aemond targaryen #alicent hightower #my fics #reqs #answered #hotd #house of the dragon #team green #hotd imagine #hotd fic #sahtinekryze

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neverevan · 6 months

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Wip Wednesday 🎄

I was tagged by the ever so lovely @daffi-990 @thewolvesof1998 @jamespearce9-1-1 @hippolotamus @exhuastedpigeon and @rainbow-nerdss mwuah 💛

Welp a little later than usual but here I am! And uh apparently I added another Christmas fic to the pile because why not lmao but it's just a real short one and I'm aiming for it to be posted this week. 🫡

He was just about to decide what kind of disgustingly greasy takeout food to order, when the door clicked open behind his back.

He turned to see— Eddie. Because of course it was Eddie.

“Hey,” he said gently, shutting the door behind himself and Buck knew it was a little irrational right now, but it still warmed his heart that Eddie came and went like this; that he knew no matter what, he was always welcome here.

“Hi.” Buck gave him a weak smile over the brim of his beer bottle, unsure of what to expect.

“I just wanted to see if you were okay.”

“Why, did uh did I not seem okay?” Buck scoffed, just falling short of casual.

Eddie averted his gaze almost guiltily before pinning Buck with a knowing look. “No.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s fair.” Buck took a long swig of his beer with a grimace.

“You know it doesn’t change anything, right?”

“Uh no, Eddie, I really don’t know that.” Buck drawled and put the bottle down on the counter top with a loud clink.

“Bu—”

“Eddie, you’re leaving the 118. That- that literally changes everything!” He spread his arms widely, as if he could indicate just how much of that everything covered.

✨no pressure tagging: @malewifediaz @spagheddiediaz @jeeyuns @ladydorian05 @disasterbuckdiaz @jesuisici33 @steadfastsaturnsrings @eowon @heartshapedvows @nmcggg @watchyourbuck @eddiebabygirldiaz @theotherbuckley @fortheloveofbuddie

#most of this is just a flashback to post 5x10 and the whole thing is barely 1.5k #I spent so much time screwing around today but at least I've got this done ugh #also I'm not 100% sure yet but the current lineup is: 510 - puppy - hospital - ski fic #so like a fic a week #but we'll see how things go #also also fun fact: I initially screwed myself over with this #because I wanted it to be short so I started writing it in present tense #which I can only hold up for like twitter threads and tumblr ficlets #but then it got longer and I had to go back and change it 🙃#it wasn't all that long but still ugh #anyway I shut up now #buddie #911 #wip #the 510 fic

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gregorovitch-adler · 8 months

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Intimacy

Just when I am in the middle of my speech, I hear some sniffing in the wedding hall. I look up. Everyone is tearing up. I see some people wipe their eyes with the serviettes.

Why? Did I do something wrong? No! I had spent the whole morning writing a speech for John's wedding.

Selecting and altering the words here and there carefully, with Lestrade's help, so that I would not give myself away in a room full of two hundred guests, about my true feelings for the groom.

And now everyone is crying. I messed it up, again.

It is just like the university days. I would say something with good intention, but without any filters, and everyone would interpret it the wrong way. They would distance themselves from me eventually. I would be left alone.

I knew I was going to be left alone anyway after tonight's reception and dance. That was inevitable. I hadn't expected the isolation to come so soon, though.

Perhaps everyone had picked up on my feelings for John. I had ruined the day with a slip up somewhere.

Breathing deeply, I square my shoulders and spit everything out.

"What's wrong? What happened? Why are you all doing that?" I turn to look at John, the only source of sanity in my life. "John?"

John looks up at me with tearful eyes. (No, please don't cry!)

"Did I do it wrong?" I ask again.

"Oh, Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson is tearful too.

Shit. She knew about us. Me. There was never an 'us'. She knew how I felt for John. Everyone obviously knows about my feelings now. Nobody can be so stupid.

Which means John does too, and now he is going to kick me out in the middle of the speech.

John screws his eyes shut and opens them again as he gets up from his seat.

"No, you didn't. Come here," he says and pulls me close before wrapping his arms around my back.

A huge round of applause erupts in the room. Everyone is cheering.

Unsure of what to do next, I awkwardly place an arm on his bicep.

John doesn't let go of me. He keeps holding on to me, and his hand goes up to curl around my nape. He holds me gently.

In this moment, I cannot help but notice the intimacy between us.

I'm not experienced in romantic relationships, but the way John keeps holding me with so many people watching, I feel even closer to him than I already did.

It's rather ironic that I feel this on his wedding day, with his wife watching us with a smile. But I can't help how I feel.

"I haven't finished yet," I say.

"Yeah; I know, I know," he replies and slowly lets me go.

I immediately feel the loss of his touch. I long for him to hold me forever.

I know this is irrational, so I pull out my phone again to continue with my best man speech.

I still have to take care of my words, should I accidentally reveal my heart in front of the man I love in public.

***

Prompt: Intimacy by @onesmallfamily

Sherlock September Challenge.

Tags: @helloliriels @topsyturvy-turtely @gaylilsherlock @lisbeth-kk @keirgreeneyes @lookingforlifeoutthere @peanitbear @a-victorian-girl @curlyjohnlock @calaisreno @missdeliadili @kettykika78 @jawnn-watson

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rorywritesjunk · 1 month

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my little tumblr draft fics: fluff, sweet, sprinkle covered ice cream cones and strawberry crepes.

google doc fics: sex. sex. sex. buggy's gettin' it. sex.

#not a fic #buggy the clown #working on present tense #and i have to bounce between fics because like is it getting hot in here #but the other fic is taron and buggy which isnt going to be much better #fanfiction writing #fanfiction #fanfic #writing #lmao its fun tho

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mayhaps-a-blog · 10 months

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Maybe the reason Zahn hasn’t written more from Thrawn’s point of view is because Thrawn’s POV is an absolute bitch to write.

#this post brought to you by my struggles with this goddamn fic #started rereading thrawn just to get the voice again #and literally every description is italicized #and present tense #to be thrawn's pov #the man apparently refuses to think in adverbs #which is unfortunate #because i use them a lot #ugh #draft 3 here we go #star wars #thrawn #timothy zahn #thrawn 2017 #thrawn novels

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mumms-the-word · 18 days

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Wandering the Gray

Pairing: Gale x gn!Tav Summary: In the midst of a brutal battle against Viconia DeVir and the Sharrans, Gale finds himself in the Fugue Plane once again. But this time, he recognizes a voice echoing in the distance. ao3 link A/N: You can 100% blame a 1 minute section of The Underworld from Epic the Musical by Jorge Rivera-Herrans for this fic. That's the entire inspiration for this fic. I don't want to spoil too much but if you've heard the song you know what's coming. also I suck at titles, every other title was too spoilery to me anyways enjoy the angst CW: some mention of suicidal ideation, death, grief, sad feels in general,

The air is thick with magical darkness, thick enough to drown in, and Gale is barely hanging on by a thread. He can feel the darkness choking him as he stumbles back, narrowly dodging a blade as it arcs toward him, appearing and disappearing in the inky black. Spell effects from the others briefly illuminate the darkness like obscured lightning amidst stormclouds, but nothing is effectively dispelling the swirling black. Shadowheart had warned them this would be the Sharrans’ tactics, and they had prepared as best as they were able, but the darkness was relentless. Gale had lost sight of her and the others ages ago. Now, he dares not cast spells with wide damage, lest he harm Shadowheart, his other allies, and Tav as well as the Sharrans.

His back hits granite and he realizes too late that he’s backed himself into a wall or platform of some kind. He grips his staff, jaw clenched, ready to swing outward or thunderwave the next Sharran that emerges from the darkness. His heart thumps loudly in his chest, in his ears, and though the battle rages all around him, it’s all he can hear. Every last desperate beat of a heart that is failing, his wounds too much to bear.

He nearly freezes as Viconia herself steps through the darkness. She sneers at him, but something in her stance assures him that he’s not worth her time. Before he can so much as summon a firebolt, however, she gestures sharply toward him, uttering a curse in Drowic. He feels the curse wrap around his chest, squeezing tightly, and his head begins to swim. A barrage of thoughts crowd his mind, clawing at his every insecurity and tearing them open to be laid bare and bleeding. Inadequacy, shame, guilt, terror, they all threaten to overwhelm him.

He sucks in a breath and flings a chromatic orb of crackling lightning at Viconia, but she blocks it readily with her shield. Smirking faintly, she steps backward into the darkness, leaving Gale with her curse, like a thousand voices screaming in his mind.

Pathetic. Weak. Flew too close to the sun. Defied your goddess. A shadow of your former self. Not worth redemption. Use the orb, Gale. Kill yourself. Kill yourself!

He doesn’t see the mace come arcing down toward his head until it’s too late.

—

When he opens his eyes again, he’s not surrounded by darkness, but by shades of gray. Gray and white fog swirls slowly around him and the sky overhead is shrouded in low-hanging clouds, all dull silver. Flakes of ash drift by, born aloft by winds that he cannot feel or sense.

The Fugue Plane, he realizes distantly, looking slowly around him. There’s nothing to see. Even the flat ground beneath his feet is a colorless gray, not quite stone but not quite earth either. When he shifts, his steps kick up a fine dusting of ash, or perhaps mist, which floats upward to join the shifting fog around him. There’s not even a shadow of the looming city of the dead to look for, to guide his steps.

Just an endless expanse of cloudy gray.

The sheer emptiness of it all settles over him immediately, threatening to make him fold. He’d hoped since the last time he died, he would never have to return. Or at least that the next time would be decades and decades away. To be back so soon…

He lifts a hand to his chest, as if seeking out the pouch that formerly rested over his heart, but he knows it’s not there. Even in the Material world, he no longer wears the pouch. Tav carries it now, though it bears little more than a scrap piece of parchment and a flute, the scroll of true resurrection used up some time ago. He knows he ought to be at least a little concerned, though logically, it won’t be the first time that Withers had dragged one of them from the Fugue Plane for a meager sum of gold. It’s just a matter of waiting.

But it is the waiting that wearies him. A moment in the Fugue Plane stretches on for aeons, in his mind. Even his movements feel weighted down. But with nothing else to do but sit or walk, he chooses to walk.

As he moves through the fog, the hush of the plane is oppressive. Like a droning whisper, the only sound he can hear is a white noise that feels thick enough to cut through yet distant enough that the source is always out of sight, out of reach. There are no words to pick out from the hush, however. As he walks, he moves through the mist alone. No other souls pass by or even materialize in the gray.

Never has he felt so desperately alone, so isolated.

But then…a voice.

He stops and turns his head as he hears it echoing through the fog, half thinking it’s his imagination. But then he hears it again, this time clearer and closer.

“…waiting…”

He grows still and would have grown cold, had he any body left. That voice…he knows that voice.

“It can’t be,” he whispers.

“I’m waiting…”

He takes a cautious step forward, following the voice deeper into the fog, straining his ears for more of that familiar voice. It must be a trick, and yet…

“Waiting…I’m waiting…”

“Morena?” he calls through the gray, but his voice is muffled, swallowed up by fog and mist. He turns to move in the direction of her voice, following it through the swirling gray.

“My darling boy…”

“Mother!” He stumbles forward and then to a halt, a figure materializing in the mist. “Mother…”

There she sits, perched on the flat of a rock, her hands resting demurely in her lap, the same way she sits in her favorite chair on her balcony overlooking the Waterdhavian harbor. A slate gray sea laps onto the ashen shore around the rock, the rest of the waters disappearing into the dark fog. The sound of the waves should have been familiar, comforting, but the sound is quiet, as if he stands yards away rather than only a few paces from the shore.

She doesn’t turn to look at him. Instead she sits, her head turned toward the water, just as he remembers her looking the last time he visited her in Waterdeep, over a year ago. Before his fall. Before his folly. She’d been admiring the sunset then, a wistful smile on her lips, a book abandoned in her lap. Now her expression is distant and tired.

She should not be here.

“Mother,” he murmurs, venturing another cautious step closer. But she doesn’t seem to hear him. She never once glances his way as he finally reaches the rock she sits on, kneeling down near her feet. He barely notices the water soaking his robes and trousers as the sea flows up toward the rock and ebbs away. “Mum...”

Again she ignores him, her white, clouded eyes on the horizon. Or what would be the horizon, if the swirling mist were not obscuring every view. She hums absently under her breath, little melodies that are heartbreakingly familiar, but she never once looks away from that hidden horizon.

She shifts, her hands making a stroking motion as if she were petting something in her lap. “I know he’ll be home soon, Tara,” she murmurs, her voice echoing softly in the mist as it did when he was searching for her moments ago. “I don’t mind waiting for him.”

“I’m here, Mum,” he says softly, his throat closing around tears he can’t shed. He doesn’t have a body to produce tears nor a physical heart to break. So why does he feel so desperately sad? Why does it feel like he’s about to unravel completely? Some part of him still desperately hopes this is all an illusion. A trick. “I’m…I’m right here.”

But she never hears him. The souls of the dead rarely see or acknowledge each other. He knows that from his last visit to the Fugue Plane. But she can’t…she can’t be…Tara would have said if she were…

She breathes a small sigh, smiling gently to herself and looking down at her lap. “My darling boy…my little love. I do miss him, Tara. But I know he’ll return soon. And when he does, I’ll be here for him. Waiting right here, where he knows to find me.” She looks again to the distant horizon. “I don’t mind waiting…as long as it takes…”

“No,” Gale whispers. “It can’t be…when...”

The answer unfolds in his mind with dreadful certainty. It doesn't matter when.

He took too long to return to her. His year-long seclusion in his tower. The journey from the nautiloid. Months spent traveling, moving farther and farther from Waterdeep. He kept himself away for too long and left his home and his mother entirely behind, and now…

Now it is too late.

He reaches up for her hand, but his fingers pass through her and her form flickers briefly. He curls his fingers into a fist, battling the swirl of emotions inside him. Rage at himself, fear, a desperate longing to say something, do something, to get her to simply look at him. To acknowledge him.

But mostly grief. A deep, irrepressible grief that yawns within him like a chasm with no end. Black and cruel.

“I’m here,” he says again, his voice breaking. “Mum…I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I…”

He shouldn’t have stayed away. Yet even as he thinks it, what other choice did he have? There were no choices. There are no choices. Everything he’d done since his fall, he’d done to protect her. Every choice he makes now is for that very purpose, to save her and everyone else in Faerûn.

And now it doesn’t matter. They’re both dead.

“I love you,” he says, looking up at her, even knowing that she can't hear him. “All my heart, Mum, I love you. Forgive me. Forgive me.” He bows his head, bringing his forehead nearly to her knee, struggling to compose himself. “Forgive me…”

The hush of the plane and the faint sound of the sea are all that respond. But then a featherlight touch brushes his hair. He looks up, scarcely daring to hope.

His mother gazes down at him, her white eyes focused on him. When she sees him staring back at her, she smiles softly.

“My darling boy,” she murmurs, brushing the backs of her fingers against his cheek. Her voice still bears that distant, echoing tone, as if she’s a thousand miles away. “It’s time for you to wake up.”

“Wake up?”

“Wake up, my love,” she says again, and this time her voice sounds even more distant. Altered. Not quite her own. She covers his eyes with her hand, shutting his eyes for him, and he drifts into darkness. “Wake up.”

“Gale! Wake up!”

His eyes fly open and he gasps, his lungs desperate for air. He looks around wildly, expecting more of the Fugue Plane, but instead he finds the familiar wooden walls and ceiling of the Elfsong Tavern. He turns his head to find Tav staring at him, their eyes wide with worry.

“Tav?” he mumbles.

“It was just a dream, love,” Tav says, brushing a hand over his sweat-soaked forehead, pushing his hair from his face. “I’ve been trying to wake you for a while now.”

“A dream…” He struggles to make sense of it, but slowly the pieces fall into place.

Their fight at the House of Grief, where Gale had very nearly died. Nearly, but not quite. He remembers going with Shadowheart to free her parents, only to realize that their freedom meant their deaths. It had weighed on Gale’s spirit, watching her parents smile at their daughter mere seconds before turning into motes of light. He remembers thinking it was an impossible choice, one he couldn't have made on his own.

Something about it seems to have stayed with him. Even now, he half-fears that his dream is more than a dream. A premonition, perhaps, or a glimpse of the future.

Gods, he hopes not.

He sits up, rubbing his hands over his face. His shirt sticks to his sweat-soaked back and he wants nothing more than to splash his face and neck with cold water. But first—

“Where’s Tara?” he asks, dropping his hands.

Tav’s eyebrows draw together. “Tara?”

“I’m here, Mr. Dekarios.” She hops onto the back of the bed where it shares a backboard with Karlach’s. Tara always had an uncanny knack for being nearby whenever she was needed. She licks at one paw before fluffing her feathers and fixing her gaze on him. “Oh my. You look as though you’ve seen a ghost, Mr. Dekarios.”

He huffs a shaky laugh, but it’s without humor. “I almost fear I have, Tara. Tell me—this must sound like I’m mad but—my mother. Is she well?”

“Mrs. Dekarios? She’s as fit as ever, last I saw.”

“And how long ago was that?”

“Why, only just the other day,” Tara said, flicking her ears. “I check on her regularly, you know. I wouldn’t miss our evening tea time for the world.”

Gale breathes a sigh of relief, dropping his head in his hands again. It was just a dream. Just a horrible dream. Probably left over from Viconia’s fear curse that had struck him during the battle earlier that day.

He feels Tav’s hand rubbing comfortingly against his back. “Gale? Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” he mumbles. He takes a deep breath and drops his hands again, leaning back against the pillows. “Yes. My apologies. It was a bad dream, like you said.”

Tav is quiet for a moment before cuddling close, wrapping their arms around his middle. He shifts so that his arm is around their shoulders, his fingers trailing absently along their arm.

“Was it about your mother?” they ask quietly.

Gale’s throat closes up, but his silence his answer enough. He clears his throat quietly. “I saw her in the Fugue Plane. A dead soul.”

He can say no more. He reaches up to press his thumb and forefinger against his eyes, as if to block the tears that sting behind his lids. Even the thought of her sitting alone on her balcony, waiting for him, while he puts himself in more and more danger, is enough to break him. He takes a shuddering breath and Tav wraps their arms tighter around him.

“It’s okay,” they whisper. “I’m here.”

“I know. I…thank you.” He manages to compose himself enough to lower his hand and turn his head toward Tara. Her feline eyes glint in the darkness, watching him in silence. “Tara, will you—”

“I assure you, Mr. Dekarios, your mother is hale and hearty,” she says. “And we both have the utmost confidence that you’ll wrap up this Absolute business in time for the upcoming holidays, which you will be spending in Waterdeep, of course.”

“Of course,” Gale says, managing a smile. “But I have a request. I want you to go home.”

Tara blinks, and though she controls most of her expression he sees the fur on her neck start to rise. “Home? And leave you behind?”

“Please Tara,” he says. He rubs a hand against Tav’s back, knowing they’re listening quietly. “I will be fine here. You know you can trust Tav to look after me. But I need someone there to look after Morena. There’s no one more suited to the task than you.”

Tara’s tail flicks several times as she regards him in disdainful silence. But then her fur settles and she looks away. “Very well, Mr. Dekarios.”

“And don’t tell her anything. I don’t want her to worry.”

“Very well, Mr. Dekarios. If that is what you wish.”

“It is.” He knows he’s just worrying too much, but his dream has shaken him. Better to have Tara there, just in case, than to spend weeks wondering and worrying. “Thank you, Tara.”

“You’re quite welcome. But I shall expect you home within a few tendays, you know.”

Gale chuckles, settling in with Tav at his side. “We’ll see what we can do. Safe travels, Tara.”

“You as well, Mr. Dekarios. And you,” she directs her next words to Tav, who turns their head to look up at her. “Do see to it that he does not suffer more bad dreams.”

With that slight admonition, she hops down and disappears into the darkness.

Gale breathes a small sigh, shifting to get more comfortable and wrapping Tav more tightly in his embrace. “You should get some rest, my love. It’s still quite early in the morning.”

“What about you?” they whisper, their cheek resting on his chest.

He’s quiet for a moment. “I fear that after a dream like that, I’m wary of falling asleep again.”

His dreams rarely repeat in the same night, but he can’t shake the irrational fear that if he falls asleep again, he’ll just find himself back in the Fugue Plane. Searching for his mother.

“Hmm…” Tav turns their head to rest their chin on his chest, looking up at him. “Then I’ll stay awake for a bit too.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.” They shift to bring their lips up to kiss him before settling back where they were, pressed against his side with their cheek on his chest. “Talk to me for a bit. Tell me about your mother.”

“My mother? What would you like to know?”

“Everything. Whatever you feel comfortable with sharing.”

Gale pauses to think. Where does one begin when it comes to the venerable Morena Dekarios? But despite his hesitation, he’s grateful Tav is asking. He knows they’re only trying to distract him, but it helps.

“Well,” he begins. “My mother is the inimitable, dare I say unavoidable, Morena Dekarios. She resides in Waterdeep, in a home overlooking the harbor…”

As he speaks, telling Tav of his mother’s quirks, her affection for him, the way she seems to know everyone, her favorite dishes, her talents, and more, his anxieties eventually fade away. It’s as though speaking of her like this, in the present tense, is proof that she is well. And would still be well when he finally returns to her.

After a while Tav yawns, their voice heavy with sleep as they mumble, "She sounds lovely, Gale. I can't wait to meet her."

He smiles softly and presses a little kiss to Tav's hair. "Nor I, my love. I'm certain she will adore you."

Tav hides their sleepy smile in his chest and soon their breathing evens out, a sure sign they've been lulled to sleep. Gale listens to them breathing for a moment, grateful for every breath. Grateful, too, that they were willing to stay up and listen to him mumble quietly about his mother for an hour, of all things to talk about.

It’s enough to soothe his guilty conscience for the night. His dream was just a dream, he's more certain of that now. And one day, hopefully soon, he'll be back in Morena's parlor again, suffering her affectionate chiding and introducing her to the love of his life. The thought brings a smile to his face and he closes his eyes, comforted by daydreams of Tav meeting Morena Dekarios.

The daydreams soon bring with them the wave of exhaustion and at last he gives in, closing his eyes and drifting away for a few scant hours of dreamless sleep.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #gale dekarios #gale #my fic #bg3 fic #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #i have no idea why i wrote this in present tense #i started it in present and then felt like had to commit #but anyways here you go angst for you #if you need me i'll be listening to epic the musical and crying or something

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labellefleur-sauvage · 9 months

Text

Musc Ravageur

After obtaining an alluring perfume from a local vendor, Cassian and Nesta find themselves under a strange spell and unable to control their lust for each other.

(A sex pollen fic inspired by and for an SJM Kink Meme prompt and for Nessian Week 2023)

Happy Nessian Week! This smutty one shot is for @nessianweek Day 7 (Free day). Thank you so much to the organizers for running an amazing event!

This fic was inspired by an @sjmkinkmeme prompt on their spreadsheet for a Nessian sex pollen prompt. I've been wanting to do a sex pollen fic for a while and this prompt was the perfect inspiration!

Rating: Very Explicit. Please see the AO3 link for tags/warnings.

Word Count: 7K

Read on A03

Cassian adjusts his clothing and looks himself over in the mirror, feeling oddly nervous. He has no reason to be, the sensible voice in his head tells him. Nesta is his mate, and loves every gift, big and small, he’s gotten her in the past few months since they were mated.

But he still doesn’t have the best record with Winter Solstice gifts for Nesta, so he thinks the nerves are justified.

He glances over at the intricate perfume bottle on his nightstand. Nesta had never really shown a liking or affinity to fragrances. Cassian thinks her own scent—iron, smoke, and sheer willpower—is already perfect and there’s no reason to try to cover it up with anything else.

The old fae female hawking her wares in the Palace of Thread and Jewels was persuasive, though. Like a familiar friend was coaxing him along, Cassian walked up to the fae’s stall. Grinning slyly, like she had been expecting him, the half-concealed female took one look at him and thrust an ornate glass bottle with a mesmerizing, swirling liquid inside into his hands.

“For your true love,” she said in a whisper, eyes bright. “Guaranteed to make them wild with love.”

Nesta didn’t need that—they had spent the past month showing each other how wild with love they both were with each other after they had accepted the mating bond. Cassian took a slight whiff of the bottle. The perfume had an indescribable scent, like nothing he’d ever smelled before, and just that small sniff lay heavy in his nostrils. It was cloying and thick and heady and Cassian needed more, and before he knew it, he laid a finger on the top to spray an even more generous spritz—

“None of that, now.” The old fae’s worn hands darted out and grabbed the enchanting scent from his hands. Cassian shook his head, unsure of what had just come over him. “Save it for when you’re alone with your true love. It’ll be much more…appreciated then.”

Cassian didn’t remember tossing the money for the perfume to the woman, nor did he remember taking the perfume in its elegant box home and storing it away for a special occasion. And what could be more special than the annual Winter Solstice celebration with his family at Rhys’s house.

He grins and adjusts his vest. It’s little Nyx’s first Solstice, and Feyre’s birthday as well. His friend and High Lord seems to understand the importance of this year’s festivities, based on the extra energy and smiles he had been throwing around all week.

Satisfied with his appearance, Cassian takes the perfume from the desk and steals one last smell. Like before, the intoxicating aroma lingers in his nose and travels throughout his body, despite the fact that he hasn’t even sprayed any on himself. He had almost forgotten the perfume entirely before a niggling thought in the back of his mind reminded him of his purchase. He’ll spray some on Nesta soon, though, and the thought has his cock twitching in his trousers.

Cassian hustles out of their room. If Nesta isn’t in their room getting ready, there’s only one place she could be. Throwing open the doors of the library, Cassian stares at the vision that is his mate.

Nesta reclines on a reading couch, looking as elegant and proud as a queen surrounded by her adoring people. Fitting, Cassian thinks wryly: her beloved books are her subjects, and he is her loyal supplicant and advisor. Nesta’s hair is up in a simple braided bun, a few wisps of hair framing her long face. Her dress is a floor length smoky blue silk dress, with a deep ‘V’ that shows off her breasts and an equally deep leg slit that displays nearly the entire length of her strong, shapely legs. Just a glimpse of her smooth skin and muscles makes Cassian wish, just for a moment, that they didn’t have to go anywhere tonight, that he could spend the evening peeling Nesta’s dress off, trailing his lips along her petal soft skin higher and higher and higher—

“If you keep looking at me like that, we’ll never make it to Feyre’s.”

Cassian grins at his imperious mate, at her cocked eyebrow and knowing smirk. “You’re definitely making me double-think our family tradition, dressed like that.”

Nesta stands up—Cassian has to stifle a moan at the glimpse of flesh that’s revealed along Nesta’s leg and hip when she stands—and walks over to him, her heels thudding against the carpeted floor of the library. “Shouldn’t the sight of me dressed like this make you lose all thoughts and ideas from that gorgeous head of yours?”

He grins down at Nesta and places a soft kiss against her lips. “Of course, mate. How right you are.”

“And don’t forget it.”

Cassian chuckles. “You really do look amazing, Nes.”

His mate smiles fondly up at him and lays a hand on his shoulder, and not for the first time when it concerns his mate, Cassian forgets how to breath. “And you don’t look half bad yourself.”

“Do I look better than you?”

Nesta snorts and runs her hands down his jacket, straightening it out. “You know the answer to that. What’s this?”

“Oh!” Somehow, in the span of two minutes, Cassian had already forgotten the perfume. Digging in his suit jacket, he pulls out the delicate glass bottle. “I was in the market earlier and found this perfume. I know you don’t typically wear anything but it reminded me of you.”

Nesta smiles up at him. “That’s so sweet.”

“And the woman selling it said it would make my true love wild with passion, or something.”

“Yes, because we don’t regularly show each other how passionate we are for each other, hm?” Nesta asks sarcastically with a roll of her eyes.

“Exactly. I know I’m already perfect—“

“Who told you that?”

“—but I figured another gift for my beautiful mate couldn't go amiss. Want me to spray you?”

Nesta takes the swirling perfume from his hand and takes a few steps back. “You can sometimes be a little heavy-handed with your cologne. I’ll spray it myself.”

“I do not spray that much cologne.”

Nesta inspects the bottle and the contents within. “Oh, yes you do. I shouldn’t be able to smell the Illryian mountains after you’ve been back for half a day and have bathed.” She opens the cap and takes a small sniff from the bottle. Immediately, Nesta’s gray eyes dilate and Cassian swears he hears her heart rate increase. “Oh!”

“Right? That was my reaction too.”

“It smells… I can’t describe it. Like pure sex.”

Cassian chokes on his breath because fuck, if that isn’t the perfect description. “I didn’t think—“

Without another word, Nesta douses herself with the perfume, along her arms, torso and the hollow of her throat. A beat passes, then Cassian watches, entranced, as his mate seems to transform before his eyes: her eyes close and she body shudders then relaxes, her heart beats even faster, Cassian swears he hears Nesta whimper, and the all too familiar scent of Nesta’s arousal slams into him like a fist to his face.

“Nes—“

“Oh Cassian,” Nesta coos in a sultry voice he has never heard before. Her eyes are half lidded as she prowls towards him with an easy, confident stride. “Let's leave the thinking to me from now on.”

“Fuck Nesta.” Cassian isn’t sure if it’s the perfume or Nesta’s arousal he’s smelling, but his cock is hard in his pants and twitching against his leg.

“Yes, exactly, fuck me,” Nesta growls. Suddenly Nesta is in front of him and grabbing his jacket to bring him down to her and she’s kissing him, all fierce tongue and teeth and lips. Her hands roam over his torso and the back of head cementing him to her as she continues kissing him like her life depends on it.

Cassian grips his mate’s heaving shoulders and pushes her away from him, the scents of her arousal and the perfume making him dizzy. “Nesta, what’s gotten into you?”

“Hopefully your giant cock soon.”

“Nes,” Cassian growls, in equal parts frustration and arousal.

“I need you,” Nesta pants, squirming in his grip. “I don’t know what—what’s happening but I need you right now, or, or…”

“Or what?” Cassian breathes through his mouth, trying to keep a level head through Nesta’s sudden madness.

“I feel like I’m burning everywhere, and I need you! In me, fucking me! Please!”

Cassian takes a moment to observe his mate. Her cheeks are flush and her breath is leaving her open mouth in great gasps. Nesta’s gray eyes look blurry—whether that’s from whatever madness has suddenly overcome her or the sudden tears gathering in the corners of her wide eyes, he isn’t sure. “This makes no sense,” he grits out. “You’re not well. You need a healer.”

“No!” With a speed that leave even him blindsided, Nesta sprays the perfume in his face and along his body, encasing him in a shroud of the tantalizing vapor.

Cassian coughs and bats his hands through the mist. “Fuck, Nesta…” The perfume burns his throat and mouth as it travels down into his stomach then branches out into his body and permeates his skin and organs and bones, hotter and hotter. It’s as if something within him is changing, the shock of the perfume altering his very essence, turning him into a beast with only one thought, mine, mine, claim her—

And then, everything is quiet and calm. He blinks. Why is Cassian so concerned about Nesta? She’s fine, just as he is, and currently rubbing her body against his like a cat in heat. Nesta needs to be fucked, and Cassian needs to fuck her, right now—why was he fighting her earlier?

“You feel it too,” Nesta croons, softly cradling his jaw. Her eyes are huge and glazed, and Cassian can see his own dilated eyes in her reflection. “The burning, the need… you feel it too. I can see it.”

The inferno that raged through his body earlier has faded, and the heat is now simmering just below his skin. His ears are ringing, the sound getting louder and louder, and his skin feels itchy, but then Nesta grips his jaw to force him to look at her, and nothing else matters but the delectable female in front of him, a fire sparking within her eyes that he hasn’t seen since she gave up her powers.

“I need you. Now.”

Cassian doesn’t wait. Grabbing her dress, he tears it off her lithe body and is rewarded with a moan and a fresh gush of desire from his mate. He growls as Nesta claws off his clothes and he’s bare and stiff and proud before his wife.

Nesta looks him up and down, a corner of her mouth tilted up. Her hand leisurely strokes his aching length. “Lay down on the ground so I can fuck you.”

Cassian growls. The urge, the hunger, within him demands to be sated, now, and the quickest way to do that is if Cassian gives them what they both need and bends her over the nearest piece of furniture to give his female the pounding of a lifetime. He opens his mouth to say as such when Nesta beats him to it.

“Get down on the damned floor right now before I go find some other way to get off,” Nesta snarls up at him, shoving his chest.

“You were just begging for my cock a moment ago, sweetheart,” Cassian crows back, a cruel grin on his mouth. The hunger he feels for Nesta is intense, but arguing with her temporarily sates that overwhelming desire. “You’re in no state to make demands of me.”

Nesta bares her teeth then ducks down. Before Cassian can track her, she kicks her leg out and sweeps his legs out from under him. He hits the floor hard and he feels a shot of pride for Nesta—his fierce Valkyrie has come so far—before every thought flees his mind as Nesta faces away from him and lowers herself over his lap. Cassian groans. From here, he has an amazing view of Nesta’s pert ass and strong legs as she she squats over him, as she grips his cock and angles it up, as she notches the thick head of his length at her tight entrance. She’s so wet, he can feel her juices already rolling down his straining shaft.

He shifts below her. The aching desire has come back in full force and he needs relief, needs Nesta, now. Cassian’s hands dig into the plush rug beneath them. “Gods, Nesta, move.”

Nesta glances behind her to look at Cassian, an eyebrow cocked. Her body is already shining with sweat and she’s breathing hard, but he’s never seen a more beautiful and divine being in his life.

“You’re in no state to make demands of me,” she parrots back at him. But Nesta is a generous god; she slams onto his cock, taking him to the hilt in one and bringing them both instant relief. They groan in unison. Normally, Cassian has to take his time easing into her tight cunt, to make sure he doesn’t hurt her.

Nesta doesn’t need any niceties tonight. She bounces on his cock, her strong legs moving her up and down, up and down, his cock. Cassian hears her panting softly above him as she braces a hand on his leg for leverage. Her other hand disappears between her legs—he feels her fingers occasionally grazing his shaft—and after only a few seconds, Nesta comes. Her walls squeeze his length and she softly moans as she comes down from her high.

Cassian looks on through bleary eyes. Nesta never comes that quickly or easily, preferring to gradually build towards a release with him. But that doesn’t matter, he decides. He’s warm and buzzing and jealous that Nesta has come already and he hasn’t. The burning beast within him rears its head again, and this time, it won’t stop until it’s satisfied.

“Are you only interested in getting yourself off?”

Without wasting a beat, Nesta shifts herself so she’s on her knees above him, still facing his legs, and leisurely rocks back and forth over his cock. Cassian bites his lip. From this angle, he has a perfect view of his thick cock splitting her glistening pink lips open, her folds spread obscenely around him.

“You’ll come when I decide you can come,” she replies loftily, not deigning to look back at him and still taking her time and rocking above him.

Cassian is done playing. Gripping her hips, he thrusts up into Nesta’s tight heat as she lowers herself onto him. She gasps and her cunt tightens around his length.

From there, it’s a hot, sweaty battle for dominance between the two of them. They’re each racing for the same goal, he realizes, but Cassian refuses to lay back and let Nesta fully dictate when they finish. His hands are a brand on her hips and ass as he moves her up and down his throbbing length, and Nesta keeps riding him, going faster and faster and harder, her legs shaking with the effort. His cock is soaked with her juices, the sound of their flesh meeting wet.

They’re both breathing hard. Nesta whines, a soft, keening noise from the back of her throat, and Cassian knows she’s close, that they’re both in the final leg of the race towards release. He’s burning from within and he needs to come, more than he’s ever needed anything in his life, and he needs Nesta to come with him. Blindly reaching between her legs, Cassian swipes a few fumbling fingers through the top of her folds.

Nesta’s orgasm triggers his. As she moans his name, Cassian thrusts into her one final time and come inside her with a roar that shakes the windows. He’s coming, and coming, and coming, thick, endless ropes within Nesta’s welcoming cunt, more than he’s ever come before. Cassian’s continuing release fuels Nesta’s, and it’s a delicious feedback of their ongoing orgasms triggering the other.

When it finally ends sometime later—Cassian isn’t sure when—they’re both sweating and quiet. His cum leaks out of Nesta’s cunt around his somewhat softened cock. The burning beast within him is sated for the moment.

Nesta twists over her shoulder to look at him, still seated atop him. “I hope you’re not too tired after that,” she purrs, and Cassian lets his head hit the floor.

XXX

Time has lost all meaning to Nesta.

Perhaps it has been an hour, two hours, a day, or even a week. All she knows is the feel of her mate’s thick and heavy cock in her mouth.

Nesta takes Cassian’s length fully down her throat, the short hairs at the juncture of his thighs tickling her nose. She breathes through her nose and relaxes her tongue and jaw. Above her, he makes the most decadent noises.

“So good Nesta, taking my fat cock in that perfect mouth of yours,” he praises her quietly, and Nesta practically comes right then and there, just from the feel of his smooth shaft along her tongue and his honeyed words.

She desperately wants to reach a hand between her thighs and rub a finger over her clit or, even better, thrust her fingers inside herself and pump. Nesta doesn’t. There’s a sort of delicious agony in denying herself what she wants now, knowing what’s coming later will be worth the wait, like saving a piece of rich cake for after dinner at the end of a long day, knowing the reward would be appreciated all the better for waiting.

And wait she has. Nesta doesn’t know how much time has passed since a dreamlike fog, thick and heavy on her limbs like the morning mist, suddenly settled over her mind and body. It didn’t start out that way—she vaguely remembers a scorching sensation tearing through her body as a wild, feral need emerged from somewhere within her and demanded her mate.

It isn’t completely unlike those wretched years after she was Made and turned to drinking and sex to attempt to feel anything in her life. Except now, though, she has Cassian next to her. She’ll never be wanting for anything again, as long as she has him, her mate, her equal, by her side.

Nesta feels one of Cassian’s hands slowly thread itself through her ruined hair. With a sudden tightening of his grip, his hand wrenches her hair and pulls her down further onto his cock. Nesta gags, tears collecting at the corners of her eyes. “Something distracting you, sweetheart?” he taunts with a mocking sweetness, a corner of his mouth twitching up.

Her equal, indeed. Any other time, Nesta would have whipped herself off of Cassian’s dick and asked the House to deliver whatever type of punishment she thought he’d deserve. Now, though, with a cloud of lust making her dizzy, all Nesta could do is whimper around his length at the dominance in his tone and words.

That dominance wasn’t exactly his idea, however. After Nesta had ridden him on the floor of the library like a warrior charging into battle, Cassian had dragged them to the couch and brought her close to his chest, a touching act of sweetness and normalcy at complete odds to what they had just done to each other.

She couldn’t stand it, though. The buzzing beneath her skin branched out into her blood and veins and lungs and heart the longer she sat still without her mate’s cock in her in some way. Nesta had clambered out of his lap and kneeled between Cassian’s thick thighs, pumped his still half-hard shaft twice, then took him in her mouth.

The first time she made him come with her mouth and hands was quick, just a few minutes of her tongue working his sensitive tip and her hand squeezing and stroking what she didn’t have in her mouth. He had come with a hoarse cry, his hands digging into the couch cushions, thighs spread wide. His salty come coated Nesta’s tongue and rushed down her throat, her gaze content and proud at making her mate feel such pleasure. Cassian was still hard—somehow—beneath her, and a final splash of come landed on her lips as she detached herself from his shaft with a soft pop.

His eyes were still bleary, like hers, like he too wasn’t quite sure what was happening. But also like Nesta, the continuous ache and need to continue fucking and coming was too great. It was tinged with a sense that something was wrong, but neither could concentrate long enough to voice and actually think on their concerns.

Without missing a beat, Nesta had licked Cassian’s come off her lips, then took his cock back inside her mouth and started it all again.

Now, Cassian’s hand on the back of her head forcibly guiding her up and down his cock feels like a fixture, like Nesta is only complete with his hand in her hair and his cock down her throat. He moans when she drags her nails down the sensitive skin of his inner thighs.

“Trying to mark me up, mate? Leave bruises on my legs, like I’m going to leave bruises on that pretty neck of yours later?”

Nesta whimpers around his cock, wetness rolling down her cheeks when he thrusts his cock into her raw throat, and wetness rolling down her legs at everything happening to her right now. The sound of Nesta’s gagging and whimpers fill the room. She braces her hands on Cassian’s knees as she lets him fuck her throat, his hands tangled in her hair as he grunts and moans above her, all while Nesta stares adoringly at her mate. She’s close, and the haze within her thickens, and everything is jumbled—

Her world shifts and suddenly Nesta is on her back on the rug, and Cassian’s thick cock is entering her slick cunt in one brutal thrust. Lightning races up her spine as she comes suddenly, almost violently, her body shaking and her release coating her mate’s cock and thighs. Her inner muscles squeeze so hard she forces Cassian’s length from her body and she writhes on the ground. She has experienced mind numbing pleasure at the hands of her mate many times before tonight, but the release she experiences now is unlike anything she’s ever felt. Nesta vaguely hears Cassian cursing quietly to himself but Nesta is too far gone to recognize what he’s saying.

She receives no reprise. Still on her back with Cassian kneeling between her spread, trembling thighs, he thrusts into her still quivering pussy and resumes his brutal pace. “So good, Nesta,” Cassian purrs, his eyes hazy and delirious with pleasure. “So good of you to soak me like that. Did sucking my cock make you that needy?”

Nesta whimpers, too stricken with lust and already needing more even after the most intense orgasm of her life had been ripped through her body. This couldn’t be natural, what was happening to them…

But then Cassian slowly wraps a large hand around her throat, and all thoughts leave Nesta’s brain. She’s with her mate whom she loves more than anyone else in the world—what could be unnatural or wrong with what was happening to them?

“I asked you a question: did sucking my cock make you so needy that you squirted the second I started fucking you?”

His hand wasn’t too tight around her throat that she couldn’t answer. “Yes,” Nesta gasps, the feeling of his hand around her and cock within her already working her towards another orgasm. She grips the back of her thighs to widen herself even better for her mate, and Cassian moans appreciatively, looking down between her legs to watch himself pound into her red, swollen folds.

Cassian’s hand tightens around her throat as his breathing quickens and his thrusts get harder and sloppier. She feels herself leaking onto the rug, and knows her scent will be entwined in this room, just like it’s already entwined with the male above her. All Nesta can do is grip the back of her thighs to keep herself spread for him as she whimpers and urges him on, dark spots forming at the edges of her hazy vision. Her heartbeat thrums just under her skin. “Please, please, please…”

“Be a good mate and come,” Cassian snarls, releasing her throat to slap between her legs. He hits her clit and Nesta launches to the stars, like one of the many flying celestial bodies on Starfall.

Eventually, she falls back to the planet, and Cassian is with her. She feels his spend trickle between her legs, and glances down to see him aim the last of the come on her lower stomach. Their breathing gradually slows. Nesta lightly touches her neck and knows from the slight ache already forming that she’ll have a bruised necklace in the exact shape of Cassian’s hand adorning her throat in the morning.

But all thoughts of later are far away in her mind. All Nesta focuses on is the feel of Cassian’s sweaty, hard body above her, quieting the ache between her legs and hunger in her blood.

XXX

“Put your back into it and fuck me!”

Nesta snarls like a crazed beast at him, and she looks it too: there are red scratches already forming along her back, her hair is in complete disarray around her sweaty face, her teeth are bared and the fingers of her elegant hands are curved into claws that could tear a male’s throat out.

And she’s all his.

Deciding the best way to shut his mate up is to make her speechless, Cassian grips her hips even harder than before and steps up with one leg on the now-creaking couch in the library. This way, he has better leverage to fuck into her as Nesta hangs onto the back of the furniture for dear life.

Cassian is pretty sure they’ve been at it for hours. He hasn’t seen the sun come up, and a rescue party hasn’t come looking for them, so he dimly assumes in the back of his mind that no one is missing them and it hasn’t been that long. It’s hard to keep track of time, however, when his entire world is now centered on fucking the female in front of him.

“Have I not been fucking you well up till now? Are you not covered in my sweat and come? You were just screaming my name a few minutes ago.”

“If you were actually up to the task of satisfying me, I wouldn’t have ever stopped,” Nesta snaps without looking back at him, her hips gently swaying in front of him to try to entice him, and dammit it, it works. Through the ever-present fog that settled over his eyes and body, Cassian sees a bit of red creep into the corner of his eyes at the suggestion that he can’t keep up with Nesta. Stroking his cock, he watches in a haze as he sees two of Nesta’s long fingers skim her soaking folds before they plunge within her soft cunt.

Cassian watches, entranced, as Nesta pumps her fingers in and out of her pussy. It’s an awkward angle for her, and she isn’t able to fuck herself as deep as he knows she wants to. She hangs her head down and moans, her hips moving in time with her thrusts, before Cassian remembers her earlier dare: put your back into it and fuck me.

He grabs the hand fingering herself and wrenches it out of her cunt before landing two hard, quick slaps to each of her rosy ass cheeks. Her ass bounces with the motion and Nesta moans in delight, and her ass keeps jiggling as Cassian thrusts inside her to the hilt with one savage push and he starts fucking her.

Just like every other time they’d fucked this night—day? Week?—Nesta takes it, takes him, so perfectly, not needing time to adjust to his length and girth. Cassian isn’t sure he’s ever been with a female that’s been as wet as Nesta is tonight, since he can’t remember anything from more than a few hours ago, but he doesn’t think submerging a partner in the Sidra would get them as wet as Nesta is now.

Cassian grips her hips, putting all of his strength and muscles into fucking Nesta harder than he’s ever fucked her before. She moans into the fabric of the couch, and he’s pretty sure she’s biting the couch to stifle her noises.

He grabs her hair and pulls, making her back arch. “Come on, Nes. Let me hear it. Tell everyone who’s fucking you so well.”

“Cas—Cassian,” she whimpers. The wet slapping of their flesh meeting nearly drowns out her words. Cassian smacks her ass again. “Louder.”

“Cassian!” Nesta shrieks, and he can’t keep the grin off his face.

“I think… that’s enough of my back… don’t you agree?” Cassian can barely speak over how hard he’s moving into Nesta. The hand gripping her hip for dear life and the other hand in her hair keeps Nesta connected to him, and he’s thrusting so hard the couch is moving across the floor. He glances down and sees her ass bouncing against his hips and his cock, glistening with her wetness, shining in the low lamplight.

The beast that’s been lurking under his skin all night is rising to the forefront of his mind, demanding to be unleashed onto the female under him. Nothing else matters to Cassian but release—his and hers. His heart beats erratically in his chest. He needs to come now or he’ll die, he’s sure of it, and by the desperate whining leaving Nesta’s mouth, she feels the same aching need as well.

His hand gripping Nesta’s sweaty hair plunges between her legs and strokes her bundle of nerves punishingly, without any thought of kindness or care. Neither of them wants or needs that now, and when Nesta breaks and wails her release, his name on her lips, Cassian shatters with her.

The beast within him purrs, content to rest until it needs to feed again.

XXX

Nesta isn’t sure how much more of this she can take.

Logically, she realizes there’s no way she should still be conscious at this point. Between all the sweat and come that’s left her body, she should be a dehydrated husk that’s been left out in the sun too long. Even after she managed to hoarsely ask the House for some water—it had dumped a huge carafe of ice cold water with two glasses on the only unbroken table remaining, along with meat, cheese, crackers, and an entire chocolate cake—she still feels thirsty and empty and needy. Things are becoming clearer to her—she remembers there was something odd about that perfume Cassian got her—but her skin is still too tight on her body and she’s just uncomfortable.

Underneath her, Cassian is trying his best to bring her some relief. His tongue stiffens and grazes the side of her clit, and pleasure-pain lances through her body.

“Why can’t you always be so sweet with your tongue like this, instead of giving me attitude all the time?” she asks fondly, staring down at him.

Between her thighs, Cassian chuckles and hooks his arms over her legs, keeping her cunt on his face. He hadn’t wasted a moment after coming inside her to throw himself on the ground and tug her over his face. “To clean you up,” he’d said, which was perhaps one of the most thoughtful things he’d ever said to her.

Cassian doesn’t seem to mind that he’s licking his own release along with hers. He also doesn’t seem to be in any rush to make her come, or to seek any pleasure for himself. His cock is half-hard against his thigh and twitches with every moan and shaky breath that leaves her lips, but he doesn’t make any effort to change their positions.

His tongue swirls around her entrance before it plunges inside her. “Fuck,” Nesta sighs, carding a hand through his thick hair and gently moving her hips over his lips. “You feel so good.” Cassian stills, letting her ride his face as she chases her orgasm and quivers above him.

Nesta falls forward, bracing her hands on the floor as she comes down from her high. She tries to swing off Cassian’s head but he only tightens his strong arms around her legs.

“Again,” he commands from below, his voice muffled. He doesn’t give her any other option; his tongue strokes her clit in broad laps as Nesta grits her teeth.

Now it’s a bit too much pain and not enough pleasure. “I can’t,” Nesta says, fighting to upend herself from his grip, tears burning the corners of her eyes. “It’s too much.”

"You will come again on my tongue,” he shoots back forcefully, like he’s willing his statement into reality. “Touch yourself.”

Nesta groans, in frustration and because of what his lips are doing between her thighs, before she gives in and pinches her nipples. She leans back, seating herself fully on her mate’s face, and Cassian hums in approval.

His tongue dances over her folds as he slips a single thick finger inside her. Nesta hisses, squeezing her breasts. Despite her body being more accommodating than ever before when it comes to Cassian’s cock, her channel finally feels a twinge of tenderness at the intrusion. He’s gentle, though, barely thrusting inside her and letting her own rocking hips dictate how much of himself she takes within her.

Whatever strange fervor that had taken hold inside her isn’t ready to be done yet, though. She finds release again on Cassian’s face and feels empty. “One… one more time,” she gasps weakly, crawling off him and laying down on the floor on her side.

She hears Cassian shuffling behind her, then feels the floor reverberate as he thumps down on his side behind her. Dragging her top leg over his hip and positioning an arm underneath her head, Cassian turns her head towards him.

His face is shining with her come, and it’s one of the most erotic things she’s ever seen in her life. It’s a sign that he’s happy to pleasure her, and also proud to have her mark him, to bear her scent proudly. Nesta tugs her mate to her lips by the back of his neck at the same time his hard cock enters her.

They groan into each other’s mouths. Finally, it seems neither of them have the desperate, insatiable need to reach their release as soon as possible. Nesta’s eyes and body feels heavy and tired but she feels more like herself than before. Based on the bleary look Cassian gives her as he rocks in between her legs, she thinks whatever strange delusion that overcame her earlier is leaving his body as well.

Nesta relaxes in Cassian’s arms. He’s warm behind her, a reassuring presence. Cassian buries his face in the back of her neck as his hips speed up, pushing himself into her fully on each thrust. The sound of their bodies meeting is dirty and wet and filthy, yet she feels more connected with her mate now after what they just experienced.

Cassian breaks Nesta from her loving haze by pumping all of his cock inside her and grinding against her, hitting a sensitive spot he rarely manages to find. Stars erupt in Nesta’s eyes as equal parts pleasure and pain lights up her body.

“Fuck, Nes, you’re perfect,” Cassian mutters into her neck. He’s thrusting and grinding against her pussy as his fingers brush her folds. “So lucky—love you so much—mine, mine—“

“Yours,” she gasps, twisting to pull his face back to hers, her lips hurriedly brushing against his. “And you’re mine.”

“Yes, always,” he groans, screwing his eyes shut. He’s pounding into her with abandon, his fingers circling her clit. “Fuck, come with me.”

With a sob, Nesta comes. Cassian finishes soon after, shooting his release deep within her body. For several minutes they’re silent, each shaking with exhaustion.

The sun is peeking out from the bottom of the library’s windows when Nesta raises her head. When she finally comes again sometime later, the fog that had been hanging over and inside her finally dissipates, leaving her sluggish. The all-consuming need from that damned perfume is finally gone from her weak body, its scent no longer blanketing her skin. She crawls on shaking legs and arms to the water jug and hauls it over to Cassian, still laying on the floor.

“I know we just got done having sex—“

“Please don’t say you’re still feeling… whatever we just experienced,” Nesta interrupts tiredly, wiping her mouth after drinking from the carafe.

“No, no, I think I’m fine,” Cassian says, accepting the water from Nesta. “I was going to say, I know we just finished fucking like animals, but the sight of you crawling with my come running down your leg would normally be enough for me to go again.”

“And now?” Nesta asks, laying down on the floor, her head on Cassian’s shoulder.

Cassian takes a long drink. “Now, I think we went at it so much I’m afraid to even look at you. My cock needs a break.”

“Just your cock? That seemed to be an entire body workout.”

“And you weren’t complaining.”

Nesta hums and closes her eyes, feeling Cassian’s steady heart beat under her head. They’re silent for some time until Cassian speaks.

“What happened to us?”

“It was that perfume you got me,” Nesta spats. “I felt fine until I smelled it. It must have been drugged to act as an aphrodisiac.”

“The female I bought it from did say it would make my true love wild. I didn’t think it would be like that,” Cassian winces.

Nesta narrows her eyes and looks at Cassian. “Who did you buy it from again? When I can manage to stand and take a bath, I’m going to pay a visit to the Palace of Thread and Jewels with that cursed perfume and put my Valkyrie training to good use. I’m going to smash the bottle at her feet—“

“No need to be so hasty,” Cassian says, squeezing her. “I wouldn’t mind keeping it around, for special occasions.”

Nesta stares at him incredulously. “You’re mad.”

“Mad with how much I love you.”

“Just shut up and kiss me and be quiet,” Nesta sighs, and Cassian laughs and obliges his mate.

XXX

Rhys glances out of the River House’s window into the dark night above. It had snowed earlier, and he can still make out the three spread outlines pressed into the fluffy snow, one much smaller than the other two. It had been a perfect Winter Solstice with Feyre and Nyx, and now Rhys gets to enjoy the evening with his small family as well.

Was it wrong of him to ask a local vendor to sell some enchanted perfume to all his friends, guaranteed to drive them uncontrollably mad with lust? Perhaps. Did Rhys also have to sneak inside his friends’s minds to ensure they actually used the perfume, to make sure his small family was alone tonight? Maybe.

But it was Feyre’s birthday, and Nyx’s first Solstice. After everything he and Feyre had been through this year, all Rhys wanted was to spend their first Solstice as a family together, alone, just the three of them.

He loves his family, truly. But sometimes Mor and Cassian can get a little loud, and Elain and Lucien get a little too affectionate in public, and Amren mutters offhand remarks under her breath, and Azriel broods in the corner, despite Gwyn being all smiles around the room. It all just seemed too much this year, after the fucking horrendous year they’d had. A quiet day with his mate and their son was the only way Rhys wanted to spend the day.

“I wonder what happened to everyone,” Feyre says quietly, coming up to stand next to him at the window, Nyx in her arms. Their son had had a very busy day, between a delicious homemade breakfast, playing in the snow, unwrapping his new presents, and trying a bit of Feyre’s birthday cake, and he’s fighting to stay awake. “I hope they’re ok. Should we look in on—?”

“No!” Rhys interrupts, and Feyre and Nyx give him matching looks of surprise. “Uh, I’m sure they all had a long day and decided to spend time with their mates.”

Feyre gives him a long, searching look but doesn’t say anything. “Will you still have your annual snowball fight at the cabin in the morning?”

Rhys thinks of the perfume that Cassian and Az have, and how confident the fae was in her enchantment. “Actually, we all decided to postpone it this year, to spend more time with our mates and families.”

Feyre’s face lights up brighter than every star on Starfall combined, and Rhys would make the same decision to douse his friends and family in an aphrodisiac in a heartbeat, just to see his mate experience even a fraction of the happiness she’s feeling now. “That’s wonderful! Maybe the three of us can paint something together with those wonderful finger paints you got me.”

Nyx makes a happy, contented sigh from Feyre’s arms and Rhys smiles. The bond between him and Feyre glows strong and bright as the best Solstice Eve he’s ever had draws to a close. “I can’t wait.”

#nessian #nessian fanfiction #cassian x nesta #nesta x cassian #nesta archeron x cassian #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #my fics #my fic #surprise its just smut #what else is new #sorry if there are any weird tenses!#first time writing in present and i think i got everything #but it feels wrong #past tense for life

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