#ignore the fact All Might's tie changes colour

[cerealforkart]

The third round of dress up dolls take us up to date!

Design notes under the cut

[part 1] [part 2]

Lincoln

* A fun fact about Lincoln’s dinner party look is that you’re never going to see any part of it again because it got ruined by Tony Pepperoni’s blood! He threw it all out

* Lincoln has entered his depression sweatpants era. Tragic. You’ll also notice that both he and Scary stop wearing their friendship bracelets at this point

* I’ve got an extra bullet point so I’ll just talk about my general style guidelines for designing outfits for each of the teens here (excluding Papa John’s/Black Parade looks because Papa John’s they were all given uniforms and Black Parade they were all trying to fit in rather than dress in their own styles) Link’s clothes are obviously sporty, prioritizing comfort and ease of movement over style. Given the choice he would wear his soccer uniform, but he doesn’t really have that choice anymore

Scary

* Maybe the jacket or skirt for Scary’s dinner party look could come back someday, but the shirt got ruined when Link shoved her with his bloody hands so we probably won’t see it again unless she wants to upset him (which is possible lol)

* I love my Scary’s most recent outfit. I wanted to completely change her silhouette, which meant the dress and a big coat, and most notably the braid sorta reminds me of a scorpion tail, just ignore how her hair grows a couple inches to make it work

* Scary’s usual style is obviously dark colours, black, greys, purples, etc. and in the past I liked to keep to very segmented outfits, usually a sorta baggy t-shirt tucked into pants or a skirt, but as mentioned above, I wanted to completely mix up the silhouette, hence the big coat and single piece dress

Normal

* Normal’s been getting back into the Teen High spirit, he isn’t wearing the mascot suit again, but a Teen High hoodie is fair game

* Will’s mentioned Normal’s time at Summer camp a couple times now, so I thought a tie-dye camp shirt would be fitting in this time as he’s trying so hard to play councillor for his friends

* In contrast to Scary, Normal gravitates towards bright colours, and like Link, style is not a priority. I like to put Normal in clothes promoting his interests or things he cares about ie. Teen High hoodie, camp t-shirt, he’s probably got some Swallows Ice Cream merch I’ll put him in at some point

Taylor

* Didn’t Taylor lose that jacket on Earth? Yes, but like a good anime protagonist, he knows the value of iconic costume pieces and has seven of the exact same jacket

* I actually really love Taylor’s little coveralls with all the pockets. I sure would love to draw it. You might also notice that his glasses were briefly fixed upon returning home, but they broke again when Link kicked him in the face through the portal to Hell

* The jacket is a must for Taylor, both because I like it and because it’s his iconic anime protagonist costume. Keeping in line with Taylor’s survivalist thing, he usually sticks to earthy colours, with the exception being the bright yellow shoes which are so colourful to contrast with all the browns and greens. He also probably doesn’t own a shirt that doesn’t have an anime on it

Hermie

* No Hermie fit for the dinner party, he was busy

* I knew I wanted Hermie to wear the mismatched suspenders with one being Mr. Freeze’s ice theme and one being Poison Ivy’s plant theme because he got those characters at the same time in the Undergrove, the rest of the outfit fell into place around that

* Hermie’s style is overdressed nerd attire. Suits, vests, suspenders, I’ve never put him in a shirt that doesn’t have buttons, etc. tbh it’s the kind of outfit pieces that if I was back in highschool and saw a real teenage highschool boy wearing, I would start praying he doesn’t try to talk to me, but then it turns out he’s not wearing a blazer to school because he’s a wannabe business major, he’s just a Joker cosplayer! And that’s definitely worse.

#dndads #dungeons and daddies #lincoln li wilson #scary marlowe #normal oak #taylor swift dndads #hermie the unworthy #doodly #I've gotta redo the art for these sometime

[jeweled-blue-eyes]

Hey just thought of something.....what if ogPenelope still blood relatives (from her mom's side or dad's side doesn't matter) and they came to look her and her mom(unaware that she passed away) over the years. They end up encountering Penelope in Eorka while she was shopping. (Note: this is a headcanon of mine)Penelope only recognized a few of them since she was only 5-6 years old when she and her mother left after her father passed away. Penelope cried tears of joy when she realized she still had blood relatives left. So here's my question: would the Duke allow Penelope to spend time with them or let her go back to them since it would actually make her happy? Though considering the Duke, Derrick, and Reynold I doubt it since they're all a**holes who don't penny to be happy.

Also just found out a interesting fact, the manhwa artist actually changed Penelope's appearance than what she was described as in the novel. "According to the novel author, Penelope has a cold, expressionless, and cat-like face. Her wavy hair is dark pink like the azalea flower colour, closer to red rather than pink, and reaches down to the level of her waists. Her green emerald eyes are almond-shaped." - found this on ogPenelope's and Cha Siyeon's wiki pages

While the manhwa has Penelope's appearance as "She has magenta hair reaching down to her hips in soft waves, and the tips on her bangs seem to be a much paler pink. Her eyes are turquoise, being a blue gradient on top with green on the bottom" like why change that?

The duke would be reluctant to let her go. He might do a full background check and inquire whether her blood relatives fullfill the financial requirements to adopt her. Do they have a criminal history? (they might have stolen food to survive) Do they have an Eorkian citizenship? (doubtful when Penelope's own mother had been a traveller). Why are they appearing now that Penelope has been taken in by a noble family? Doesn't this look opportunistic? This is a legitimate question: Where were they when Penelope was starving on the streets? Either they had no contact to Penelope's family anymore or they themselves were struggling to survive and ignoring her pleas. The last option would eliminate them as guardians in his eyes. The duke might think he would be acting in Penelope's best interest by chasing them away or buying their silence with money and convincing them that Penelope is happier with the Eckarts. Who would be more qualified to raise a child than the duchy? Their money and titles could open her any door, returning to being a commoner would limit her future prospects.

I can't see the duke saying directly no to Penelope's request and forcing her against her will to stay, but I can see him bringing up arguments that sound sensible to her ears and then making an offer like letting Penelope and her blood relatives move into the duchy together or telling her she has to wait until she is of age to decide whom to stay with and during this timespan the Eckarts would love-bomb her to the point where she would rethink her wish for independence. It's possible that they'd have to bring this issue to court (the judge would without a doubt rule in favour of the Eckarts) or that the legal paperwork to adopt her would take almost a decate. Derrick would sabotage the process by demanding new trials be made while he would try to find legal loopholes to prevent Penelope from leaving. Not saying that Derrick would consider this: but wouldn't an engagement to a noble, which is pretty much a political agreement that can't be broken easily, be a way to tie Penelope down? The Eckart brothers might try to guilt trip her: Penelope had once aimed her crossbow at a noble lady and the Eckarts had to hand their diamond mine over to said noble lady's father so that they wouldn't persecute her. How does she think is she going to pay them back? The least she could do is do her job and remain there as Ivonne's replacement. Leaving would be ungrateful of her. Leaving would "retraumatize" her adoptive father who had lost his first daughter and is now losing his second daghter. Leaving might even put a target on her back. She had angered so many nobles. The Eckarts could offer her protection but her blood relatives? You see, it'd be really hard for Penelope to break away from her abusers. They wouldn't literally chain her up but metaphorically the dukedom is a prison.

As for the changes in design. This might have to do with the artist's taste and it also gives them more freedom to pick out more colors for her dress that are matching/complimenting her appearance. Making her eyes change from turquoise to blue depending on the light and her hair a lighter magenta/pink would also empathize her resemblance to Ivonne depending on the situation. Remember when she wore that white dress and had her bangs styled differently? She almost looked similar to Ivonne there. And recently her eyes are looking a bit more blue. Maybe I'm reading a bit too much into it. But the more the Eckarts grow to love her the more she sheds her old identity, changes her looks and becomes something closer to the daughter the duke has always wanted. I don't think Penny is doing this intentionally but you can see that she used to wear black and purple (dark colors) and now she wears light pink, blue, white dresses more often.

#death is the only ending for a villainess #notanon #answered asks #vadd #penelope's family

[black-and-yellow]

Breaking news: emaciated man takes punk friend to feed ducks. Aizawa is only there because the other option was hanging out with Midnight. 

#ignore the fact All Might's tie changes colour #I am aware #Aizawa found a cat so everything worked out #Don't worry Toshinori brought special duck food #he wouldn't feed ducks bread #I'm sure Mic will go back to UA when lunch break is over and enthusiastically tell Midnight about his nice duck feeding experience #he takes Eri out to feed ducks regularly now #anyway I listened to Teenage Dirtbag today and was struck with like three different ideas for young Hizashi drawings #and I never draw him when he was young so maybe that'll be coming soon #I love how fluffy his hair used to be #those r his baby feathers #bnha #mha #ua staff shenanigans #all might #small might #toshinori yagi #eraserhead #shouta aizawa #present mic #hizashi yamada #wholesome ua stuff #i like ducks #mha comic #i can't draw cats #forgive me #or water #i don't like drawing water #if I met Mic I would whack his chest like a drum and be immediately hit with a restraining order #just cause I think it'd be funny

[duskandstarlight]

Embers & Light (Chapter 39, NSFW Nessian)

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter 39 Cassian POV

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If she doesn’t change her mind.

“It has to be tomorrow, Cass.”

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

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

Mor grinned slyly. “A very beautiful housemate.”

Cassian was more than aware of that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not the patient sort.”

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She doesn’t want it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Understanding dawned like millions of unfurling petals.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then a knock rapped at the front door.

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

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

But then it righted itself.

Another sharp rap at the door cleared his head completely.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It gave him the courage to do the right thing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The sudden distance between them felt like miles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Go home, Cassian.

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

“And this is your way of torturing me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was desperate to touch her again. Desperate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A low, ravaged moan sounded from Cassian’s throat. “Diyosa,” he murmured, slipping into Illyrian. Goddess.

“Bruha,” Nesta corrected. She fumbled over the pronunciation but Cassian felt as if he had been an ember that had burst into flame. Witch.

He let out a rough bark of laughter. Then he swore in a long, drawn out moan. “No Illyrian,” he ordered roughly. Pressed his mouth firmly against hers, the kiss searing. “Otherwise this will be over far too quickly.” Another kiss. “And I want to take my time.”

The smile Nesta painted against Cassian’s lips was feline. “You’ve made a lot of promises, General. I hope you don’t disappoint.”

Cassian snarled. Spun her body until her back was cradled against his chest. “I have, haven’t I?” he mused lightly, even though the hammering of his heart must have beat a betraying rhythm against her shoulder blade.

In the mirror, Nesta’s expression grew less poised and controlled. Delight mixed with anticipation clung to her features at this game they played; this tussle for control. She did not try to wrangle free from his hold or shift uncomfortably in his arms at having her back enclosed against his.

It thrilled him—that trust. Enough so that when he met her eyes in the mirror, Cassian found that his irises had been swallowed by his pupils until they were only a ring of chocolate gold.

Slowly, Cassian brushed Nesta’s hair over to one shoulder with his left hand. Traced his fingers down the arc of her neck to her collarbone. Continued a path down the centre of her chest, to the pyrite which glittered between her breasts.

When his fingers met the first button of his shirt, Cassian toyed with it. Purposefully grazed his nose against the shell of her ear. “Shall I start here?” he murmured. “Undress you in front of the mirror whilst you watch?”

Nesta suppressed a shudder, but Cassian caught it. Could swear he felt her blood boiling beneath her skin as he slipped the button free of its hole. Then another. And another. Until there were no more buttons and the material hung free.

Leaning back into his body, Nesta rested her head against his chest. Curved her back slightly so her chest thrust upwards, silently instructing him where she wanted his hands.

And Cassian couldn’t deny her. He turned his palm so it was face up and curled into a loose fist. Brushed his knuckles down her sternum all the way to her bared naval, before bringing it back up. His fingers ran up the side of the material free of buttons, until he was at her collarbone—her shoulder—leaving a litter of goosebumps in his wake.

This time, Cassian snickered when she shivered. Dropped a slow and deliberate kiss to her bare shoulder as he slowly, slowly inched the material down, down, down over her arm. Repeated the motion on the other, until the shirt pooled onto the floor, exposing her bare body to the mirror: endless creamy skin, divine curves, the luscious full weight of her bare breasts, and… lower.

Nesta’s eyes, which had been tracking the fabric as it fell away, snapped to his as a feral growl ripped from him. And she moaned at the expression on his face. Grabbed at his hands, pulling them to her body.

“Touch me,” Nesta hissed, but it came out strangled. Almost pleading. Another crack in her armour as it broke and fell away.

The sight was enough to threaten Cassian to his knees. He guided her body backwards, his hands splaying firmly across her stomach despite her whine, until his legs hit the edge of the mattress

Neither of them broke eye contact in the mirror. Not when Cassian coaxed Nesta down to sit on the bed with him. Not when he pulled her between his legs, her back firmly against his chest. Not when he bowed his head to kiss the slope between her neck and shoulder.

When Cassian finally brushed a thumb over her nipple, Nesta back bowed so fiercely Cassian was thankful he had an arm strapped across her stomach.

The small noise she loosed fuelled his fire and Cassian held on to her. Stroked over that peaked nipple again as Nesta careened into his touch. Followed it with a firmer roll with his thumb and forefinger. Used the fingertips of his other hand to draw slow, tantalising circles across the silken skin of her lower stomach, before he moved southwards…

The air around them hushed when Cassian’s fingers stilled. Anticipation built and only when it vibrated with tension did Cassian slide his hands to cradle Nesta’s hips.

A snarl of frustration, but Cassian paid the sound no heed. Only grazed his thumbs over Nesta’s hipbones. Watched her expression in the mirror—the way her face contorted as she squirmed into his touch as if she was a puppet on strings. Ground back onto him, pressing into that building ache that was bordering on painful.

Fuck, Nesta.

Cassian wasn’t sure if he had spoken out loud or in his head, all he knew was the blessed, fleeting relief he felt as he bucked into the small of Nesta’s back on instinct. He was rock hard and thirsting to be touched, but the thickening scent of Nesta’s arousal pulled his focus.

A groan rumbled from Cassian’s throat as Nesta’s hand darted between her legs. He caught her wrist just in the nick of time. Kissed the heart of her palm. Rumbled into her ear, “Not yet, sweetheart.”

His voice was coarse enough that Nesta shivered, the goosebumps travelling down her skin like a cresting wave. She didn’t struggle against him, nor did she move to disobey him as he dropped her wrist. Instead, she waited, trembling and shaking at every pass of his thumbs over her skin.

Cassian buried his nose behind the shell of her ear. Breathed Nesta in, steadying the drum of his pulse.

Not once did he take his eyes off of hers in the mirror, especially as he murmured, “Shall we find out if you’re wet for me?”

Nesta squeezed her eyes tightly shut, as if the movement would steady her. Swallowed hard. It was so unlike her to take stock, to show any signs that she was rattled, that Cassian softened. He nuzzled at her neck, trailed a line of kisses instilled with promises. A hand flew up to tangle in Cassian’s hair, keeping him there.

“Yes.”

The word stuttered out of Nesta on several staccatos, but she forced her eyes open and met his gaze in the mirror. Watched as he pulled her tighter against him and hooked her legs over his thighs so she was spread wide. Slipped his hand across and down…

The first ghost of a touch had Nesta panting through her nose. The second had her gritting her teeth. The third had her moaning, her back bowing so sharply as he skimmed straight over the place she wanted him the most.

Her head hit the centre of his chest with a resounding thud that had his bones creaking, but she did not look away from him. Seemed to know the game they were playing without him having to express it.

When Cassian brought his fingers lower and discovered just how wet Nesta was, he had to force his wings in tight to his back to hide his surprise. Growled, “You’re soaked.”

Pleasure and embarrassment twisted in Cassian’s stomach, and Cassian wanted to tell her that it was not something to be ashamed of, that he wanted her just as much as she clearly wanted his fingers between her legs.

Her eyes glinted steel, her stare commanding. “Make me come—“ she ordered, but Cassian chose that moment to roll his finger over that spot at the apex of her thighs.

The command bottomed out of Nesta as she inhaled sharply. Satisfaction bloomed inside of Cassian; because he may have done this countless times before but barely enough with her. And nothing seemed to matter apart from him seeking out her satisfaction. Of learning about what made her body freeze with pleasure and what made her come undone. “There?” he murmured into her ear, repeating the movement, before he passed his fingers down further. Until they were at her entrance, playing gently before he drew upwards and circled.

This time, Nesta groaned. Her hips jerked sharply beneath him, tilting, guiding him to just the right place.

Picking up on the cue, Cassian increased the tempo and friction until Nesta’s hips were rolling in a punishing rhythm against the hard length of him.

And Cassian snarled in satisfaction, his fingers tightening around her hip in a plea for her to keep moving—to not stop pushing back on him—because it was blissfully good. The rapid tightening in his groin was almost painful, the cord so tight that Cassian thought it might snap. But he couldn’t stop Nesta, not when she looked so bewitching, the arousal so stark on her face as he stroked and circled and pressed.

Burning pleasure clambered to its peak and Nesta’s eyes grew so heavy they fluttered closed. Something unintelligible left her lips, her head tipping back into the heart of his chest.

When Nesta’s arms wound around his neck, her knuckles accidentally grazing the leather of his wings, Cassian part-snarled, part-roared. Swore. Held her even tighter as his wings snapped out high and mighty behind him. They wrapped around Nesta’s body before Cassian’s pleasure-fogged mind could stop them curling towards her, starved for her touch.

Fuck, he was unhinged. So desperate for relief—in the scent and feel of his mate—that his control was barely there. Enough so that he didn’t react when Nesta reached out her hand—

Sense knocked Cassian for six only when Nesta’s fingers were millimetres from touching the membrane. He drew back his wings so fast  the air around them stormed, but he swooped in before surprise could register on Nesta’s face. Dipped his chin and coaxed her head even further back so he could claim her mouth.

The taste of her lips was as vital as breathing, the scrape of her nails on his scalp grounding. He moaned into her mouth at the same time as she whimpered. His hand was still moving between her legs, interchanging the same three patterns over and over again, mixing things up as soon as Nesta’s moans grew too untamed: he wanted to draw out her pleasure, not sate it with a few choice strokes.

Pulling away, Cassian pressed a kiss to her forehead. Coaxed her to dip her chin until she was looking back at their reflection in the mirror: ebony and golden brown, tan and cream.

Nesta’s irises were wisps of silver, but when he traversed past that bundle of nerves so he could slip two fingers inside of her, they flickered into living flame.

That was indication enough that she liked what he was doing. Cassian had quickly learnt that Nesta became completely readable between the sheets, that mask slowly crumbling away until she broke completely.

Curving his fingers as much as he could, Cassian pressed upwards hard—again and again— revelling in the strangled sounds Nesta made. The way she writhed but tried her best to hold his gaze.

Cassian dropped a lingering kiss to the crown of Nesta’s head. Murmured into her hair, “Is that good, sweetheart?”

The only response Cassian received was a long moan which extended into a whine as he withdrew his fingers. Then a sharp cry as he swept them upwards, swirling them in a well-practiced motion that had Nesta’s lower half seizing in pleasure.

Cassian circled again. Again. Firmer. Faster. Nesta’s cries grew louder, her breathing became more laboured. A silver wreathed hand flew to his forearm—not to stop him, but to keep him there.

Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.

The bond between them creaked and cracked as it expanded.

Nesta panted his name.

“Are you going to come for me, sweetheart?” Cassian scratched out.

In vain, Nesta attempted to burrow her head into his shoulder, but Cassian’s voice dropped out of soft and into the role of general within the fraction of a heartbeat. “Eyes on the mirror, Nesta, or I’ll stop.”

It seemed to take all of Nesta’s energy to fight her leaded eyelids and meet his dark eyes in their reflection. When she did, Cassian’s magic roared and pounded beneath his skin, as if it was trying to break free and join Nesta’s. There was a pressure and power fuelling the sensation that was separate to him. It was like the magnetic force which rules the relentless ebb and flow of the tide—that desperate crash followed by a scrabbling, thundering retreat.

That twisted rope between them grew corporeal, tugging at their ribcages as if it was clambering to remind them both of its existence. Of the cost of this exchange.

Something deepened in both of their gazes, but if Nesta had felt what Cassian had, she gave no indication. She only arched her hips back into his, grinding backwards.

Cassian loosed a rough groan that skittered across the shell of her ear. Her gaze was purposeful but hooded, as if she was in a continual battle with the pleasure weighting her eyelids.

“Good girl,” he praised as Nesta’s eyelashes fluttered from the strain of maintaining eye contact. And then his fingers were everywhere at once and Nesta’s moans fell away to short gasps that rose in volume.

Nesta tightened her fingers around his neck, scrabbling for purchase, for some sort of tether as her pleasure launched high into the air. The hand that had been at her hip, steadying her, encouraging her to roll back on him moved to her breast; cupping and pinching and rolling as she stuttered pants and words that Cassian couldn’t make out.

When Cassian slid two fingers inside of her again and pressed down firmly on her clit with his palm, Nesta’s cry was wild.

“Look at me,” Cassian ordered as Nesta’s eyes flew shut. His voice was resonant—startling—even to him. It punched through the bubble that had encased them—their entwined scent—and Nesta’s eyes snapped open.

For a beat, time seemed to stand still around them. Their gaze fastened back into place and for a moment, Cassian could see a conflict of thoughts swirl in the magic of Nesta’s irises.

He froze just as anguish crashed down that bond, right into the heart of his chest.

It knocked the breath from him. Confusion rattled inside of his head but he came up empty of answers. Had he gone too far? Had he hurt her somehow?

“Sweetheart—“ he started, but stopped. Unsure of what to say because he could still smell how much she wanted this. Could feel how soaked she was. But perhaps that was what the mating bond did. Fooled reason with an overwhelming drive to pleasure and claim.

Cassian went to draw his hand away but Nesta’s hand whipped out, her fingers curling around his wrist. Desperation flooded her next words—the plea in them stark. “Don’t stop.”

As if to punctuate her point, she rolled her hips. His fingers slid over her of her own accord and she stumbled a moan. Light barrelled down the bond and Cassian’s blood spiked, thrilled as he felt the truth of her words, as she ground back into him again.

“Fuck that feels good,” Cassian grunted into her ear. His hips pushed into the small of her back, accentuating his point. It chased the delicious reprieve from the ache in his cock, even as he knew this moment wasn’t about him. As he pulled her back into the solid muscle of his chest, steadying her movements so he could pick up where he left off: so he could watch the pleasure whip away her conflicted expression until her eyes were once again blazing with the promise of flame.

Silver mist climbed from Nesta’s fingertips into the air. It crawled over the glowing ruby siphons across the backs of his hands, past the corded muscle of his forearm and the rolled up sleeves of his tunic, to his chest, his neck…

A sheen of metal shone in Cassian’s eyes, flickering across his irises so they appeared to turn a metallic gold. The lick of Nesta’s magic didn’t burn. It was a rush of heat—the tender caress of a lover’s kiss instilled into his skin over and over again, ascending Cassian to another realm of pleasure, as if he’d climbed a staircase to an entirely new place.

It felt like an extended method of foreplay Cassian had never been privy to before, lighting up every nerve ending until he was so hard he could cut stone.

Gritting his teeth through the pain-cloaked pleasure, Cassian focussed instead on Nesta’s bare skin.

The tempting fullness of her breasts. The way desire had completely rewritten her countenance. The way she whimpered and then cried out.

Cassian sped up his movements. Until his fingers were no longer teasing, but dancing over her with sure, quick movements designed to thrust her towards a crescendo.

Nesta’s magic swirled into flame, the heat of it a licking promise down Cassian’s limbs. He groaned, swore at the exquisite pain on her face as she hung at the precipice, ready to plummet into rapture.

Her climax became a tangible, living thing and Cassian wanted to see it play out for as long as he possible could. Wanted to see her break for him again and again and again.

So, he waited until she reached the summit and when she was there he slowed down his movements. Ordered through her whimpering, “Look at me Nesta.”

Metallic irises met his, and then Nesta was trembling and shaking in fits and bursts as her release ripped out of her like a taut cord cut loose. Cassian drew her orgasm out as best he could, suspending that pleasure until finally Nesta slumped against him, spineless.

She turned her head to bury it in his shoulder and Cassian let her. Stroked her hair. Pressed a kiss to her sweaty head. Murmured, “Good?”

Slowly, Nesta nodded, but for a long while, that was the only communication he received. But Cassian let her recover. Watched the way her ribcage moved as she heaved for breath. Relished the way her body was splayed out over him, her legs held wide open from where they were hooked over his thighs.

Unable to help himself, Cassian brushed over her sex. Delighted in the way Nesta shuddered rather than batted him away. Fresh desire reignited across her expression and Cassian played gently for a few minutes, revelling in the wetness that had gathered from her release.

Finally, Nesta lifted her head to meet his gaze again. “Did I burn you?”

“No,” Cassian replied hoarsely, his heart squeezing at the genuine fear in her words. He let out a rough laugh, passed his fingers lightly over the knot at the apex of her legs for the last time before he withdrew them.

Nesta moaned softly, even as her brow twisted into a small frown.

“It felt good,” Cassian elaborated. He kissed her shoulder at the same time that he pushed his hips into hers as if to demonstrate just how much he’d liked her magic. “I’m being strangled to death in these pants,” he confessed.

When Nesta cocked her head, her hair moved in a golden tangle. Then she smirked. Unravelled her limbs from him and turned.

Nesta slung her legs over his waist so she was straddling him just as Cassian’s hands caught in her hair. A booming sounded as his wings snapped out and fanned behind him, settling like falling fabric.

“We can’t have that,” Nesta remarked, her breath a whisper against his skin.

“No,” Cassian agreed roughly. “It’s your favourite part.”

Nesta snorted a laugh, but it was not derisive. “Egotistical bat,” she muttered.

A slow, smug smile was Cassian’s only reply. Because he was more focussed on her mouth. With the feel of her silken skin beneath his palms as he ran them up her legs and over her rounded ass. His touch was a promise as he tugged her into his body and ground up into her core, the seam of his trousers doing nothing to relieve the damning ache in his cock.

Together they gasped, and then, as always, they moved at the same time, their mouths slanting one another within a fraction of a second.

The heat of Nesta was liquid, the touch of her smoke—feverish and everywhere all at once. It was the same heat that had roared into existence when Cassian had pinned her against the wall earlier, yet… better somehow. Passionate and awake rather than fogged with lust. Life-giving.

A shuddered groan was pulled from Cassian’s chest as Nesta’s hands slid beneath his tunic and met his burning skin. And then the tunic was on the floor—the rest of his clothing was torn from him soon after. It all happened at such speed Cassian could barely keep up, but when Nesta reached for his bare, burning skin—the tattoos on his arms and the faint scar on his stomach—her fingers were gentle.

“Battle scar,” Cassian panted in explanation, as Nesta’s fingers lingered on the silvery tissue that wound over his lower abdomen: a permanent reminder of what had happened to him during the final battle with Hybern. “The trauma was too great for Madja to heal completely.”

“I remember,” Nesta replied shortly and she looked so fierce that Cassian reached for her. Cupped her cheek with his palm.

“Still breathing, Nes.”

Nesta nodded, but when she kissed him this time there was something fierce and desperate about it, her fingers burying deeper into the mane of his hair.

And then a hand was trailing down his skin and closing around his cock. The touch was sinful and a glimpse of the heavens. When he hissed into her mouth, Nesta gripped tighter—until pain laced the pleasure—just how he liked it.

His groan was that of rumbling thunder as she began to move her hand. It was everything Cassian needed, but it was too much, too good. He scrambled to hold on to some sense of control, because he’d never been this close to losing it from just a few touches.

Then Nesta stopped. Glanced downwards—

The realisation thumped through Cassian so loudly his heartbeat punched like a fist against his ribcage.

“Don’t you dare,” Cassian choked out.

Nesta’s eyes shot to his, but rather than looking startled she arched a challenging eyebrow.

“If you so much as try to put my cock in your mouth I’ll explode,” Cassian rasped.

Before she could protest, he was gathering her to him and had slipped a hand down between her legs.

Just the touch of his fingers had Cassian seizing back control. Nesta stilled at the sudden pleasure, as if she was trying to coax time into suspending the sensation.

“Still so wet,” Cassian purred against the tip of her ear.

Gliding his fingers over the centre of her, Cassian paused briefly at the apex of her legs, toying with her clit, before he ran them back down. When he drew his fingers back, rubbing them together and raising them to the faelight, they glittered.

Nesta’s nostrils flared as if she was an animal in heat. And Cassian knew before he spoke that his voice? would be what pushed them over the edge. But he said it anyway, his voice dropping impossibly low,  “Is this all for me?”

Nesta launched at him until their mouths collided, until they were nothing but a clash of teeth and tongues, their skin so flush they may as well have been fused together.

Burying her fingers deeper into the tangled mane of his hair, Nesta tugged sharply. Met his gaze head on. Demanded, “Fuck me.”

All it took was those two words. Cassian moved, flipping them so Nesta’s back was flush against the mattress. He covered her body with his and Nesta whined at the contact, her body bending and arching towards him as if she were a plant and he was sunlight.

Cassian ran a hand up her bare thigh to her ass, coaxing her leg to bend, but Nesta was too impatient. She broke free from the weight of his body, repositioning herself until legs were wrapped tightly around his hips.

An uneven laugh choked out of him. “So stubborn,” Cassian chided darkly, but he allowed his hips to fall into the cradle of hers. Hissed as he loosed his control and thrust so his cock could glide through her centre. “Fuck,” he grunted. “Nesta, fuck.”

Nesta’s breathy whine fuelled the sparks of pleasure that crackled through him like static energy. He kissed her hard. “There’s a high probability I won’t survive this.”

The snort Nesta loosed tried to sound unaffected, but her voice shook as she accused him, “Liar.”

But he wasn’t lying. And Nesta knew it. She had to know it because his walls were now shattered around them in splintered shards.

Yet, Cassian found himself assuring her. “Not lying," he grunted as he passed over her again. Pressed a lingering kiss to her mouth—a parting goodbye as he moved to kiss the underside of her jaw, down the column of her throat. Down further, to flick his tongue and scrape his teeth over both nipples.

He moaned when she moaned; their sounds a chorus of want until he couldn’t take it anymore. Cassian’s claws clipped around the metal of the bed frame at the same time that he pushed off of the palms that were framing her face, until he was on his knees before her.

Despite the desire coursing through him, Cassian’s head was nothing but clear as he slid his hands under Nesta’s ass and lifted her effortlessly, positioning her so that the undersides of her thighs were flush against his knees.

Nesta’s hair was tousled over the pillow, her lips swollen and parted as she surveyed him. When she tried to wrap her legs back around his hips, Cassian held firm. And despite the fact that Nesta listened to nobody, she allowed him to bend her knees and press his calloused palms to the insides of her thighs in silent instruction.

They fell open and a growl rumbled in Cassian’s throat. His hand was fisting his cock, lining it up to her entrance before he knew what was happening. But then he remembered the pain from before. And even though Nesta was more than ready for him, the thought of hurting her made him feel physically sick.

When he moved away, Nesta let out a strangled noise. A hand shot out, closing around his wrist. “You said you’d fuck me.”

Cassian wanted to explain, but that meant alluding to that tie between them, that instinct that couldn’t allow him to see her hurt. Cassian knew Nesta wasn’t ready for that. Knew that if he so much as breathed a word about it that this precious moment would fall away.

And Cassian was selfish. He had to see how this played out. Had to know if Nesta could grow to accept the bond between them—deem him worthy enough to accept something that was Cauldron blessed.

So, he only drawled, “Patience is a virtue, sweetheart.”

One swift movement had Cassian gathering Nesta into his arms. This time, he allowed Nesta’s legs to wind around him. She gripped him like a vice and Cassian knew it wasn’t from fear of him dropping her. When he sat back against the headboard and guided her onto his lap, Cassian expected her to bite out a comment about doing all of the work, but Nesta only let out a pleased sound. Weaved a hand back into his ebony hair. Wrapped a tight fist around his length, twisting once at the tip, before she guided him to her entrance.

Cassian hissed a curse as she closed around the head. Murmured her name into her mouth. Gripped tightly at her hips when she didn’t stop sinking down on him, as he felt that pain mixed with the sweetest pleasure.

“Nesta.” The way he said her name was firm and commanding, but he still had to dig his fingers hard enough into her skin that he was sure it would leave temporary bruises. The thought made him falter, but then that sharp pain flared again as she resisted against him, and he knew that the bruises were a necessary evil. “Nesta,” he barked, “Go slowly.”

Something creaked and cracked between them. A stretching, growing pain reached its fingers down that bond, the sensation strong rather than constricted as it fought to make its way down their usually thin tie.

Nails dug into Cassian’s neck. A whimper sounded in his ears as Nesta fell forwards, burying her face into his neck. “Please,” she whined in frustration. “Cassian—”

She broke off as she clamped down around him and Cassian felt an ebb of pleasure cut through the pain—that promise of something more.

“Don’t make me hurt you, sweetheart,” Cassian pleaded and the rawness in his voice stopped her resisting against him. He eased a hand between them, touched her right where she wanted him. Allowed her to tug his face upwards so she could kiss him. It was infused with desperation and Cassian eased his hold on her hip. Allowed her to lower herself downwards until she had slid another inch deeper. Continued to stroke her until Nesta began to shake.

“I’m going to—,” Nesta gasped against his mouth. Her body trembled and Cassian’s blood roared at bringing her to the edge again so soon, despite the pain. “Cassian—”

Abruptly, Cassian moved his hand away.

Nesta’s snarl whipped around the room, but Cassian smoothed the sound away by fusing his mouth on hers. She stopped shaking but the sharp bite of Nesta’s glare pierced its teeth through his flesh in a flash of silver.

“It will be better if you wait,” Cassian gritted out in explanation when they parted. Nesta’s breath gusted against his skin. “And I don’t think I can hold on if you come so soon. You feel so good, Nesta. So tight.”

As if on cue, Nesta contracted around him and Cassian ground his teeth together so hard that the muscle in his jaw worked. But he let Nesta slide down on him another inch. Then another. And another. Until their hips were finally flush with one another and that pain had bled away until it was nothing.

The moaned words that fell from Nesta were indistinguishable, but he felt her tremor. Felt that surge inside of him as Nesta repeated herself with a whine that indicated she was toppling over the ledge of control, like a glass teetering before it fell.

And then she was moving and Cassian let her. He was unable to think or breathe. Could only focus on the feel of her.

“Fuck,” Cassian groaned. His head thunked back hard against the headboard as she ground her hips into his, testing the feel of him. “This is better than I’d dreamed.”

No soft snicker, only an untamed whine. Then teeth scraping a sinful path down his neck to his pulse.

Cassian’s hips kicked up hard as her teeth nipped.

“Sorry,” he gasped, because even though Nesta had told him not to hold back, he was still concerned about hurting her. But Nesta’s fingernails bit into his skin and her body moulded to him—a delicious second skin—as she inhaled sharply. “Again,” she demanded with a fierceness that did not allow disobedience. “Do that again—”

It didn’t take a second command for Cassian to thrust up hard. And true to her word, Nesta took him all. Did not change her mind and ask him to hold back. Instead, Cassian knew that this was exactly what she wanted—no, needed. She needed this punishing rhythm just as much as he did.

And it felt… incredible. Beyond anything Cassian had ever felt before. The blood roaring in his ears intermingled with Nesta’s cries and the slap of his hips meeting hers, was the only thing he could hear, his senses narrowed down to the sensation of her wrapped around him, so tight …

It was too good. It threatened to break him, to take everything that he was and reform it entirely, as if he was going to shatter and be pieced back together as someone else entirely. The air around them became taut with pressure, tanning leather stretched too tight over a rack, as if their joining controlled one of the essential elements.

“Cassian.” That one word threatened to break him. Not bat or it or you, only his name falling from her lips as if it was their secret. “More.”

Exhaling a curse, Cassian planted his feet firmly on the mattress and thrust up with as much vigour as he could muster. The movement had them slipping from their upright position and Cassian’s claws absent-mindedly closed around the metal bed frame, strapping them in for the ride as his body coiled and tensed as he slammed into her over and over.

Nesta cried out. Grabbed fistfuls of his hair as they moved together as if they had been made for this moment, their wild gasps melded together until they were one.

Only when release teetered too close to the edge did Cassian drop the rhythm. Cupped the breasts he had dreamed of more times than he could count. The breasts he’d had the privilege of seeing bare and glorious only twice before.

Capturing a nipple between his teeth, Cassian scraped his teeth hard enough that Nesta stopped rocking and angled her hips until he was pressing impossibly deep inside her. She whimpered. Clenched and unclenched. Throbbed in a way that told him she was as close as he was—that if he wasn’t so close himself, he could drive her over the edge with a few well-timed thrusts.

The understanding had him letting out a jagged groan. “Are you close, sweetheart?”

A whine in response, but Cassian didn’t let it go. He raked back the hair from her sweaty forehead. Pressed his lips to her swollen ones in a lingering kiss. Watched the frown that knitted her brow as she was overtaken by the feel of them.

“What do you need, Nesta. Tell me and I’ll give it to you.”

Nesta wound her hands around his head, buried her face into his neck. Began swaying and circling her hips in a rhythm that was dictated purely by the chase of pleasure. “Just… this,” she panted. “I just need this.”

Then it was only the licking fire of her breath against his skin. The magic that curled around them like a heated blanket and the building anticipation of both of their releases, which pulled at him like a strange sort of magnetism, begging him to fall with her in unison.

“Cassian—” Nesta began in warning, but he had already felt her begin to quake, as if the ground was moving beneath their feet—the mountains trembling.

That pull became a driving force—a cresting wave of pleasure so profound that Cassian felt that twist inside of him—that signal that he was about to join her.

He groaned, jerking his head back so it collided with wood, the pain grounding him enough that he could say, “That’s it, sweetheart. Come for me.”

As soon as the words left his lips, Nesta broke, as if she’d been waiting for him to ask it of her. Her cry was muffled and Cassian wanted to tear her mouth from his neck—to hear her break for him—but then she was sinking her teeth into his skin right over his pulse.

Roaring, Cassian kicked his hips up hard on instinct as she marked him, but the shock distracted him. Clouded the desperate clamber of his release so he could hold himself back.

Cassian held tightly onto Nesta as she slumped against him. When she lifted her teeth from him, Nesta whined like an animal. Dragged her tongue over the dent she’d made in his neck—once, twice, three times.

He shuddered. Couldn’t help it. Turned his face into her hair. Breathed her in. The gesture was tender, like an animal tending to the wound of a significant other—its mate.

And wrapped in this moment, Cassian could almost believe that this was something more than sex for Nesta as her forehead came to rest on his collarbone. As she kissed the hollow of his throat. Then the knot. His lips.  

“Good?” Cassian asked softly. He lifted a hand to her face, ran a calloused thumb over her cheekbone.

Nesta made a rare, content sound that vibrated through him like a balm. She leant into his hand, her eyelashes swooping down.

When she finally pulled back to survey him, her eyes were still dark. She shifted her hips. Moaned quietly. Rasped, “You’re still hard.”

It was a miracle Cassian hadn’t followed. If it hadn’t been for her teeth in his neck, Cassian would have been wrestling with the embarrassment of finishing too soon.

“I was too preoccupied with your teeth in my neck.”

A flush crept its way up Nesta’s face, like vines reaching their wicked encroaching fingers up a wall. But she raised her chin. “You wanted me to do it.”

It was true, he had wanted her to. And he wanted to do the same to her—to mark her as his so everyone would know that she was off limits for the brief hours before her body healed.

“And what about you?”

The patter of Nesta’s heart broke into a sprint. It was the only thing that betrayed her feelings, her expression devoid of any reaction. “What do you mean?”

Cassian leant forward until their noses brushed. Lifted his eyebrows. “Do you want me to bite you, Nesta?”

Nesta’s nostrils flared. If she had wings, they’d have flung wide by now. Would have collided with furniture and cut through air.

That was answer enough.

In one movement, Cassian lifted himself up and over, until Nesta was on her back and he was pressing her body into the mattress. Breath gushed out of her lungs but it was not from fear, not as Nesta turned herself out bare and tilted her chin for him—for once not in defiance but as an act of vulnerability—of complete and utter trust.

Every instinct in Cassian clambered to the surface, but he closed a fist around it until its life fluttered against the cage of his palms and fingers: his to control, rather than the other way around.

Slowly, Cassian lowered his nose to the exposed skin and breathed her in: her scent and the life that pummelled beneath her skin, the roaring of her blood as it crashed through her veins. It took everything in him not to move inside of her, to thrust up hard and feel the way her breasts would move against his chest.

“I could do it right here,” Cassian murmured, his mouth ghosting over the pale column of her neck until he came across that pulse. He brushed a tongue across it.

The movement was a mirror of what he’d done before in the human realm and Nesta knew it. But this time she did not jerk back from him demanding what he’d done. Instead, her body drew up beneath him, exposing more of her neck, begging for more.

Cassian groaned, raking his teeth over that swell at the same time that he pushed in deep. Nesta’s groan was guttural and everything. His blood turned molten, so hot that he expected his skin to melt away until he was nothing but bones.

“Please,” Nesta panted, her fingers tightening around his back.

Another flick of his tongue over her pulse. “Do you want me to bite you or fuck you?”

“Both.”

That was enough to loosen the fist on Cassian’s control. He sat back on his knees, prying her hands from his neck, coaxing her fingers until they were above her head and clasped around the railings of the headboard. Nesta’s breasts rose with the movement, her peaked nipples so tempting he bent to take one into his mouth. Then the other. Suckled until she mewled and her nipples were no longer rosy but red from his attention.

Cassian lifted his head and surveyed Nesta. Warned her, “Hold on tight.”

And then there was no thinking, no worrying or desperation to hold back. It all came as easy as breathing, their tempo,the snap of his hips and the shift of the mattress as her body shouldered the impact. At some point, Cassian’s body fell over hers, needing to feel every inch of her against him. His wild, punishing rhythm dropped into a rough rocking that was intimate at the same time it was claiming.

Nesta didn’t seem to mind—let out a pleased moan of consent, her legs clamping tighter around his hips until they were flush with hers. When he next moved she whined, and Cassian felt that change inside of her—somehow—that twisting fist of pleasure that glimmered down the bond, pushing against the walls of that thread, pushing it wider and wider, like a heart expanding.

Silver-wreathed fingers tugged his head down until Nesta could claim his mouth, fusing them together so they were complete. Cassian shuddered as her fire cascaded from her fingertips and down his body. His magic, attracted to hers, began to suck out of his pores, but it didn’t leech him of power. Instead, it was like his magic was searching for its mate, desperate to be reunited.

Then that sensation again, as if Cassian had ducked beneath something and had come up for air somewhere else.

Ruby greeted silver like a long-lost lover, blending until their magic was a metallic sheen of scarlet—a fog that misted their bodies, rubbing tantalisingly against their skin as they rocked and moaned their way to release.

“Don’t stop,” Nesta begged desperately through stuttered breaths, and Cassian wondered how many times she’d reached this pinnacle with other males only for it to be taken from her.

Cassian’s hand found its way to her face, his thumb stroking over her cheek as that coiled release twisted across her devastatingly beautiful face. “Can’t,” he panted honestly, his other hand searching for hers across the mattress until he was clasping it—holding on for dear life. “I’m so close, sweetheart. You have no idea how good you feel.”

“Come with me then,” Nesta pleaded. Her eyelashes had fluttered downwards as she took in a sharp breath of pleasure, but now they opened. Stared deep into his soul. “Come with me—”

Then her body turned both loose and taut, clamping yet completely molten as her release ripped out of her.

“Fuck,” Cassian swore. Invisible hands clasped around his ass, tugging him deeper—deeper. Everything in him tightened as Nesta crashed around him, and that siren called to him, singing her name, over and over as pleasure clawed at him, desperate to whip out of him.

Nesta, Nesta, Nesta.

Cassian launched at her neck, his teeth sinking deep enough to claim as Nesta cried out, her body trembling as he continued to thrust into her, wringing out her release at the same time he desperately clambered towards his own.

He managed to pull out just in time, his teeth still deep in her neck, his release spilling hot onto her stomach in bursts of pleasure.

And even though Cassian had vowed to bite her and Nesta had already marked him, he found himself apologising at the red, angry dents in her skin. How was it that he couldn’t bare to hurt her but biting her neck was a completely different story?

“Sorry,” Cassian rasped. His mouth was as dry as a desert as he gingerly touched his fingers to the marks, but Nesta’s fingers clasped around his, halting him. Then she raised her other hand and brushed her knuckles over the identical marking on his. Reminding him that she’d done the same—had been the first to do it.

“I liked it,” Nesta admitted brazenly, but she didn’t stop him from dragging his tongue over the marks. Shivered instead. Held his head to her.

“That was intense,” Cassian rasped eventually against her ear, after the quiet had settled over them like a blanket. He nuzzled at her neck again, unable to help it—just one more precious moment like this until he had to pull away.

When Cassian pulled back to meet Nesta’s eyes, he found that the blue bled back into her irises. “It was always going to be intense,” she replied frankly.

Then Nesta looked down at her body, as if she’d only just remembered how he’d marked her in a different way. “You didn’t have to do that—pull out. I can take a tonic.”

Cassian hadn’t wanted to pull out at all—and neither had that tie which bound them together—but that wasn’t the point. “I’d rather be cautious,” he explained—a little too shortly, because Nesta bristled.

“Neither of us have had a tonic in a while,” Cassian elaborated when Nesta’s expression hardened.

He tried not to think about how his body had been desperate to spill inside of her. For him to press as deep as he possibly could until he was spent.

Climbing off of the bed, Cassian disappeared down the hallway and into the bathroom. When he returned, he was holding a wet towel.

“A while?” Nesta queried, picking up their conversation, as he began to clean her up.

Cassian cocked an eyebrow, but he didn’t dare meet her eyes lest she read him. His shoulders turned rigid at the thought. “Have you been sneaking people in and out of the bungalow that I’m not aware of?” he asked.

They both knew that Cassian would tear any male she brought back to the bungalow to pieces, but neither of them voiced it.

“You go back to Velaris,” Nesta accused. “You visit the other camps.”

For a moment, Cassian stared at her. Did she believe that he’d been fucking other fae? She had taunted him in Velaris the other day, but Cassian had thought that it was just their extended, agonising tussle of foreplay.

Perhaps you should go in search of some female company tonight.

Cassian managed to huff a breath, but it wasn’t one of amusement. He knew that his expression was steely as he said, “I told you that I don’t sleep with Illyrians. And I haven’t been fucking around in Velaris.”

From the way Nesta’s expression darkened, Cassian wasn't sure she believed him.

She opened her mouth to throw back a retort, but Cassian wanted the discussion to end. If she knew he’d barely touched another female since he’d met her, she’d run the other way. It was too intense a confession for someone who didn’t know what they wanted.

“It was self-inflicted,” Cassian supplied, his tone flinty enough to warn her that he wasn’t willing to discuss the subject any further.

Climbing off of the bed to further his point, Cassian extended a hand towards her. Banished any of the rigidity to his posture. “Come stand in the tub with me.”

There was a sinful promise behind the order. Already Cassian could envisage how he’d press Nesta against the tiles, his lips trailing open mouthed kisses as he kneeled before her—

Nesta must have thought similarly, because the pleasure that sparked in his stomach was not his own. But still she studied him, her head cocked as if she was trying to figure him out. Her hair was a muss of golden brown, her skin glistening with sweat that Cassian wanted to lick off.

Nesta parted her lips, taking stock, but Cassian didn’t allow her to speak. “I’ll make it worth your while,” he vowed. Meant it. Because already he was turning hard again, that desire to have her roaring.

He’d known this would happen. Knew that finally being inside of her wouldn’t sate him but stoke the embers into flames. But Cassian didn’t hide it—utterly unashamed of this need for her. From the way Nesta’s nostrils billowed, he knew she'd marked the change in his scent.

Nesta’s eyes flicked to his cock and the she-devil smirked, her lips curving in a way that had Cassian thinking about how they might wrap around him—how her tongue might feel, how warm she’d be…

In one supple movement, Nesta stood. Took his hand, her slim fingers threading around his large ones. Raised her chin and levelled him with a smoky blue gaze that promised wicked, wonderful things. “Then lead the way, general.”

Tags (let me know if you want to be added/removed): @arinbelle @superspiritfestival @sayosdreams @perseusannabeth @mylittlebigplanet @biggestwingspan-az @bellsqueen @ekaterinakostrova @bookstantrash @prophecyerised @rainbowcheetah512 @awesomelena555 @wannawriteyouabook @lovelynesta @melphss @darkshadowqueensrule @laylaameer01 @a-trifling-matter @grouchycritic7794 @thalia-2-rose @champanheandluxxury @swankii-art-teacher @princessconsuela02 @lavendergoomsltd @princessofmerchants-reads @jeakat @sjm-things @imwritingthesewords @nestable @inejbrekkxr @silvernesta @inyourmindeye @amelie775 @helen-the-weirdo @pizzaneverdisappoints @wishfulimaginings @trash-for-nessian @my-fan-side @sophilightwood @valkyriesupremacy @vidalinav @onceupona-chaos @inardour @thesunremembersyourface @teagoddess99 @ellies-iced-coffee @nehemikkele @misswonderflower

#embersandlightfic #duskandstarlightwrites #nessian fic #nessianfanfic #nessian smut #acosf #acosf fanfic #acotar #acotar fanfic #sjmaas #nesta x cassian #nesta archeron #cassian #morrigan #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #feyre #elain archeron #rhysand

[erensproudsimp]

One Night Stand

Gojo Satoru x reader

⚠ Sexual Content Ahead ⚠

Summary : Working as a stripper, it was your job to please men for your daily bread until the day you met a handsome man offering to give you a ride back home, naughty things happening along the way.

Word count : 2.4 k

Looking at yourself in the mirror in the changing room all decked up in your glittery lingerie, ready to put on a show for disgusting men. Painting your lips a bright red, you smacked them together to spread the colour. Being a stripper sure brought a lot of money in which made you so happy but the fact that you had to please men for it didn't sit right in you. Taking a deep breath, you exited the room, your five inch heels clacking the surface with your each step. Gesturing your colleagues a 'hi' by waving your hand, you entered the area where the clientele would be.

Electronic music echoing around the entire room, gracefully you walked to your respective pole with the other stripers going to theirs. Prepping yourself up and warming up a little, you made sure you were perfect to earn more money. Led lights falling on your being as you were made among the centres of attraction for people to feed their eyes on your show. Placing your manicured hand on the cold pole, the other on your hip, you waited for people to enter the club so that you could start dancing. Your golden lingerie really brought out your curves and your sex appeal. Sparkling under the stage light, feeling like the bad bitch you are, you could bet your ass that money would be flying like nothing in your pockets.

Once people started entering the club, you started your performance to attract them to you. Gliding your heels on the floor, you split your legs, synchronizing your movements to the beat of the song currently being played, your sensuality bursting into the most vibrant dance. Your legs extended like a primal ballerina as you stood up, brushing your hair off your face before dragging it down your chest to finally grab your pole.

For the most part, you felt as though the front people were your main audience unaware of two bright blue eyes analyzing your every move. As you turned your body, your eyes caught caught a man sitting not far away in the back, him less adept at hiding his gaze than you. He had the kind of face that made you stop in your tracks. One glance at him was enough to make you fall on your knees for him. He dropped his eyes momentarily before looking away, his head tilted on one side supported by his arm placed on the couch, a hopeful smile playing on his lips as he pushed his dark glasses back.

Ignoring him, of course, you continued dancing making old men's pocket hurt. At some point, you became bored with staying on the stage and got off to approach your clients closer. Catwalking nearer to the man who caught your attention, you halted to the couch beside him where a blond man wearing glasses was drinking what seemed to be a glass of whiskey. Licking your lower lip, bending down to drag your index finger on his cheeks, you saw in the corner of your eye, the white haired man staring at you with a frown. More money thrown you, you sat on the man still sneaking peaks at your main interest for the night to see if your actions were affecting him.

Not so long later, you got bored of the blond guy, blowing a kiss at him, you finally went over to your target. Oh lord, to say he was just handsome was an understatement of his true attractiveness. He was beyond gorgeous, having the beauty equivalence of probably a god, he was radiating so much power. Dressed in a tight white shirt half buttoned, his abbs see through, with black pants, he laid on the furniture with crossed arms. However, upon seeing you approaching him, he opened them, placing them on the couch beside his shoulders.

Sitting next to him, you inclined yourself towards him, your hand on his thigh.

"Enjoying this night?"

"Now that you're close to me I sure am enjoying it more," he flirted.

"Oh really, is there any other thing I can do to make your night even better handsome?" you cooed in his ear.

"Hoooo? you'd do anything?"

"A n y t h i n g."

"Well then if you're insisting, please yourself on me, that would make me happy", he smugged.

Something about him was so alluring, from his appearance to his melodious voice, it made you want to know how his lips move in a kiss, how his hands move around your curves.

"As you wish dear sir."

Wasting no time, you hopped on his lap, your legs spread on his each side. Your hands resting on his shoulder playing with his hair from the back, you gazed into his eyes, his glasses falling his nose bridge. Irises so blue, as though containing all the blues of the sky to the ocean spanning the galaxy. Hell, they might even be the definition of a black hole due to their insane gravitational pull though which anyone could be sucked into.

Straddling his thighs, you rocked your hips back and forth, you grinded on him.

Just swaying to the music in the background, you traced his jawline with your tongue. Not even once did the man touch you as he just watched you do whatever you wanted. His smirk was like liquid adrenaline was being injected into your blood stream making your body tingle.

"Look at you, ignoring your work to grind on me, what a dirty slut you are", whispering in your ear he grabbed your hips to lift you and turn you so that your ass was right on his growing bulge.

Raising yourself up and down, you bounced on him. Intoxicated by the alcohol and cigarettes in the air, your vision blurry, hands moving down your boobs to your waist. Twerking on him, you felt him growing bigger. You bent back, your head placed on his shoulder, giving him a subtle smile. His hot breath fanned on your face, he smelt like booze with a faint vanilla. Cupping your breasts with his big hands, you slapped them away as you stood up to sit next to him. Kissing his cheek with your one hand on his other side of his face, you felt something entering your bra; the man was stuffing a bundle of money in.

Wingling your fingers, you waved him bye as you were going in the changing room to freshen up yourself. That was a lot of money he gave you, you thought while counting but there was one odd thing in it.

There was his business card in it. There was his phone number in it. Was this his way of telling you to contact him?

Shrugging your thoughts off, you typed him a message.

You : Hey handsome, so what's up with the business card?

Him: When does your shift ends?

You: Midnight.

Him: Great. You'll see a white limousine outside. Wanna come in for a ride at home?

A gorgeous man offering to give you a lift? Damn you couldn't miss this opportunity.

You: Sure thing, see you later.

After fixing your makeup and adjusting your clothes, you went out to slay the night until your little date. You couldn't wait until then.

When your shift was finally over, you rushed to change into your black mini satin dress you wore coming to work as well as ensuring you looked charming.

Your black handbag over your shoulder, you went outside, the fresh air of the cold night hitting your face. Lungs feeling so fresh, you were excited to see him again.

Indeed there was a white limousine parked at the entrance of the club. Upon seeing you arrive, the man asked the driver to unlock the doors so as to let you inside.

"Thank you so much for this offer, Mr?

" Oh please, name's Gojo Satoru but you can just call me Gojo", he said loosening his tie to remove it. Goodness, that was hotter than the core of the earth mixed with the sun's heat.

"Sure thing, Gojo~", seductively you said while you took a place on a seat beside him.

"Care for some wine?" he demanded while pouring a glass.

"Why not?"

"So, where do you live?" Gojo asked handing you the glass.

After telling him your address, he signaled the driver who understood the message and pulled up the black windshield to leave both of you in private.

The bitter yet sweet liquid warmed your body making you feel more relaxed after a long work. Throwing your head back, you let the wine disperse in all your veins, Gojo watching you while drinking his.

"I loved your lapdance, it was so erotic and you looked so...hot," he complimented scooching closer to you.

Tucking your hair behind your ear, he removed his glasses to place on the counter nearby. He stroke a finger down your throat, making you shiver. Holy shit that felt good.

"Not going to lie but you caught my attention the moment I saw you dancing on the stage. That golden lingerie hugging your perfect curves was enough to make me drool for you", whispering in your ear while his hand was sliding the strap of your dress off your shoulder.

More shivers down your spine.

Leaning in his touch, your hands reached to unbutton his shirt. Lips on your neck. Hot. Sinful. Goosebumps rose up your flesh. Gojo's shirt was on the floor, his chest threatening to make you swoon. It was so hard not to stare at the most beautiful male body you've ever seen.

"Love what you're seeing?" his voice came out husky.

"Very much", you replied before colliding your lips with his.

Big, warm hands stroke up your torso to cup your breasts. You jerked at the bold move, moaned in his mouth.

Feeling his smirk, he pulled back trailing his tongue down your neck to your collarbone before drawing back. As you straightened your back, his hands unzipping your dress.

His eyes went big when he saw that you weren't wearing a bra. His gaze caressed your plump boobs. Wasting no more seconds, he attacked the area with his mouth making you yelp.

"Fuck's sake, you're so gorgeous", he complimented in between sucking your nipple.

Your stomach clenched. Never had you craved a man with such hunger, never had you been more aware of your own femininity so much.

Pulling away, Gojo turned to take something from the table counter behind him. Taking this moment to take a deep breath to calm your quick heartbeats, you removed your hair from your face. Curious to know what he was doing, you tried to sneak a peak until he turned around to face you, in his hand, an orange slice.

Your head was filled with questions.

"Open your mouth", he ordered and you obeyed, of course.

"stick your tongue out."

Doing as he asked, you took it out as he pressed the fruit on it making its juices spreading throughout your mouth, even spilling down your jaw to your neck. The citric acid running down your skin so slowly as Gojo trailed his tongue down chasing all the droplets, his other hand holding your head by your hair.

"Hmmmm"

"You really like me licking you huh?" Gojo smirked.

"Ooooooohhh"

Unbuckling his pants, he slid them down leaving him in his boxers, his hardened dick pressed, like you were in your soaked panties. Unable to resist the temptation, you pulled them down releasing it from its trap. His dick sprung free, Gojo could no longer contain the heat he felt inside of him to bury himself deep in you.

"You don't mind, do you?" he asked before taking off your underwear.

"Why would I after how wet I am for you?"

Loving your answer the man tore the cloth from you revealing your soft folds to him.

"I hope you can handle me, I'm not going to go easy on you~", Gojo warned teasingly placing his member at your entrance.

"Go ahead, let's see if you can wreck me because I'm pretty sure I can handle you", you sneered.

"Heh~ well, we'll see about that in a few", he said before thrusting into you without any warnings.

"Ah!"

Throwing your one leg on his shoulder to gain a better position to fuck you, Gojo was not slow into gaining speed. This man was like an animal, so violently pushing and pulling in and out of you.

Your moans and heavy breaths was so loud, you were sure that the driver was hearing everything but Gojo didn't care about it one single bit. All that mattered to him at that moment was to fuck you into oblivion.

Right before either of you could come, Gojo pulled out to turn your body on the car couch, your boobs pressed against the leather, your ass lifted up as Gojo inserted himself again in you. This time you couldn't help it but let out whimpers.

"What's with the whimpers? I thought you could handle it, didn't you say so?" he ridiculed you.

Lost in a haze, you could barely hear his words, only feel his thrusts deep in you. He didn't seem to be stopping any time soon.

He grabbed your hand and pressed it against your stomach.

"Can you feel how deep I am into you right now? You like it don't you? Being fucked like the shameless whore you are?"

"Ahhh-yes I do, I do."

Feeling your climax getting closer and closer, you gripped the couch for dear life as you were going crazy with this insane anount of pleasure.

"Ah- Gojo-I-I'm-"

"It's okay my love, you can release it, I'm close too."

It wasn't long before you were screaming his name as he filled your insides with his hot fluid. Pulling your hair as he did so, he collapsed on the couch beside with you laying on top of him rubbing circles on his chest.

Remembering that you had to get off to go home, you took your clothes from the floor and wore them while Gojo was admiring you.

You wished that this could last forever but alas it was just a one night stand as Gojo left you at your home saying a final goodbye to never meet again.

End.

Thank you for reading this. :)

#gojo satoru #gojo saturo #gojo x y/n #gojo saturo x reader #gojo x reader #gojou #gojo smut #gojo satoru smut #gojo supremacy #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu sorcerer #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen satoru #jujutsu imagine #jujutsu kaisen au #Gojo Satoru au #erensproudsimp #smut #lemon #Gojo smut #gojo x female reader #gojo fanfic #gojo imagine #gojou satoru x reader #gojou satoru #saturo gojou #gojou x y/n

[mummybear]

Borrowed Time - Chapter One - The New Guy

Words: 3173

Warnings: Swearing... think that’s it for this chapter :)

Characters: Dean Winchester, Reader, Mark (OC), Tiffany (OC), Mentions of Sam Winchester

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

A/N: So this is the first series I’ve written in a while or at least the first one I’ve posted! So I hope you guys like it! The next chapters will be out every Friday, until it’s finished :) The series will probably only be around 6 chapters long, but I really hope you enjoy it! Let me know If you want to be tagged in this series or in any of my other taglists :D

Beta: @negans-lucille-tblr​ Thanks babe ❤😘

Kofi: https://ko-fi.com/mummybear

Series Masterlist

You let out a shaky breath as you take your seat at the back of the class, hoping that he will just leave you alone today. One of the new guys at school had developed a thing for you, ever since you’d ignored him on his first day, it was like he was determined to get you to talk to him. Lately though he’s been getting under your skin, and you’re so close to giving in. Sure the guy was hot, in fact, he may have been the hottest guy you’d ever seen, but he was also one of the biggest players in the school. The exception being in the last two weeks, where he had barely spoken to another girl who wasn’t you. Safe to say that had started the rumour mill. Then you hear the murmuring starting in the room, and that unmistakable feeling prickles across your skin.

You fight the urge to look up, but it’s like your eyes are drawn to him, like some kind of magnet is connecting the two of you. You finally give in and look up to find him already watching you, gorgeous green eyes locked on yours. Trying to look away is pointless, you know that by now. You do you best to calm your nerves enough so that you’re finally able to drop your eyes to your desk, and start pulling out the things you need for the upcoming lesson. 

That doesn’t stop your entire body tensing when the chair beside you scrapes along the floor loudly as it’s pulled out. It’s almost like you can feel the eyes of everyone in the hall turn on you. You can’t control the way that your body responds to the sound of his deep voice.

“Mind if I sit here, Y/N?” he asks quietly. You try and ignore the gasps that practically echo around the large room, as you force yourself to look up at him again.

Swallowing around the lump in your throat you nod.

“Um, yeah, sure. If you want to,” you answer shakily. You hate how your voice sounds, but if he’s noticed then he doesn’t let on. He gives you one of those panty dropping smiles as he takes the seat next to you, and you could swear your entire face flames bright red.

You inwardly roll your eyes when you see Tiffany Chase heading over to your table. You never understood how she had come to be the most popular girl on the campus, but clearly dating every guy in existence was a good trait to have these days. That was yet another reason you were glad about not being “popular”, whatever the hell that even meant. 

She leans on your desk, until her tits are practically in Dean’s face, but to his credit, and your surprise he doesn’t look. Instead he sits back in his chair, eyes immediately fixed on hers, not wandering her body, or the cleavage she's so blatantly offering him. She makes a point not to even spare you a glance, which is completely fine since you have no interest in what she’s giving away.

“I thought you were gonna show me your car, baby? Why don’t you ditch the charity case and come and have some fun with a real woman?” she purrs seductively, curling her fingers around Dean’s loose tie.

You wish you were anywhere but here, but you know there’s no other seats in class now, so your only other option is to pray for the ground to swallow you whole. You’re a little taken aback though when Dean’s large hand wraps around her tiny wrist and pulls her hand away, still remaining surprisingly gentle, especially with the look of thunder that’s overtaken his features.

“Sorry, Tilly. Change of plans, I told you last week, and a few times this week… if memory serves. Besides, there’s only room for one woman in my life.” As he says this you feel his hand resting on your knee, and you turn to look at him to tell him to move. But you stop yourself when you see the pleading look on his face.

Tiffany scoffs in disbelief, and has a look on her face like he just slapped her. 

“It’s Tiffany,” she corrects him sharply, before she turns her gaze on you. And you have to fight every instinct not to push your body back into your chair, instead you sit straighter, trying to keep your face neutral.

“Can you like… move or something. Dean and I really need to talk, I think you’re making him uncomfortable,” she huffs, as if your mere presence disgusts her. 

“Sorry, Tiff. I think you're the one  who’s making my boyfriend uncomfortable, actually. He’s just being too polite, could you please just leave us alone now? I believe he’s asked you enough.” 

It takes everything you have not to throw up the contents of your stomach, where the fuck did that come from?! You inwardly scold yourself, trying to hold your nerve. But to your surprise, Dean takes your hand and gives it a squeeze, and throws his other arm over your shoulder.

His lips press to your ear, and you can’t hold back the shiver.

“Thank you, I owe you,” he whispers, and you can already feel the blush creeping up your neck, the entire class is staring at the three of you like you’re aliens. But Dean’s currently more than enough of a distraction.

Her shrill laugh echoes around the room, followed by most of her bitch club behind her.

“Oh sweetie, no. Don’t be silly now. There is no way on this planet that you could be his girlfriend, you’d be extremely lucky to get a pity fuck with a normal guy, but Dean? No way. Now move, before I move you.” 

Your heart drops into your stomach, but you refuse to look away from her. However, before you can even utter a word, Dean’s voice drops to a low growl.

“I don’t give a shit about your name, or you. You don’t get to talk to her like that, and you lay a finger on her, I promise you’ll regret it. So, whatever your name is, unless you want me to tell Mark that you’re trying to fuck me... and just about every other guy you set your eyes on, I suggest you go back to your own seat. But first, I think you owe my girlfriend a fucking apology.” You watch the colour all but drain from her face.

You lick your lips nervously as you turn to look at him, seeing the fire burning in his eyes, but his eyes don’t move from Tiffany’s face. 

“Dean, it’s okay. It doesn’t matter,” you whisper sounding a little desperate even to your own ears. You rest your hand on his tensed bicep, trying to ignore the way you're clamping your thighs together, because this might just be the sexiest thing you’ve ever been a part of. Even if you had only started this ruse to get him out of an awkward situation. Nobody had ever defended you like this before, especially not this publicly.

“Oh, it does matter, baby girl. Isn’t that right?” Dean asks, mock sweetness in his voice and his arm tightens around your shoulders.

“F-Fine. I’m sorry, Y/N,” she responds the best she can with the amount her voice is shaking, before hurrying back to her friends.

The teacher walks in the classroom, forcing everyone's attention to the front, and you try to ignore the sense of loss you feel when his arm leaves your shoulders. But that feeling is quickly replaced when he takes your hand and links your fingers with his, and rests them on the table top between you.

“Dean, we should talk,” you whisper, when the teacher turns back to the board.

“Later, sweetheart, wouldn’t want you getting in trouble,” he smirks, pressing a lingering kiss to your already flaming red cheek.

-

Unfortunately, you don’t get time to talk to Dean, and you don’t see him after your last lesson either. You try to ignore the snickering and staring as you start to walk through the parking lot to make your way home, though it affects you more than you’d care to admit. When you don’t see any sign of him, you continue to walk lost in thought, knowing that it will take you at least half an hour but it’s worth it, because you can’t stay here. 

You’ve been walking for about ten minutes when you hear a car roll to a stop behind you, the soft purr of the engine calming slightly as the window is wound down. You can’t help but smile as you turn around, and sure enough, there he is. Sitting in the driver's seat with a cocky smirk on his face. He leans over to the passenger side and pushes the door open, “you gonna get in, sweetheart? We can talk while I drive you home.” 

You walk closer and fold your arms over your chest, raising your eyebrows at him through the now open car door.

“And what makes you so sure I wanna get in your car?” you ask through your own smirk.

“Come on now, is that any way to speak to your boyfriend? Just get that sexy ass in the car so that we can talk.” There’s a teasing note to his voice, and your smile widens despite yourself.

“Fine. I’ll get in… but only because we do need to talk,” you tell him, trying not to laugh as you climb in the front seat and close the door behind you.

“Whatever you have to tell yourself, princess,” he laughs, tossing his sunglasses in the backseat. You give him your address, and he quickly works out the new route, before starting to drive again. He clears his throat and shifts awkwardly where he sits, before glancing between you and the road.

“I owe you, for what you did today in class. You didn’t need to save my ass, but you did it anyway. I really appreciate that.”

You blush shyly as you look at him, “I was going to apologise honestly. I don’t know what came over me, I guess I just wanted to help out… somehow, I know people can be a lot for anyone, no matter who you are,” you laugh awkwardly, rubbing your clammy hands over your skirt.

Dean shakes his head, and a smile crosses his plump lips. 

“Sweetheart, don’t apologise, you did me a massive favour and I really can’t thank you enough,” he sighs regretfully, as he pulls into your driveway. 

You thank him for the ride, but before you move to climb out of the car he grabs hold of your wrist gently, and you turn back to him questioningly.

“Is everything okay, Dean?” you ask nervously, wondering what he might say. You’re not sure whether to lean in or turn away when he turns in his seat to face you.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and hands it to you with a smile, “can I have your number?” You’re a little surprised at how shy he sounds, but you smile as you take his phone. 

“I just think it might be a little odd trying to play along with this, especially if we can’t even get ahold of each other.”

“You make a good point there, Winchester. But for the record, I would’ve given it to you anyway,” you smile fondly, phoning yourself from his phone, so that you have each other’s numbers, before handing it back.

“So… How long do you wanna play boyfriend and girlfriend?” you wonder aloud, noticing the way that he blushes and scratches at the back of his neck, before focusing back on you again.

Dean clears his throat and shifts closer to you.

“About that…” he trails off, and you feel a blanket of nervous confusion settle between the two of you.

“What about it?” you question nervously.

“Would you be okay if we stayed together, at least until I have to leave town, I know it’s a lot to ask, but…” before he can continue you cut him off, resting a hand on his thigh.

His eyes snap to yours, and you quickly pull your hand away and clear your throat.

“You don’t need to explain, Dean. Besides, it was my dumb ass that got us into this mess. It’s really the least I can do,” you smile genuinely, and an obvious moment passes between the two of you, a moment which is completely unexplainable. But there’s a knock on the window closest to you that pulls the two of you out of it.

You jump back harshly, your back practically slamming into Dean’s shoulder when someone leans against his car, and his head is already half way through the window.

“Damn, I almost didn’t believe it when Tiff told me you were seein’ some frigid bitch, Dean. You hit that yet?”

Dean growls, and you can feel him stiffen beside you as he wraps a protective arm around your waist, like he can shield you from Mark’s words. It’s actually really sweet of him.

“Maybe you should tell your girlfriend to mind her own fucking business, and you should do the same, Mark. Before I put you on your skinny little ass.” 

Mark lets out a deep boom of a laugh, and leans further into the car, his eyes sweeping over your body, clearly not taking Dean’s words seriously. It makes you feel nothing like Dean makes you feel when he looks at you, this guy makes your skin crawl and your stomach lurch.

“Shit, that’s gotta be one sweet pussy if she’s got you so whipped already.” 

Before Dean can speak, you sit up a little straighter, and glare at Mark. Feeling Dean stiffen behind you gives you the confidence you need to get these words out.

“Why don’t you tell your whore of a girlfriend to stop trying to fuck my man, it’s really kind of pathetic. He’s not interested,” you huff out, hardly able to stand looking at him, so you turn to face Dean who’s smirking right at you, and way closer than you’d first imagined.

Mark starts to grumble something behind the two of you, but neither of you are really listening, and you can’t stop staring at Dean as he cups your cheek in his big hand.

“What she said,” Dean agrees easily, his husky voice sending shivers up your spine. You let his thumb brush your bottom lip, “you’re even sexier than usual when you’re jealous,” he smirks confidently, leaning in a little closer.

You swallow thickly, your fingers just barely manage to wrap around his wrist.

“Kiss me,” you whisper, watching as his eyes flick down to your lips, and he licks his own. There are so many reasons this is a bad idea, but for the life of you you can’t currently think of any. 

Dean doesn’t even hesitate, before you can blink his lips are pressing against yours. The kiss is firm and his lips are so soft that you quickly lose yourself in the kiss, and you feel like your entire body is being drawn in by him. 

He pulls back all too soon. His eyes are lidded as he looks at you, and his hand moves from your jaw, to cup the back of your neck. His hands feel huge, as he tugs lightly at your hair and you gasp against his parted lips. 

“I s-should probably get going,” you whisper shakily, letting your fingers trace over the skin of his chest, where his shirt buttons are undone.

Neither of you even attempt to move, and before you think about it too much your lips are brushing against his again. He pulls you against him tightly and deepens the kiss, making you all but melt against him, and his hands remain firm against you as he effortlessly takes control of the kiss. You feel yourself edging closer, heart pounding in your ears and your head foggy, it takes everything you have to pull away from him, but you just about manage it. Looking up into his lidded eyes as you both pant hard, you swallow thickly and look over your shoulder, relieved to find that Mark has gone.

Dean cups your cheek when you turn back to him, his face the perfect picture of lust. 

“You should go in, sweetheart. Or I might change my mind about letting you go… but I’ll text you tonight, okay?” he rasps, pecking your lips.

You can feel yourself blushing as you nervously bite your lip. 

“What makes you think I want you to let me go?” you giggle as he leans in closer again, he’s so warm and smells incredible. 

“Oh trust me, if this had anything to do with what I want to do, you’d already be screaming my name,” Dean all but growls.

“Dean.” His name is a whisper on your lips, and you can hear the blood rushing in your ears again.

Dean lets out a deep groan and shifts awkwardly in his seat.

“Shit, you don’t make it easy on a guy, sweetheart,” he smiles, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“You live here by yourself?” he asks suddenly, nodding over to your house, clearly trying to change the subject.

You shake yourself from your heady daze, trying your best to concentrate on what he’s saying.  Clearing your throat you give him a small nod, unable to stop the smile from crossing your lips.

“At the minute, yeah. It’s usually me and my best friend, but she’s away visiting family this week. It’s good though, much closer to campus than my parents’ house,” you explain happily, remembering the way that she had told you to take advantage of the free house, but then you notice a strange look crossing his face.

“Sounds nice. I’ve never really had anywhere like this, my family didn’t really stay anywhere too long, not since my mom died. My dad has to travel a lot for work, and I’m learning the ropes, so I can take over one day.”

Your heart aches for him, and you have no idea how it’s even possible to feel this close to someone you’ve only known for a little over a month.

“I’m so sorry, Dean. It doesn’t sound like you’ve had much time to just be you. If you ever need to get away, I have no intention of moving any time soon, you’re welcome to stay here,” you tell him softly, resting a gentle hand on his arm, until he finally looks at you again.

“Thanks, sweetheart. That means more than you know, and I promise I’ll text you later. We can talk more then, okay?” 

You lean in close and press your lips against his, the kiss lingers a little, before you finally pull away and whisper against his lips, “I’ll be holding you to that, Dean.”

Bold wont tag guys sorry!

Tags:  @chewie-redbird @julzdec @lettersofwrittencollective @stiles-o-dylan24 @mogaruke @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @dylanholyhellobrien @desireepow-1986 @lilulo-12 @22sarah08 @deanwanddamons @simsadventures  @charmed-asylum @nicole-lynne @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog @defenderrosetyler @emilyshurley @foxyjwls007 @mylovelydame21 @sunshineandwings86 @akshi8278 @peaches007 @stylesismyhubs @peachyyybabyy @fantasy-myth1 @death-unbecomes-you @coffeebooksandfandom @magssteenkamp @fandom-princess-forevermore @hobby27 @littlelonewolfgirl @ladywinchester1967 @screechingartisancashbailiff @maddiepants @spnfanfic-reblogs @holylulusworld @mrswhozeewhatsis @sonofabringmesomepie @deans-baby-momma @mrsjenniferwinchester @hhiggs @pisces-cutie @trina44sb @heartsaved @matsumama @adoptdontshoppets @beth-winchester21 @doctor-hp-mcu @mrspeacem1nusone @fanddoms4love @nihilismworld @bxbyizzy @noobwuvsj2 @lyarr24 @hearteyes-j2 @tatted-trina6 @quxxnxfhxll​ @thewinchesterandreidwhore

Pond Tags: @aprofoundbondwithdean @manawhaat @thing-you-do-with-that-thing  @nichelle-my-belle @notnaturalanahi @deanscarlett @roxy-davenport @impala-dreamer @samsgoddess @frenchybell @scorpiongirl1  @deandoesthingstome @deansleather @curliesallovertheplace @whywhydoyouwantmetosaymyname @imadeangirl-butimsamcurious @kayteonline @supernatural-jackles @wevegotworktodo @quiddy-writes @babypieandwhiskey @supermoonpanda @deanwinchesterforpromqueen @chaos-and-the-calm67-blog @memariana91​ @teamfreewill-imagine @chelsea-winchester @becs-bunker @castieltrash1 @supernaturalyobessed @ruined-by-destiel @winchester-writes​ @maraisabellegrey-blog @faith-in-dean @winchestersmolder @clueless-gold @deanwinchesterxreader @winchester-family-business @there-must-be-a-lock @just-another-winchester @cas-backwards-tie @winecatsandpizza @firefly-in-darkness

#dean winchester #dean winchester supernatural #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester series #dean winchester SPN #dean winchester smut #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x y/n #supernatural #series #au #SUPERNATURAL AU #SPN #supernatural fanfiction

[wissbby]

Boyfriend head-canon - Oikawa Tо̄ru

⤙ Summary: basically, a head-canon about how I imagine Oikawa in a relationship. ⊹ Genre: fluff, smut and a tiny bit of angst ⊹ Word count: 1779 ⊹ Warnings: NSFW ⤙ Author’s note: this head-canon is a bit bigger than I anticipated. I still feel like I’m missing so much more so I might edit this in the future and add onto it. For now, I hope you just enjoy it :)

So, let's say you and Oikawa got together.

I don't see Oikawa as someone who opens up easy. It takes the man a lot of time and trust so you'll have to be patient if you want to develop a relationship with him.

You must've been (very very good) friends before he even sees you as a potential significant other. 

I've seen a lot of Haikyuu fans bashing on the man because of that one scene with Kageyama. They don't realise that Oikawa was at his lowest point during this moment and was overall just doing very, very bad. 

It's also a scene where we get to see Oikawa's fakes finally breaking down. 

You need to show Oikawa you're there for him, even if he pushes you away at the very beginning.

He's afraid to show you his insecurities, even if you're already aware of them in the first place. 

He's just so so afraid of losing you. He’s afraid you’ll leave him behind once you get to see the other -not so pretty- side of him.

So, try to break him,

in a good way, of course.

Also, give him a lot of space. And by this, I mean, give the man attention but let him do his things like he always has done. 

Even though you're now his partner, Oikawa is still selfish in that perspective. He won't try his hardest best to change his schedule for you.

You know volleyball is important to him, right? So you must understand why he won't do so.

Trust me,

He'll come back running once he realises this kind of behaviour was the exact reason his ex broke up with him.

"I'm so sorry. It's just- I'll try harder."

And if Oikawa says so, he really means it. This man keeps his promises, I'll give him that.

He's just very insecure about a lot of things, though he might not show that side of him immediately. 

If you've come across the point where Oikawa fully knows he's accepted by you, he'll show you his true colours. 

Expect him to break down in front of your -yet to be opened- front door. 

Just take the man inside and comfort him. 

He likes to be pampered.

Now, onto a bit more fluffy stuff.

This man is one hundred per cent the affectionate type. 

If he wants to feel your skin, he will do anything in his power to do so. 

Out in public but suddenly craving you? He's kissing your forehead and pushing you against his chest while holding your waist with his right arm and intertwining your hands with his left hand.

Together in one's bedroom? He'll either plop on top of you, burying his head into the crook of your neck with his body all over yours or will push you against his chest and let you rest your head in the crook of his neck while running his hands slowly through your hair until he hears your evening breaths. 

He just likes to know you're still there with him. 

Sorry buddy's, it's the insecurities.

It's also a way of apologising for the time he loses with you because of volleyball. He tries his hardest best to make the time you two have unforgettable.

If he finally got a day off, he will one hundred per cent take you on a date. 

Expect this man to go all out.

Clothes, shoes, accessories, oh yeah, and the date itself too

He almost forgot about that, but let's ignore that for now 

Okay, so these are the type of dates he would definitely take you on,

Coffeeshop dates, picnics, star-gazing, home-theatre.

Let me explain each date

Coffeeshop dates: it has to be one of those cosy, very warm atmosphere shops. He likes to see a lot a brown, dark green, some orange and of course, plants. It's an aesthetic the pretty setter loves to be surrounded by to unwind from everything going on. 

It's also a perfect colour palette for his Instagram feed.

He'd wear a grey sweater with vinyl pants and -of course- wear his glasses to add to the look. 

This mf is actually blind without them but only wears them when they match his outfit. 

Anyway, 

Picnics: Oikawa would take care of everything. The only thing you need to do is just be there. He likes to lay down with you, telling you about his day/week. The pretty scenery above your heads and in front of you keeps amazing him. He will never get tired of the prettiness Mother Nature offers. Bonus!! Bring him milk bread and he’ll spin you around before settling you back on the ground and pecking your lips ever so slightly.

Star-gazing: I see Oikawa as an intelligent human being. Besides that, he is very curious about various things. He almost always has a question about something. If he feels romantic or just simply wants to see you, he’ll call you when the sun has set, telling you he is waiting for you outside. I know for a fact that this dude has some secret hide-out since he was a child. He hasn’t shared it with anyone, not even Iwaizumi, because it was his spot to completely shut the outside world out. He really doubted whether he should tell you about it or not. But, he wanted to show you himself, all of him. He loves you too much to let you be apart of that “outside world”. Arriving at the spot, he would lay down with you in the tall grass, eyes immediately fixating on the bright stars. He would point out the zodiac signs, telling you some facts about his sign and yours (yes, he did his research). On the court, Oikawa feels big. He feels big with his team and is not afraid to lose if it were with them. But now that he lays underneath the big open sky, he realises how tiny he is in this universe. He starts to think about how lucky he is to have met you in this big universe. Expect some sappy shit and maybe some tears if he feels vulnerable. 

Home-theatre: sometimes, it’s better to stay indoors with your loved one. And Oikawa completely agrees with that. After a long week of school or work he just likes to unwind. Now, he would invite you over. And girl- when I tell you what he did. You didn’t exactly expect a fort in front of his television. But then again, we are talking about Oikawa here. It’s adorable, though. There are fairy lights all over the place, candles lit and an unnecessary amount of pillows and fluffy blankets. You both lay down and pick a movie. Settling on “Ponyo” because Oikawa once mentioned the drawing style makes him feel at ease. This man has one of his arms either wrapped around your figure or intertwined his fingers with you. He prefers to have you cuddled into him, whether that be spooning or laying on top of his chest. He just likes to keep you close. It’s these moments Oikawa cherishes the most: the domestic ones. 

Let’s hope I fed you enough fluffy content because I’m ready to flip the switch once again. 

Like I mentioned before, Oikawa is a curious man. 

And this also applies to kinks.

I know for a fact he is not scared to try out new things. He just wants two things: trust and honesty.

He wants you to trust him and trust you. He also wants you and him to be as honest as possible.

Do you not like something even though he seemed to be into it? Tell him, he wants it to be as equally enjoyable for you as it is for him.

Now, I’ve seen a lot of headcanons telling Oikawa is a switch with sub tendencies. 

I’m only gonna have to agree on the first part.

This kid is, indeed, a switch. However, he is more of a switch with dom tendencies, in my eyes.

Big on praise, like, very big. 

Secretly likes receiving more than giving, but you never heard that from me.

He also is into slight bondage. Handcuffs, ropes etc.

He likes to tie you up and block your sight. It makes him feel in control. 

Also, the way you squirm whenever he’s breathing or whispering into your ear when you least expect it, gets him rock hard every time. 

However, do the same to him and he’ll obey.

After being the fattest brat ever, of course.

#pegoikawa2020

Some other kinks he has are breath play, cockwarming, degradation, role-play, overstimulation, pain, food-play, stockings, cute lingerie and sadism.

(There are so many more kinks he likes and I want to go into detail about all of these but this shit will get too long so I won’t. Request if you want to see what I’d say about his kinks.)

He can go all out. 

But Oikawa prefers the more gentle sex where you just take time to enjoy each other’s carcasses. 

Is super vulnerable whenever that happens and has indeed broken down a couple of times during the act.

He can’t help it: he loves you too much that he can’t even keep on that facade anymore.

Aftercare with this baby is so cute. 

If the previous moments were a lot rougher, he likes to check up on you and praise you for your work. 

However, he gets you a glass of water and a towel to clean up the mess every time. 

When taken care of, he likes to plop down and just hold you as close as possible. Usually runs his fingers through your hair to confirm you’re still there with him. 

Falls asleep real quick, ngl

If I can give you a piece of advice: get up the morning after to make him breakfast

It’s something small but Oikawa really feels loved whenever he’s taking care of

Asks you to take place beside him and shares his breakfast with you

Yes, he is the type to put food into his mouth and share it with you with the help of a kiss that transfers the piece of food into your own mouth

Mornings like these are intimate and Oikawa cherishes them the most

Usually followed by just a lazy day of enjoying the presence of one another and probably some romance anime or Black Mirror binge watch.

Overall, this baby needs a lot of reassurance in his relationship. Let him know you’re there and won’t leave him (one of his, if not biggest, insecurities). Make him feel loved and let him take his time to warm up to you. Oikawa is worth the wait.

Bonus!!

Iwaizumi is so very glad to see his best friend happy. He’s very grateful you two have met. Will never not show you how much he appreciates him.

“Thank you for loving him, Y/n-san,” Iwaizumi would say, voice lowered in hopes his friend wouldn’t be eavesdropping.

“Iwa-chan! Are you flirting with my girlfriend?”

“Shut up, shittykawa! You don’t deserve someone as good as her!”

He’s just happy his best friend is finally able to share his insecurities with someone he loves so much.

You’re a blessing to the both of them. 

#oikawa #oikawa tooru #oikawa toru #hq oikawa #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #oikawa haikyuu #oikawa x reader #oikawa/reader #oikawa toru x reader #oikawa imagine #oikawa fluff #oikawa angst #oikawa smut #oikawa drabble #oikawa blurb #oikawa scenario #oikawa toru imagine #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa headcanon #wiss.hc #wiss.pens #wiss.haikyū

[geminil0vr]

𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙖 𝙬𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚 !

the masterlist -> part two

summary ✰ your relationship with your boyfriend, ben, has been a little (a lot) rocky from the start. back from a session of him not even trying to help you finish, you run into pansy in your dorm room, and it's safe to say she has some suspicions.

tags ✰ @partr1dge <3

wc ✰ 1.7k

content ✰ fake moaning, toxic relationship, a little smut, sexual themes galore, cumming (not just yet for our dear reader), (constant) mentions of shitty sex experiences, lying, endless cursing, reader is h word, getting dressed, mentions of homework (this one should be classified as a warning), snooping/stealing

a/n ✰ this is pretty much just a short intro, some backstory and all that !! i hope you like it. and be careful, past the read more it pretty much goes directly into some smut/sexual themes. okay, happy reading :))

with a few final thrusts, your boyfriend comes inside you, quickly pulling out and rolling next to you on the bed. you laid there, as usual, fake moaning, pushing back onto him. and he went quick, not doing anything to make you feel good, and pulling out before you've even come (though, when the only thing he does is piston in and out of you like a personal fleshlight, that's unlikely to happen). this is how all your sex happens, usually.

ben turns to smile at you, cupping your cheek in the palm of his hand. "did you cum?"

ha, did you fuck. he's not even done foreplay. "yeah! like, twice. didn't you notice?"

you've found that the only way to entertain yourself is by making even more outlandish statements each time you fuck. well, he fucks you. well — no, it isn't really fucking. he actually has the nerve to ask why you make him use lubrication every time... perhaps it's because he refuses to eat you out, or even play with your clit for more than fifteen seconds, or finger you to prepare you. in the early days, he tried, and you repeatedly went to tell him what you liked. and, not enjoying being told what to do, he did it how he wanted, and now consistently leaves you in a confused state of 'how can i be so horny when he did the bare minimum?'. ben calls it domination. you call it ignorance.

another way you've found to entertain yourself, is by making sex a performance. see, when you first started off, you were a virgin, and although well-educated on sex and the things you might like, you didn't feel inclined to fake anything. now, you've been with ben for around six months, but in your first one he put up this façade of a romantic, so you had gone and fallen (tripped, stumbled, collapsed, grazed your fucking knee) for him. you'd fallen for roses, and dates, and... well, that was it. your standards were pretty low back then — christ, you were sixteen! and when you two finally did anything, two months into the relationship (despite his relentless begging), the glass window was shattered.

ben is selfish. once you sucked his dick, and let him fuck you (the definition of fuck is still on thin ice, really), the romance came around less often. you thought it was just a typical couple thing. you mean, your past relationships lasted about a month or two. you thought this was the average.

until your friends, well, they got boyfriends and girlfriends, and now they're always grinning, and they have little spats that are easily resolved with communication, and they're in love. and the way they speak about sex, merlin, it's like a fantasy out of some erotica book. 'he did this', 'she did that', 'it felt so good', 'it's like they know exactly what i want'. so when your friends turned to you about your sex life, you put all your walls up, and you told them some phoney story about how he's your best lay (... your one lay) and how he's so bloody good at taking care of you.

you still feel bad for lying to them. but it's been four months, now. you don't want to go back, not that they would be mad at you, but you're almost embarrassed about how long you've stayed. you know they'll make you break up with him, considering what an arse he is in and out of the bedroom, and you're scared to get into drama, and you're scared he'll be upset, and you're scared that a little part of you still clings onto your old, false perception of him, so you stay. you know it isn't healthy. but you stay.

and you make sex the greatest show of your life, you arch your back, you moan, you gasp, you refrain from telling him that when he cups your breast it feels like nothing, you curl your toes, you remain submissive. in bed, you're a porn star of a very vanilla, one-man show. and you give yourself a five-star fucking rating. of course, you only started this when you realised he would never listen to you. ben just reckons he's got really good in bed all of a sudden.

"you alright?" ben is already in his trousers, buttoning up his school shirt. you're still in only your bra on the bed. 'course, no aftercare.

"yeah, sorry, dazed off." hurrying to get dressed, you kiss him on the cheek (he doesn't like kissing on the lips once he's come in your mouth) and rush to your dorm, tie hanging underneath your collar. class is in forty minutes. when you two started, you were five minutes into a free hour.

the slytherin common room is moderately empty, most people being in class already or making use of their free hour, and when you drag your shoes all the way to your dorm room, you definitely don't expect to see pansy parkinson flipping through a magazine on top of her emerald duvet.

see, you've known pansy since first year. she isn't much involved in the slytherin girl group, but she gets along quite well with everyone, sometimes participating in sleepovers if she feels like it, and always cracking clever and bitter jokes. pansy's a nice girl, though relatively bitchy with the gryffindors, and you quite like her, and she quite likes you. it's a mutual agreement, you say 'hello' in the mornings, and she'll ask you for a quill from time to time, and you'll hand it to her, and when you two are drunk out of your minds you do challenges to see who can drink the most, in your dorm room, as all your other friends giggle and watch on. it's a good, solid, friendship, albeit not super close.

and just as you would feel with any friend, your dishevelled appearance (undone tie, messy hair from your 'performance', untucked shirt) immediately embarrasses you as you stand in the doorway.

"oh. hi, pansy." you give a tight smile, shutting the door behind you and going to do your tie, before giving up because, well, you're shite at doing ties, and tossing it on your bed. "what're you still doing here?"

she's not stopped eyeing you since you came in. "gee, lovely to see you too, y/n. and, couldn't be bothered to socialise. draco's being a dick." she looks over your appearance critically, raising a sharp brow. "had fun? good lay?"

"y—es. 'course." you swallow, diverting your attention to your school bag, attempting to disguise the fact that you certainly did not have fun. nor a good lay; couldn't be more the opposite, actually. well, you were lying down?

she pauses, clenching her jaw before tossing the magazine to the side and narrowing her eyes, one leg crossed over the other, arms crossed over her chest. head tilted. lips parted. "you okay, there?"

taking a deep breath, you kick your shoes off and turn around with a gentle smile, passing a comb through your hair. "yeah, why?"

"just, you look more like you've been dragged through a bush than been fucked." her face is completely blank, and your cheeks grow hot from her crude vocabulary, but nonetheless you chuckle. looking down, you notice that one of your thigh high socks is rolled to your mid-calf. thank god the hallways from the ravenclaw tower to the dungeons, and your common room, were pretty much empty when you walked through.

you roll it back up and begin tucking in your shirt. referencing to your sock, you grin. "stylistic change. and yeah. ben, well, he's quite the animal in bed." more like a tortoise. not because of speed, but have you seen how they mate?

"hmm." she hums, tucking a strand of short black hair behind her ear, and nodding before picking back up her drama magazine to look over different pages as you quietly put your clean clothes away. a comfortable silence settles in the room while you take the time to get out your homework, sitting on your bed and correcting a few of your grammar mistakes. it's a long while before pansy speaks again, not looking up from the pages. "gilderoy lockhart still hasn't got back his memory."

"awful shame," you smirk, finishing up your work and putting it away before bounding over to her four-poster bed. sitting down, you fold one leg under the other that remains firmly planted on the carpet. your eyes gloss over the painfully colourful magazine with wizard celebrities plastered all over it, "tell me, why do you read such trashy things?"

"found it in daphne's drawer." she shrugs, rifling through some more pages.

"you went through daphne's drawer?"

"was bored. 's not really interesting in there." pansy deadpans, "doesn't even have any sex toys." then she grins cheekily, pearly whites on display. you suck at your teeth and shake your head in amusement, chuckling and getting up.

"dickhead. put it back before she notices!" you exclaim.

"alright, then." she rolls her eyes playfully, and bounces up, smoothing out her short, school skirt and slipping the magazine back into daphne greengrass' bedside table.

with only ten minutes to get to your transfiguration class, you start to clean up your appearance, leaving just the top button of your shirt undone and attempting to do your tie. pansy slips on her high-top converse (mcgonagall will have her head for that), doing the laces and glancing over at you every few seconds as your fingers fumble with your dark green tie. how many years at hogwarts, and you still can't do it right? you squint in the mirror hung up on the wall, once more wrapping the thicker part of the tie around the thinner part, tucking it under, making a loop, tucking the — wait, how did it go again?

"here, let me do it, since you're so bloody incapable." pansy storms over, exasperated from watching you fail, grabbing you by your shoulders to twist you around and taking matters into her own hands. she does it expertly, because of course, she's a pureblood, and purebloods just have to be bloody good at everything. tightening it up just a little, she folds down your collar and smooths her fingers over your shirt, before coming up behind you and getting up on her tiptoes to wrap her arms around your shoulders and make sure the tie is well situated. you hold in a breath as her fingers brush against your neck — really, that dumbarse boyfriend of yours leaving you high and dry makes everything get you worked up.

finally, pansy works some of her fingers through your hair, smoothing out the messy strands framing your face and placing her hands firmly on your shoulders. "perfect." and she's gone, grabbing her bag and swinging out the room before you can even utter a 'thank you'.

#pansy #pansy parkinson #harry potter #hp #harry potter series #hp series #golden trio era #slytherin!reader #fem!reader harry potter #lgbt harry potter #pansy smut #pansy fluff #pansy angst #pansy parkinson smut #pansy x y/n #pansy x you #pansy parkinson fluff #pansy parkinson angst #pansy parkinson x reader #pansy x reader #pansy parkinson x y/n #pansy parkinson x you #pansy fic #harry potter fic #girls of harry potter #girls of hp #smut fic #hp smut #harry potter fluff

[downfordiluc]

Kaeya x F Reader One Shot. [Modern AU].

Warning // Explicit Language. No Smut, only fluff.

Synopsis: a night filled with alcohol, dancing and feelings. 

If you rubbed your eyes one more time, you feared they may disappear inside of your skull. The display on your laptop was beginning to sear your retinas, as you watched the clock tick over to 11:30 pm. You should have left work hours ago. Having a hardass for a boss had wasn't something really had any benefits to it, other than the sizeable paycheck you took home after a long week's work; often going ten or twenty hours over your actually scheduled nine to five days.

Being able to finally click save and close the torture machine in front of you was something that you spent every working moment impatiently waiting for, and the satisfaction you got from knowing you could finally go and slump into your bedsheets was something that never really lost its novelty. And yet, tonight wasn't going to be one of those nights.

"Wanna go cause some trouble?"

You looked up blearily at the voice, seeing a tall, tan figure leaning against your doorway, one hand on his hip, and the other in his pocket. The smirk on his lips was one that you couldn't get enough of, but you'd never admit it. You'd never give him the satisfaction of admitting it.

"It's almost midnight, Kaeya." you remarked, as you shrugged your leather jacket onto your shoulders. Despite the protest in your tone, you had basically already succumbed to his plans before even hearing them, as you collected your belongings that were spread over your desk. "And so the night is only young, [Y/N], whaddya say?". This man knew he was born with a silver tongue, and had the power to persuade even the most stubborn to follow his every command. You knew this, and yet you fell victim every damn time.

"Where are we going?", you practically had a white flag waving above your head, as you walked through the door he held open, and yet you weren't fooled - Kaeya was no gentleman. He was a sweet talker, and he played the field like it was second nature to him. Life was like a game of chess, except he was always 5 moves ahead, taking piece after piece off of the board. Women were the pawns.

"Diluc's club, he pissed me off yesterday, and if my memory serves, you're not best pleased with him either.", he looked as though his plan had fallen into place, and yet it had one fatal flaw. "So your plan for revenge, is to financially provide for him by drinking in his club?". You felt as though you had his king in check - winning the game of chess - and might actually get to go home for the night. Yet that stupid smirk returned, and you instantly dropped the glimmer of hope you had grasped onto. "Money is simply an object to him, you know this. But just imagine the look on his face if he saw us both having the time of our goddamn lives, huh?". You hated to admit it, but to see that exact face you were now picturing was an opportunity you would not pass up, even if you hadn't slept for a week.

The night was bitter, biting at your cheeks as you walked down the cobblestoned alleys. No matter how much you pulled at your thin jacket for warmth, it simply wasn't the right choice of attire for the middle of February. "I know a way to warm you up." the man to your right quipped, and you instinctually glared up at him, seeing a saccharine sweet smile upon his face. You rolled your eyes and looked away from him, refusing to step into the trap that was his syrupy gaze. You knew better.

"Vodka".

You heard him chuckle at your blunt response. A soft, breathy laugh that could melt ice, and the heat that rose to your cheeks was welcoming, considering the harsh winds that felt like icicles piercing your skin. He really did have a way to make women putty in his hands, and you had never been more glad you considered yourself above that, considering you were about to get absolutely shit-faced together.

One shot turned to two, and two turned to three, as you bottomed the foul liquid, and slammed each glass onto the table with a loud clink. You hadn't done this in a while, and it had been even longer since you had done it with another person. Drinking alone was usually your style, which now you realised was actually quite sad.

"Slow down, darlin', they'll run out if you aren't careful.", he had absolutely no right to be using words like that, and even less right to witness the colour that lit your cheeks alight. Suddenly, staring at the marble bar seemed a lot more interesting.

"Mind your own business, Alberich. You said you wanted to have fun, this is how I have fun.". You knew full well the worse was yet to come. They say everyone has a second personality when they're drunk, and yours enjoyed partying like the world was going to end tomorrow. You noticed he was nursing his whiskey, and frowned at him, tilting your head to the side and resting it on your fist.

"Didn't take you to be a lightweight." you smiled devilishly into your words, watching his eyes widen slightly in surprise, you could practically see him recoil as though you had smacked him in the face. "Someone's gotta be able to walk to take you home.". The laugh you let out in response was a hearty, full one. Something you hadn't done in a while. You pushed at his shoulder, mocking him further. "Let go, have fun! Worst case scenario, we sleep on the floor. I never took you to be the boring one, Kaeya."

Enough was enough, he raised his glass and allowed the burning liquid to slip down his throat. He pulled a face before his glass made the same clink that your shots had been making for the past hour. "It's on, darlin."

"Two more shots over here, dear brother." You had almost forgotten why you came tonight, as you saw the redhead's brows almost touch, frowning as he had no choice but to stop ignoring the two of you, which he had been trying to do since you strutted into his club.

"And two for me!" You giggled into your words, as he gave you a look that you had never seen on his face. "I like your style, [Y/N]". His voice was lower than usual, probably from the assault on his throat the whiskey had enacted, but you had to admit, it sounded good that way. Too good, judging by the butterflies kicking up a fuss in your stomach. You decided to simply drown them in alcohol, as Diluc slid the drinks across to you without even muttering a word.

You must have had seven or eight shots of vodka by now, and at this point, Kaeya wasn't far behind, his jacket and tie discarded over the back of his stool, as well as two buttons on his shirt being undone. A deep v of tan skin practically begging you to stare. You had similarly discarded your jacket behind you, the alcohol flooding through your veins being what you attributed your rising body temperature to. You didn't even seem to care that all you had on was a lowcut, white tank top, which definitely left a lot less to the imagination than intended. Hopefully, the lighting was low enough that he didn't notice the lace of your bra creating lines under the thin fabric.

"Ahh, I love this song."

You didn't even seem in control of the words leaving your mouth, as a low, smooth beat filled the air around you. This song was one that you would definitely dance to in private, or if you weren't absolutely wasted. Before you even fully acknowledged what you were doing, you had climbed onto the surface in front of you and were gyrating your hips in a way that you wouldn't be caught dead doing sober. Vodka really lowered your inhibitions, a fact which was clearly evident to Kaeya, who couldn't help but stare as your hands worked their way down your body, slowly moving along to the music. He wasn't the only one staring. Pretty much the whole club was watching you let loose on the bar, ogling your figure and looking you up and down like meat on a stick. Diluc, however, could not have looked less impressed if he tried.

"[Y/N], get down from there. Everyone is staring.", Kaeya seemed almost possessive, as he extended his arm to you, trying to convince you to come down, and yet, you hadn't felt this free in a while. "You come up here! Dance with me, darlin'.". He seemed flushed at you using his words against him, but his stance didn't falter, as he kept insisting you come down from the bar. For a change, him and Diluc actually agreed on something.

"You're going to fall, [Y/N]."

"Then catch me, Prince Charming."

Your words were slurred, and it was clearly evident that you were inebriated beyond any point of logic, so Kaeya decided to take things into his own hands. He grabbed at your wrist and lightly pulled, expecting you to get the message, and finally come down. Definitely not expecting you to topple like a domino.

As your brain stopped feeling like it had just been scrambled, you noticed Kaeya's face only inches away from yours, before acknowledging that your body was pressed against his own. You'd actually fallen, holy shit, you were wasted. And yet, he had caught you. Prince Charming had really saved you - how ironic. His strong, defined muscles against your body were significantly more welcoming than the floor, that was for sure. If you weren't already completely certain that you had had more than enough to drink, you were once you caught yourself speaking.

"How about we take this somewhere more private, handsome?". You would be kicking yourself for those words once your blood stopped being what felt like 99% alcohol, and yet right now, you were biting your lip, looking up at him, barely noticing the flush under his tanned skin.

"How about we take you home?" was his response, as he tried to put you onto the floor, your legs buckling, as you sink to his knees. He sighed in defeat, tucking both of your jackets over his shoulder, and pulling you back up to cradle in his arms, using the warmth of his blazer as a pillow as you rested onto his shoulder. Maybe you were the lightweight, after all.

During the walk home, you hardly noticed the cold, between how hot the alcohol had you, and the warmth of his body heat pressed against yours. You barely acknowledged the journey ending until you felt the familiar softness of your bed under your warm body. Instinctively, you curled up onto your side, hugging a pillow, and kicking your shoes off of the side of the sheets.

"Goodnight, [Y/N]. I had fun with you tonight." Despite your vision being blurry, you could tell he was leaned against the wall the exact same way he had been hours ago at work, and you reached for his arm, tugging on his sleeve.

"Stay with me, Kaeya. Please.", you could feel yourself slowly sobering up, as your thoughts became less cloudy and your feelings becoming more lucid, and all you wanted was for him to stay by your side. Nothing sexual about it, you just wanted to feel his body heat radiating against yours as you slipped into slumber. You felt as though you could see the wanting in his eyes also, but his words begged to differ.

"I'll be on the couch." his reply left you feeling downcast, however, this was short-lived as you felt his lips lightly kiss you on the forehead, leaving the spot they had been tingling and prickling with heat. You were comforted knowing he would be there in any capacity, and that was the thought that nursed you to sleep pretending the pillow in your arms was the man who had caught you not long ago.  You knew that you had caught feelings for him in turn. Maybe he wasn't so bad, after all? Maybe he could be your knight in shining armor. The one to keep you company on what would be a lonely night drinking, and the one to hold you tight as your head pounded into the early hours of the morning. Anything would be good, as long as he was there.

#kaeya #kaeya alberich #genshin #genshin oneshot #genshin impact #genshin kaeya #genshin impact x reader #oneshot #fanfiction #modern au #fluff #genshin fluff #kaeya fluff

[mst3kproject]

Godmonster of Indian Flats

If I had a dollar for every movie I’ve seen about a bloodthirsty mutant sheep, I would have... two dollars.

I was entirely willing to feature Godmonster of Indian Flats based on its strangeness alone, but it does have one connection to MST3K in that actress Peggy Browne was also in Avalanche. Another performer here, Kerrigan Prescott, also had a part in previous Episode that Never Was Fiend Without a Face, so hey, close enough!

Dr. Clemens and his assistant Mariposa discover a mutant lamb on Eddie the Rancher’s sheep farm, and take it up to a secret lab at Indian Flats for study.  This seems somewhat outside of Clemens’ claimed purview as an anthropologist, but whatever, I’m just here to watch the movies.  While the monster grows to maturity in a tank, the mayor of a local tourist town, Mr. Silverdale, is refusing to sell land to a Mr. Barnstable, who is interested in the mining rights.  We soon get the idea that Silverdale is less interested in tourism than he is in having his own private Wild West LARP, and the townsfolk have an almost cult-like reverence for him.  Eventually, their increasingly violent attempts to run Barnstable out of town cross paths with Dr. Clemens’ pet mutant, and all hell breaks loose!

Well, maybe not all hell.  This movie hasn’t got the money for all hell.  Rest assured, though, that they unleash all the hell they could afford.

The hell in question takes the form of a lumpy hunchbacked sheep creature with a rubbery sock puppet head, one long dangling arm, and a huge Kim Kardashian ass.  It interrupts a picnic, and blows up a gas station by knocking over a pump with its bubble butt.  It may or may not understand English, and it breathes poisonous gas when injured.  The puppet is pretty weird and scary-looking in the darkness of Clemens' secret lab, but out in the full light of day it is ridiculous.

Any movie with a mutant sheep monster is going to be weird, and the monster is the weirdest thing in the movie, but make no mistake – Godmonster of Indian Flats sans monster would still be a weird fucking movie. The other story going on here, Silverdale vs Barnstable, is thoroughly bizarre in itself.

Apparently it's not enough for Silverdale and the townspeople to simply refuse to sell Barnstable their mining rights.  Instead, they have to totally ruin his career and both his physical and mental health! First of all, they invite him to their 'Bonanza Days' and have him take part in a shooting contest, where the whole town conspires to make it look like he accidentally shot the sheriff's dog.  Then they hold a funeral for the dog as if it were a person.  The whole time the dog is fine – it was just playing dead, and afterwards the sheriff sends it to live with a friend.

When Barnstable still doesn't leave town after this, Silverdale's toady Phil whacks him over the head with a bottle, then shoots himself in the shoulder and puts the gun in the unconscious man's hand.  Barnstable wakes up in jail and demands a lawyer, but everybody ignores him.  Eddie and Mariposa help him escape, and the sheriff then forms a posse to hunt him down and lynch him!  At the end of the movie Silverdale triumphantly tells Barnstable that he's going to lose his job because his boss is embarrassed by all these goings-on.  At this point Barnstable also has a cracked skull and a broken arm.  He's a PTSD-ridden shell of a man and yet Silverdale is still yelling “I've beaten you, Barnstable!” as the end credits roll.

All of this might become a little less weird (but way more horrible) when I mention that Barnstable is the only black character with dialogue.  And yet, none of it is ever overtly framed as racist.  Nobody ever uses a slur – in fact, Barnstable's race is never once referenced in dialogue, not even obliquely.  You could cast a white actor in this part and nothing would have to be changed. What Barnstable seems to represent, and what Silverdale and the townspeople claim to be fighting against (Silverdale declares that he is 'the custodian of an era'), is decadence and capitalism, concepts traditionally associated with a white elite.

This in itself should be read as a commentary on race.  It's notable that Barnstable is playing by white rules.  He's a smooth businessman representing the interests of his presumably white boss.  When Silverdale invites him to Bonanza Days, he is happy to step into that role, too.  He dresses the part and takes up the six-shooter, and does a pretty good job with it.  Barnstable is a 'model minority' figure, a black man with the trappings of white success... and in spite of that, he is still abused.  Hard as he tries to fit into the white people's world, he is not welcome there.

I don't think that's actually what Barnstable is supposed to represent to the viewer, however.  The people of this town are described in the opening as 'living in the past' and we see that they're very dedicated to it.  Silverdale dresses the part of a nineteenth century gentleman even when he's at home.  Everybody dresses up in period costumes for occasions like parties and church, and the town's status as a tourist attraction requires many people to play such a role full-time.  There's a dark underbelly to this quaint little world, as we see in the opening when a barmaid steals Eddie's casino winnings, but even that fits their chosen period.

Barnstable intrudes into this world as a representative of modernity and reality. If you're paying attention, you soon realize that the 'past' the townsfolk are living in isn't like the real past at all.  The real history of this little mining town would have involved filthy, back-breaking work in the mines, and saloons full of drunks, prostitutes, and crime.  The modern town has adopted the pretty trappings of the 19th century – the clothes, the horses, and nice little shows of piety like the dog funeral – while sweeping the dirt and violence under the rug.  The latter are only to be turned on outsiders.

This fantasy version of the old west is also very, very white.  In the real world, history is always more diverse than we usually think it was – one of the historical figures who inspired the character the Lone Ranger, for example, was Bass Reeves, the first black US Marshall in the west.  The people in Silverdale's town have no interest in that.  There is not a single Native American character in the movie, and I've already mentioned the lack of other people of colour, except for a couple of background tourists.  This is an essential part of throwing away the ugly parts of the past – race brings conflict, and Silverdale and his followers want none of that. Barnstable's race makes his status as an outsider all the more obvious, both visually and as a reminder that the world these people are trying to live in never really existed.

This puts Barnstable in a very strange place in this movie.  He's definitely a victim, but never a hero – in fact, Godmonster of Indian Flats is yet another movie that doesn't have a hero – yet he is not a villain, either.  He's just some poor bastard who wandered into a horror movie and now he can't find his way out of it.

So... what does any of this have to do with a mutant sheep monster?

I dunno.  There seem to have been mutants in this area for a long time, since Clemens talks about legends of a 'mine monster' and even shows off weird fossils he's found, but how does that tie into the theme of clinging to the past?  Maybe it's supposed to be about history repeating itself, since new monsters are being born just as the mines are about to re-open?  I have no idea.

Does the monster die at the end?  I cannot tell you.  I think it dies when the truck it was caged in blows up?  The movie ends with an angry mob pushing the truck over a steep slope where they dump their garbage, while Eddie, Clemens, and Mariposa try to reveal Silverdale's own land-grab scheme.  This all degenerates into chaos and people tumbling down the hill and shooting each other, while Silverdale stands there yelling about how violence controls the masses and how he's beaten Barnstable. It's an ending that seems calculated to leave the audience going, “... huh?”.

Why is it a God monster? Now this, I do have a theory about.  I don't think the sheep is actually the godmonster – I think the titular menace is actually Mr. Silverdale! He wields a god-like authority within the town, even when his evil scheme is apparently exposed at the end, and uses it to do monstrous things!  If that's not what they were going for... then I have no idea.

I mentioned in the opening that I've seen two movies about mutant sheep monsters.  The other is Black Sheep, which is one of those off-the-wall movies they make in New Zealand when they're not doing Tolkien-related stuff.  Black Sheep was apparently inspired by Godmonster of Indian Flats, but it throws out the race relations stuff and runs with the 'mutant sheep' thing to make on of the most perfect dark comedies I've ever seen.  I would recommend it to the strong-stomached in the same way I recommended The Valley of Gwangi to anyone disappointed by Beast of Hollow Mountain – it is everything the older film should have been but was not.

#mst3k #reviews #episodes that never were #godmonster of indian flats #70s #just fuckin weird #allow me to recommend a better movie

[barkkletshunt]

Those Worth Fighting For Part four

Have you ever seen a fic update so fast? Four updates in two days?

Part one

Part two

Part three

Part five 

Part six

Part seven

Part eight 

“While I like the idea of them having a red, green, and gold colour scheme going on, don’t you think it would have too much of a christmas theme and take away from the magic of their wedding?” Marinette sat on the same couch as Felix did, across from Kagami and Adrien who, despite their careful appearances, looked frazzled. 

“But those are our favourite colours,” Adrien tried, but Felix held his hand up to stop his cousin.

“Your wedding is in late spring, if you think for a moment that christmas colours are appropriate for that time of year then you need to hand over your fathers fashion industry to me right now.” Felix sipped at his now cold cup of coffee. “If anything, we could do red and gold and have green accents if we used things like leaves and give it a more rustic feel.”

“But that wouldn’t go well with their general aesthetic. They need to look like a king and queen, not a cottagecore couple.” Marinette countered. “I think we could go with a green, gold, and cream theme. That way they both get one of their favourites while keeping with the posh style. Either way, no matter what gold has to be a part of it. That I will not budge on.”

“If we made Adrien’s tie green it would bring out his eyes more.” Felix hummed, looking over at his co-planner. “You have good tastes, Marinette.”

“Why thank you, Felix, your tastes aren’t so bad yourself.” She said back. 

The two planners had successfully gotten their way with the wedding with everything they had put forth. Marinette’s ideas were either on point with Felix’s or close to it so the planning was going a lot easier than either of them had expected. Both had spent enough time with the bride and groom to know their likes and dislikes and due to their fashion background they knew what they were doing. 

They were unstoppable, not that Kagami and Adrien even tried. They saw the fire that was lit behind their companions' eyes and knew better, and it wasn’t like they didn’t like anything their friends had said. In fact, the more the two spoke the more excited Kagami and Adrien felt about the upcoming event. 

“Why don’t we make the groomsmen wear gold ties, just so that Adriens tie doesn’t fade in with the rest of them.” Marinette rambled, showing Felix the designs she had tucked away in her portfolio that she refused to show Kagami. “If you wear green too your eyes will stand out and Adrien is supposed to be the one people are paying attention to.”

“Should the bridesmaids wear green then? If that dress design is anything to go by we don’t want Kagami to blend in with the other girls.” Felix hummed, sliding closer to Marinette without thinking about it. “Can’t have you stealing the show from the bride, you know.”

Marinette’s face grew warm at the compliment, even if it did match her unintentional flirting moments earlier. The added proximity didn’t help, but she could pull herself together. This was Felix, after all, and despite how nice he had been that evening she still needed to see more of him before passing a proper judgement on him. 

The two planners missed the looks between the future Mr. and Mrs Agreste. 

“Well, after the akuma attack today I feel exhausted. I think I shall turn in tonight, since the two of you have it covered.” Kagami said as she stood from her seat. 

“Did you want me to make you a coffee?” Adrien asked innocently enough, but was immediately shut down.

“No, if I have a coffee now I won’t sleep.” Kagami raised her brow at her fiance, wondering if he had caught her drift yet. “And you have business to take care of in the morning. Let’s leave the planning to these two, shall we?”

The blonde man abruptly stood up, realizing what she was getting at. “Oh, oh! Yeah! Of course! They don’t really need our input for any of this stuff anyways, and I’m definitely beat after that sentimonster. We should go to bed.”

The owners of the house bid their goodnights and quickly escaped from the room, leaving Marinette and Felix sitting there dumbfounded. 

“Have, have they always been that obvious in their plans?” Felix finally asked, breaking the silence that had stretched on after their friend's departure. 

Marinette shook her head, “I have only seen them like that once when they were trying to plan a surprise birthday party for me.”

“And how well did that go for them?”

“Adrien ordered the cake from my parents bakery over the phone, but didn’t realize that I was the one taking his order.” Marinette recalled the look of horror on Adrien’s face when he had come to pick the cake up the day prior, and had begged Marinette not to tell Kagami he blew it. “For someone so smart he can be really oblivious, you know.”

“I did live with him for two years, I am well aware of how he can be.” Felix snorted. He shifted positions so he was facing towards Marinette. “I think it actually turned me into a better person, to be honest.”

“What do you mean?” Marinette mirrored his position on the couch. Adrien was an open book to her, she could ask him anything about himself and he’d answer her, and when she asked about his time in England he never said much about it. She couldn’t miss hearing about it from a second party, though. Especially when her friend was the cause of someone becoming a better person.

“Well, as I’m sure you are aware I was a terrible teenager.” Felix started.

“What? You? The man who deleted my love confession and mocked our friends?” Marinette jokingly pushed his shoulder. “I don’t believe it.”

Felix grinned, “I know, I know. I’m such a saint now. I wasn’t sure if you had even recognized me at first.”

“It was a bit difficult without those devil horns you used to wear.”

“Oh those? Those were natural. Grew them myself. Kind of miss them, actually.” 

The two laughed for a moment, enjoying their friendly banter that seemed to come so easily to them. 

“Okay,” Marinette giggled, “tell me how our sweet sunshine child managed to change the demon known as Felix.”

“Well, when he first moved in I was sent into a whirlwind of emotion.” Felix started, “I was still angry that Adrien had abandoned me when my father had died because his father wouldn’t let him call or text us, but I also knew how terrible it was to lose a father even if it was only to a lifetime imprisonment. I had so much baggage that I took it out on him. I think I made the first few weeks of his stay with us hell.”

The blonde man shifted, no longer wanting to look her in the eye as he confessed to his crimes. It didn’t take a trained psychoanalyst to see the regret he felt coming out and causing him to fidget. 

“It was when he transferred into my school and started to get bullied that I changed my tune.” Marinette was shocked. Adrien was so loveable and kind, how could anyone have bullied him? Then it donned on her. He was a terrorist's son. “People would shove notes in his locker with butterflies on it, or draw on his desk, and he’d just smile and say that they must have been doing it because of his fathers fashion symbol being a butterfly. Perhaps he wasn’t oblivious to it, but purposefully ignorant. No one would want to believe their father was the supervillian of Paris after all.”

“It was then that I decided to switch my targets from my cousin to those bullying him, and oh was I ever brutal. I had a few of them expelled for harassment, some I actually got physical with since they assumed I was Adrien. Either way, it was my school and I wasn’t going to let anyone insult my cousin. That was my job.” Felix’s brows pulled together. “It was the fights that got Adrien to step in. He reminded me that the emotions of people were complicated things, and that they were acting out more out of fear than actual hatred towards him. He told me what he actually needed wasn’t another bodyguard, but someone to lead his PR campaign.” 

Marinette remembered when Adrien’s image in the media had changed the first time, when he went from brilliant model to the heir to Hawkmoth's legacy. It had taken almost another full year of Adrien working harder than he ever had before to show the world that he wasn’t a monster, and it still took a live interview from Ladybug herself to convince the rest of the public that there was no way Adrien was involved in any of his fathers crimes nor was he a holder of a miraculous. It had been a wild ride from start to finish, but all considering it only took two whole years to get Adrien back in the world's good graces when the sunshine boy didn’t think he’d ever be able to live it down. 

“I spearheaded Adrien’s redemption. We donated to so many relief funds, I used our similar appearances to go onto talk shows to give a more calculated interviews. I did everything in my power to make people realize how inherently good Adrien is, and it worked.” Felix let out a long breath before turning a kind smile towards her. “But by the time all of that was done I had changed. I had become a person Adrien was proud of, and now I am here planning his wedding with his best friend. Whom, might I add, he talked about almost as much as he did his own girlfriend.”

“Now if you could have told me that, say, five years ago I would have been ecstatic.” Marinette set her portfolio down on the coffee table as she remembered how intense her crush for Adrien used to be. “But I am long over my crush on Adrien.”

“I am sorry about that, by the way.”

“Hm?” Marinette tilted her head to the side, not sure what he was talking about.

“Deleting your confession.” He explained. “It was wrong of me. I was jealous and petty and I’m sorry.”

Marinette wasn’t angry anymore, even if she wanted to be. Felix wasn’t the same as he was all those years ago and neither was she. It was silly for her to hold onto all that anger when he had changed himself so completely. 

“I am, however, not sorry you didn’t end up with my cousin.” He grinned. “Now I might have a chance.”

Maybe not so completely.

“In your dreams, devil boy!”

#TWFF #Those worth fighting for #felix x marinette #marinette dupain cheng #marinette #felinette #fanon felix #felix graham de vanily #kagami tsurugi #adrien agreste #Im definitely making adrien dumb but he has a heart of gold #Part Four

[exquisitley-obsessed]

Finaces, Firebirds, Foxes and Fawns: 9

Author: @exquisitley-obsessed

Summary: A few weeks after Briallyn’s attempt at uniting with Koschei, Lucien opens the door of Lockhart Manor to find Elain, cold from the rain and holding a note from the High Lady of the Night Court demanding her to assist Lucien in building alliances with the human councils. Forced to work together by their exhausted High Lord and Lady, Elain is able to convince anyone to do anything, while Lucien has the acquaintances to go anywhere he likes. Together, they attempt to unite the fae and mortal lands and unravel the deal made between Koschei and Vassa, while Lucien remains haunted by his own promise to Elain’s father. ELUCIEN, POST-ACOSF

Pairings: Elain x Lucien, Elucien

Warnings: Mentions of sexual assault/abuse/rape + abusive families

A/N: I’ve added a tag list for those who wish to stay updated with this story! Just message me if you wish to be added <3

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AO3

Chapter Nine: A Sight To See

Elain frowned down at the dress.

“I’m not sure if-”

“It’s perfect,” Nuala said firmly, glaring at her through the mirror. The surprisingly stubborn lesser fae was currently attempting to pin a handful of gemstones into Elain’s hair.

Elain just gave the fae a curt nod before looking back at herself.

Today was the day of the weekly meeting at Huckleberry Hall, i.e. Elain’s debut in the mortal realm as an emissary for not just the Night Court, but all the fae lands. How she’d gotten to this point in her life, she had no idea.

Yesterday she’d spent her time in the gardens chatting with Bartholomew, the Manor’s chief gardener. He was a sweet man that reminded her of her father, especially given all his travelling to the Continent and his collection of rare plant species in his greenhouse. He’d even promised her a few books on the matter and explained in great detail how plants can be useful for a number of things: healing, food, poisons.

He’d even pointed out the aphrodisiacs with a dopey grin, to which Elain had blushed furiously and moved quickly onto the exotic specimens.

She hadn’t seen Lucien that day.

Elain didn’t know why she was so aware of his absence given that she’d done just fine ignoring Lucien’s existence for two years. But yesterday, not seeing Lucien had thrown her balance off. When she was in the garden she kept looking up at the windows of the East Wing where his room supposedly resided. If only to catch a glimpse of red hair and a scarred face, just so she’d know he was okay.

Eventually, she’d turned in to the library to give one final assessment of her notes, and had spent the entire time trying to ask Nuala if Lucien was in the house without technically saying the words.

“Yes, that sounds good,” Nuala said without looking up.

“Yes, that sounds good,” Nuala said without looking up.

“Yes, that sounds good,” Nuala said without looking up.

“I…I don’t know what he does with his days.”

“Me neither,” Nuala shrugged.

“I haven’t seen him yet today…”

“Oh…shame…” From the glint in Nuala’s eye, Elain knew she had caught on to her not-so-subtle questioning.

“Yes…I wonder if he’ll be back later today.”

“Probably, considering he lives here.” Nuala was grinning now. And as Elain’s cheeks turned pink, she bit her tongue and stopped her questioning.

***

“Where did you even get this dress?”

“The Lady Morrigan gifted it to you before you left for the mortal lands, she was too late to say goodbye in person so she gave me the package.”

“Oh,” Elain nodded absent-mindedly. “How does Mor know my measurements?”

Nuala just grinned.

“Mor isn’t…talented in gift-giving, but she understands textiles like no other.”

Elain just nodded once more and shifted slightly upon dressing stand.

The dress was unlike anything Elain had ever worn before. The middle Archeron sister typically favoured dresses with full skirts and corseted bodices, all bedecked with lace, ribbon and silk, and paired with fresh flowers in her hair.

The dress she was wearing today just…wasn’t.

“Why am I wearing this again?”

“Because the mortals must understand that whilst High Fae and humans may look similar, you’re not. If you were to go in one of your standard dresses, the humans would see it as an attempt for you to ‘humanise’ yourself. Whilst common ground is important with the mortals, they must still understand that we are different. Do you see this fabric?”

Nuala took a finger and ran it along Elain’s covered shoulder, who nodded in response.

“This fabric is called Didache. It’s only found in the fae-lands, particularly the Autumn Court. It comes from the Dida-bugs of the Burning Caves who produce a fine silk-like fabric that is woven into sheets. It will remind the humans that we are different and yet-” Nuala grinned at her, “-beautiful.”

Elain blushed and nodded. The fabric was a deep forest green and yet, it moved like water. It seemed to always be shifting with the smallest of movements and sometimes, in the light, she could see not one but hundreds of shades of green flowing together, interspersed with threads of gold.

Mor’s ingenuity was shown in the choosing of this dress, as it both demonstrated a stylistic change between fae and mortal wear, and yet Elain was still able to maintain a comfortable modesty that would not outright alarm the humans.

The dress, unlike the flouncy human design, was a tight fit. It began high on her neck and covered her entire body, connecting to her hands via a tie on her middle finger. It cascaded down her body like a second skin, accentuating every dip and curve. Most strange of all was how it clung to her thighs (a sensation Elain was not yet used to) before the fabric flared ever so slightly at the knees and left a small trail of watery, emerald fabric to follow her as she walked.

It was simple, yet a statement.

Elain would’ve hated to wear such a tight dress if, well, she didn’t look so good. She’d been taught her whole life that covering up was natural for women and whilst she certainly wasn’t prepared to wear the kinds of dresses Feyre sported to the Court of Nightmares, this dress seemed to call for her.

“I think Mor had this prepared for you for some time,” Nuala said, pushing the final pin in. The hairstyle hailed from the Day Court Nuala explained as she had coiled Elain’s mass of hair on top of her head whilst leaving large strands to dangle down her shoulders. Brown bands were wrapped around her head and interwoven into her curls were dark green gems that glittered in the light and made it look as though her hair was made of starlight.

It was…beautiful.

“Thank you, Nuala,” Elain said quietly when her friend stepped back to survey her work.

“No problem,” Nuala smiled, “I know it’s not your usual dress, but you truly look like a Fae princess, perhaps even a High Lady.”

Elain reddened and surveyed herself once more in the mirror.

“The others are waiting for you at the stables,” Nuala said suddenly as shadows began to coil from her hair and she extended her hand to Elain.

After peering one more time at her notes on the table, Elain turned and glared at the female she saw in her reflection. With her hair pinned back, her pointed ears were on display, slightly pink at the tips from all her flushing. The dress, the hair, her dark eyes, the flawless skin – Elain was undeniably beautiful. And undeniably fae.

With a sigh, Elain turned and grasped Nuala’s hand before she could think too much about how she looked and all that had changed.

Even if she didn’t know how to play the part of fae, she might as well look it.

***

There was a small bustling crowd around the stables of Lockhart Manor. The stables were placed near the entrance to the woods and the small trail they would follow all the way to Huckleberry Hall.

Letting go of Nuala’s hand, Elain turned to survey the small crowd. There were stable boys and a few guards, and she could even peek Bartholomew speaking rapidly to a woman in a fine dress who was nodding along with interest, Jurian a few paces behind them, looking bored as ever.

No Lucien.

The thought shouldn’t have made Elain’s heart sink as it did. She’d been awake since sunrise, having breakfast in her chambers as Nuala began the prep work for getting her into the dress. And maybe as she watched herself slowly being transformed into a fae princess; she could only think of her mate’s reaction to seeing her in such an outfit.

Turning back around, Elain’s eyes once more fell on the gardener and the woman, now pointing down at the strawberry plants that lined the pathway. It took a few more moments of staring for Elain to realise that she was, in fact, looking at Queen Vassa.

Looking over her shoulder, Elain threw a stare at Nuala who only shrugged in response. Elain turned back. How was Vassa out? The sun was at a midpoint between East and Mid-day, she should be well past her transfiguration by now.

Sighing, Elain practised walking as she made her way over to the Queen. The dress was surprisingly practical, easier to move in than any of her corsets. Instead of restricting her movements, the fabric simply glided over her skin and moved with her, no doubt catching the light as it did and reflecting a thousand shades of green.

“Queen Vassa,” Elain greeted with a small curtsey.

The Queen turned from the gardener to nod at Elain, and Elain saw how Vassa’s eyes caught on her appearance, her eyes flicking up and down her body for a brief moment, her figure seeming to still.

“You look magnificent, Vassa,” Elain smiled, hoping that her compliment was seen as nothing other than a peace offering.

Vassa was sporting a traditional human queen’s gown. The colour was a deep gold with a panel of green and crimson embroidery running up the centre of the dress. There was a low tie hanging on the queen’s slender hips and a heavy crown upon her forehead. She was the image of strength and power, and next to her, Elain felt as though she looked like the evil-fae seductress.

“Forgive me if it’s a crude question but, how are you…”

”Here?” Vassa said drily, raising a brow. Elain forced herself not to flush with embarrassment and just nodded.

Vassa sighed as though she were bored and raised her hand. Elain was unsure what she was supposed to be looking at, there were two rings on her hand and a nice set of manicured nails but-

Then she realised. The ring on her fourth finger was made of black metal and was far too heavy and brutal to be worn by a Queen.

Looking at the ring, Elain felt something coil in her gut. Turning fae had attuned her senses to magic, and thrumming from that ring was a magic that smelt like sickness.

Suddenly, Elain felt herself drifting out of her body, able to look down on herself and Vassa. As she did, she had the distinct feeling of something falling into place.

”It’s a new addition.”

Jurian's voice snapped Elain back into her body with a small gasp. He was slowly stalking up to them, cutting into a fig with his knife as he moved with a predator-like grace. “It seems that Vassa’s keeper sent us a house-warming gift. He’s only two years late.”

“Jurian…” Vassa sighed tiredly, as though she’d had this conversation several times before.

”It seems like our death-Lord, from his lakeside manor, has decided to give our dear Queen the ability to see daylight.”

Elain could only glance between the two, barely able to keep up with their bantering. She was still feeling overwhelmingly nauseous and was trying to avoid looking at the ring directly.

”Don’t worry,” Vassa turned to Elain with a sneer, “I’m not fixed just yet. The ring comes with a cost. Each hour I put off my transformation adds 24 for later.”

”Why not leave it on?” Elain said in a quiet voice, still feeling the earth move underneath her.

”Oh yes, of course, I’m sure Koschei just skipped over that in his master plan,” Vassa snarked. Elain, to her own surprise, rolled her eyes.

“Well, hello princess,” Jurian spoke before Vassa could. He talked as though he hadn’t seen Elain before.

Elain’s skin couldn’t help but prickle as she watched his eyes lapping up her figure with a complete disregard for anything else.

“Jurian,” Elain nodded, trying to drag his eyes up to her own.

“What did we do to deserve this?” His eyes met hers with a wink and then, again, ever so slowly, Jurian’s eyes ran up Elain’s body, lingering slightly on the fabric that was straining over her bountiful chest before meeting her eye. Elain didn’t deem the comment with a retort.

“Leave her be Jurian,” Vassa rolled her eyes before turning to Elain with something that looked like a coy smile. “It’s fun to see them drool, isn’t it?”

Elain, to her surprise, found herself grinning widely and nodding. If she wasn’t mistaken, she and Vassa had just shared a pleasant interaction.

Today was full of surprises.

“And they say we’re the weaker sex.”

Vassa tipped her head back and laughed, and when Elain turned back to Jurian she found him watching the queen intently, something enigmatic in his stare.

“When you’re done with girl-talk, we really must get going,” Jurian rolled his shoulders. Even he appeared dressed in his finest, and Elain wondered just who it was that must’ve pinned him down to drag a comb through his scruffy hair, now flopping back from his, rather handsome, face.

“Last time I checked Jurian, I’m the Queen, I say when we leave.” Vassa pointed a look at the man who only seemed to smile wider at her retort.

“Of course, your majesty…” Jurian rolled the word around in his tongue, “When you’re ready, my queen, I’ll be waiting for you by the gate…possibly awake, possibly napping.”

And with that Jurian turned and strode away, the woman and the female watching his retreating figure strut across the pathway.

“Idiot,” Vassa cursed under her breath before turning back to Elain. “Lucien told me this morning he’ll be arranging your transport. Apparently, we’re not arriving together, Jurian and I will be one unit, you and Lucien another. Just so you know.”

As the Queen spoke her voice steadily grew colder and colder until she was back to how she usually was with Elain, her voice monotone and her eyes bored. Elain just gave a nod and that was enough for the Queen to deem the conversation over as she turned and followed Jurian down the path. As she moved, Elain couldn’t help but notice how she tipped her head back seemed to drink in the sunlight.

Elain was left standing in the middle of a small bustling crowd, many of the guards moving to follow their Queen and keep her safe. And so, Elain went back to her search for her mate.

After searching the crowd, she allowed her eyes to close and for her focus to turn within. It didn’t take long for her to find the bond, as soon as her eyes were shut it was there, glowing bright and gold, a single thread leading from her out ahead.

Angling herself, Elain followed the bond until she heard his heart, strong and steady, filling her ears like the most beautiful drum. Opening her eyes, she saw him.

Lucien was talking to a rather nervous stable boy and Elain was rather thankful for the small chance to ogle him without his awareness.

For one thing, Elain understood the stable boy’s nerves. Lucien looked…powerful.

He was wearing the finest of his fae attire, with fine brown boots and pants, a crisp shirt, a waistcoat and then a riding jacket. Across his chest was a bandolier with an assortment of eccentric knives, all sharpened to deadly perfection. On his hip were two swords, his autumn blade and another blade but made of gold. His hair was unleashed and cascaded down his shoulders and back, and his scar made his fierce expression even more lethal.

Two years ago, Elain would��ve been petrified at such a sight. It was a reminder that Lucien wasn’t her fae prince, that even though he had the makings of a perfect husband there was something darker and more alluring that hung around him.

He was a courtier, a disowned son, a silver-tongued fox. And Elain saw that everyone underestimated him, and that’s what made him most dangerous of all.

But while any fae prince might make Elain’s heart flutter, the sight of Lucien in his most professional, intimidating glory, roused some feeling deep within her gut. It was like her entire body turned electric, and the air between them seemed to crackle as the bond tightened.

Elain watched as Lucien’s brow furrowed and his hand reached surreptitiously to his ribs. Lucien’s eyes were no longer on the stable boy and his rambling, he was looking around – he was looking for her.

Elain saw the moment Lucien laid eyes on her. He stilled, the hand rubbing his ribs going stagnant.

The world seemed to fade away as Elain watched Lucien’s eyes take in her dress. He started by looking at the neck and then, at a tortuously slow pace, his eyes wandered down and down like Jurian.

But where Jurian’s gaze had made her tired and comfortable, Lucien’s seemed to set every nerve in her body alight.

She watched him as he watched her, and she could see him pause on certain parts. Taking in the first full display of her chest, the way the fabric ran seamlessly down her waist before flaring with her hips, and then again at her thighs.

Some part of Elain dared her to turn around, to show him how the dress barely fit over her behind, how the fabric seemed to stretch as it tried to contain the slopes and swells of her body.

She didn’t know where it had come from – but she didn’t want the voice to stop.

Then, Lucien’s eyes were reluctantly dragged upwards and just before they met eyes, Elain saw Lucien’s tongue dart between his lips to wet them. For some reason, Elain had the strongest urge to clench together her thighs.

Lucien moved forward like a predator stalking prey, with a lithe grace that was reminiscent of a snake.

Elain didn’t care for the rest of the world; she just saw him. Maybe it was not seeing him yesterday, but all Elain knew was that now he was nearby, she wasn’t taking her eyes off him for the foreseeable future.

Every step was torture. Every inch closer made the bond thrum and sing with delight.

Lucien came to a stop barely a foot away from her. There was a pause of silence.

“Elain,” His voice was low, gravelly, restrained.

“Lucien,” Elain’s own voice was breathy.

And then Lucien was bending down, leaning in close almost as though he were going to kiss her and Elain – Elain didn’t recoil. When Lucien’s face was inches from her own, his eyes searing into hers, she felt his palm slip into hers. His hand was warm and much, much larger than her own, and Elain felt raw electricity jolt through her at the contact.

With a deliberate, torturous slowness, Lucien raised Elain’s hand to his mouth and placed a single kiss on her knuckles.

Many men had kissed Elain’s hand before, from old to young, bachelors to fiancés. But it had never been like this.

Lucien’s lips on her knuckles was like a promise. It was just lips on the back of her hand – it was entirely inadequate, it was nothing – and that is what made Elain’s body sing.

Lucien’s eyes never left hers, and as he straightened, he didn’t let go of her hand.

“We’re planning on riding to Huckleberry,” Lucien’s voice sounded a bit clearer, but his eyes were still dark and glittering.

“Okay,” was all Elain could manage. But her body was in overdrive, her entire existence being concentrated into the feel of Lucien’s hand in hers. One small touch and she was consumed.

“Oh look! Lucien-” Jurian’s voice swam from somewhere off to the side.

“Vassa, Jurian, you best be headed off now, you don’t want to be late to miss the guards at the northern checkpoint,” Lucien spoke without looking away from Elain, and his voice was full of such a natural command that another pulse of heat ran through her.

Elain distantly heard as Vassa, Jurian and a few guards saddled up and trot out through the gardens into the forest. The world seemed to thin around them, stable boys returning to the Manor, even Nuala evaporated into the air, until all that was left was a grey-haired horse and Lucien, with his hand in Elain’s.

“I thought we might ride together, to present a united front. But if your uncomfortable there’s another horse in the stables saddled and ready to go.” Elain could’ve sworn that as Lucien spoke, his thumb ran across the back of her hand. “It’s also just a way of me making sure your safe.”

“Are you expecting there to be danger at the meeting?”

“No, very few even know of your arrival and the mortals are in too weak a position to attack a visiting fae. I just…for my own peace of mind.”

Remarkably, Lucien seemed bashful as he spoke, his eyes breaking from hers for a moment as he shifted on his feet.

“Oh…alright.” Elain smiled up at him, and it was a peace-offering. The world seemed to still for a moment as Lucien noticed, and his gaze lingered on her lips.

Then he was clearing his throat and turning to lead her to the saddled horse, but he didn’t release his hand, instead, he used it to tug her along, as though he were entirely reluctant to let go.

“The journey is significantly shorter on horseback; we should be there in around 15 minutes.”

Lucien eventually reluctantly let go of Elain’s hand as he hoisted himself up and onto the horse.

Elain could only watch. Watch as he set himself astride the saddle, watch how his thighs – how had Elain never notices his thighs before – clenched as he seated himself upright. Watch as he flicked his hair back over his shoulder, his muscles somehow flexing through the layers of his shirt and jacket. Watch as he extended his hand to her.

Elain frowned down at her dress as a thought struck her.

“Oh…I don’t think I’ll be able to ride anything in this dress.”

Elain felt rather than saw Lucien go still.

Looking up from the green fabric, she allowed herself to assess him. Lucien’s muscles seemed to be standing on end, his delicious thighs clenched so that the tendons stood to attention. His hands were fisted into the reigns and his knuckles had turned white with his grip.

Most intoxicating of all, was Lucien’s eyes. They were glazed over and distant, as though Lucien were thinking of something intently. Or rather, picturing.

And then Elain saw it.

It was from a distant perspective and the first thing she saw was Lucien, with his browning skin on display as he laid on his back across pale sheets. His beautifully muscled legs were exposed and tensed, his torso nothing but streamline muscles, his arms bare and glorious as they tightened as he gripped onto the figure astride him. He looked so…undone, with his red hair spilling across the sheets, his face furrowed, and his mouth parted with pleasure.

The female astride Elain’s mate had her head thrown back, her golden-brown curls bouncing along with her breasts as she bobbed wildly on top of him. Elain couldn’t hear them – couldn’t hear the moans that she saw rippling from her own mouth.

Then, the pace changed, instead of desperate jerky movements, Lucien and the female’s body slowed into an easy rhythm, each of their bodies rolling together with a trained precision. She could see Lucien’s mouth moving as he spoke breathily to the female, pulling her down so their foreheads touched. She watched as his eyes grew hungrier, how the rolling gave way to thrusting, how he took two fingers and pushed them into the female’s mouth and how she sucked enthusiastically before releasing them with a ‘pop’, how Lucien then dragged those two fingers down her body, slowly, before pushing them down to where they were joined and beginning to rub against her in slow, languid circles-

The horse grunted, and Elain jumped.

All of a sudden she came back into her body, it was as though someone had been holding her windpipe and abruptly let go. Her knees felt weak, her mouth dry, and for a moment, she could barely remember her own name, never mind where she was.

“We’ll winnow.”

Lucien was in front of her now, having gotten down off the mare whilst her mind was elsewhere. He was now fiddling with the buckles on the straddle before a stable boy took the reins.

Elain looked up at him dry-mouthed. Did he know what she’d just seen? Was she even…had there been a shift in her scent? Fear tinged with excitement plunged through her.

“You okay?” Lucien murmured; his eyes concerned as they roved over her face. It looked like he almost reached for her hand again.

Elain didn’t trust her voice and could only nod in response. Lucien seemed to assess her for another moment before he held out his arm, ever the courtier. The female looked out at the stables as she wrapped her hand around his bicep, trying to ignore how the muscles shifted and tensed under her fingertips.

“Right, well…let’s go.”

As Elain closed her eyes and held her breath to prepare for the twisting sensation of winnowing, she could on think of one thing.

Elain had just had a vision; she still had her powers.

#elucien #elain #elain archeron #elain x lucien #elain and lucien #elain/lucien #lucien #lucien vanserra #elucien fic #elucien fluff #lucien x elain #lucien and elain #lucien/elain #elain acotar #elain acomaf #elain acofas #elain acosf #elain acowar #acotar #fffaf

[love-toxin]

bloodlust; hyun.

a/n: a piece shared for a lovely commissioner❤️

warnings: knifeplay, established relationship, blood/blood kink, injuries, gn! pronouns (but can be read as afab), lingerie, teasing, praise, implied aftercare

word count: 2.1k

“Are you afraid of me?” 

Your immediate answer would have been no, not at all. But that feeling changed when he lifted his knife up to your face, and let you watch how it gleamed in the lamplight that cast shadows over you from the corner of the bedroom. 

Hyun's fingers clenched tighter around the handle, subtly proving to you that he had complete control over what he was doing. You'd seen him use it before, whether it was to slice open the top of a letter or chop up vegetables to use for dinner--he had a way with knives that both frightened and intrigued you. It made you wonder where he had learned those skills from, but you didn’t dare to ask. Hyun could spot your answer brimming in your eyes from miles away, but the revelation didn’t perturb him--in fact, it just made him chuckle to himself. 

“You don’t have to be! I love you so much…”

He brought the blade down slowly to your neck, his movements slow and stilted as if to show you how careful he was being. The smoothness of his gestures didn’t at all mesh with the beaming grin split across his face as he did so, except for the glint in his eyes that you couldn’t help but feel was some kind of wicked bloodlust. How frightening it was to be the rabbit facing the jaws of a wolf, even if the wolf found you so cute he could just eat you right up. 

Your clothes provided little resistance, it wasn't as if you were wearing much by this point anyways--nothing except for the cutesy, pale pink intimates that Hyun loved to see you wear, the lace being the only thing saved from the biting sting of his blade sliding over your flesh. He brought it downwards from your throat, the cuts he made shallow and the pressure light, so as not to hurt you more than you could take, but enough that he could lick his lips as he watched your blood bead at the wounds and start to trail down your chest if he was lucky. It egged him on to go deeper and reminded him to keep his hand steady all at once, and you could see that conflict in his eyes, the sparkle disappearing completely as he got closer to the end of the line--the hem of your little pink panties, dipping softly almost to the point of ripping under the weight of his knife, only for it to be taken away and your breath released from the clutches of your throat. 

It wasn’t fear that stayed your hands until now as he left his marks behind, but the desire to let him explore all on his own and watch the excitement heighten in his expression. You let your fingers brush the collar of his dress shirt now, the top two buttons loosening and falling open of your own volition, and his tie slipped out of its knot until you could pull it off and toss it aside. Meanwhile he seemed to stop and wait, his lower lip prisoner to his teeth as he let you do as you pleased with a purr rising in the back of his throat--and once you had his shirt open enough to press your palms to his warm chest, Hyun chuckled and made another slice just above your collarbone, before lowering his mouth to the cut and laving his tongue over your sweet, delectable blood. He called it ambrosia, you called it blood, but what was the difference? His hands were stained with it from swiping his fingers over your “love marks” as he called them, and he made a show of sucking it off each of his digits while his brown eyes pierced straight through you and pinned your head back against his pillow. 

“You’re blushing,”

He spoke with a smile as per usual, which grew even wider when you turned your eyes away from his blinding teeth, and tried to ignore the saccharine sweetness of his voice when he found something good to tease you with. 

“Are you embarrassed?”

A fuzziness had settled in your head and made it a little harder to think, perhaps due to the amount of blood you’d lost by now. But you had enough sense not to deny his observation, knowing fully well that he would manipulate your body as he pleased until that truth was undeniable. Hyun’s touches down the valley of your chest drew a soft sigh from your lips, and with a nod and a mumbled reply, he grinned even wider as a few strands of loose hair fell into his face. 

"It's just me, you know. Just you and me...and we already know everything there is to know about each other, don't we?"

As if to make sure you wouldn’t forget the presence of the knife, he brought it round to your stomach again and aimed the tip just below your navel, the sharp end digging into you just gently enough that it didn’t quite draw blood. He had a fascination with the substance pumping through your veins, but it was a question all on its own whether he fantasized about slicing open a pocket of your flesh and having a look at your guts as they spilled from your lifeless body. You dearly hoped he didn't want to know you that intimately. But you couldn’t count on it. 

"Every mistake, every flaw, every sour little spot that we hope nobody discovers inside us...every mite of imperfection that makes me love you all the more." 

Hyun’s movements shifted into etching a little shape below your belly, the dribbles of blood left behind trailing downwards to soak into the hem of your poor panties. But despite adoring them himself he didn’t seem to mind, even as you sucked in a tight breath as he closed the curve of the heart and crossed off the last line of the “H” in the middle. It bled enough to muddy the design now, but the scar that it would leave would be so beautiful--and finally setting the blade down on the nightstand, his free hand closed around yours, your fingers interlocking for him to squeeze you tight and hold it against the sheets. 

"We're one in the same...soulmates."

With a hand still spared, he reached down to unbuckle his belt, his shirt soon coming untucked with help from one of yours and his trousers sliding down his legs. Going without anything underneath seemed like it would be terribly uncomfortable, but it didn’t seem to impede him in any way--in fact, by the toothy smile he flashed in your direction, he might have done it all day just for you. And with his clothes now finally shed, he pressed himself chest-to-chest with you and buried his face into the crook of your neck, your squirming and giggles as he nibbled at your soft spots making him twitch with excitement between your legs. 

"Hyun.."

His head bobbed back up to meet your eyes in a moment, the look of adoration etched into his features paired with the slow rock of his hips, and the effort for him to hook his hand under your knee and hike your leg up to hitch around his waist. His kiss took your breath away this time, though it was so easy for him to do so--and the press of his tongue to part your lips drew a moan out of you, which caused him to buck into you again with a little less restraint this time, the swollen tip of his cock stretching the fabric of your panties as he humped the spot that his body demanded he try and enter. By now, you'd become uncomfortably aware of the blood drying between your chests as your wounds started to close, but the stronger Hyun's thrusts became, the more your cuts started to reopen and bleed again into each other's skin. Maybe the feeling turned him on even more, and caused his hips to stutter and his face to flush even deeper--but how could you ever really tell with Hyun? He was such an enigma, and you didn't expect to ever really understand him fully. 

"Stop…"

Case in point. Hyun's cheeks had deepened to the colour of wine, his breath held for so long that he had to force himself to take a long, shaky one. He moaned out the word but yet his body wouldn't stop moving, and you found yourself grabbing at his bicep to try and get him to take a break, even if it was just a little one. 

"Wh..Hyun, what? Stop? You wanna stop?"

"No!" 

He nearly whined his answer out, his face falling to hide in the crook of your neck--he didn't have even a clue of what to do with himself, and it would have been so cute if you had any idea of what he meant.

"Stop...making that face…"

Whatever restraint he once had was gone. His hips rolled into you at a frantic pace and of their own accord, no force present to stop him even when you made the attempt to try and at least move your panties aside, both for your sake and his. His puppy-dog whimpers and ironclad grip on you while he still pinned you down with his body was too much, too much for either of you--

"Gonna make me cum...hah, d-don't make me cum yet, please…" 

--But that had never stopped you before, and it wouldn’t start now. Not while he peppered kisses to your jaw and bit into your skin when the pleasure started to overwhelm him, not while he begged you to slow down even though he was doing all the work....not when he melted into your touch as you stroked your fingers through his hair, and felt his body shudder and tremble fervently before he finally started to relax. His grip on your hand loosened and the miniscule distance between you grew ever smaller as he collapsed, and you could feel already that your panties were thoroughly ruined as you heaved a shaky sigh and let your trembling fade into Hyun’s embrace. Little could be done about your outfit, the sheets, his clothes covered in your blood and his cum drooling off his slit as he shifted away from you, and only then he seemed to realize the mess he had made. 

“I’m sorry,”

The words fell from his lips as he raised his head, but the glowing grin stretched from ear to ear made that apology feel a little less sincere. But no matter, you supposed--when had Hyun ever been sorry for making a mess out of the little angel he loved so much? 

“I’ll get a towel. Can I use the cream, honey? I know it burns, but you’ll need it for all these poor scratches...we don’t want them to scar, do we? Well, not the little ones, anyways." 

Somehow his resilience still shocked you, and you watched with both awe and a twinge of jealousy as he shimmied himself off of you and the bed with ease, before standing proudly in only his blood-stained dress shirt that had nearly fallen off his shoulders, and the rest of his body bared to you before he turned on his heels and meandered over to the bedroom door with a chuckle on his lips. He didn't wait for you to answer and he returned just as quickly as he departed, the ointment in hand for these "special" occasions, and a towel wrapped round his waist that he used to dab what little blood remained off your precious skin. And once he'd left it aside for you to wipe your hands with if you wished, he swiped the knife off the nightstand and used it to slash a cut in your panties, to retire the poor things and slide them off you to toss in the general direction of the wastebasket. 

No words were exchanged as he popped the cap off and dabbed at your wounds delicately with the tip of his finger, every touch so fleeting and delicate that you nearly started to whine at him for more...and even if that were so, he would coo at you with those sweet tones he put on so well, and promise you that you could do all you wanted later--but for right now, you needed to rest. Sleep it all off, forget all but the warmth of his body as you woke up in his arms the next morning, and let all those little cuts fade away...except for one little heart below your belly, with the mark of your lover slashed into your lovely skin. 

#hyun jin kim #hyun x reader #hyun jin kim x reader #yandere ocs #yandere lemon #love-toxin commissions #love-toxin #2k

[harrysweasleys]

baby steps // d.m

Summary: could you do a hufflepuff reader and draco? and draco is mean to everyone but her. like he has a huge soft spot for only her but she didn’t like that he’s rude to others and says she’ll break up with him if he’s not kinder? and it’s difficult at first but ofc he’d do anything for her. he changed his ways and becomes the kind draco i know he his on the inside! ur absolutely incredible!

Warnings: none!

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: sorry this took a while to release, it’s been a wild few days. but it’s here so enjoy!! xx

———————————

To say the day was not going well was an understatement. Everything that could go wrong went wrong. From morning to the evening, things had just been going horribly right and left and you were starting to get fed up with the day, glad that it was finally starting to come to an end as the sun slowly disappeared over the horizon.

Firstly, you were five minutes late to Snape’s class and he gave you detention for the upcoming weekend on top of a 20 page essay about the powers of moonstone. Only you, no one else. Then, Umbridge had noticed you giggle at a joke someone told and called you out, publicly humiliating you in front of the entire class. Then, during lunch break, you had spilled spaghetti all over your white dress shirt. Sure, it was easy to clean with a quick flick of the wand, but it was a major inconvenience nonetheless.

It was a right terrible day, you’d say.

The one thing you were looking forward to was seeing you doting boyfriend during the dinner feast. You weren’t in the same house, much to your dismay, but you’d constantly sneak over to his table and take as much time with him as you could.

Professor Snape would be too preoccupied scowling in the direction of the Gryffindor table to notice you amongst the Slytherins, and Professor Sprout would be too hopped up on bubble juice to pay attention to where her students were running off to. It played right into your plan.

You waltzed into the Great Hall that evening, giddy that you’d finally get to see your boyfriend and be cheered up. You quickly rushed to the Slytherin table and took a seat next to the blond boy, ducking behind Crabbe’s large figure across from you so no one could see that you were situated at the wrong table.

“Hey, love,” Draco grinned, pressing a kiss to your forehead and telling Goyle to shut his trap about breaking the rules, “How’s your day been?”

“Horrendous,” you pouted, leaning into his touch and resting your head on his shoulder, “Everything went wrong.”

He furrowed his eyebrows and wrapped his arms around you, his hug immediately soothing the unpleasantness you had been feeling, “What happened? Did someone do something to you?”

You shook your head, pulling away from him to look into his eyes, “No, not really. Umbridge and Snape were just being their usual selves. Just seemed worse today, I guess.”

He nodded understandingly, motioning towards the array of food on the table, “Maybe eating will help you feel better.”

You grinned, loving how well he knew you. Proceeding to dig into the food and making yourself a little plate, eating away quickly and already feeling a little better about how your day had gone. Suddenly, the essay didn’t seem as dreadful. Maybe it was just your full stomach talking, though.

As the dinner feast rolled to an end, you walked out of the Great Hall with Draco by your side, hiding you from the peering eyes of the Professors so they didn’t see you coming from the Slytherin table. The Slytherins were used to having you at their table, but no one else really knew you’d sneak off there and both of you would like to keep it that way.

Once in the hall, you were too focused looking over at Draco, who was in the middle of telling you a corny joke, to notice the first year Ravenclaw kid come crashing into you, nearly knocking you completely off your feet.

You felt the impact, taking a second to realize what just happened before Draco seized the kid by his blue tie, glaring him down with harsh intensity.

The boy’s eyes widened in fear, “I — I’m sorry,” he blurted out, voice shaky, “I didn’t see her.” The way Draco was glaring at him, you’d think he was about to jinx him into another universe.

“Draco, let him go,” you spoke firmly, placing your hand on his shoulder, “It’s just an accident. Leave him be, it’s fine.”

Draco seemed to hesistate and processed your words for a moment before he dropped the poor kid, who scurried off faster than he had run into you, disappearing down the hallway.

You felt so horrible.

“You need to stop doing that!” you shouted, gripping at your hair, “You can’t just go around picking up and harassing little kids, Draco.”

He shrugged as if he didn’t understand where your anger was coming from, “Some of them deserve it.”

“He didn’t deserve it just for running into me,” you pointed a finger at him, trying your best to keep your voice steady, “It was an accident!”

Your brutal day had pushed you to the edge — watching Draco snap at a young kid for no reason was the last straw. He seemed caught off guard by your shouting as well, shooting you a confused look.

“Wait, why’re you so upset?” he laughed humourlessly, “It’s not a big deal.”

You scoffed, “Not a big deal? You do this all the time. You’re always preying on kids and Potter and his friends. It’s pathetic.”

He seemed slightly offended by your words, but kept his calm, “I’m sorry, love. I just want to look out for you.”

Everything about his nonchalant state was setting you off. You couldn’t fathom why he continued being so calm about a situation that was riling you up this much. You had sat back and watched him torment and tease kids for too long, you wanted to put an end to it now.

“I’m serious, Draco,” you spoke softly, caught off guard by the delicateness of your voice considering how boiled you felt, “You need to stop or I — I can’t be around you.”

You regretted the words as soon as they left your mouth, but deep down, you knew you meant it. Draco tearing others down was not the kind of energy you wanted around you. You were so focused on helping to bring up those around you, and if the person you were with was focused on knocking people down multiple pegs, you didn’t know how much longer you could stand it for.

Maybe it was just your shitty day talking — the fact that you lacked sleep, lacked energy, lacked the will to continue the argument. You felt bad for saying what you said. You loved Draco with every inch of your being, and you knew he was good deep down.

He just needed a wake up call.

He suddenly snapped his eyes up, his carefree expression replaced with pale panic, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You shook your head, trying to fight back the tears that were threatening to spill, “You need to change your attitude. I can’t date someone who finds amusement in being rude.”

As if doused with cold water, his face lost all colour, “You don’t mean that.”

“I do,” you nodded, trying your best to ignore the prickle in your throat as your emotions threatened to spill, “Please, for me. Just try.”

He didn’t hesitate, didn’t even take a second to ponder your words, “Okay, I promise. I’ll try to change.” He grabbed your hand with his shaky one, clearly shaken up by the prospect of you breaking up with him. You knew Draco loved you dearly and held a massive soft spot for you, henceforth why you had no doubts he’d actually attempt to change his ways. He just needed a push, and you were willing to be there to help guide him.

“Good,” you grinned weakly, a tear finally coming down your cheek before you quickly wiped it away, “Potter included, yeah?”

Draco rolled his eyes but eventually smiled, his face regaining its normal paleness, “No promises there but I’ll try. For you.”

Relief flooded over you like a wave. You had expected him to be a little more reluctant to take it easy on others. He wasn’t really a fan of people. But, it meant the entire universe to you that he’d try for you. That he’d keep you in mind next time he’d think of doing something, that maybe young students would be able to get away from him unscathed.

“Love you,” you pressed a light kiss to his nose before pulling him into a hug, wrapping your arms around him so tightly you swore you heard a crack from somewhere.

“Love you too,” he mumbled into your hair.

——

For the third time this week, Draco had held back from putting a first year in their place. You were practically beaming with pride at this point.

The first time, Draco had come crashing into a second year Slytherin and pushed him up against the wall before you could finish the sentence you had been saying. When you cleared your throat, crossing your arms and scowling at him, he dropped the kid and let him run away like he did with the one who had bumped into you.

You smiled, gaining a sarcastic one from him, and continued on with your day.

The second time was probably the one that took the most self-restraint. After Gryffindor best Slytherin in a well-fought Quidditch match, Harry Potter had stalked over to Draco and a few of the bummed out Slytherin players, proudly grasping the Snitch in his hand.

Draco lunged towards him, wand out and ready to fight it out, but you grabbed him by the sleeve of his robes before he could actually make impact with Harry. He straightened up and walked over to you, jaw clenched and eyes softening before turning sharply and walking back into the Slytherin tent. If you hadn’t been there, Harry might have left with a broken nose.

That night, you had told him you were proud of him, which seemed to lift his spirits greatly as he once again reminded you he was doing this just for you.

The third time was when you entered the library and noticed that your usual table was taken. You had found it odd considering you had never noticed anyone sitting there in all of the times you’ve come here with Draco, but figured it wasn’t a big deal and proceeded to look for an empty one. Draco, however, stormed over and told the group of Ravenclaw girls to get up and leave, calling one of them a mudblood.

They reluctantly obliged, beginning to pack up their stuff when Draco caught the glare you were giving him. You saw his shoulders slouch as he sighed deeply before telling the group of girls they could stay where they were. Needless to say, Draco was no longer in the mood to spend the afternoon casually in the library with you, so the two of you took a stroll of the grounds in the calming sunshine.

Unbeknownst to you, the fourth time came shortly after that, in the middle of a Transfigurations class — which Hufflepuff thankfully shared with Slytherin.

“Pst! Y/N!”

You whipped your head around, coming face to face with a girl in your year who was currently sitting in the desk behind you. For the life of you, you couldn’t remember her name.

“Yes?” you asked quietly in return, hoping to continue going unnoticed by McGonagall. Draco leaned forward to block you from view as you faced backwards.

She leaned forwards, “Can I copy your notes? I dozed off.”

You felt yourself frown, “Oh, uh, I don’t know.” Being a good student was something you pride yourself on and you didn’t want to tarnish that reputation by having a Professor catch you exchanging notes with a fellow student.

“C’mon,” she urged, leaning back into her seat as McGonagall’s piercing eyes scanned the class, “Don’t be uptight.”

Before you could defend yourself, Draco whipped his head around af the speed of light, eyes narrowed at your fellow Hufflepuff, “What did you just say?”

You placed your hand over his mouth and nudged your head in the direction of McGonagall who was now answering questions from a group of Slytherins at the front of the class.

“What?” the girl asked, unaware of her insult, looking between you two with an air of arrogance, “I just need the notes. It’s not a big deal.”

“It’s a big deal to me,” Draco spoke lowly through gritted teeth, “Who do you think you are?”

You gripped his upper arm, squeezing tightly to get him to face you, “Drop it, Draco.”

He scanned your face before closing his eyes and letting out a sigh, turning away and facing the front of the class again, his jaw tightly clenched and his breathing ragged. You turned to face the front as well, reaching under the table to find his hand. You linked your fingers with his and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, rubbing soothing circles on his warm skin.

He visibly relaxed, his breathing returning to normal and his shoulders loosening, eyes now focused on the class once more.

After the class ended and students flooded out of the classroom, you grabbed Draco and led him in the opposite direction, leading him behind a pillar, away from prying eyes, and pulling him into a hug.

“What’s this for?” he asked, wrapping his arms around you instinctively and resting his head atop yours.

“For sticking up for me,” you mumbled against his chest, squeezing him harder for a quick moment, “I appreciate it.”

“I know you told me to be a little nicer,” he chuckled softly, “but it’s hard when the person comes at you instead of me.”

You giggled, “I know. And I love that you stick up for me, I really do.”

Whilst flattered Draco had stepped up to defend you, your aim was still to avoid him using verbal assault like he had done on multiple occasions in the past.

“But,” you pulled away from the hug and placed both hands on the sides of his face, “Remember what we agreed?”

“Yes,” he grumbled with a slight pout, “I’ll be less intense.”

“Good,” you grinned, reaching up and pressing a light kiss to his lips, “Love you.”

“Love you too,” his pout vanished and he replaced it with a genuine smile, leaning back down and connecting your lips once more.

——

Over the next week, you had noticed massive improvement in Draco’s mood. Not only was he less sour and brooding, but he seemed to also carry a certain air of confidence that was less obnoxious than usual.

You had even heard Harry mumbling to his friend Hermione that, “Malfoy hasn’t said a thing to me in a week. It’s strange.”

Rather proud after hearing that statement, you had grown accustomed to complimenting Draco any chance you could. It helped him feel better and he really did love them. The better he felt about himself, the happier you were. You knew he was an incredible soul, you just wanted others to see him the same way you did.

“Thanks for everything you’ve been doing,” you smiled at him from across the library table, reaching over and grabbing his hand, “I’m very proud of you.”

“Yeah, well, anything for my girl,” he winked at you, causing you to hide your face once a blush creeped up your neck, “It feels better, though. I feel better.”

Your heart practically leapt out of your chest at his words, “Good. I’m so glad to hear that.”

He smiled softly, looking down at the table, “All cause of you, y’know.”

“I know,” you winked, resulting in him being the one to blush now, “People say I’m a good influence.”

“I’d have to agree with these people,” he pulled his hand away from yours and ran it through his neat hair, “You’re the best influence. And I am the luckiest person alive to have you in my life.”

You were positively beaming, scooching as close to him as you could, leaning over the table and connecting your lips to his. Heart thundering against your ribcage, you poured every ounce of love and passion that you had into the gesture, hoping that you could retaliate the words he just spoke to you in doing so.

“No kissing in the library!”

You pulled apart and smiled apologetically at Madam Pince, who was wide-eyed and pointing a stern finger. You could feel your cheeks burning, hoping no one had been looking to see the encounter go down.

“Sorry Madam Pince,” Draco smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck, “Won’t happen again.”

You looked over at him, completely forgetting about Pince’s presence. This was the first time you had heart him apologize to anyone other than you, and it brought you an immense feeling of pride. Not for you, but for him.

After the angry librarian stormed off, you leaned towards him, “Thank you.”

He grinned, knowing he had just made you proud, “Thank you.”

You knew he was getting there. Slowly, but surely, he would overcome the way he had behaved for his first few years at Hogwarts and become the person you knew he was. The person you loved.

As the expression goes — it would take baby steps.

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy imagines #draco malfoy one shot #draco malfoy one shots #draco malfoy fic #draco malfoy fics #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy reader insert

[rileymarie]

Fahrenheit 451 Quotes

“Let you alone! That's all very well, but how can I leave myself alone? We need not to be let alone. We need to be really bothered once in a while. How long is it since you were really bothered? About something important, about something real?” And then he shut up, for he remembered last week and the two white stones staring up at the ceiling and the pump-snake with the probing eye and the two soap-faced men with the cigarettes moving in their mouths when they talked. But that was another Mildred, that was a Mildred so deep inside this one, and so bothered, really bothered, that the two women had never met. He turned away.

Once, books appealed to a few people, here, there, everywhere. They could afford to be different. The world was roomy. But then the world got full of eyes and elbows and mouths. Double, triple, quadruple population. Films and radios, magazines, books levelled down to a sort of paste pudding norm, do you follow me?”

Do you see? Out of the nursery into the college and back to the nursery; there's your intellectual pattern for the past five centuries or more.

Politics? One column, two sentences, a headline! Then, in mid-air, all vanishes! Whirl man's mind around about so fast under the pumping hands of publishers, exploiters, broadcasters, that the centrifuge flings off all unnecessary, time-wasting thought!”

School is shortened, discipline relaxed, philosophies, histories, languages dropped, English and spelling gradually neglected, finally almost completely ignored. Life is immediate, the job counts, pleasure lies all about after work. Why learn anything save pressing buttons, pulling switches, fitting nuts and bolts?”

More cartoons in books. More pictures. The mind drinks less and less. Impatience.

Surely you remember the boy in your own school class who was exceptionally 'bright,' did most of the reciting and answering while the others sat like so many leaden idols, hating him. And wasn't it this bright boy you selected for beatings and tortures after hours? Of course it was. We must all be alike. Not everyone born free and equal, as the Constitution says, but everyone made equal.

Coloured people don't like Little Black Sambo. Burn it. White people don't feel good about Uncle Tom's Cabin. Burn it. Someone's written a book on tobacco and cancer of the lungs? The cigarette people are weeping? Burn the book. Serenity, Montag. Peace, Montag. Take your fight outside. Better yet, into the incinerator.

You can't rid yourselves of all the odd ducks in just a few years. The home environment can undo a lot you try to do at school. That's why we've lowered the kindergarten age year after year until now we're almost snatching them from the cradle.

If you don't want a man unhappy politically, don't give him two sides to a question to worry him; give him one. Better yet, give him none. Let him forget there is such a thing as war. If the Government is inefficient, top-heavy, and tax-mad, better it be all those than that people worry over it.

Cram them full of non-combustible data, chock them so damned full of 'facts' they feel stuffed, but absolutely 'brilliant' with information. Then they'll feel they're thinking, they'll get a sense of motion without moving. And they'll be happy, because facts of that sort don't change. Don't give them any slippery stuff like philosophy or sociology to tie things up with. That way lies melancholy. Any man who can take a TV wall apart and put it back together again, and most men can nowadays, is happier than any man who tries to slide-rule, measure, and equate the universe, which just won't be measured or equated without making man feel bestial and lonely.

And the second?” “Leisure.” “Oh, but we've plenty of off-hours.” “Off-hours, yes. But time to think? If you're not driving a hundred miles an hour, at a clip where you can't think of anything else but the danger, then you're playing some game or sitting in some room where you can't argue with the fourwall televisor. Why? The televisor is 'real.' It is immediate, it has dimension. It tells you what to think and blasts it in. It must be, right. It seems so right. It rushes you on so quickly to its own conclusions your mind hasn't time to protest, 'What nonsense!'”

“Jesus God,” said Montag. “Every hour so many damn things in the sky! How in hell did those bombers get up there every single second of our lives! Why doesn't someone want to talk about it? We've started and won two atomic wars since 1960. Is it because we're having so much fun at home we've forgotten the world? Is it because we're so rich and the rest of the world's so poor and we just don't care if they are? I've heard rumours; the world is starving, but we're well-fed. Is it true, the world works hard and we play? Is that why we're hated so much?

Lord, how they've changed it — in our 'parlours' these days. Christ is one of the 'family' now. I often wonder it God recognizes His own son the way we've dressed him up, or is it dressed him down? He's a regular peppermint stick now, all sugar-crystal and saccharine when he isn't making veiled references to certain commercial products that every worshipper absolutely needs.”

The same infinite detail and awareness could be projected through the radios and televisors, but are not. No, no, it's not books at all you're looking for! Take it where you can find it, in old phonograph records, old motion pictures, and in old friends; look for it in nature and look for it in yourself. Books were only one type of receptacle where we stored a lot of things we were afraid we might forget. There is nothing magical in them at all. The magic is only in what books say, how they stitched the patches of the universe together into one garment for us.

"Number one: Do you know why books such as this are so important? Because they have quality. And what does the word quality mean? To me it means texture. This book has pores. It has features. This book can go under the microscope. You'd find life under the glass, streaming past in infinite profusion. The more pores, the more truthfully recorded details of life per square inch you can get on a sheet of paper, the more 'literary' you are. That's my definition, anyway. Telling detail. Fresh detail. The good writers touch life often. The mediocre ones run a quick hand over her. The bad ones rape her and leave her for the flies.

“So now do you see why books are hated and feared? They show the pores in the face of life. The comfortable people want only wax moon faces, poreless, hairless, expressionless.

Only if the third necessary thing could be given us. Number one, as I said, quality of information. Number two: leisure to digest it. And number three: the right to carry out actions based on what we learn from the inter-action of the first two.

They're Caesar's praetorian guard, whispering as the parade roars down the avenue, 'Remember, Caesar, thou art mortal.' Most of us can't rush around, talking to everyone, know all the cities of the world, we haven't time, money or that many friends. The things you're looking for, Montag, are in the world, but the only way the average chap will ever see ninety-nine per cent of them is in a book.

Don't ask for guarantees. And don't look to be saved in any one thing, person, machine, or library. Do your own bit of saving, and if you drown, at least die knowing you were headed for shore.”

The old man nodded. “Those who don't build must burn. It's as old as history and juvenile delinquents.”

#fahrenheit 451 #book quotes #quotes #books #crap this book predicted the future #ray bradbury #reading

[slashingdisneypasta]

Edward Nygma (Pre Riddler) x Fem!Reader || Oneshot

Title: Blind Double Date

Plot: 

You and your friend Mia have decided to have a sort of blind double date thing together where you find a date for her and she finds one for you. You’ve decided to ask Ed; The harmless, cute forensics guy at work.

Warnings: FULL FLUFF

~~~

“Good morning Ed!” As you walk into the forensics lab, you quickly find your target in the corner eating his breakfast with gloves and his goggles on. An amused smile struggles to find its place on your mouth but you try to hide it- funny guy, Ed is.

But that doesn’t mean theirs anything wrong with him. You honestly have never understood why anyone would bully him- all he does is his job! And he bares riddles, too! What’s not to appreciate? You happen to like listening to his riddles and giving them a go, even if most of the time the answer evades you. It still tickles you when he tells you, and it makes him happy to get to ask them, too.

Plus, he isn’t bad to look at, and he’s very sweet.

Which is why you’ve chosen him to ask as Mia’s date tonight. Yes tonight. You’ve left it, in pure homework-style, to the last minute to find a guy and ask him. But you’re pretty sure she’s done the same thing, so you don’t feel too bad. You just hope you can butter Ed up enough that he says yes!

“Good morning Miss L/N.” Ed smiles, giving a little waive as he sets his McMuffin back down on a little plate of glad wrap on the corner bench so he can talk to you.

You’re aware of his unfortunate feelings for Kristen -unfortunate because she doesn’t share these feelings, -, which of course could prove an obstacle… but like you said! You plan to butter him up plenty before popping the question. “Any riddles today?”

He beams. “Yes, I do, in fact. Would you like to hear it?”

“’Course!”

“If you drop me, I’m sure to crack. But, smile at me and I’ll be sure to smile back. What am I?”

With only a moment of thought, you set your fists on your hips and peer up at him with a good, humoured stink eye, squaring up to the beanpole. “Ed, are you dumbing down your riddles for me? A mirror!” A tiny grin tugs at the corners on his mouth, avoiding eye contact with you.

“Figured you prefer to get them right.”

“Psh.” You roll your eyes, grin stretching into something wider. Then you cross your arms and lean forward. “I have one for you, now.”

“Oh, really?” He looks a little excited, and its adorable especially behind the goggles he’s still wearing. You resist the urge to giggle, though, and nod. “Fire away, then.”

“Okay, hold on, let me remember.” Pausing a moment, you look at the counter to remember the words. You have to get this right, to provide the perfect jumping off point for asking him out. “Okay, you see a boat filled with people, yet there isn’t a single person on the boat. How is it possible?”

Ed’s eyes shine and you know he’s heard it before; His eye sonly look like that when he’s about to give the right answer and feel smart doing it. Taking off the goggles and replacing his glasses over his eyes, he grins. “All the people are married couples.”

“Exactly, and Ed! Wouldn’t you like to be one of those people?” I’m going for it. No need to be shy- shoot your shot like a used car salesperson.

Immediately, the forensics guy looks completely flabbergasted and he stutters like he really is confused, for once. “What- what??”

Having the humility and poise to look a little moor mellow, you lean my lower back on one of the benches stretching across the wall and focus on the table in the middle of the room. You’ve seen many, many dead bodies on this table. “Well, my friend Mia and I are setting up a sort of… blind double date, I guess. She’s finding someone for me, and I’m looking for a guy for her and we’re gonna go out as a group. Safer than online dating, right? Well I was looking around the precinct for a guy, and… “ Turning to look across your shoulder and up at Ed, who looks curious but still hesitant-and ready to be more hesitant, - , you set him with a mischievous look. “Ed. Edward.”

“This doesn’t sound like a good idea… “He starts to refuse, looking away from you and back at his McMuffin, but you’re not giving up that easily. You haven’t put all your cards down on the table yet! But still, you don’t want to make him uncomfortable because you know this isn’t his thing, so you force yourself to stay in one spot and not look too desperate. Which, quite honestly, you are. The date is tonight!! You’ll end up having to take Harvey, and as sexy as he is, he isn’t your friend’s type.

“Ed, you’re perfect! Safe, for one; You’re a sweetie. And that’s not something I can for sure say about whoever Mia’s got for me- she works at the paper. And Mia loves riddles!” Well, ‘love’ might be a stretch, but she does have an appreciation for them like you. “And you’re the best-looking guy in the precinct.”

That seems to shock him, and he looks up again to blink behind his glasses. “What?”

“Well, yeah.” You shrug; Is it a secret? Dark hair, dark eyes, tall- what is not to like, here? “I mean, you’re on parr with Gordon, but that guy’s damn near married!” You grin, biting your bottom lip as you continue to look across the room rather then at Ed- but then turn and wink at him. “Besides, I like you better. Would much rather spend a night hanging with you then with Jimmy, he’s a bit of a workaholic you know?” Smiling genuinely, you give him an almost-awkward thumb up.

“Uhh… “Hesitant and full-awkward, Ed actually looks to be thinking about it now, looking away from your gaze once again. You don’t mind if he doesn’t keep eye contact- makes you feel like you’re being interrogated when the cops around here do that. Very weird. “I’m- I’m not sure. I’m not… very good… with the opposite sex… “

“You’re great with me!” You exclaim encouragingly, watching a tiny flicker of a grin pass over his lips as he looks down at the ground. “Come on, I’ll be there with you the whole time. Unless of course my date goes really well,” He looks up and you wink, grinning cheekily. Then an idea occurs to you, and you gasp. “I’ll even come over a bit early and help you prepare!”

Letting him think to himself for a couple minutes while you get out your phone and check for messages and periodically watch the door for other cops and forensics people. Finally, Ed lets out a deep breath and turns to face you again. You hold your breath, chewing on your bottom lip. “… Okay. I’ll go with you and Mia on this date. But you have to come over before.”

You let out a relieved breath. “Thank you, Ed! Sure thing. I’ll see you at yours at 6, the dates at 7. I’ll get your information outta the database- thank you so much Ed!” With a quick hug, and one last smile, you leave him back to his breakfast. “Enjoy your brecky and have a good day Ed! See ya!”

Ed just smiles a little smile, watching you leave before switching his glasses for the goggles again and goes to continue his breakfast. “I wonder… did I say yes for the right reasons?”

Through the corner of his eye, he catches his reflection grin smugly and shake his head.

He tries to ignore it.

~~~TIME SKIP: Later that day, at Ed’s apartment~~~

When Ed had answered the door in a plain t-shirt and sweat pants, you had been worried for half a second that he had changed his mind and that you had forced him to say yes to something he didn’t want to do, but then he quickly explained that he didn’t know what to wear.

Which was such an easy issue to remedy!

“There!” You exclaim when he comes out of the bathroom in the outfit you two came to an agreement on. You’re sitting on the end of his bed, munching on pretzels and smile encouragingly at your friend. “You clean up even nicer, Ed.”

“Thank you… “Grinning with pride, like a bird ruffling his feathers, Ed looks once more at his reflection and flattens out his emerald tie-his favourite colour, as you’ve come to realise. Its all over his apartment, and his wardrobe, - then he comes over to sit beside you and tie up his shoes. “Uh- Miss L/N, question? If you don’t mind.”

Swallowing 3 more little pretzels and picking out 2 more, eating like a marathon runner… if by running one meant eating. “Fire away.” Still bent over his knees tying up his laces, Ed does so.

“Why are you eating? I thought we were meeting up with the others for dinner.”

Waiting to finish the latest 2 pretzels, you cover your mouth and look embarrassed as you chew away quickly so you can reply. When you’re done, you laugh nervously and set the bag down in your lap. “Oh. Haha. I don’t want y’all to see me gorging myself when we’re out. Also, if I’m too full when I’m there to buy an actual meal, I save money on a potentially terrible date by just buying a bowl of chips or something. On the 3rd date, I might buy myself a proper meal.”

Ed sits up, setting his hands on his knees. “I don’t think anyone would mind seeing you eat properly, Miss L/N.”

“Uh… yeah, I don’t really think so either… Hah, but, I’m still a lil’ insecure you know?” Its nothing to be embarrassed about- you’re insecure! Everyone is about something. Besides, Ed’s easy to talk to. You know he wont judge you. Picking out another pretzel, you pop it in your mouth and enjoy the salty taste, offering Ed the bag in case he wants some.

“Oh, thank you.” He’s temporarily distracted from your confession by the snack, making your grin at how cute he is as he politely takes a singular pretzel. For a moment, you two just sit there and eat in companionable silence, and its nice. You look at him for a second, in his date pants and sweater, before looking around his apartment. Its pretty nice, you have to say. A little grungy looking, but in a fashionable way unlike the rest of Gotham. You can imagine the sporadic helicopter search lights that are normal in Gotham city probably look really cool flashing in through the full wall of windows. “Well I have leftover potatoes from my dinner last night that I could have now,” Ed finally wonders out loud, and when you look at him he’s ready to get up and go get them. Quickly, you put a hand on his arm to stop him, causing him to look over at you and wait for an explanation.

“Oh, Ed! No, I didn’t mean you had to as well!”

“But if it’s considered impolite to eat on a first date- “

“No! Ed, that’s just my silly thing. Mia and the other guy’ll eat like King’s. I promise you.” Encouragingly, and half apologetically, you squeeze his arm. “You need to eat a proper meal. As your friend, I won’t have it any other way.” You say the last part sternly.

“Hah. Well in that case I have to insist that you, Miss Y/N, have the same.”

Your jaw drops when Ed takes your bag of pretzels, zips it up again and gets up to put them away in the kitchen. Watching with wide eyes and a disbelieving smile on your face, you see him use his height as a weapon, get on his tip toes and put the bag away in the back of a top shelf. When he turns around, he grins evilly at you. You throw one right back at him, albeit less superior and put your fists on your hips. “Edward Nygma!”

He finds his place sitting next you again, this time a little closer and facing you, leaning on his hands that are on the bed between you so he’s sort of leaning toward you as well. For a second, you suffer a small heart fluttering stroke, but quickly push it aside and sigh in surrender, rolling your eyes. You look forward again, then turn back and smile at him.

“Do you have another riddle for me before we get going?”

Maybe you’re putting off leaving this apartment. A little.

His eyes shine, like they always do when you ask him for a riddle. “Of course, I do. What question can you never say yes to?”

“Ed!” You exclaim immediately, exasperated. “Another easy one! We’re gonna have to have a conversation about my IQ, sir. I assure you it’s larger than what you give me credit for.”

“I don’t doubt that Miss L/N.” He smiles, a bit bigger than his usual little grin. “I just like how happy you get when you can answer a riddle correctly- Don’t worry, I’ll adjust my criteria for riddles for you to make them more challenging from now on.”

How… how can he be so bluntly sweet and not even realise it?

Sighing deeply in frustration at yourself, you look away from Ed’s handsome, sweet, smart self and momentarily hate yourself. Sorry Mia. I can’t do this. “Oh Ed… I’ve made an awful mistake.”

“Oh?” He adjusts his glasses, confused. “About what?”

“Uhh… “Time to escape!! Go home!! Contemplate your total and utter hopelessness and misery on your own, Y/N! You get up from the bed and pick up your bag and your coat, backing up to the door out of Ed’s apartment. He gets up to follow you, but you hold out a hand and gesture for him to sit back down. “I just can’t go out tonight. I have, uh, cramps. So, um… I’m really sorry for ruining your night!” Bumping into the door, you whip your head around to look at it and flash a nervous smile back at Ed before turning to it. “So sorry… “What is wrong with you, Y/N?

“Miss L/N!”

Before you know it, Ed’s crossed the room and basically trapped you between him and the door. For a second, apology and nerves cross his features but then he moves on. “Miss L/N, are you okay? I, I can make you some herbal tea to help soothe- “

“No, no, Ed, its okay. I just need to sleep- “

“Y/N.” His eyes darken unbelievably for a second and the forceful way his voice bends around your name, your first name, causes you to stop talking and look properly at him again, waiting for what he has to say. As quickly as that dark, forceful look came, it gone again though and Ed drops his forward a bit as if exhausted. “Miss L/N forgive me for my vigour. Um, I just… I wanted to say… uh, before you leave, that um, uh, I… “Your heart lifts as he stutters through gibberish, and you tilt your head to side to try and see his face. “I want to admit something.”

You’re nervous about what he’s going to say. “You don’t have to… “

“I disagree. Um,” He looks up at you again finally, and you see shyness in his eyes, but determination also. “I want to admit, to you, that… my reasons for agreeing to go on this date, were uh… biased. I have little to no interest in your friend Mia, I’m sorry. I just wanted to spend more time with you.”

Eyes widening slightly, you watch Ed look down again and take his hands off the wall on either side of your head, letting them sit stiffly at his sides as he looks idly around the room as he waits for a response. Because of this, he misses the way your lips turn up in a smile. Relief washes over you, and happiness. He likes you, too!

“Uh, Ed?” You whisper, leaning back on the door now. You’re not leaving. “Look at me?”

“Yes?” He looks at you again, finding your eyes and your smile and breathing in deeply at the sight, surprised. Relieved.

After a moment, you give in to the urges that have only become stronger today then they ever were before - in fact, before today you didn’t even know they were there. But now you can safely identify all those weird smile you couldn’t help when you looked at the forensics guy, - , you pull him gently closer to you and lean up, kissing him gently on the lips.

Almost instantly, this boy presses closer so you’re on the door again between it and his, kissing you back tenderly so when you stop, there are bright beams on both your faces. Grinning, you adjust your grip on his sweater. “I think you're going to have to start calling me Y/N, now.” 

“Yeah, that would be appropriate, wouldn't it?” Then Ed’s eyes widen. “I should make you the herbal tea. Your cramps.”

Lying very transparently, you bite the inside of your cheek guilty and tell him “They’re cured.”.

“This is going to be awkward for you to explain to your friend.”

“She’ll live.”

“Do you want to watch some TV with me then?”

“I’d love to.”  

#Edward Nygma x Reader #The Riddler x Reader #Gotham #Edward Nygma x Reader Oneshot #Oneshot #Gotham x Reader #Gotham Oneshot