#My Fic

[tweedfeather]

Papa Aziraphale 💕

These are illustrations for my fic Good Expectations, which is now complete. Mind the rating and tags!

#good omens #good omens art #good omens fic #Aziraphale #ineffable family #ineffable parents #my art #my fic

[matchaskiiess]

DEVOTED. CL16

in which charles leclerc’s fans can’t get over how devoted he is to learning his girlfriend’s language.

warnings: idek. fluff? love?

AN — it’s been a bit, and I know it’s like already late into the year, but happy new year!!! this is a short one, but I just wanted to post something cause I am gonna be doing start my gsces next week and will only finish them towards the end of june. I am doing another turkish!reader but I wanna do other nationalities, so please tell me what you’d like to see. thank you xx and I hope you enjoy.

WHITE FERRARI (f1) NAVIGATION (main info centre)

────────────────────────────

────────────────────────────

TO SAY YOU WERE SHOCKED was an understatement.

your boyfriend had made no indication that he was learning your home language, just like you made no indication that you were learning his.

“why didn’t you tell me you were learning it? I have to find out through twitter?” you asked, your voice filled with amusement as you sat across from charles.

“ok, for one, I wanted it to be a surprise so that I could communicate better with your family, and two, you didn’t tell me you were learning french.” he responded with a large smile on his face.

“alright let’s hear it, tell me a sentence.” you asked him, leaning back in your chair with a grin on your face as he let out a chuckle.

“sen benim hayatımın aşkısın ve seninle evlenmek için sabırsızlanıyorum.” charles said confidently, a smirk on his face as he looked at your reaction to his words. “you are the love of my life and I can’t wait to marry you.”

“baby, do you really mean that?” you asked, shocked at his statement and his perfect pronunciation. “tu veux vraiment t'épouser?” you asked shyly. “you really wanna marry me?”

“yes baby, of course. it’s why i am learning, so that i can communicate with you in a language you’re more comfortable with, and also so that I can talk to your family better.” he smiled, “and can I just say your french is very good.” he told you, taking your hand in his and kissing your knuckles.

“thank you my love, and your turkish is so good, you pronounced everything so well.” you told him happily.

────────────────────────────

liked by danielricciardo, yourusername and 292,919,191 others

charlesleclerc yes I asked her in turkish and yes I asked her family’s blessing in turkish.

tagged; yourusername

view 10,821 comments

user HE ASKED FOR THE BLESSING IN TURKISH AND EVEN ASKED HER IN TURKISH OMGSGS

yourusername I still can’t believe you did it so perfectly!!

⤷ charlesleclerc anything for you

user them vows best be in french and turkish.

user i am so glad he finally asked, they’ve been dating for too long :)

danielricciardo congrats mate!

⤷ yourusername thanks uu

⤷ danielricciardo did he drop the ring?

⤷ yourusername yeah…

⤷ danielricciardo maxverstappen1 pay up

⤷ maxverstappen1 damn, really had belief in him not dropping it.

⤷ charlesleclerc you seriously made this a bet?

⤷ maxverstappen1 course

────────────────────────────

#𓂅 . ── matchaskiiessbooks ✧ ｡ﾟ･ #𓂅 . ── driverlist *⋆｡˚ #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x y/n #charles leclerc #cl16 #cl16 x y/n #turkish!reader #my fic #my writing #f1 x reader #ferrari #social media au #social media #romance #love #f1 x y/n #f1 #f1 instagram au #f1 imagine #formula 1 #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 x you #formula one

[rainbow-nerdss]

Tease Tidbit Tuesday

This is a new WIP, where Tommy doesn't get transferred before Buck arrives at the 118!

Honestly, I love this idea in theory, but I'm not really sure how to write it. I know what i want it to be, but Tommy's POV is fighting me tbh

oh well:

It was tough, losing out on the spot at the 217. Getting back out there, back in the air, it’s been Tommy’s goal for years now. But the competition was fierce, and he’d just missed out—Captain Nash’s surprisingly glowing recommendation and his experience in the army apparently not enough to give him the advantage he needed over people who’d been waiting longer.  It was a setback, but Tommy wasn’t going to give up. Sure, the 118 has gotten nicer over the past few years, and he’s starting to genuinely enjoy it there—Hen and Chimney both accepting his apologies, becoming something like friends, and Captain Nash’s family dinners actually becoming something he looks forward to every shift.  Still, every time he jokes about loving the single life, and every time Hen talks about her wife, it makes his stomach churn, and it gets harder and harder every day to keep it going. He has to, though. At least until there’s another opening in harbor. And then there’s the fact that Captain Nash already agreed to take on a new probie, fully expecting Tommy to get snapped up by the 217, and the imminent arrival of the new kid is a constant reminder that he failed. He wasn’t good enough, he hadn’t made it. The kid arrives, interrupting dinner with a nervous twitch in his hands and an awkward laugh when Captain Nash teases him about being in the wrong place. Evan Buckley. He tells everyone to call him Buck, but Tommy ignores it. He can tell already—the kid looks like he’s about to bolt any second. No point in giving the new puppy a nickname, not if he’s not going to last the full probie year.  Tommy wonders if he’ll get to see him wash out before he manages to snag a transfer. It would be a silver lining, he’s sure. Evan’s enthusiastic, to say the least. Nash says he’s got top marks in the academy, he’s good at the job, but Tommy can see the lack of discipline, lack of control that’s going to get him into some serious trouble someday.  And Tommy can't do this. He can't let this kid get under his skin.

Tagged by: @theotherbuckley @exhuastedpigeon @wikiangela

Tagging:

@diazsdimples @bidisasterevankinard @wildlife4life @aspecbuddie @thewolvesof1998

@daffi-990 @neverevan @loserdiaz @jeeyuns @kwills91

@trenchcoatsandtimetravel @spotsandsocks @devirnis @steadfastsaturnsrings @sunflowerdiaiz

@lover-of-mine @liabegins @lovelettertothewise @slowlyfoggydestiny @buddieboos

@shitouttabuck @pirrusstuff @jesuisici33 @nmcggg @elvensorceress

@eddiebabygirldiaz @your-catfish-friend @eightpackdiaz @gigi-gigi @bisexualbuckleys

@loveyouanyway @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @arachanae @dangerpronebuddie

If anyone would rather not be tagged in Bucktommy stuff, let me know! I'm happy to keep separate tag lists for bucktommy and buddie 💙💙

#my fic #wip #fic tag game #bucktommy #tevan #evan buckley #tommy kinard

[onward--upward]

ain't ever been skin on skin with a man like this

Buck/Tommy, 3k, rated E || ao3

Here’s the thing about discovering your attraction to men in your 30s: it’s a little bit like Buck has slingshot himself back to high school, giggling at a pretty person making eye contact with him from afar. He’s… giddy whenever he’s around Tommy, and it feels ridiculous, but also weirdly… normal? Because you’re supposed to feel excited about the person you’re dating – he hadn’t realized that excitement had been missing lately, but now that it’s back, it seems obvious. Looking back, he hasn’t been genuinely, uncomplicatedly excited about any of his relationships for a long time – not since Ali, maybe, or even Abby.  Years.  But this – Tommy. Dating him feels a little bit like being a teenager again. So many things are new to him – the scrape of stubble against his skin when Tommy kisses him, the sensation of tilting his chin slightly up when they’re close, and most of all, the soft gentleness with which Tommy treats him.   “It’s like –” Buck is more than a little wine drunk, head tilted back against the back of the couch at Maddie and Chimney’s. At this point, he’s not actually sure whether it had been Maddie who brought it up, or if he was simply drunk enough to be babbling of his own accord. “It’s like – everything is new.” 

read on ao3

#my bi buck manifesto haha #911 fic #bucktommy fic #evan buckley #tommy kinard #911 abc #bucktommy #bi buck #my fic #mine #sorry for posting fic at midnight <3

[c-e-d-dreamer]

You're the Kind of Reckless that Should Send Me Running

A/N: you know, sometimes, self-care is... (checks notes) making a sex bargain with a fae to get out of a marriage contract. It just be like that! But happy Day Three of @nestaarcheronweek lovelies! Hope everyone enjoys some smutty Nessian. As a warning, this is toe-ing the line with dubious consent since it is a fae bargain, so please read with care!

Read on AO3

A bottle of your finest alcohol and your most prized possession.

That's what the woman in the market had told Nesta to bring in offering. Whispered words shared between the brick building of the butcher and the wooden stalls bedecked in green leaves and pastel colored petals, the first sign of spring. The woman's own stall had been tucked closer to the alleyway between buildings, half cast in shadow. What little light did break through bounced off the gemstones of amulets, carved into the grooves of runes in animal bone.

Only desperate people spoke with the woman who always kept the hood of her cloak up to shroud her face.

And desperate Nesta was.

She listened to everything the woman said, carefully tucked away the instructions, the tips the woman offered for the best results. And when the woman had finished speaking, Nesta placed a single silver piece into her palm and slipped back into the crowds of the bustling market without looking back. She kept her head down, tried her best to look inconspicuous lest word get back where she didn’t want it to.

But Nesta caught Clare’s eye across the market square, her friend offering the barest hint of a nod. It was Clare that told Nesta about this woman, about the information she offered, about the outcomes that information promised. According to Clare, it was how Morrigan had done it just last week.

So, that day in the market, Nesta seeked out the woman, and now, here she walks.

She steps over roots and brambles, her soft steps doing nothing to quiet the crunch beneath her feet. With each step, she winces at the way the sound echoes in the wood around her. She glances around, between the barks of the trees that stretch out and above her, but there’s no sign of anyone else but her. It doesn’t stop the hairs on the back of her neck from standing on edge.

A twig snaps somewhere behind her, and Nesta freezes, nearly dropping the bottle of whiskey she’d stolen from her father’s reserves. She clutches it a little tighter to her chest, afraid to even breathe while she waits for another sound, waits for someone to appear. But the only sound that answers Nesta is the rustle of the wind through the branches and leaves, the distant sound of an owl hooting.

Breathing out slowly, Nesta continues trekking forward. She dares to look back over her shoulder, but there’s nothing but more trees and the streaks of silver from the moon breaking through the canopy above. She shakes her head, reminding herself of exactly why she’s here, why she’s doing this.

She just has to find the clearing. That’s what the woman in the market said, that deep into the woods to the north of the village, the trees would part into a clearing. A ring where the trees dare not grow, where the roots stretch to form an altar. Where a fae waits for humans brave enough to make a bargain.

If only she could find it.

Nesta doesn’t know how far she’s walked, but she feels as though she’s been walking half the night. She can’t help but wonder if it was all a lie, a trick. If there is no clearing and no fae who can help her. It would be just her luck.

With a huff, she decides to call it, decides she’ll make the painstaking trek back to her family’s manor house. She spins on her heel only to find herself standing in the center of a clearing that wasn’t there previously.

Fae magic.

“And what do we have here?”

The voice is deep, rough, practically a low rumble where it skates across Nesta’s skin. She swallows hard, raising her chin, before she turns to face that voice. The man is leaning casually against the trunk of one of the trees lining the clearing, arms crossed over his chest and head tilted as he watches her.

A male, really. A fae male unmistakably from his appearance.

He’s large, bigger than even the butcher back in the village, standing a header taller than Nesta with wide shoulders and a wide chest. Wings stretch behind his back and loom over his shoulders like haunting shadows. Dark curls tumble down to his shoulders, framing a pair of eyes that look almost cat-like, that seem to glint green and gold even beneath the silver of the moonlight. The sleeves of his tunic are pushed up to his elbows, showing off swirls of ink along his skin that Nesta swears shift as though a mimic of the magic she’s sure runs through the fae’s veins.

There’s a rough sort of beauty to his face, to the cut of his cheeks and his jaw. As though they’re carved by the very wind she’s sure he must ride with those large wings of his. His nose doesn’t sit quite straight, a slash slicing through his right eyebrow, but it only seems to add to his features. He’s handsome in a way that Nesta knows she’ll never find in her village, in a way that can only be fae. In a way that Nesta has to swallow hard before finding her voice again.

“Are you the fae that helps women escape their marriage contracts?” Nesta asks, refusing to allow her voice to waver, for her nerves to show.

The fae pushes off the tree, stalking closer to her. “So what if I am?”

Nesta thrusts her arms forward before the fae can get too close. “I brought these in offering.”

The fae tilts his head again, his gaze raking over Nesta from head to toe. Those cat-like eyes rover over her frame slowly, goosebumps erupting across Nesta’s skin as if it’s fingers trailing a blazing path. When his attention returns to her face, there’s something different in his expression. A fire burning amongst the greens and golds of his hazel eyes, the left side of his lips tilting up in a smirk. He reaches forward, the large span of his hands on full display as his fingers curl around the neck of the whiskey bottle.

“You have good taste,” the fae comments, examining the whiskey.

“I stole it from my father.”

“And the dress? Did you steal that from him too?”

Nesta snorts at the implication. “No. It was a gift from my mother, right before she passed.”

The fae hums, but he doesn’t say anything more. He begins to circle her, like a predator sizing up its prey, but Nesta refuses to be cowed. She stands perfectly still, straightening her spine against his scrutiny, raising her chin that little bit higher in defiance.

“Is it sufficient? To your liking?”

“Why the dress? Why not your hair?” the fae asks, twirling a strand of Nesta’s hair around his finger. He tugs it toward his face, inhaling deeply. “It’s oh so beautiful. Like burnished gold. Even beneath the moonlight.”

“If that is what it will take, then you can have it.”

The fae chuckles, the sound low and seeming to resonate from deep within his chest. “You must really dislike your betrothed.”

“You would too if you met him,” Nesta grumbles, not even bothering to swallow down her eye roll.

Tomas Mandray.

That was who her father saw fit to marry her off to. Nesta’s hated her father ever since he selfishly sat idly by when her mother fell ill, deciding that the life saving medicine she would need was not worth the steep cost. His recklessness since her death has only gotten worse, shady business deals and gambling habits digging the Archerons into a deeper hole.

Despite the confidence her father exudes around the other high society members of their village, Nesta knows it’s nothing more than a facade. She knows their family is one wrong deal away from losing everything. Knows there’s a desperation thrumming just beneath her father’s skin. It’s what led to him agreeing to the first man who came forward for her hand, without a thought for the type of man he is.

“Is that so?” the fae asks, finishing his circle and stopping in front of her again.

“It’s the worst kept secret in the village,” Nesta explains, unsure what compels her to tell this fae the truth. Perhaps there’s something in his face, in his presence, that has her wanting to trust him. “Everyone knows that Lord Mandray raises his hand to his wife, that his sons just stand by while it happens.”

“You think he’d lay a hand on you?”

“Undoubtedly.”

Real anger flashes across the fae’s face, hazel eyes practically blazing and his lips curling back in a snarl. His fists clench at his sides, muscles in his arms flexing with the motion. The rage isn’t directed at her, but that doesn’t stop Nesta’s heart from thundering between her ribs. She knows the stories of the fae, knows of their strength. This male could tear her apart with ease if he wanted to.

It’s a ferity and display of power that should terrify her, that should have her spinning on her heel and running straight back to the village, but instead she continues to meet this fae’s gaze.

The fae’s expression softens, almost curious, as his gaze sweeps over her anew. It’s unnerving, as though he can see beneath her skin and down to her very bone. As though she’s splayed open for his examination all the way to her soul. Whatever he sees, whatever he finds, it has him stepping closer still. Close enough that Nesta has to tilt her head back to hold eye contact. Close enough she can feel the heat that seems to radiate off him. Close enough that every inhale has her chest a hair's breadth away from his.

“You never told me your name,” the fae says, warm breath skating across Nesta’s cheeks.

“I don’t know yours,” Nesta fires back, raising her chin even higher in challenge.

That cocksure smirk tugs its way across the fae’s face again. “It’s Cassian.”

“Nesta. Nesta Archeron.”

“Nesta,” Cassian repeats, as though tasting her name, testing the weight of it on his tongue. A shiver threatens to skitter up Nesta’s spine, but she’s quick to swallow it down. “Should we make a bargain, Nesta?”

“You’ll do it, then? You’ll end my marriage contract?”

“Happily.”

“For my hair?”

“I’ll accept the dress, but that’s just an offering, sweetheart,” Cassian explains, holding up the dress and whiskey bottle in emphasis before tossing both away. “We still need to make a proper bargain.”

“Alright…” Nesta begins slowly, wading through her memory, through the lessons from her mother. She knows wording is important, knows that she needs to be careful about the phrasing of this bargain. “You ensure that my marriage contract to Tomas Mandray is void, that I’ll never marry Tomas Mandray, that I’ll never marry anyone in the Mandray household nor anyone that I do not choose for myself. And in exchange…”

“And in exchange, you’ll become my wife.”

“What.”

Cassian grins fully down at her, one of his hands reaching up between them to curl that strand of her hair around his fingers again. “You can’t marry anyone else if you’re already married to me.”

Nesta blinks a few times, trying to wrap her mind around it all, but Cassian's hand shifts, the backs of his fingers dragging down her temple, her cheek. The touch is distracting. She supposes it makes sense. How can she marry someone else if she is already wed. Clare never specified exactly what Morrigan had to do to break her own marriage contract to the eldest Vanserra. Perhaps, this is how it works.

But alarm bells still ring in the back of Nesta’s mind, whispering of caution. It’s too vague, gray area so expansive that it feels too risky to simply agree.

“And what does that entail? Being your wife?”

Cassian chuckles again, Nesta practically able to feel it where their chests are nearly pressed together. “You were about to be wed, and you don’t know about wifely duties?”

Nesta’s temper flares red hot, and she glares up at him. “I know what’s expected of a wife.”

“Then what’s the issue?”

“What does being a wife mean for a fae? What does a fae expect of me?”

“You can do whatever you want as my wife, Nes,” Cassian offers, palm fully cradling her jaw.

“Don’t call me that. And stop that,” Nesta snaps, knocking his hand away. “You’re trying to trick me.”

“Trick you? I’m hurt, sweetheart. I thought you wanted this bargain?”

“I do.”

Panic swells in Nesta’s chest, churning her stomach. What if he changes his mind? Goes back on the bargain? Anything she wants as his wife. It’s not specific, definitely not even close to what Nesta was taught when it comes to fae bargains, but it only hurts him really. Anything she wants. And what she wants is to live the rest of her life far away from the Mandrays and any of the other aggravating villagers who either look down their noses or leer at her.

“Alright,” Nesta finally breathes, sending a silent prayer to the Mother that she doesn’t live to regret this.

“Alright?” Cassian repeats back, bringing both his hands to Nesta’s jaw this time, tilting her head up. “So it’s a bargain then?”

Nesta swallows hard, her heart skipping a beat when Cassian’s thumb drags across her bottom lip. “It’s a bargain.”

Cassian’s mouth crashes against hers at the same moment a burning sensation cascades along her spine and between her shoulder blades. It has Nesta gasping against Cassian’s lips, but he merely uses the reaction to deepen the kiss, to press his tongue into her mouth. His arm drops to curl around her waist, hauling her closer still until she’s pressed flush against his body. She can feel every line of hard muscle beneath his shirt, feel the strength in his grip around her.

He tears his mouth away, but he doesn’t go far, latching his lips against her neck. His mouth is hot against her skin, her entire body roaring to life and reacting to his touch. She tilts her head, a quiet groan tumbling past her lips, when Cassian’s teeth find her pulse point, tongue soothing over the brief sting.

When Cassian pulls away, Nesta’s whole body sways forward, practically chasing his mouth and his kiss. Slowly, her eyes flutter open, finding Cassian’s own gaze already firmly on her face. There’s a fire in his hazel eyes, lips kiss bitten and pink. His grip on her hip holds her steady, fingers of his other hand burying themselves in the strands of her hair.

“What do you say, wife?” Cassian asks, voice low and deep. He drags his nose along her jaw until he can press his lips to her ear. “Should we consummate our bargain?”

Just his voice has heat pooling low in Nesta’s gut. Has her thighs clenching and her toes beginning to curl in her shoes. And when he presses a kiss to that spot behind her ear, a shudder ricochets down her spine. She clutches at Cassian’s shirt to hold herself steady, daring to arc against him.

“Yes.”

Nesta’s world tilts, and then her back is cushioned by grass and moss. She barely has time to register the change before Cassian’s lips are back on hers. He settles atop her, hips cradled within the bracket of her thighs. Nesta finally buries her fingers in the dark curls of his hair, threading the strands between her fingers and tugging hard until Cassian is groaning into her mouth, his hips pressing down against her. She can feel exactly what she’s doing to him, the hardline of his arousal digging into her hip.

She slides one of her hands down his chest, feeling the heat of him even through the fabric between them, feeling his heartbeat just beneath the surface. She traces down and down, but before her fingertips can even brush the waistband of Cassian’s pants, her hand is yanked away. Cassian’s fae instincts are too quick, grip curling around Nesta’s wrists and pinning her hand above her head and into the dirt.

“Don’t you know, sweetheart, that a good husband always ensures his wife is taken care of first?”

Cassian pulls back enough that he’s able to settle comfortably on his haunches. Nesta feels overly exposed, splayed out in the grass beneath him. His gaze roves over her form with a hunger that has her heart rate spiking, has heat flooding through her veins until it settles in her core. Her chest heaves with each deep inhale as painstakingly slow, Cassian unties the laces down the front of her dress.

Her nerve endings are already on high alert, and the slow drag of fabric over her breasts as her dress is pulled open has a moan bubbling up and out of her throat. Her nipples are already pebbled when the cool air hits them, and the heat of Cassian’s hand as he palms them is a welcome reprieve.

Cassian leans back down, his mouth closing over one of her breasts. His tongue laves over her nipple, teeth nipping and tugging at the bud. He pulls back with a quiet pop, switching to her other breath, and Nesta bucks up against him, desperate for friction. Desperate for more.

“Cass… Cassian,” Nesta begs quietly, moaning when he drags the flat of his tongue over her breast again.

Nesta doesn’t even hear Cassian’s laugh this time, merely feels the vibrations against her skin, but he gets the message. He kisses a blazing path down her sternum, down her stomach. His hands find the hem of her skirts, pushing them up her thighs and her hips until her whole dress is nothing more than a bunch of fabric around her waist.

He keeps sliding down until he’s settled on his stomach in the grass, wings spread wide and tall above them both. For a moment, Nesta is transfixed on the way the moonlight ripples through the membrane, the patterns of the veins and scars, but her focus is brought solely back to the fae between her legs when Cassian’s fingers hook in the waistband of her undergarments, sliding them slowly down her legs.

Her breath hitches in her throat as he settles her thighs over his shoulders, at the feral look on his face. Those cat-like eyes of his are almost completely swallowed by his blown out pupils, and his grin shows off the sharp tips of his canines. With his dark hair falling along his temples and cheeks, he truly looks like a wild man, like a beast ready to pounce and feast on its prey. Nesta tosses her head back with a whimper as he lowers his face down, already anticipating his warm breath across her cunt, his tongue, but it never comes. Instead, Cassian’s lips find home along her inner thigh, a teasing display of what’s to come.

“Eyes on me, sweetheart,” Cassian’s low voice rasps, lips never straying from her skin. “I want to see the look on your face when you fall apart on my tongue.”

Nesta tips her chin back down, meeting Cassian’s gaze fully again. His teeth sink into her inner thigh, sucking a bruise onto the skin. Whether it’s a reward or a punishment for her behavior, Nesta isn’t sure. A glint sparks through his hazel eyes, and it’s Nesta’s only warning before he buries himself completely between her thighs.

The first slide of his tongue over her cunt has Nesta’s thighs squeezing out of instinct, but Cassian’s fingers curl against the flesh, holding her open and exactly how he wants her. The flat of his tongue drags over her until he reaches her clit, tracing tantalizing circles over the bud that have Nesta bucking against his hold. It’s clearly the reaction he was hoping for, and the vibrations of his answering groan only add to the sensations threatening to send Nesta spiraling, send her unraveling, almost embarrassingly quickly.

And all the while, Cassian keeps his eyes on her face, pinning her in place, while he works his magic. Whether it’s his fae magic or just the magic of this male, Nesta doesn’t know. Nor does she particularly care as long as he doesnt stop. Her hands scrabble desperately for something to grasp onto, dirt digging under her nails and moans tumbling past her lips unbidden as Cassian presses his tongue into her. It curls and flicks at her walls like he’s determined to collect every last drop of her arousal, like a male parched and starved.

When Cassian finally pulls back, the sight is obscene. His hair is disheveled, lips and chin glistening beneath the light of the moon. He doesn’t even bother wiping his mouth, merely licking his lips with another low groan.

“I knew you’d make the prettiest sounds,” Cassian tells her, suddenly sinking two fingers into her cunt. “Now, come on, wife. Scream my name for the whole wood to hear.”

The pace Cassian sets is punishing, his fingers fucking into her hard and deep, thick in a way her own fingers have never been. Nesta feels like she’s on fire, her entire focus pinpointed on the fingers driving into her, the stretch of them, the way they drag along the walls of her cunt. She rocks her hips up against his hand, chasing the flames, the friction, the familiar feeling coiling tighter and tighter.

“Gods, look at you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more beautiful sight. Flushed such a pretty pink and taking my fingers so well.”

Nesta keens at the words, her hand snapping down to curl around Cassian’s wrist. Not to stop him, but to keep him there. He squeezes in a third finger beside the first two, curling them until Nesta is practically arching up off the ground. Her throat already feels hoarse from her moans, from the shouts of Cassian’s name.

“That’s my good girl. I can feel the way you’re squeezing my fingers. I can’t wait to feel you squeezing my cock.”

“Cass. Cassian. Please. Gods, please.”

Cassian groans, dropping his face to her neck, teeth dragging along the skin, across her collarbones, his fingers never stopping. “Fuck. You beg so pretty too.”

Cassian’s thumb finds her clit, working it in tandem with the three fingers still thrusting into her. Nesta’s toes curl, her thighs practically shaking. She can feel herself standing on that edge, on that precipice. Cassian shifts his face down, lips closing around her breast again, and Nesta goes tumbling head first. She clenches down hard around Cassian’s fingers, half aware of the shout torn from her throat as her release barrels through her.

Cassian continues to move his fingers, dragging out her orgasm. But soon, the aftershocks subside, the stimulation teetering toward painful. Her whole body shudders with a whimper, but Cassian slips his fingers free. He makes a big show of pushing them between his lips, groaning around the taste of her. It has Nesta reaching for his wrist again, this time, bringing his hand to her own mouth. She sucks on his fingers, curling her tongue between the digits.

“Mother, save me,” Cassian mutters, watching her with hooded eyes.

He pulls his fingers free, but he’s quick to replace them with his own mouth, kissing Nesta deeply. Nesta moans into the kiss, burying her hands back in Cassian’s hair and tugging hard. His tongue curls around her own, his hips aligning and rocking down against hers. It’s a reminder of what’s still hers for the taking, the brush of fabric against her sending sparks ricocheting anew.

She reaches for the hem of his shirt, pushing the fabric up and up, determined to take it off. But his wings. Her fingers falter as she realizes she’s not sure how to get it off around the wings. She pulls back from the kiss to try and get a better look, but Cassian is having none of that, drawing her right back in. She huffs against his lips, tugging at his shirt in emphasis, and when Cassian is the one to finally pull back again, his hazel eyes are alight with amusement.

He reaches behind his back, the snap of buttons almost as loud as their heaving breaths in the quiet wood. Fisting the fabric, Cassian tugs the shirt away with ease, leaving Nesta with the perfect view of the wide expanse of golden skin, of the muscles carved into it, of the dark hair dusted across his chest and down his stomach like an alluring path leading down and down.

Nesta traces the lines of tattoos painted across his skin with the tip of her fingers, traces them all the way down his chest and further still, daring to dig her nails in against his stomach. Cassian hisses at the sting, but the look in his eyes tells her that he really likes it. It makes her feel bolder, braver. She dares to reach down, palming the hard line still trapped in his pants.

With a groan, Cassian drops his head against her collarbones. She continues her ministrations, curling her fingers as best she can and moving her hand up and down. Even through the fabric of his pants, Nesta can feel the way he twitches, can feel the weight of him. The size. She supposes she shouldn’t be surprised, what with Cassian being fae and not an ordinary man, but it still has heat sparking along her spine, has her mouth running dry just as surely as her thighs clench together.

She pushes at the waistband of his pants until they slide off his hips, down his thighs. Cassian finishes the job, kicking off the fabric. His cock bobs free between his strong thighs, the head already glistening with his own arousal. Nesta goes to wrap her hand around it, but her fingertips barely graze before Cassian is pinning her wrists again. He’s able to hold both her wrists in the grip of just one of his hands, using his free hand to find home beneath her chin and raise her face to his.

For a moment, Cassian merely stares at her, eyes roving over her face as though he’s trying to memorize it. Warmth flares through his hazel eyes, and Nesta swears she can feel an answering spark between her ribs, can feel it grow and tether like a golden thread there. He leans down and connects their lips, the kiss surprisingly soft. Nesta tries to deepen it, tries to free her hands so she can pull him close again, but Cassian keeps the kiss a gentle slide of lips.

“Cassian,” Nesta huffs frustratedly, hooking her legs around his waist and digging her heels into the small of his back, trying to encourage him where she wants.

“So needy, my wife,” Cassian teases, gripping his cock and dragging the head along her cunt, through the wetness that’s pooled there. “Do you want my cock, Nes? Want me to fill you up and fuck you good?”

“Isn’t that what a good husband does?”

Cassian’s whole body shudders with a groan, his wings flaring wide. “Perhaps a good wife should beg for it.”

“Please,” Nesta whispers, capturing Cassian’s bottom lip between her teeth and bucking her hips up against him. “Please fuck me.”

“Good girl.”

Cassian grasps at her hips, tugging her close and tilting them up. He presses his own hips forward until the tip slides inside her, thrusting shallowly. Just the first few inches stretches Nesta in a way she’s never felt before, in a way she fears she could become addicted to. He pulls his hips back just to sink back in further, the drag along Nesta’s walls leaving her moaning.

When their hips are finally pressed flushed together, Cassian still, nosing along her neck and her jaw. Nesta feels so incredibly full, her every nerve ending on fire in the most delicious way. She clenches down around him, her cunt seeming to draw him that much deeper, and Cassian’s groan echoes her own.

“Gods, you’re so tight,” Cassian murmurs into her neck, lips dragging against her skin. “But you take me so well.”

“Cassian, please,” Nesta begs again, trying to shift her hips against his hold.

Whether the begging does the trick or Cassian merely takes pity on her, Nesta doesn’t care. All she can focus on is the way Cassian pulls his hips back only to snap them back forward. Again and again he drives his hips forward, each hard thrust sending lightning licking through Nesta’s veins. With her hands now free, she curls them around Cassian’s back, practically clawing at his skin as she rocks her hips up to meet him thrust for thrust, as she chases the unparalleled feeling of him filling her over and over.

She dares to trace her fingers toward his shoulder blades. Dares to trace the spindly bone of a wing. Cassian lets out a near animalistic growl, hips digging against her own as his movements stutter.

“If you keep that up, this will be over much too soon,” Cassian warns through clenched teeth. He sits back on his haunches, splaying Nesta’s legs across his thighs.

“Sensitive?” Nesta asks. “What does it feel like?”

Cassian’s thumb presses down on Nesta’s clit, Nesta keening at the sensation and pressure. “Like that.”

Cassian works his hips back up to a brutal pace, moving his thumb in tandem with every hard thrust. It doesn’t take long before Nesta finds herself on the edge of that precipice again, before she goes tumbling over with little to no warning. Her back arches up off the ground, cunt clenching hard around Cassian’s cock. Cassian continues to snap his hips, working her through her orgasm, until he shudders and stills above her, warmth flooding Nesta’s core as surely as the fire blazing through her veins.

Cassian shifts back, pulling his softening cock free and drawing a quiet whimper from Nesta’s lips. She still feels like she’s burning, still feels desperate to dive back into the flames and the feeling sparked by this fae male. And though there’s still the lingering fullness from Cassian’s own release, her cunt still spasms with the aftershocks of her orgasm, still clenches around nothing.

She pushes herself up into a seated position, moving before Cassian can get too far. She all but clambers into his lap, steadying herself on his shoulders until she can settle comfortably. Cassian’s hands find her waist, an almost awestruck expression on his face as he peers up at her. But there’s embers in that hazel gaze too, still flickering as one of those hands glides up her spine, as his fingers curl into the long strands of Nesta’s hair that have fallen free from her updo.

“You know,” Nesta begins, reaching down until she can fist his cock, stroking it teasingly. “There’s this rumor. That fae males can recover more quickly than a man.”

“Is that so?” Cassian teases, but Nesta can already feel the way he’s started to harden again from her ministrations.

Nesta tightens her grip, quickens her pace, until Cassian is groaning and bucking his hips up against her, until his cock is standing at full attention again. She shifts forward on her knees, lining Cassian’s cock up with her cunt and sinking down on it. She moans at the fullness taking over her again, the rightness of being pressed together like this. She feels key-up, the overstimulation too much and yet everything that she needs.

She starts to rock her hips, gasping at the drag and friction, chasing the heat already climbing dangerously high. With one hand still buried in her hair, Cassian draws her mouth back to his, groaning against her lips as he kisses her. He plants his feet on the ground, snapping his hips up to meet hers.

“Gods, you’re fucking gorgeous,” Cassian murmurs against her, hands sliding down to palm at her ass and guide her movements. “Riding my cock like a good fucking girl.”

Nesta shudders at his words, clenching down hard. She picks up the pace of her hips, chasing another release. She starts to feel the burn in her thighs, can feel the stickiness of their own arousal, of both their releases dripping and smeared across the skin there. She’s half aware of her hoarse moans ringing in her ears, of the wet sounds of sex and slapping skin echoing in the woods around them. But all that matters is the slide of Cassian’s cock, the pressure building between her thighs.

She reaches a hand down, fingers slipping through the wetness there and against her clit, but Cassian is too quick. His own fingers curl around her wrist and pull her hand away. Nesta whines high in the back of her throat, tugging against his grip, but it’s no use.

“I don’t appreciate anyone touching what’s mine,” Cassian warns, squeezing her wrist that little bit tighter.

“And am I yours?” Nesta asks, sinking down fully and swiveling her hips to get the friction she was looking for.

“Always. And I’m yours.”

“Good.”

With her free hand not captured in Cassian’s hold, Nesta reaches over his shoulder. She slides her fingertips across his leathery wings, trying to mimic the way her hips move with the shapes she traces. She dares to scrape her nails against his wings, remembering how he’d responded before. With a roar, Cassian all but crushes her to him, his cock twitching deep within her. It’s enough to send Nesta crashing through an orgasm right there with him, spots dancing in her vision as she shakes with the force of it.

Nesta’s entire body feels wrung out and sated, embers banked but still keeping her deliciously warm. It takes her a moment too long to realize she’s slumped forward against Cassian, their chests pressed together and her head dropped to his shoulder. She knows that she needs to move. She knows that, now that their bargain is complete, she needs to return to the village. But trying to will her muscles to work feels like an impossible feat.

She decides to give it under her still heaving breaths even out, until her still thundering heart quiets to a soft beat. Cassian’s touch is surprisingly gentle where his fingertips trace shapes and lines up and down her spine, but soon his hands are gripping her properly. He shifts until they’re both sprawled across the soft, mossy floor of the wood, wings curling almost protectively around her. Warmth seeps into Nesta’s skin every place they’re pressed together, relaxing her all the way down to the bone.

There’s a safety wrapped up in his embrace, and Nesta allows her eyes to flutter shut, allows it to lull her under. She thinks back to Cassian’s words, his declaration that she’s his and he’s hers. And for a moment, just this moment longer, she almost allows herself to believe it.

~ * * * ~

Nesta quietly thanks the seller, carefully placing the folded fabric in the basket hanging from the crook of her arm. She slides her fingers against the pretty pink of it, the color reminding her of Elain. She’s sure that her younger sister will create something beautiful with it.

As she steps out of the small shop in the village square, Nesta can already feel eyes on her. They’re practically scorching holes through her shoulder blades, but she refuses to turn and look. The staring has been the trend the past two days, ever since that night, especially with the men in the village. Perhaps she should have found a way to work keeping the village’s disdain at bay into her bargain.

Sighing softly to herself, Nesta keeps her head held high, her shoulders back, as she follows the winding road back toward her family’s home. She keeps her grip on her basket tight, wills her breathing to come steady and slow, even as her every nerve ending feels on high alert, her heart beginning to skip between her ribs.

A hand grips hard around Nesta’s bicep, yanking her into the gap between two buildings. She barely has time to let out a shout of surprise before another hand is closing over her mouth. Her back slams against wood, nails biting into the skin of her arm, her cheek. The basket slips from her fingers, items skittering across the ground, as she comes face to face with a pair of brown eyes, ruddy cheeks, and lips pulled back in a sneer.

“Did you think you could get away with embarrassing me?” Tomas spits, leaning in until he’s right in Nesta’s face.

Nesta uses her free hand to pry Tomas’s fingers off her face. “Leave me alone. There’s no longer a contract between us or our families.”

“You think I don’t know how you did that? That the whole village doesn’t know? A lowly whore just like Morrigan.”

“Fuck you.”

“It seems you’ve dirtied your mouth as much as your body. Don’t worry. I’m more than happy to use both to remind you of your place.”

Panic flares through Nesta’s chest as Tomas uses his body weight to pin her in place, his hand reaching for her skirts. A low growl echoes in the space around them, Tomas’s entire body going rigid at the sound. They both look toward the other end of the alleyway, a large figure looming there. Even with the shadows, the silhouette of wings is unmistakable.

“A fae?” Tomas whispers, true fear leaving his voice trembling. “In the village? During the day?”

“Get your hands off her,” Cassian warns, voice low and threatening.

“This isn’t any of your business,” Tomas calls out, all fake bravado Nesta is sure.

Cassian prowls forward, each step slow but measured. “I won’t ask again.”

Tomas’s eyes dart between Cassian and Nesta, and Nesta watches the way his throat bobs with a hard swallow. Of all the things Tomas may be, one of them is clearly not stupid. He releases his hold on Nesta, stumbling back a few steps. His eyes never leave Cassian, a true prey caught in a predator’s trap, as he backs away.

Cassian’s smile is all ferity and teeth. In the blink of an eye, he closes the distance, hand snapping out and curling around Tomas’s throat, holding him in place. “Did you think I was just going to let you go?”

“This isn’t any of your business,” Tomas repeats, but even he sounds unsure at his own words.

“I don’t appreciate anyone touching what’s mine.”

Cassian doesn’t give Tomas the time to say anything else. His hand tightens around Tomas’s throat, lifting him up off his feet and slamming him against the wall opposite of Nesta. Tomas sputters and chokes around Cassian’s hold, his feet kicking out helplessly as he claws at Cassian’s forearm.

“What do you say, Nes? Should we break his fingers for committing such an offense?”

Nesta swallows to find her voice again. “Why stop at his fingers?”

Nesta can’t see Cassian’s face with the way he’s holding Tomas, but she can imagine the gleam in his hazel eyes. It’s clear from the way Tomas’s face completely blanches. Cassian’s wings flare out wide behind his back, keeping him balanced as he strikes. The crunch of breaking bone is drowned out by Tomas’s blood curdling scream. Cassian works with an almost terrifying ease and efficiency, as though he’s tearing mere parchment and not body parts.

Tomas crumbles to the ground with a soft groan when Cassian finally steps back. The fae crouches down, but Nesta can’t hear what he whispers to Tomas. He reaches his hands out and wipes them against Tomas’s shirt, cleaning the man’s blood off using the fabric. When he’s finished, Cassian straightens and turns back to Nesta, carefully retrieving her dropped basket and items and holding it out toward her. Slowly, she takes it from him, stepping over Tomas’s body and back into the village market and sun.

“You’re a hard woman to find, Nesta,” Cassian starts, stepping out of the alleyway behind her.

“I didn’t realize you were searching,” Nesta comments idly.

She pauses, hesitates, in the now empty town square before squaring her shoulders and continuing the trek back to her family home. She supposes she shouldn’t be surprised when Cassian falls into step beside her, unbothered about the villagers who clearly scattered due to his presence.

“What did you expect? Most wives don’t sneak away from their husbands in the middle of the night.”

“I thought that was how it was done.”

Cassian’s chuckle is just as warm in the light of day. “You humans have very odd traditions then.”

Nesta rolls her eyes at his teasing words. “Not that, you big bat. I meant your bargains. Do you track down every woman you make your wife to end their marriage contract?”

Cassian’s fingers curl around Nesta’s wrist, his touch surprisingly gentle as he tugs her to a stop. With a quiet huff, Nesta turns to face him properly. It seems almost strange to see him under the bright light of the sun, without the rays of the moon casting silver shadows across his face, his wings.

He’s still as ruggedly beautiful as Nesta remembers him.

With the curls of his hair scraped away from his face and secured in a bun, the hard line of his jaw is on full display. His hazel eyes seem to burn as golden as the high noon sun, and with the light stretching through them, Nesta realizes there’s a reddish hue to those powerful wings stretched behind his back.

“I only have one wife, sweetheart.”

Nesta blinks a few times, sure that she misheard, trying to wrap her mind around his words. “What do you mean?”

“What other meaning is there?” Cassian drawls, reaching for a stray strand of her hair and twirling it around his finger, a gesture reminiscent of their night together. “The only wife I have is you.”

“So you tricked me with your bargain.”

“Tricked you? I distinctly remember you agreeing. Remember the way you begged for–”

“Stop.”

Nesta takes a firm step back, Cassian’s hand dropping away from between them and back to his side. He tilts his head as he watches her, but Nesta squeezes her eyes shut. He’s too distracting. His presence, the warmth that radiates off his frame, his eyes and the kaleidoscope of emotions swimming amongst the golds and greens. She needs to think.

“Nesta,” Cassian begins, his voice soft and low.

“I said stop.”

Even his voice is distracting, the timbre and drawl of it skating across Nesta skin, wrapping around her limbs like a warm embrace. It seems to rumble from deep within his chest, and Nesta knows exactly what that chest feels like pressed against her own. She knows exactly how his lips feel dragging across her skin, against her lips, against–

“Why?” Nesta asks, her eyes flashing open again. “Why would you make that your end of the bargain then?”

“Because from the moment I saw you in that wood, I knew there would never be another for me.”

“You can’t possibly know that.”

“I was ready to drop to my knees before you bargain or not,” Cassian continues, stepping back into her space. This time, he wraps his arm around her waist, tugging her flush to him until Nesta has to tilt her chin up to keep eye contact. “Now, I know I said you could do whatever you wished as my wife, and that is still true, but you can’t tell me you wish to stay in this sorry village. Come home, wife.”

Warmth pools through Nesta’s chest, tugging just below her ribs, at her heart, but that voice in the back of her mind still scrambles and screams. “And how do I know I’m not escaping one cruel man just to run into the arms of another?”

The question pulls a growl from Cassian’s throat. “I would never dare to lay a hand on you unless you asked. And anyone who does dare will have my wrath to answer to, just like that sorry excuse of a man in the village square.”

Before she can think twice about it, before that voice can talk her out of it, Nesta presses up onto her toes, crashing her mouth against Cassian’s. He responds instantly, his lips dragging and sliding with her own, his arms and wings wrapping around her. There’s a comfort, a safety, a contentment here in his embrace, and that warmth in Nesta’s chest puts down roots, unfurls and blooms. It settles all the way down to the very marrow of her bones, to her soul.

When she finally pulls back from the kiss, she steps back from Cassian completely before he can drag her back under. She clears her throat and resettles the basket on her arm, turning on her heel and continuing toward her destination. Only when the familiar worn wood of the door comes into view does she finally stop again, turning over her shoulder.

“Stay out here.”

She doesn’t wait for Cassian’s response before she steps inside her family’s home, the scent of fresh bread greeting her. She spies her father asleep in the rickety chair he favors in front of the fire. Typical. With an annoyed huff, Nesta sets down her basket, heading in the direction of the bedrooms.

“Nesta? Is that you? You were in the market longer than I thought. I was starting to get worried.”

Nesta ignores her sister, continuing down the hall and through the bedroom door. She digs a bag out from beneath the bed, laying it open and turning toward the wardrobe. She makes quick work pulling out all her favorite dresses and folding them into some semblance of order.

“Nesta? Is everything–what are you doing?”

Nesta only glances toward Elain now standing in the doorway, Feyre standing just behind her and peering over the middle Archeron’s shoulder. Instead, Nesta returns to the task at hand, grabbing her most beloved books and adding them to the bag as well. Her attention dances briefly toward the old desk in the corner, but she presumes even a fae would have parchment and pen for her to write.

“Don’t ask questions,” Nesta finally says, closing the bag. “But I’m leaving.”

“Leaving?” Feyre echoes, stepping back enough that Nesta can walk back out of the bedroom.

“Yes. Now that there is no longer a marriage contract with the Mandrays, there’s no…” Nesta sighs, pausing in front of their home's front door and turning back toward her sisters, but there’s nothing but understanding on Elain and Feyre’s faces. “I’ll write once I’m settled. I swear it.”

With a final nod, Nesta pulls open the door, stepping back into the sun. As if she already inherently knows where to look, her eyes find Cassian where he’s leaning casually against the trunk of a tree. It’s reminiscent of the first time she saw the fae, only this time, his expression seems to soften as he takes her in. Nesta refuses to admit to the way her heart stutters at the smile on his face.

“Is that–”

“Don’t ask questions,” Nesta cuts Elain off. “Just know that this is what I want, that I’ll be happy. Don’t let father ever try to convince either of you that you don’t deserve that too.” She starts down the path away from their house before another thought occurs to her. “And perhaps stay out of the woods. Especially at night.”

Nesta continues down the path and across the grass until she reaches Cassian, wordlessly holding out her bag. She swears it’s purposeful, the way his fingers skate across her skin as he takes it, and yet goosebumps erupt up her arm either way. She waits for Cassian to begin leading the way back between the trees and deeper into the woods, but instead the fae takes the time to secure her bag over his shoulder until it rests between his wings.

“Oh, we’ll be flying,” Cassian explains, answering her unasked question.

“Flying?”

“Don’t worry. You’ll like it.”

Before Nesta can say anything else, Cassian scoops her up and into his arms, holding her close to his chest. Nesta is quick to wrap her own arms tightly around his neck, squeezing her eyes shut in anticipation of the rush, of the wind, but it never comes. When she opens her eyes again, she finds Cassian watching her. Waiting for her permission.

“Well? Take me home, husband.”

—

Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog @lifeisntafantasy @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld @lady-nestas @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @kookskoocie @wolfnesta @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @ofduskanddreams @rarephloxes @thelovelymadone @books-books-books4ever @tenaciousdiplomatloverprune @that-little-red-head @readergalaxy @thesnugglingduck @kale-theteaqueen @tarquindaddy @superflurry @bri-loves-sunflowers @lady-winter-sunrise @witch-and-her-witcher @fieldofdaisiies

#NestaWeek2024 #nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #acosf #nessian fanfiction #nessian fic #nesta x cassian #my fic

[splitstuura]

34 and 63 w cele/bezz for the prompt thing?

Vacation Fic  + Everybody Knows/Mistaken for Couple for this list

If by vacation you mean a mini road trip inspired by this little academy expedition before COTA and everyone’s funny tags about just-woke-up Cele

-

“I feel carsick” Celestino announces from the backseat an hour and a half into the trip. 

He’d stumbled into the car this morning and passed out with his sunglasses and hat still on, dressed like a cartoon dinosaur as he was. Somehow he’d been late for the ride even though they were picking him up at his house.

Mig cranes around the seat and snorts. 

“You’re not carsick, bro, you’re hungover.”

Cele gives him a dark and bleary look from under his shades. “Watch it,” he mumbles, “or I’ll puke on you.”

Mig cackles and Bezz’s eyes cut up and over in the rearview mirror.

“You wanna come sit up front?” asks Bezz. 

Bezz’s started squinting at the road with concerned eyebrows. Mig can’t see his eyebrows under his hair and hat, but he can tell. Figures he’s alive now that Cele woke up. All morning Mig’s been trying to make conversation - gossip from the back office, video game stuff -  and Bezz’s been stoning him with these one word answers in between staring down the highway like he’s driving to his own execution. Mig narrows his eyes.

“Relax,” Mig says to Bezz, “he’s not going to puke in your car.”

“Celin?” Bezz’s eyes cut up to the rearview mirror again.

Cele kicks the back of Mig’s seat. “Switch with me, Migno,” he says, and that’s how Mig ends up in the back – door slammed, belt clicked – listening to Bezz pester cures for Celestino’s self-induced motion sickness: his water bottle under the seat, the window down, distraction.

“Watch this,” Bezz is saying, finally pulling back onto the highway, “I’ll overtake that guy into the corner up there.”

“Nice,” Celestino snorts when Bezz does it, pulling across the dotted line to pass the blue compact car ahead and rejoining his lane at about 90 km/h, perfectly legal. “Keep pushing and you’ll make progress next weekend.”

Bezz is all gap teeth in the mirror. “Points you think?”

Which – Mig hadn’t dared to bring up actual racing with Bezz all morning.

“Major” Cele offers, sliding lower in his seat.

“Major,” Bezz copies.

Mig tunes them out. On Monday the boys are flying out to the US and Mig’s not going. He has schedules for the youth camp to plan and a block of emails from Uccio with tape to review. Last week, Vale cornered Mig at training day – craning down to look him in the eye, uh oh – and asked him about work. Mig bullshitted something about enjoying working with Idalio more closely, but maybe it wasn’t enthusiastic enough. Vale probably ordered more homework for him to see if it would help.

In the front seat, Cele has his sunglasses off, head lollying on one shoulder. The two of them are talking softer now. Mig can only hear snippets of what they’re saying – Cele mostly, his rumble cutting through the noise. 

“...that goo stuff on it?” Cele’s mumbling – what the hell – he must be asking about Bezz’s new tattoo. Cele has one long hand reached across the middle console, peeling absentmindedly at the edge of the white bandage Bezz’s still wearing, on his thigh basically up the hem of his shorts. 

It goes on like that, road noise and Bezz's quiet voice inarticulate, Cele's mumbling answers.

“No,” Celestino’s saying eventually. “Better now.”

#nothing happens in here but just gonna post it! #vr46 academy vibes #not logistically accurate road trip fyi #I don't know what mig's job is ignore that #I have a more exciting marc/vale one I'll post later #Motogp #motogp rpf #bezz/cele #my fic

[lost-decade]

Brocedes and birthday fic + bathtub fic for the prompt meme!

This is light on the birthday side of it, sorry! And more fluffy than I usually write. But hope you like it :)

“I mean, it looks cool.” Lewis steps back, slipping his iPhone out of the pocket of his cargo pants, snapping a photo and then walking around to take another, as if the angle is going to prompt a revelation about practicality vs design. Lewis likes pretty things, always has; clothes, jewellery, Nico. “But don’t you think it would be awkward to…well, I mean.”

“To what?” Nico’s voice has adopted that tone, light amusement that flirts with innuendo. The sales guy looks at Nico, then focuses his hungry gaze on Lewis, scenting out a challenge. Nico is enjoying this immensely, Lewis can tell.

“We have sold seventy of this particular model already this year,” the sales guy, Charles, informs them. He’s pretty, too. Aesthetically in place in the bathroom showroom among all the gleaming carrara marble vanity units and Japanese style heated toilets. He probably lives in a shoebox high rise like half of Monaco does though. Lewis bets that Sharl, as he had pronounced it, doesn’t have a wall-mounted carbon fibre hammock bath in his flat. He looks at the bath again; for one person it’s fine, he guesses, but the sides are low. Impractical for two. No proper edges, nothing to hold onto if you were to find yourself on your knees, bent forward.

Lewis pictures the water sloshing out all over the wetroom floor. “Do you have anything bigger?” He asks. 

Nico snorts into the brochure, yelping exaggeratedly when Lewis sidles up next to him and jabs him in the ribs. So far, the house furnishing decisions have gone as badly as anticipated. Lewis hasn’t done this before. In the past, a designer had sent him a few links and he’d browsed them in about ten minutes and confirmed which choices he liked the look of. It hadn’t occurred to him when they decided to move in together that Nico would want to actually go to places and pick things and get into bathtubs with his shoes on. 

“What he means,” Nico says, “is do you have anything big enough for two people to fit?” 

“Fucking hell, man.” Lewis drops his head into his hands, but really, he’s used to it. God help him when they get to the bedroom showroom. 

To his credit, Charles maintains his composure remarkably quickly despite the endearing flush of pink that deepens his complexion. 

“Actually this design studio does take commissions if you were looking for a larger model.”

*

“See, it’s nice isn’t it. I knew you’d come around.”

Lewis rolls his eyes, lifting his foot to press his toes into Nico’s armpit. It is nice. Somewhat uncomfortable, but nice. “I only agreed to it because it’s your birthday present and I know how much you liked it,” Lewis protests. “I preferred the one with the jacuzzi.” 

“No taste,” Nico tsks, earning himself a splash of water in the face. 

“Yeah, must be why I ended up with you.” 

“You love me really,” Nico protests, leaning over the curve of the sleek black carbon fibre panel to place his champagne flute on the polished concrete floor. No glass in the wetroom ― that was another of Lewis’ firm rules that he’s somehow allowed Nico to bypass. Water cascades onto the floor, warm and soapy as Nico shifts and rearranges himself, hair wet and head resting on Lewis’ chest, their legs tangled together. Lewis’ back hurts but he doesn’t mind, not really. “Of course I do,” he says. 

#as schmoopy as i get haha #brocedes #my fic #fun fact i saw this bath on an old episode of grand designs recently

[vinelark]

cant wait for kon and jason working together they were so good in ch 2. i know it wont happen but i have an image of kon accidentally revealing that he broke up with tim for robin and jason does a spit take like "you did fucking WHAT." and then kon's like "why do you care" and jason's like "first of all i don't. second of all i'm not telling you SHIT because you're an idiot" and kon's like "telling me what" and jason's like "EXACTLY". i have fanfic of your fanfic in my head if that's not clear.

in your fanfic of my fanfic jason would nnnneever let kon live that down. ammunition for life

(good news is “why do you care”/“first of all i don’t” is still the vibe for their sequence and i had a blast writing it 💪)

#the lost humor potential due to Imminent Peril is the biggest missed opportunity of the chapter tbh #there is still some humor though #asks #my fic

[badcaseofcasey]

one single thread of gold (tied me to you) | Part 4 aka: my Steddie soulmates au, Eddie's POV Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 |Steve's POV

Eddie wasn’t sure how he thought Steve Harrington would end up coming back into his life - he wasn’t even sure Steve would come back into his life - but pinned against the wall of a boat shack at the end of a broken beer bottle was not it.

The past 24 hours of Eddie’s life had been something out of a horror movie. He wasn’t sure his heart rate had slowed down since he first saw Chrissy’s eyes glazed over in his trailer. And now, here comes his soulmate tagging along with the most unexpected combination of people he’s ever seen - including Dustin Henderson, one of newest recruits to Hellfire Club, and Max Mayfield, who moved into Forest Hills not that long ago.

He was reluctant to admit that his body instinctively knew to calm down once he realized his soulmate was there, instead choosing to believe it was down to the group of people who - against all odds - heard his story and believed him.

The next few days were… strange. Steve seemed intent not to mention their words at all, so Eddie followed his lead. There was a moment when Steve took off his sweater to dive into Lovers Lake where Eddie was able to see his words, clear as day. If he wasn’t convinced that Steve was his soulmate by then, that would have confirmed it.

Because much as Eddie hated to admit it, Steve had surprised him. Sure, Dustin and the others had spent the better part of the past six months trying to convince him that Steve was a good guy (no, really!), but he never expected it to actually be true. He said as much to Steve, and reveled briefly in Steve’s shy acceptance of the compliment. If it hadn’t been so dark in that godforsaken forest, he would’ve sworn Steve had blushed.

They had made it back topside and now he and Dustin were goofing around while the rest of the crew were setting up supplies and weapons. His eyes drifted briefly to where Robin and Steve were putting together molotov cocktails - a sentence he never would have even considered thinking before today. The distraction was long enough for Dustin to get a drop on him, knocking him to his knees. Eddie rolled sideways to avoid Dustin’s “spear,” laughing along with Dustin.

Dustin sat next to him. “All right, old man, catch your breath.”

Eddie gasped, pretending to be appalled. “Watch who you’re calling ‘old man,’ whippersnapper.”

Dustin looked out at the field and his hand drifted down to run his fingers up and down his forearm, where Eddie knew his soulmate’s words were. Eddie had learned all about Suzie within their first few sessions of Hellfire; it was a point of pride that Dustin got his words before any of the other members of the party did.

“Thinking about Suzie?” Eddie asked.

“Yeah,” Dustin answered, eyes still looking out into the distance. “I always worry when we’re about to do something like this. What if something… happens to me? We’ve kept Suzie out of this so far, so she has no idea that we’re facing off against literal monsters at least once a year at this point. If something happens to me, what will Suzie think?”

Eddie shook his head and sat up. “I hate that you’re having to worry about things like that. You’re only fourteen, man.”

“Yeah, but look at it this way,” Dustin said. “At least I know, for sure, that there’s someone out there for me. That no matter how bad things get, there’s something to look forward to. It gives me hope, and a reason to keep going when I think I can’t.”

Eddie smiled sadly. “That’s quite the bright side.”

“I try,” Dustin said. “What about you, do you have your words?”

Eddie weighed the options of lying to Dustin right now, but decided it wasn’t worth it. Besides, it felt like it would be a betrayal of the trust Dustin had clearly put in him. “Yeah, I do.”

“Really?” Dustin asked. “You never talk about them.”

“For good reason,” Eddie said, bumping his shoulders into Dustin’s. “Not all of us get our words from our adorable girlfriend from camp.”

“Well, whoever it is,” Dustin said, nudging Eddie back. “It can be a reason for you, too. You know, to keep going.”

“Hey, I already have enough of a reason,” Eddie stood and said, “‘86 is gonna be my year, right?”

Dustin smiled and accepted Eddie’s hand up.

“And Dustin,” Eddie said, seriously. “You know that one of us would take care of letting Suzie know. We know she’s important to you. She wouldn’t just be left in the dark.”

“Thanks, Eddie,” Dustin said. “You know, if you told me who your soulmate is, I could make the same promise.”

“Nice try,” Eddie said, ruffling the top of Dustin’s ghillie suit. “Come on, let’s go see if we’ve got our marching orders.” He slung an arm across Dustin’s shoulders as he steered them back towards the group.

Eddie couldn’t get Dustin’s words out of his head, even as they all made their way back into the Upside Down. Is that how Steve thought about him as he went through everything that Eddie gathered had happened over the past few years? Did Steve think about him at all?

The group was getting ready to split up, and Eddie was caught with a sudden need to talk to Steve. He called out his name as the group headed out towards the Creel House, then stopped when Steve turned to look at him.

There was so much to say, so much they had both left unsaid. Eddie didn’t know how he could possibly put all of what he was feeling in that moment into words, but here he was, about to watch Sir Steve walk away from him again, only this time, the dragons were so much more real. He just knew he couldn’t let Steve leave without saying… something.

“Make him pay.”

Shit. He probably could have done better than that.

taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added/taken off!: @awkwardgravity1 @infinitetrashbag @vampireinthesun @swimmingbirdrunningrock @maya-custodios-dionach @thev01dd @obsessivlyme @a-little-unsteddie @anything-thats-rock-and-roll @spectrum-spectre @red-panderz69 @magpiemuseum @minjintea @finalmoondragonn @thatonebadideapanda @estrellami-1 @freyaforestafay @biatcgh @sadcanadianwinter @im-sam-fucking-winchester @bidisastersworld @justanothergirlwithobsessions @anaibis @thing-a-ling @rosered93 @newtstabber @void-o-chaos @thegingerrapunzel @baron-zemo-trash @katireads @child-of-cthulhu @the-s-is-silent @i-must-potato @hellomynameismoo @lovelylilbadone @theotalksalot @lydi-cyan @background-noise-headache @idontgetpaidenoughforthisshit @slitherynchiken @grapefruitgalaxy @bookbinderbitch @luthienstormblessed @blues-tunes @murdblurdock @grtwdsmwhr @xpaperheartso@anaibis @thedyingwriter

#my fic #eddie munson #steve harrington #steve x eddie #steddie fic #steddie #soulmate au #Stranger Things #met as kids au #steddie soulmate au #finally getting back to this one!

[vmplvr1977]

Chapter 13 is posted!!!

#f: wicked game #azgeda clarke au #azgeda klark #heda leksa #skaikru lands when klark is a little girl #grounder culture #angst with a happy ending #clarke griffin #lexa kom trikru #read on ao3 #my fic updates #clexa moodboard #my moodboards #my fic #clexa fic

[rapha3liii]

Some fun Sebastian sketches I spent way too much time on :')

I fully believe Seb wears a miku top to bed - its the only way!!

#stardew valley #sdv sebastian #sdv #my art #stardew valley fanart #stardew fanart #stardew valley sebastian #sebastian fanart #sebastian sdv #sebastian #art #sketch #digital drawing #a mutually-assured attachment #my fic #i love him #i kiss him #hes in his jammies

[splitstuura]

(re: your tags on that Vale/Uccio pic) no because I would have written so many Vale/Uccio fics already if Uccio wasn’t so mean about Marc, like, the narrative opportunities are so good there

my most controversial motogp take which i have discussed with fellow vale/uccio truther @randommotogpstuff. if uccio was even SLIGHTLY more attractive (SORRY) we would be collectively insane over the vale/uccio vale/marc axis. uccio is frankly inarguably at least as unhinged about vale as marc is that is WHY he is so mean about marc.....the homophobic reddit motogp fans of Uccio iPad stand fame know kmthis lmao.

anyway. ...in 1995 or there abouts lesbian haircut teen terror vale is riding his bike (unmotorized) 5km from his mom's house back 2 tavullia to see his old friends he is getting drunk in a backyard he is standing on a couch he is kissing 10 thousand of tavullias prettiest girls everyone at the party's there to see him end of the night he's tired doesn't want 2 go back to his mom’s doesn’t want to see graziano, "crash at mine?" uccio offers like it was ever even a question, in uccio's bed together (i've see it in black and white photos it happened) uccio's face is looming out of the gloom, drunk they're both drunk, suddenly for some reason his lips are on vales (dry and closed). Vale lets it go on for a second, waiting, curious and then he pushes uccio away. One of ten million people Vale kisses in his hazy mythological youth but he doesn't forget about it. For Uccio it remains the most important moment of his life..........

The 2015 narrative opportunities to THIS uccio go CRAZY

Also @randommotogpstuff says that people used to call uccio's mom and tell her he was too close to vale. that period typical homophbia jotting that down...

#DO NOT HATE ME FOR THIS ITS JUST THE TRUTH #DONT YOU SEE #vale/uccio #LMAO #just block the tag if you hate it #asks #my fic #hahaha #vale/marc #because it's all connecteddd #motogp

[cascara-soda]

Thank you for tagging me, @malk1ns!

Share one or two sentences (or lines for artists) from your most recent unposted WIP with zero context.

I am tagging @nejineeee, @pinetreelady, @sequestering, @flyingchiclets, and anyone that wants to join in!

Providing the tiniest bit of context because it's not solely my idea: @yabagofmilfs and I outlined an idea we may cowrite in the next 3-5 business years, and I was playing around with it this weekend.

There was a softness to Geno’s face that tore Sid in two. The Sid that was dreaming didn’t recognize it, but it felt true: there was a soft, baggy bruising under closed eyes, a looseness to his sleeping mouth. With all the usual certainty of dreaming, Sid knew they were older. He touched the thinning hair that fell across Geno’s sweaty forehead, and it was softer than the version of himself that was dreaming had imagined. Fine, tangled at the back of his head from sleepily tossing and turning in their bed. The pale blue sheets were like a sky, the pillow dented under his head spreading outwards to the horizon at the edge of the bed.

It was just a dream, but the morning light was slipping through their curtains, and Sid’s mouth tasted stale. He needed to get up, he needed to piss and brush his teeth and run a couple miles. He wanted to eat the eggs Geno would make him, scrambled into a soft fluffiness with sour cream. He wanted to drag his hand up Geno’s long back, under his shirt, dipping from wing to spine, the ladder of his ribs to small hips. It was the sort of dream that gave him too much.

#sidgeno #my fic #our fic? #idk i am not getting anywhere fast these days.

[nico-di-genova]

One Day

Written for @somethingsomethingwords’s and their request for:

Once again, this one was written in my notes app in a frenzy. Apologies in advance for any typos.

It is raining when Lance enters Aston hospitality on Friday afternoon, the misty sort of rain that’s cold and irritating and glazes the steps in a fine layer of water that he’s busted his ass on once before. He’s not looking to repeat the humiliation, so he’s careful when he makes his way up the steps and into the building. Which is maybe why he doesn’t notice Fernando until he’s already through the doors and scuffing his shoes against the entry mat to dry them.

AirPods in, music playing, he’s doubly distracted - until a baby’s laugh pulls his attention up from where he’d been kicking loose dirt from his sneakers. There’s a lot of noises he’s come to expect from the paddock, but the gurgling giggle of an infant is not one of them.

He glances up with a confused expression, half expecting to see an engineers happy family crowded around one of the tables. Instead it is Fernando that greets him.

“Lance!” He hoists the baby higher in his arms, angles the kid so Lance is making mutually befuddled eye contact with the newborn. “Look!”

Lance looks. The baby looks back, chubby cheeked, bit of drool dripping down their chin, gripping one of Fernando’s fingers with a twitchy little hand. They’re wearing headphones bigger than their own head, green, Aston Martin logo branding the side.

Fernando’s smile is wide enough that Lance can see his dimples, the lines that form with the crinkling of his eyes. It’s wide enough that Lance’s heartbeat is thrown off kilter.

He swallows.

“Come say hello,” Fernando commands, and Lance listens. Shoes squeaking across the laminate flooring, water slicking off his raincoat and leaving a trail. There’s a couple standing next to Fernando who look a little too much like the kid. They’re wearing matching Aston merch and the lanyards that mark them as guests, fans.

“Uh, hi,” he greets them first, waving awkwardly even though he’s standing right in front of them. They don’t seem to mind, seem excited enough that he’s talking to them in the first place.

He asks them how their day has been as he slides off the raincoat and throws it over the back of a chair. Asks if they’re enjoying themselves as he puts his AirPods back in their case. Trying to be friendly in the way the socials team always hopes he will be. It’s easy to do when there’s no camera in his face and pre rehearsed talking points he’s supposed to hit.

Fernando elbows him in the ribs with the arm that’s not holding the baby, but is attached to the index finger the kid is holding tightly.

“Look at him,” he coos, in a voice Lance has never heard from him before. Something new, soft, similar to the way he talks to Chloe’s dog when he visits Lance during breaks, but different enough that Lance has to catalog it away as something new. His heart thuds again.

He has to lean to get close to the kid, close to Fernando, brushes a finger along the top of the kids fist that’s tight around Fernando’s knuckle.

He hasn’t interacted with babies much. Being the baby of the family himself and all. He had a cousin twice removed that he’d held at a family reunion once when he was fifteen, but that kid had been squirmy and crying and Lance had quickly passed him back to whatever distant aunt had handed him over in the first place. This kid seems much more mild mannered, maybe it’s the headphones muffling the noise around them, or maybe it’s just the effect Fernando has.

Fernando who keeps smiling, who’s looking over the top of the baby’s head to direct that smile at Lance. Both of them, Fernando and the kid, looking at him with big brown eyes and-

Oh.

Lance figures it’s probably a good thing he lacks the productive means to give Fernando a child. Figures he probably would have been willing to try the moment Fernando passed the baby back to his actual parents.

“He’s cute, no?” Fernando asks, shifts closer to Lance so the baby starts to reach for him instead. Lance offers his own finger, lets the kid grab it with his chubby little hand. His other hand rubs awkwardly at the kids back, a pantomime of behavior he’s seen from parents before. The baby grins at him, gummy and slobbery and babbles something.

Fernando, nonsensically, babbles back. Makes a string of noises that pulls the baby’s attention back to him and then they’re both giggling at each other.

Lance feels suddenly warm, flushes through with pure yearning and blames it on the constricting fabric of the Aston polo around his throat.

“His name is Presley,” Fernando says, turning back to Lance, like he wasn’t just speaking in senseless sounds.

It shouldn’t make Lance’s stomach do cartwheels, and yet he finds the feeling in his gut anyway. Whatever, he’s twenty-five, blame it on his ticking biological clock and the paternal nurturing he’d been comfortably raised in.

Fernando keeps smiling, and yeah, it’s not a new expression but it almost is in the way that his eyes go soft and his nose crinkles when he goes back to baby-talking with Presley. Lance can’t stop staring, can’t seem to make his heartbeat go back to normal. Can’t stop seeing a future where Presley isn’t Presley, but instead a kid of their own.

And oh. Oh. Oh no.

“Do you want kids?” He asks later, in the hotel, when they both naked and sharing the covers.

Fernando’s fingers stall the dance they’d been doing along Lance’s side pausing at his tattoo and then tracing along the Hebrew there.

“Why?” He asks, as Lance shudders at the touch, “you are pregnant?”

Lance scoffs, “Yep. Pissed on the stick last night actually. Congratulations, you are the father.”

Fernando laughs, pauses where he’d been mouthing along the line of Lance’s neck, his breath hot when he says, “Lucky me.”

In the muted light of the singular lamp they’ve left on this is simple. Lance is warm, sated, the press of Fernando’s body solid against him.

“I’m being serious though,” he presses, turns his head enough that Fernando is forced to pull away and make eye contact with him.

“Do you?”

Fernando shrugs, “Eventually, yes. Maybe.”

“Oh,” Lance says, lacking the ability to think of anything better. Something heavy settles on his chest. Fernando’s hand is quick to replace it, palm flat over his heart.

“But not now. We have time.”

We. Lance swallows. Fernando must feel the way his heartbeat thuds, mistakes it for apprehension when really it is relief at the realization that Fernando does not mean for him to be a stand-in. Realization that Fernando intends to keep him, put the comforting weight of a ring on his finger one day, maybe, build a home with him. Lance realizes he maybe wants that.

“If you want to. If not then, no, I will be okay without. I just want you.”

Lance thinks of Fernando’s smile when he’d held Presley. So raw and honest, open in a way that Lance is only used to seeing when Fernando looks at him. Or when he looks at his sister, a look reserved for family. For people he loves.

“I want to,” he says, and means it. “Eventually, yeah. You’d be a good dad.”

Lance would know, he’s somewhat of an expert in the fantastic parents department - got the team and the boyfriend to show for it.

Fernando smiles, soft, fond. His hand comes up to cup Lance’s neck in a way that is familiar.

“One day, then,” he promises.

Lance smiles back, “One day.”

After the rings of course, after he beats Fernando in a race, after tomorrow and the day after that, because they have time. Lance is, of course, already thinking about the wedding band he’s going to slide onto Fernando’s finger though. He’s always twenty steps ahead like that, drivers instincts and all.

Fernando is probably thinking the same thing.

When they kiss it is with the hint of the future. A wedding, and a shared home, and a baby’s laugh all caught up in the hotels ac kicking on. Present and future entwined with Fernando’s quiet deceleration of, ‘I love you’ that gets lost somewhere in the space they share.

#them as parents 🥹🥹🥹 #a comfort to me #strollonso #strollonso fic #my fic

[reformedplayerbibuck]

Off the Deep End-Epilogue: Tommy

Evan is dancing with Jee-Yun on his hip and Tommy is sure there must be a besotted smile on his face when Maddie, beautiful in her wedding dress, comes to sit next to him.

Read the rest on Ao3

#911 #Bucktommy #Tevan #Evan Buckley #Tommy Kinard #my fic

[endwersed]

Out Of Context Lines ✍🏻

Tagged by the lovely @hedwig221b 🥰

The Rules: If you're tagged, make a new post and share one or two sentences (or lines for artists) from your most recent unposted WIP with zero context.

This guy – this random-ass Grindr hook-up, this goddamn threesome connoisseur, this Derek – is gorgeous.

No pressure at all tags! @aurevell @crownofstardustandbone @like-lazarus @nerdherderette @renmackree

#sterek #my fic #i've been working on this the past couple of days #and tbh it's a hilar wip to share no context on