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assortedfruitsnacks212 · 2 years

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Worship The Flame - Ch 1 - Welcoming Party

Pairing | Billy Hargrove x El Hopper

Series summary | It's May 1989. After three years in California, Billy returns to Hawkins for Max's high school graduation. He thinks he'll find everything—and everyone—as he left them. Turns out time has moved on in Hawkins, too, and a certain "little girl" isn't so little anymore. Now that he's back, she's desperate to prove it to him. Too bad he swore he'll never fall for her. And if he does, there's no way her police chief father won't find out.

What to expect | angst, fluff, smut, romance, supernatural sci-fi weirdness, bouncing between past and present storylines, Mike/El vs Billy/El love triangle, El and Max friendship, Max playing matchmaker, El finally finding her own voice, Billy and Max covering the entire gamut of sibling interactions, Billy flipping between being soft and being an asshole as he tries to keep his shit together, Hopper playing the role of “father with shotgun,” Hopper-Byers and Hargrove-Mayfield family drama (but without Neil! yay!), the sensation of watching a car wreck in slow motion

Series warnings | angry fathers, explicit content (18+)

Chapter word count | 5k

Chapter summary | In May 1989, Billy shows up in Hawkins to find two special girls waiting for him.

Chapter warnings | none

Author’s notes | Intended as a sequel to my old draft of "Lost Boy."

When I had the idea for this fic in February 2020, I dropped EVERYTHING to write it. Couldn't help myself. Now the idea has grown into a full-fledged trilogy starting with "Lost Boy," and I'm rewriting the whole thing from scratch to reflect that.

It'll take years to finish. I'm treating the trilogy as a continuation of the show, with just one tweak: Billy survives Starcourt. Canon storylines continue around him; relationships grow, change, and break up; the Upside Down evolves, the Mind Flayer keeps trying to take over the world... It's a lot.

In the meantime, I thought I'd post my old draft of what is now the third story. I wrote it before I decided to bring in the Upside Down, etc., so it's basically a romance with a supernatural bent. Future drafts will be dramatically different.

Hope you enjoy!

P.S., if you're here to tell me what a “problematic ship” this is... don't :) El is eighteen, and to quote Max, "She doesn't need your protection."

Comments and reblogs are welcomed with open arms!

Tuesday, May 23, 1989

He thought he'd feel something more when he returned to Hawkins. A whole lot of anger, maybe. Hell, even tears. Stuff happened here that made him cry for the first time in eight years. If he was ever gonna cry again, this would be the place to do it.

Instead, he feels a whole lot of nothing. He cruises past the old turnoff to the high school without blinking. He doesn't even flinch at the sight of the road he used to take to get to Hopper's cabin. He just… doesn't feel anything. He's not sure if he should be proud, relieved, or concerned.

Blowing smoke out the window, Billy hooks his hand over the wheel. The sweet strains of Skid Row pour out of his stereo, streaming out the window along with the smoke. When he slams on the brakes for a left turn, the tires of the Camaro screech. Trees careen past him, and he can just imagine their mouths falling open as they murmur to each other.

That boy again? I thought we'd seen the last of him! Look at him still driving like a maniac.

Yep, he thinks, chewing on his cigarette. Billy Hargrove never changes.

Thankfully, Max is damn good at giving directions. Though she and Susan have lived in this house for three years now, he's only seen the place once, and that was at night. It's broad daylight now, golden and May-bright, and nothing looks the same.

When he makes the last left turn, pulling onto a sleepy neighborhood street, he slows down till the engine of the Camaro drops to a purr. Suddenly his stereo’s unbearably loud. He turns it down, scanning the cul-de-sac ahead.

Goddamn, he hates cul-de-sacs. Who the fuck ever thought they were a good idea.

He catches sight of their house on the right. It’s a modest affair, single-story, with an equally modest front lawn. He remembers the countless times he pulled up to the house here in Hawkins, the place where that man lived. Biting down hard on his cigarette, he grips the wheel.

No, he’s not gonna think about that now. Neil Hargrove is gone. Fucking gone.

As he drives up to the house, he sees Max sitting comfortably on the front lawn, leaning back on her hands. Her hair is down, glinting copper in the May sun, and she’s wearing jeans and a bright yellow shirt. Next to her, looking far less comfortable, is another girl with long brown hair.

Billy scowls. The fuck is that? Did Max really bring a stranger to meet him on his first day in Hawkins?

He pulls up to the curb and stops. Max gets up from the lawn, grinning. The other girl gets up too, and as she stands to her full height, hair tumbling past her shoulders, Billy’s heart hits his ribcage with a thud. He plucks his cigarette out of his mouth.

Holy fuck. No way. No fuckin’ way.

He stares for a second before he realizes he’s staring. Tearing his eyes away, he throws the car in park and switches off the engine. Its rumble disappears along with his music, leaving him in silence. He takes a deep breath.

It’s fine, he tells himself. It’s fine.

He unbuckles his seat belt and steps out of the car. Slamming the door behind him, he flicks his cigarette onto the pavement. With another breath—more shaky this time—he turns to meet the girls.

They’re already bounding toward him. Well, Max is. She’s approaching too, but more calmly, almost shyly.

Max squeals, flinging her arms open. “Billy!”

He forces a smile. “Hey!”

She throws her arms around him. Shutting his eyes, he wraps her in a hug and makes himself forget the other girl. This moment belongs to Max. She fought so hard to get him to come back, and he’s not gonna let anyone ruin that. Not even her.

Max squeezes him tightly. Soon she pulls away and swipes at a tear in her eye.

“It’s so good to see you, Billy. So good.”

Before he can respond, the other girl walks up. She’s smiling with soft red lips and looking at him with brown doe eyes. Her hands are clasped in front of her, tugging at the material of her light pink sweater, which exposes her right shoulder. As he notes the way her collarbone curves flirtatiously out of sight, Billy cringes.

Ah, fuck. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

“El,” he huffs, hoping he doesn’t sound as choked as he feels. “Jesus. I almost didn’t recognize you.”

And for good reason. With each passing second, he sees something else that’s changed about her. The long hair, with the top half pulled back, was just the most obvious thing. Aside from that, she’s gotten taller; her figure has filled out in a way that tugs at his gaze; large hoop earrings are dangling from her earlobes, and she’s wearing makeup. Makeup. Sure, it’s subtle, doing little more than highlighting her dark eyes. But boy, does it fucking highlight them. Her eyelashes are thick and black, and he could swear she’s wearing eyeliner.

She smiles shyly, but it doesn’t suggest fear. It seems more knowing, more deliberate, like she’s holding something back.

“Hi, Billy,” she says. Fuck, even her voice is different. Deeper.

His mouth goes bone dry. Her eyes are smoldering, and for the first time he notices they’re not plain brown. They’re golden too, catching and refracting the sunlight.

All at once, he realizes why she’s here. In the old days, he would’ve suspected a more fun motive like oh yay, Billy's coming to town, I want to see him. But with the way she’s looking at him—the way she said his name—he knows she’s here for another reason entirely.

She didn’t just want to see him. She wanted him to see her.

A jolt shoots through him, waking up his skin, making it tingle. He swallows, blinking rapidly.

Move the fuck on, Hargrove.

Flashing her a hesitant smile, he turns to Max, the nearest person who can get him out of this mess.

Because this is definitely a mess. He can feel it already. Two trains are speeding toward each other on the tracks, and he’s standing right in the fucking middle.

Seeing him get out of his Camaro was like witnessing the return of a young god. If El hadn't been sitting in the grass already, she would've fallen on her knees. He was just so golden, exactly the way she remembered him. And when he looked at her, it felt like a lightning bolt falling from the sky.

Now she’s standing in front of him, and she can scarcely breathe. How do you breathe in the presence of a god when his very energy sucks you in and crushes you into dust? You don’t. You just claw at your throat and beg for mercy with your eyes.

Upon closer look, she sees his appearance has changed in some ways. His scruff is darker. His hair falls a little differently, and something in his face seems harder, sadder. But other than that, he looks just the same. He’s wearing jeans and a grey tank top, the same kind of thing he wore three years ago. His hair is still long and curly. He’s still wearing an earring and his Virgin Mary necklace, and he still has those black brows and lashes she came to love.

The earring draws her attention the most. It’s a small hoop, the same one he wore in ‘85-86—or, at least, it’s similar enough that it might as well be.

Suddenly she’s fifteen years old again, and red hot terror streaks through her body. Her hand aches to grab Max’s and squeeze as hard as she can.

Please tell me I didn’t make a mistake coming here!

She can’t say that, obviously. But Max seems to hear her anyway. She glances between them, then turns to Billy and smiles brilliantly.

“Hey. How about we go inside? Mom wants to see you too.”

“She’s here?” Billy frowns. “Doesn’t she work till five or something?”

“Yeah, but she got off early today.”

“Huh.”

Watching Billy’s face, El holds back a frown of her own. Is it really so surprising that people want to see him? It shouldn’t be.

He notices. He glances at her, blue eyes bright under black eyelashes, and it’s too much. Breath hitching, she looks away, then trails behind Max and Billy as they go up the sidewalk to the house. She tries to keep her gaze down, tries not to watch the swell of his shoulders under his grey tank top. But she watches anyway, tensing like she’s about to be struck down.

I shouldn’t be here. The thought echoes with every step.

He can feel her behind him as they walk into the house. She radiates energy like a heat lamp in an Indiana winter, and it drives him to distraction, keeps his eyes unfocused. He bites down hard on the inside of his cheek, hoping the pain will shock him to attention, but it doesn’t help. Nothing helps until he steps through the door.

The front door opens into a central living area with the kitchen on their left. In the kitchen, Susan’s pulling a covered platter out of the fridge. She looks up as they walk in.

“Billy, hi,” she says, smiling.

It throws him for a second. Her smile doesn’t seem too forced. Hell, if he didn’t know any better, he’d actually think she’s happy to see him.

“Hey, Susan,” he answers, strolling forward slowly.

This is always the worst part: figuring out if the person you’re greeting is a hugger. He and Susan never hugged in the old days. Not that she wasn’t interested in physical affection. She probably would’ve hugged him a lot if their relationship had been different. If he hadn’t been so fucking, murderously angry with her.

Now? He has no idea what to expect. Yeah, their relationship is at a high point, but given where they started, that’s not saying much. And yeah, he’s been gone three years, but they rarely spoke in those three years. The longest conversation they ever had was, “Hey, is Max home?” “I don’t know, let me check. No, she must be at Lucas’s.” “Okay, I’ll call back later.”

So do you hug this person? Billy can’t say. And for a moment, it looks like she can’t either. She just stands there, platter in hand, staring at him with wide eyes.

Then her posture relaxes. Setting the platter on the counter, she steps forward with an embarrassed smile, opening her arms.

Something growls inside Billy, the last remnant of the teenager who hated her guts. He shoves it down and steps forward to meet her. When she wraps her arms around him—gingerly, like she’d break him if she wasn’t careful—he makes himself wrap his arms around her too.

The hug lasts for two seconds at most. As soon as it’s over, she goes back to the platter, grabbing it like a shield, while he steps away toward Max.

Of course, his eyes have to land on the girl with long brown hair. And just like that, he remembers his problems extend far beyond Susan.

“How was the drive over?” Susan asks, tugging the plastic wrap off the platter.

“Oh, you know… boring,” Billy says. He moseys around the kitchen counter toward the dining table, away from Susan. Away from her.

“Well, that’s good. You never want a road trip to be too exciting.”

Aw, cute. Susan made a joke. Max and El laugh politely. Billy doesn’t.

“Um…” Susan slides the platter toward him. “I know you must be hungry, so help yourself. Just don’t eat too much, we’re having chicken for dinner.”

Billy checks the platter, which turns out to be a spread of meat and cheese. It looks damn good actually, but he’s not in the mood to eat. He can’t imagine trying to chew with a mouth this dry.

When he doesn’t say anything, Max jumps in. “How about I show you where you’re sleeping? And we can help you bring in your stuff?”

He wants to scowl at her. How much stuff do you think I brought? But he literally just got here, and he shouldn’t kick off his visit by antagonizing his sister.

“Sure.”

She turns to lead the way. As Billy follows, he crosses paths with El. They pull up short, and for the space of a single heartbeat he registers the pinkness of her cheeks, the way she gazes at him from under those thick eyelashes.

Then he steals a breath and strides forward, catching up to Max. His chest hammers like he barely avoided a head-on collision.

Max leads them to a door at the end of the hall. With a flourish, she pushes it open to reveal her room, much more decorated than it was the last time Billy saw it.

“You’re sleeping here,” she says, smirking. “Which means I get to sleep with Mom all week. So you better be thankful, dickweed.”

He walks in, not so much to see the space as to get away from the heat lamp at his back. As he looks around, he has to admit it’s a nice room—for a girl, anyway. The walls are yellow, of course, and decked out with posters. Her queen-sized bed is centered on the wall ahead of him, its headboard a stylish white wicker. To its left is a nightstand, and to its right is her dresser from the old house. On the wall to his left, he sees her old bookshelf with all her books and paraphernalia. In the center of that wall, white lace curtains waft in a breeze from the only window.

Not bad, he thinks. He’ll be comfortable here. The room even lifts his mood a little—until he remembers who else is with him. A thought stabs through his brain.

She'll know where I’m sleeping.

His gut twists in a mighty knot, sending a pulse of heat down his limbs. He sucks his teeth and keeps his back to the door, all too aware of the tension creeping into his shoulders. Can they see the muscles tightening as clearly as he feels it? God, he hopes not.

He turns to face them. Max has stepped into the room behind him. She hasn’t. She’s standing in the doorway, hand resting on the frame, and she’s watching him with the most scrumptious look in her brown doe eyes. Another pulse of heat swirls down his limbs, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips.

Fuck, she’s gorgeous. He can’t help but think it. El’s gotten fucking gorgeous over the past three years. He doesn’t know how, he doesn’t know why, but it happened, and now he has to deal with the consequences.

“Is something wrong, Billy?”

He blinks and looks at Max. She’s staring at him with a frown and very, very perceptive eyes.

“Ah… no,” he says. “It’s fine. It’s a… it’s a good room.”

She raises her eyebrows, alerting him to just how dumb he sounded.

Shit. He has to pull himself together right fucking now. He takes a breath, glancing around the room one more time.

“I’ll, uh, get my stuff. It’s just a suitcase, so… don’t bother helping.”

With that dumbass announcement, he heads for the door. He expects El to scurry out of the way; that’s what people usually do when Billy Hargrove is barreling toward them. But she doesn’t. She just puts her back to the doorframe, angling her body enough to let him through, but no more than that.

He sees instantly that he’ll have to slide right past her. It almost makes him stop in his tracks. But Billy Hargrove doesn’t stop for anyone, and that means there’s only one option.

Angling his body to mirror hers, he braces for impact.

After her panic on the front lawn, El spent the next couple minutes mentally checked out. She barely even heard the things Billy and Mrs. Mayfield said to each other. She was too busy talking herself down, rehearsing all of the lessons she’d learned over the past year.

I belong here. I deserve this. I can have what I want.

To her surprise, it worked. When she and Billy nearly collided at the counter, she had the strength to look him right in the eye. Amazingly, he was the one to buckle. Visibly catching his breath, he rushed forward before she could even blink.

She warmed with pride. That’s right, he should be the one to run. She belongs here in Hawkins, meaning he’s the one entering her territory.

As he wandered into Max’s room, followed closely by Max herself, El stepped forward to the doorway, resting her hand on the frame. The wood seemed to pulsate under her touch, pushing its life and strength into her. She drew it in gladly, taking a slow, deep breath, as if inhaling the scent of a flower.

I deserve this.

Eventually, Billy said something about getting his stuff and started for the door. Years ago, she would’ve fallen back into the hallway.

Not today. Today she stayed in the doorway, staring right at him. He hesitated for an instant, but then he kept coming, turning his body to squeeze past her.

Now they’re so close they’re practically touching, and she holds still, letting it happen. He radiates body heat and the smell of cigarette smoke. His elbow brushes her sweater, and she thinks she sees him glance at her bare shoulder.

It makes her stomach flip. As he escapes through the doorway, retreating down the hall, she nearly grins.

He saw her. He actually saw her.

When she turns toward the bedroom, Max is smiling wickedly. Walking forward, Max winds an arm through hers.

“What did I tell you?” she whispers.

El can’t hold back her grin anymore. Face heating, she ducks her head.

Max giggles and jostles her playfully. Her delight is contagious, and El finds herself giggling too. After years of crying, it feels really good.

“Just keep doing what you’re doing,” Max continues. “Don’t change a thing. I swear to God, I have never seen him stutter like that.”

Fuck, it was the best. It was the worst. She was so close he could feel her actual body heat. He caught a whiff of a scent too—something floral. As he slid past, his elbow brushed the soft material of her sweater above her belly. His gaze skimmed the flesh between her bare shoulder and her neck, and he imagined swooping in and nipping it with his teeth, just to hear what sound she’d make.

He didn't look straight at her, though. Hell no. That would've been fucking dangerous, like lightning striking dry grass.

By the time he stumbles out the door, his mind is reeling like it got sucker punched. The shock throbs through his body as he cuts across the lawn, stirring up old memories.

When he gets to the trunk of his car, he unlatches it and flings it up. He reaches in, grabs the handle of his suitcase, and stops. Head drooping, he shuts his eyes. Panic bubbles up inside, and with it, a hot wellspring of shame.

Fuck. He brings up a hand to cover his face. Fuck.

This is El. El. Four years ago, whenever she smiled, her canines poked out the way they do when the adult teeth have just grown in.

He takes a moment to breathe. Gradually, a cold resolve fills him, turning his body to stone. Opening his eyes, he yanks out his suitcase, then slams the trunk shut with a clang.

Three and a Half Years Ago November 1985

“No, El. No. The word ‘uneasy’ describes ‘dreams.’ You follow me? So it branches off of ‘dreams,’ like this.”

Snatching the pencil from her hand, Billy draws a slash under the line saying dreams, then scribbles the word uneasy. He looks up, gesturing at the page, only to see El staring down at it helplessly. Leaning back in her chair, she covers her face with both hands.

A knot of frustration twists in his gut. Gritting his teeth, he leans back too, propping his wrists on his head.

He glances out the kitchen window of the cabin. Hopper’s out there somewhere, busying himself with yardwork that doesn’t need to be done. Billy rolls his eyes.

Dammit, Hop. Has it really been that long since you diagrammed sentences?

They sit at the table in silence. El’s close to tears, he can tell. And he doesn’t blame her. Teachers always said he could ace this shit if he tried. But it’s still dumb and complicated. And this poor kid went years without real schooling.

He looks at her. She still has her face in her hands, and she’s breathing slowly as she fights for control. Taking his wrists off his head, he leans forward.

“Hey. Let’s take a break or something. Go get a drink of water. I’ll go out for a smoke. Just…”

He sighs. He drops his voice to a softer tone.

“Just don’t let it get to you so much, okay? It’s just homework. Screw it.”

“You don’t understand,” she mumbles through her hands.

“What?”

“I said you don’t understand,” she says, flinging her hands down. He sees she’s been crying. Her eyes are red, and her cheeks shine with tears.

“I’ll never get it,” she cries. “I’m too behind, Billy. I always will be.”

Aw, shit, El. Apparently they’re gonna have a heart to heart over the kitchen table.

He raises his eyebrows, studying her with a look he hopes is compassionate but firm. “That’s not true.”

She meets his gaze, sniffling, then looks down at the table. He folds his arms and sits back, rolling his tongue in his mouth.

He’s about to deliver some brutal honesty. Well... brutal for him.

“El. You’re a smart kid. Wicked smart. And the fact that you’ve gotten so far so fast… it’s amazing. I mean, look at this. You’re diagramming a sentence from–”

Wait, who is this guy? He checks the page.

“–f-from fuckin’ Kafka,” he stutters. “Do you have any idea what that means?”

“No,” she murmurs.

“It means you’re in the big leagues. Alright? This isn’t you swinging at a tee ball. You’re in a real game, and you’re fuckin’ playing. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

She frowns. “What’s a tee ball?”

Christ. He keeps forgetting she doesn’t know things. He sighs and shifts in his chair.

“Look. All I’m saying is you should stop being so hard on yourself. Alright? You’re doing good work. Someday—someday, El—you’re going to catch up. And when you do, you’re gonna be brilliant. You hear me?”

She seems skeptical at first. She stares at him with a flat expression, her hands lifeless in her lap. But as they keep staring at each other, her expression melts until she's smiling. He smiles back, a weird warmth spreading through his chest.

"Okay." Clearing his throat, he stands up. "Um… get some water. I'll be back in a minute."

He passes her before she can get out of her seat. Pushing through the front door, he strides out onto the porch, where he lights a cigarette and glances around the yard. When he sees no sign of Hopper, a thought occurs to him, and he looks at the driveway.

Hopper's truck is gone too. Smirking, Billy shakes his head.

Idiot. He'll barrel straight into the mouth of hell for his daughter, but he won't stick around for English homework.

Present Day

Billy tucks into the meat and cheese platter after that. And even though he stuffs his face, blatantly disregarding Susan’s warning, he’s still starving once dinner comes around. As he sits down at the table next to Max—across from her—his mouth is watering like he never ate at all.

Dinner is roast chicken with sides of seasoned veggies. It’s a damn good spread, the kind he never gets around to making at home. He tackles it with so much gusto he barely talks. To his right, Susan looks at him as she eats, her face glowing.

Yeah, okay. You’re a good cook. Don’t let it go to your head.

Susan and Max carry on a conversation around him. El interjects every once in a while, but for the most part she doesn’t talk either. She just picks at her food and watches him eat.

He tries to ignore her. He looks at his plate, at Max, at Susan. Never at her. His efforts accomplish fuck-all. She won’t stop watching him with those brown doe eyes, and her bare shoulder—the one he imagined nipping with his teeth—seems to stare at him in accusation.

His body grows more and more tense. Finally he looks up, eyes hard, and meets her gaze. He takes a vicious bite of his drumstick, glaring at her as he chews.

Her eyes widen. Looking down at her plate, she stabs a string bean with her fork. He glares at her a beat longer before turning back to his food.

That’s right. Message fucking received.

Things get better immediately. She quits watching him so much, and when he finishes eating he’s able to start laughing and talking. It feels like a monkey fell off his shoulders and scampered away, and it’s a relief. A goddamn relief.

After dinner, they move to the living room for dessert and coffee, and they talk more. It’s actually kind of fun. He would never have expected that, not with Susan around. But… well. Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Before long, he’s totally relaxed on the couch, legs spread open, wrists propped on his head.

El barely speaks. She’s sitting in the chair across from him, the physical outlier of the group. She’s resting her cheek on her hand, and she’s always chewing her lip, looking hazily at the floor. Occasionally she glances up at him, and their eyes meet. He gives her a cool stare each time.

Move the fuck on, Eleven Hopper. Do you hear me?

She seems to, as clearly as if he’d screamed it. As the evening passes, she wilts like a flower. Part of him writhes in discomfort over it, but it’s a small part. The rest of him stares at her as coolly as ever.

This is necessary. It’s for her own good.

Not long after sunset, Susan drifts out of the room. Her exit seems to stir El from her dark thoughts. She takes her head off her hand and rises slowly from her chair.

“I need to go home.”

“Aw.” Max stands up, going to El for a hug. “You sure?”

“Yes. I’m tired.”

“Okay. You want me to drive you?”

“No, it’s fine.”

Feeling a prick of concern, Billy frowns. “You’re walking home in the dark?”

El pulls out of Max’s hug, giving him a surprised look. I always do, it says. Max turns to him with a far more impatient one.

“Uh, yeah. El has superpowers, remember?”

Oh, right. Good point. Still, as he shifts his gaze back to El—or rather, the dark-haired beauty that’s taken her place—an offer takes shape on his tongue. Let me drive you. It just feels like a good idea. After all, why tempt fate?

Then his breath catches, and he bites the words back. Jesus. In what reality would that be a good idea?

She’ll be fine. Like Max said: superpowers.

“Come on,” Max says. “I’ll walk you out.”

As they leave the living room, El glances back. “Bye, Billy,” she rasps.

“Bye,” he answers. Saying it feels wrong, and he has to swallow a knot in his throat.

They slip out the door. Exhaling heavily, Billy slumps into the couch, then digs in his pocket for his cigarettes.

Susan never liked it when he smoked indoors. Well, he didn’t give a fuck then, and he sure doesn’t give a fuck now.

Between El and Max, El’s the first one to walk out on the porch. Her eyes are stinging, her nostrils burning. When she hears the door close behind them, she turns, letting the porch light show her face.

Max takes one look and sighs.

“Oh, El.” She steps forward, drawing El into a hug. “It’s going to be okay. It’s just the first night. And we knew this wasn’t going to be easy.”

“I know.”

El pulls back. Her first instinct is to wipe her eyes. She’s surprised to find her lashes are dry, and her cheeks too.

Max rests a hand on El’s arm. “Here’s what you’re going to do, okay? You’re going to go home. You’re going to get some sleep tonight. Then you’re gonna get up tomorrow morning and try again. No matter what, you keep. Trying. Understand?”

El nods. Max squeezes her arm, then puts her hands on her hips.

“In the meantime, I–” she waggles her eyebrows “–will work on him. I’m telling you, there’s something here, El. He just needs a little help. And I am such a helpful sister.”

Like before, her mood is contagious. El smiles, matching the impish glint in Max’s eyes with one of her own. She has to admit, scheming with Max is a lot of fun. It always has been.

“Now, you head home,” Max says. “And we’ll talk tomorrow. Okay?”

“Okay.”

They hug again. This time it’s warm and lingering, and it gives El the strength she needs to back away from the porch.

“Bye,” she murmurs. Turning toward the darkness, she heads for the line of distant trees.

–

A/N | It only gets worse from here.

Please let me know you enjoyed this by commenting or reblogging!

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Index

Chapter 2 >

#bileven #billy x el #billy x eleven #bileven fic #stranger things fic #stranger things au #stranger things fanfic #billy hargrove #el hopper #jim hopper #max mayfield #mike wheeler #assortedfruitsnacks212

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someone-ds · 2 years

Text

I wake up. I've slept well, at least I think so. I took my medication so my head feels heavy and I feel like I'm on a boat.

I sit up, my feet are dangling off the bed. It's much higher than my bed at home. The floor is cold under my feet as I waddle out the room.

I see two figures in the kitchen, my glasses were left in the room.

My mother greets me by saying I look like hell and disappears again. Then there's him, dressed in all black not saying a word. Looking down at his phone and chewing on his lips.

I don't say anything.

We sit in different rooms for a few hours.

I ask him if he's alright every time we cross paths. I'm never given a response, he just stares blankly.

Somehow we're talking about me and my mother. I shed a few tears. Everyone seems to have some kind of opinion on the matter.

Even though none of them have spent a day in my shoes. I cry angry tears.

I'm in different bed tonight. below me he sleeps pitifully. It's cold. I give him my blanket because the sound of his teeth clattering is driving me up the walls.

Everything is kind of weird.

I've been up for a while thinking, staring at the walls.

I've caught him looking a couple of times out of the corner of my eye.

He's told me to stop thinking about a 100 times over and he'll probably say it a million times more.

I probably look awful because he is looking at me with that stupid stupid idiot

" I want to take care of you" face.

He asks me if I want a hug, I try to force a smile. I do nod my head but I don't move. Neither does he. So we remain seated as we were.

Everything in me is screaming at me to give in- to move. but I stay still.

I can't. There are already people mingling around the house, the sun has been up for a while. nothing to hide the raw and ugly need for comfort in me.

So I sit and stare. As does he but he stares at me while I stare the wall.

We're a hopless bunch.

We're on that stupid small couch again. Legs tangled, laughing and playing video games.

My head is tilted back, the world looks fun this way. My head hangs off the side of the couch and then the light isn't hitting my face anymore. He's on top of me, looking intensly at my face.

Yet again, soft fingers trace my sharp edges. I close my eyes- pretend that I'm not aware about how intimate we're being.

- What are you doing

- Looking at all the details of your face, trying to remember them all

I let him continue. He pinches my cheek, holds my face with one hand while the other combs through my hair.

It is morning now. I've slept alright and he looks like he's had at least a couple of hours of rest.

I'm on the top part of the pull out bed.

He looks at me, I look back. It's too early for this.

I sit up and wrap myself in my blanket and go lie down next to him. He welcomes me with open arms.

Completely intertwined we lie still. I'm listening to his heartbeat while he holds my waist.

We stay like that for a couple of hours. But then the day eventually has to start.

He looks tired. I look stressed.

Nobody really cares anymore. There's no point in trying when both of us have a foot out the door.

Both so miserable.

I don't understand how he can keep it all to himself. Drown himself day by day and keep joking the way he does.

But then when he thinks that no one is watching he gives in to the pain. The ache inside him. Between his eyebrows that little slit appears, his hands flex a few times. He paces. Stops talking.

I can't help myself but always watch him. He's tied to me- he's a force of nature.

So I see his slip ups. The moments of short lived truths. The raw and the real. The ugly and divine.

I hate what this person is doing to you. But you're so obsessed with fixing broken people. Maybe that's why we work so well.

Somehow we're out drinking. It's windy, my cheeks are rosy and I feel hot. There are street performers playing rock covers. We're inside a small bar, the people are nice, as is the rum in my glass.

I feel light and beautiful. One of my legs is draped over one of his. He's wearing dark blue fitted jeans and a black long sleeve shirt with a dark grey jean jacket. he looks like a movie star and people keep staring.

I am too.

We don't stay out long. I'm pleasantly drunk and still warm inside when we stumble up the stairs to our room for the night.

It's cold and I'm almost asleep when I hear him sigh and shuffle around.

- what is it

- oh you don't wanna know

I sit up. Maybe tonight will finally be the time we talk.

It's not.

But we hold each other through the night. Holding onto each other a bit too tight for two people who claim to be fine.

my face is so close to his. I can feel his heartbeat under my hand deepen. Beating harder but not faster.

We sleep. the only moments we have to ourselves we like to share. is that not strange?

That when we rest- or try to, we want to do that together...

Even though there is only one pillow or it's hot. The bed too small. The snoring too loud. The blanket too short.

we choose to be with each other over and over again.

In different beds, cities and countries.

There is a comfort in your arms I can't name.

#love #i love you #heartbreak #deep #poetry #love quotes #diary #angst #love poem

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captains-simp · 3 years

Note

Can I get a request where Yelena's dating R and has been for a while because things are going great but Natasha (being the protective big sister she is) realllllyyyy doesn't like R and R keeps making things worse because Nat intimidates her and all bdaksnakwk😭 and she finally accepts R when she gets caught up in a mission somehow and almost dies for Yelena🥺

Nat simps: Nat doesn't like the relationship because she's jealous

Me: n-no

Nat simps: she actually loves R😃

Me: guys no-

Nat simps: but-

Me: N O

(You guys are getting a big Natasha fic after this, calm your tits🙄)

3.6k words

Warnings: graphic injury description, implied torture and murder

[ masterlist ]

Buy me a coffee ☕

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"My sister does not hate you." Yelena chuckled as she opened the car door and stepped out. You stayed put for a second, staring up at the Avenger's tower as you chewed your lower lip.

"She definitely does." You mumbled as you stepped out of the car yourself. Yelena held her hand out for you to take, marginally helping your nerves when she gave it a reassuring squeeze. She noticed your silence and tried again.

"Okay maybe she's not your biggest fan right now but she'll warm up to you. I did." The blonde winked. You bit back a smile and rolled your eyes. "The others sure as hell love you." You hummed in response, you couldn't argue with that. You got on with the other heroes like a house on fire. "And I love you." Yelena said earnestly as you stopped outside the main door for your girlfriend to plant a soft, quick, kiss on your lips.

"I love you too." You said with a smile.

"There she is." She grinned back as she stroked your cheek with her index finger. "Now come on, I'm starving."

"You ate that bag of M&Ms in the car." You laughed as Yelena led you through the building. The blonde scoffed.

"They only half fill them, y/n." She complained. "So it was half a bag." It was hard to argue with that logic.

You made your way through to the top floor of the building, all while holding onto the expensive wine bottle you bought. Your hands were sweating so much so you held onto the bottle with both hands, not trusting your grip. The last thing you needed was to smash it on any of Tony's expensive carpets. You were met with a round of laughter when the elevator doors opened, presenting the Avengers all sat around the living area. Their eyes turned to you and Yelena with wide smiles and they all shouted hellos across the room. Wanda gave you a warm hug as Yelena high fived Bucky and you felt your nerves soften.

"She's just finishing up." Wanda said knowingly. You wondered for a brief second if she had taken a peek into your mind but when you looked at the redhead she was smiling reassuringly at you and you realized it must have been obvious that you were anxious to see her again. Unlike Yelena, everyone else could tell you were Natasha's least favourite person. "For what it's worth she seems to be in a pretty good mood tonight." Wanda assured.

"Whose in a pretty good mood tonight?" Came the voice you had been dreading to hear. Natasha strolled into the living room with a content smile on her face but halted in her tracks once she saw you. You locked eyes for longer than you were comfortable with but you were determined not to look away. Sometimes you thought that if you asserted yourself more then maybe Natasha would at least respect you. Today wasn't the day for that because you looked away quicker than you would have hoped to. In your defence, it was really hard to maintain eye contact with the Black Widow.

"What's she doing here?" Natasha spat. Oh. You winced as you rubbed the back of your neck, clearly the Russian wasn't aware that you were attending the dinner too.

"I told you she was coming." Yelena said as she strolled towards her sister and gave her a bear hug. Natasha continued to glare at you from over her sister's shoulder.

"I thought you were meant to be on a mission."

"Luckily it was over by lunch." You smiled weakly. "Meant there was still brownie left in the cafeteria." You laughed awkwardly but Natasha didn't respond.

"If you want, I could give you the recipe for my brownies." Wanda said in an attempt to ease the overwhelming tension in the room. The Sokovian was always the best at that and you were sure it was entirely down to her calm demeanour.

"Really?" You asked hopefully as you all made your way to the dinner table. You avoided Natasha's eyes the whole time but consequently ended up taking a seat opposite her. You froze when you sat down, already under her heated gaze once again. You gulped thickly and turned to Yelena while you tried to ignore the pair of emerald eyes burning holes into the side of your head.

The rest of the dinner wasn't altogether awkward but it wasn't the most comfortable you'd ever been. Natasha didn't acknowledge you, though it was rare that she did, and you both engaged in separate conversations with the rest of the team. You had never known if there was a particular reason the redhead didn't like you. You guessed it was down to her being protective of her little sister, something you could understand given all they had been through. But you would never hurt your girlfriend, in fact you would do anything to avoid that. So it bothered you that there was nothing you could do to sway Natasha's opinion of you, because you had literally tried everything. You had been dating her sister for six months. Surely if she was going to accept you it would have happened already.

When dinner was finished Natasha excused herself as Yelena picked up some plates and took them to the kitchen. You were hooked on a story Sam was telling when they left, both your elbows on the table as your face rested in your hands, eagerly waiting for Sam to reveal how he was able to escape a whole squadron of planes with a malfunctioning suit. As a S.H.I.E.L.D agent, you didn’t get to experience half the things the Avengers did. Sure, you had had some crazy missions and your fair share of close calls, but their stories always won.

Once Sam dramatically finished his story with some over the top sound effects, you noticed Yelena had missed a few plates and still wasn’t back. With the dishes in your hands, you made your way to the kitchen, soon hearing the strong accent of your girlfriend. “You're being unfair.” She scolded with a hushed aggression.

“I’m trying to protect you, Lena.” Natasha’s voice fired back. Your ears pricked up at the verb and you were unsure of whether or not to leave the plates on a near table and go or stay to hear about the apparent threat your girlfriend was facing. “She’s going to get herself killed.”

“Oh and you’ve never done something reckless?” Reckless. That was a word you had seen in your S.H.I.E.L.D assessment reports enough times to get a vague idea of who the pair were talking about. Natasha being on the opposing side proved the point more. “When will you drop this?”

“You couldn’t have just dated a normal civilian? Or at least an agent that manages to not get themselves in harm's way on the way to the paper copier.” Well that was hardly accurate. S.H.I.E.L.D didn’t use paper copiers.

“You know maybe if you spent less time being a bitch to her and more time actually getting to know her you would understand why I love her.” Yelena said in a more disappointed tone, most of the frustration drained away from exhaustion. You wondered how long they had been talking about this. Or if they had before. Yelena always acted like there wasn’t any tension between you and her sister. Maybe she thought if she ignored it things would sort themselves out.

There was a heavy silence over the room so with a pang of guilt, you stepped out from behind the wall with the plates still in your hands, fauxing mild surprise when you saw them both, like you didn’t even know they were still there. If they saw through your act, they didn’t say anything. “Thanks, just put them there.” The blonde smiled and pointed at the counter near her. Natasha stayed silent as she watched you from the other side of the room. It always felt like she was studying you for any sign of a weakness when she looked at you, waiting to spot something she could use to strike.

“You need a hand?” You asked as you spied the excessive bubbles in the sink that coaxed your girlfriend’s forearms. “Before you break something.” You joked and watched as Yelena’s cheeks tinted pink as she remembered the shattered glass in the bin at home.

“She’s capable.” Natasha interrupted with stone cold glare.

“That’s okay, detka (babe).” Yelena mumbled and kissed your cheek. “I’m just finishing up.” She said before looking briefly at her sister. “Then we’re going.”

To no surprise of your own, Natasha didn’t get any friendly towards you after what you could only assume wasn’t the first discussion the sister’s had had about you. In fact it got considerably worse; not straight away though, that came a few weeks after when the pair came rushing into the cafeteria. Yelena marched in the room with her eyes set on you as the redhead followed by her side, exclaiming something wildly with her hands.

“This is insane. Yelena!” Unfortunately for Natasha, her sister’s stubbornness fiercely rivaled her own.

“Hey, detka.” Yelena smiled as she sat down on the seat in front of you. You gave a small wave as you finished chewing your sandwich, eyeing the pair cautiously. Natasha continued to stand with her arms crossed, mumbling under her breath in Russian. “You busy now?”

“Not really.” You shrugged and brushed the crumbs off your hands.

“Yelena, no.”

“Zamolchi (shut up)!” The blonde fired back. “That’s great,I could really use a hand on a mission.”

“I will go with you.” Natasha insisted but Yelena shooed her away distractedly. “They know who you are, it won’t work.” She hissed.

“That’s why disguises exist!” Natasha yelled, gaining the attention of every other S.H.I.E.L.D agent in the room.

“It won’t work.” Your girlfriend said firmly, her choice was already made and set in stone.

“Okay.” You shrugged and immediately fell under Natasha’s most heated glare.

“Don’t you dare.” She gritted. “There are thousands of agents in this base alone and you’re picking the single most reckless one who will get you killed.” The redhead continued but Yelena, unlike you, wasn’t fazed.

“Great, go pack your stuff.” Yelena cheered.

“Right now?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t fucking move.” Your body betrayed you, keeping you glued to your seat in fear of what method, of the hundreds the widow knew, she would choose to kill you if you stood up.

“I don’t trust anyone else to do this.” Yelena said earnestly to her sister. Natasha considered her sister carefully but still looked unconvinced when her younger sister gave a frustrated huff and took you by the hand to drag you to your feet and past her sister who surprisingly didn’t follow after you both.

As your girlfriend led you down the halls she explained the basis of the mission, telling you how you were to set up a last minute buy with a high profile weapons smuggler. Annoyingly, that was how he worked, telling buyers the location and time of a deal at the last minute. Beneficially, he was a smug prick who only believed in carrying out deals on his own. While he would be armed, there would be no one else with him, making yours and Yelena’s job easier. Yelena was the sniper, shooting to kill. S.H.I.E.L.D had tried apprehending the guy alive but it always ended in casualties and they were finally done with going easy.

You considered it all when you were changing into the outfit Yelena had given you, planning what exactly you could say to the dealer to get him to the specific part of the warehouse that Yelena could shoot at. You were buttoning up your white blouse when the door swung open and Natasha stepped through. “You sure you can handle this?” She asked right off the bat.

“I’ve been through my training just like everyone else here, Natasha. I know you don’t think I’m capable but I’ve been on my fair share of missions and I know protocol and-”

“Just keep her safe.” The Russian said. You blinked and opened your mouth to speak but couldn’t find the words.

“I don’t care if Baros comes out of there in a body bag or in a limo.” You blinked again and continued with your shirt as you decided to just listen to Natasha. “But if one hair on Yelena’s head is harmed I will make you live to regret it for the remainder of your long and very painful days.” She said darkly and you could only nod dumbly. Natasha studied you for a long moment before turning around to head out of the room far less dramatically as she had entered.

“She trusts me for a reason.” You couldn’t help but call out as the redhead opened the door. She glanced at you for a second and left as she called over her shoulder to you.

“I don’t.”

“Do you want to get take out tonight? I was thinking that new Chinese place around the corner.” Yelena spoke clearly but she might as well have been thinking aloud because you couldn’t respond. She knew that of course. She knew that you speaking would ruin your cover if Baros had cameras set up around you. “So that’s a yes on the Chinese?” She continued. Okay she was definitely doing it because she knew you couldn’t respond. “Detka there’s no need for you to insist on paying. I owe you one right now.” You bit back a smile until the warehouse doors opened and Baros stepped through, watching you eagerly.

“So nice of you to join me.” You deadpanned. You couldn’t help it. The guy literally chose the time and he was still half an hour late.

“Yes, my apologies.” Baros said in a very unapologetic tone. “Something came up.” He muttered as he placed a large box on the table and unlocked it with an 8 digit code although you were sure there was a lot more to it than that. Not that you cared about his weapons right now. “Now I hear I have something you’re interested in.”

With that, the sale began. At first you thought you were in luck. Baros made a habit of strolling around the room as he explained various weapons that you pretended to be interested in, but he never went to the spot Yelena could shoot. It became irritating very quickly. You walked around too in an attempt to lead him to wear you needed him but he always backed off at the last second. You heard Yelena groan into the earpiece a few times too.

“Is there anything here that’s of interest to you? Or are you more concerned with listening to whoever’s on the other end of that earpiece?” Your eyes snapped to Baros as he watched you curiously. “Where is she?” He asked coldly. Your earpiece wasn’t meant to be visible and the thought that Baros had found a way to get around S.H.I.E.L.D’s technology concerned you greatly.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about, I’m here alone.” You swallowed thickly. Baros gave a throaty laugh in response, some primal hunting impulse starting up.

“I’ve killed every S.H.I.E.L.D agent that has come after me, you and your friend will be no different. Now where is she?”

You wanted to charge at Baros. To knock him to the ground and wrap your hands tightly around his throat and squeeze long and tight enough to make him regret ever threatening your girlfriend. Except you couldn’t move. It wasn’t a fear induced freeze up like you had gotten from Natasha’s glares a few times. There was a much larger and more dangerous obstacle that stopped you moving. Something toxic. Baros gave another manic laugh as he watched that realisation dawn on you. But really, what was panicking you most was that Yelena had been silent for a long time.

“You see, Agent l/n, while you were trying your hardest to get me to play your game, I was beating you at my own. I’ve grown immune to the toxin that’s been circulating the room since your arrival.” You trembled as you dropped to your knees and fell onto your side, only able to watch and listen. “And what your friend sees is a mere projection of us continuing business, audio included of course, so she won’t be coming to get you anytime soon.” You exhaled as heavily as you could in relief at the knowledge that Yelena was safe.

“Now where were we?” Baros asked as he knelt down besides you and lifted your head up, placing the flat of a blade against your cheek. “Oh yes, you were just about to tell me about the other one.”

“Go...to...hell.” You grimace, every word spoken feeling like one of the hardest things you had ever done.

“I’m sure you’ll feel as though you’re there very shortly.” He muttered as the knife very slowly started to dig into your skin.

You had no idea how long you were with Baros, how long since he had first started slicing your skin, how long your bones had been broken or even how long since you had first started to cough up blood, most of it staying in your mouth because of your weak diaphragm. You had exceeded your limit long ago, only using your energy to make the occasional snarky comment that made the next attack harsher. You couldn’t seem to stop yourself. It made you feel like you had some control, as did the fact that you never said a word about Yelena.

A gargled scream was ripped from you when Baros pressed the burning hot knife against your latest stab wound, cauterising it to stop you bleeding out and keep you alive for as long as he needed you. A sickening smile crept onto his lips as he watched your eyes fill with tears once again and leant back once he was done. Much to your long awaited relief, that smile was wiped from his face when a spray of red erupted in front of you, shortly followed by Baros dropping to the ground next to you, dead on the spot he had accidentally stood in.

You didn’t trust your relief, you didn’t trust yourself not to be hallucinated after the endless hours of torture, even when a heavily armed S.H.I.E.L.D team flooded into the room. A few gathered around you, asking questions you couldn’t quite understand as bright white lights filled your vision. Then you were being lifted into the air, not aware of the fabric of the stretcher beneath you until the back of your hand dropped onto it. You managed a small trace of a smile before you passed out.

There was an arm draped across your stomach when you woke up. It was the first thing you felt, a fact that you were extremely grateful for. You blinked frantically a few times before you turned to look at your girlfriend sleeping by your side on the hospital bed. You smiled at the sight of her peaceful form and tucked some stray hairs behind her ear softly, careful not to wake her. You were glad you cherished that moment of peace and relief, because it wasn’t long before you had more company.

You took your hand away from Yelena’s face when Natasha walked in, settling to keep it by your side, although there was nothing you could do about the arm that was squished between yours and your girlfriend’s body. “I tried my best-” you started but Natasha shook her head.

“You...you did great, y/n.” You smiled sheepishly, sure there were some drugs in your system. “No one could have done any better.” She said as her eyes flickered to the cuts on your face. “So thank you.”

“It was no trouble at all.” You shrugged. Natasha rolled her eyes but smiled faintly, something you never thought you would see directed at you. “I’d never let anything happen to her.” You said honestly. The redhead nodded as she looked at her sister.

“I know that now. I was just scared, I can’t loose her again and you have to admit you’re not the most reliable person on the planet.” You blushed and looked away. “But I trust you now and I’m sorry I doubted you.” She apologised sincerely.

“No harm, no foul.” You joked again, truly not knowing how you were meant to act around the Russian now that you were finally in her good books.

“Don’t make me regret this.” Natasha warned with a smirk. You chuckled lightly and watched as she made to leave. “You should get some rest.” She advised and you nodded but frowned when she was nearly out the door.

“How’d she know?” You asked, making Natasha turn back to you with a quirk of her brow. “That something wasn’t right.” The redhead smiled and shook her head.

“You hadn’t made a smart ass comment in ten minutes.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

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dancingazaleas · 3 years

Text

eren yeager | best friend’s brother (smut)

ok i’m sure this is kind of surprising since i don’t really speak of eren

also no i don’t want to talk about how this is based off of victorious

warnings/notes: cursing, mikasa and eren are brother and sister, drummer!eren, modern au, secret relationship, everyone is 19, nsfw, eventual smut, slight dubcon, slight vouyerism, spanking, clit slapping, degradation, slight praise, choking, tummy bulge, edging, overstimulation, breeding kink, minors dni with this post pls, tell me if i missed anything

you know exactly who’s all going to be home whenever you call mikasa. but you still ask, like you always have, in order to lessen suspicion.

“it’s just me, eren, and zeke. i think zeke has pieck over tonight,” she sighs in slight annoyance, “wanna watch a movie when you come over?”

you tell her yes just as you turn on mikasa’s street. you both hang up with a goodbye, and you feel excitement bubbling in your gut as your car drives you closer and closer to eren. you practically jump out of your car whenever it’s parked on the curb of mikasa’s house.

you squeal while skipping up to the front door, punching in the numbers on the keypad lock without looking. you shut the door quietly after you enter the home, taking in the multiple smells from all three siblings living in the house.

you’ve got to hand it to zeke, he’s got amazing taste. whenever grisha and his mother died, he inherited a lot of money from them and decided to buy himself a home. however, it changed when he found out eren’s mother died and that eren and their adoptive sister, mikasa, would be going into foster care. and with zeke being 19, a legal adult, he managed to fit the roll as a guardian for the two of them. they’ve all lived together for a couple of years now, and you’ve come to enjoy the dynamic between them all whenever you’re staying there for a while.

“oh hey, (name). when’d you get here,” zeke asks whenever you walk into the kitchen, he’s probably getting himself those finger sandwiches he buys himself.

“just now. mikasa in her room,” you stretch and peek over zeke’s shoulder to see what the fridge contains.

“should be. can you get out of my fridge,” he nudges you back with his elbow, which you ignore.

“do you have any baby belle cheese,” you shove him aside with your hip.

“yeah, we do,” you turn to look over your shoulder to see eren walking into the kitchen.

you have to stop yourself from running into his arms, instead starting to rummage through the drawers of the big refrigerator. zeke leaves the kitchen, but you only know that because eren’s front his pressing against your back and warm arms wrap around your waist and his head head rests on your shoulder to whisper in your ear.

“didn’t tell me you were coming over tonight,” he mocks disappointment while you take a baby bell cheese.

“wanted it to be a surprise,” you smile, stepping away from the fridge and opening the packaging of the cheese. eren still clings to you.

“it was a nice surprise,” he kisses at the back of your ear while he squeezes you tight.

you turn your head to look at eren, puckering your lips for a sweet kiss.

eren, not being able to say no to you, obliges and gives you a sweet and lingering kiss on your lips. he pouts whenever you pull away and plop the cheese in your mouth, moving away from him to throw away the wrappings.

“ask mikasa to watch a movie with me,�� he requests—more like demands.

“sure,” you nod, “i’ll see you in a few minutes.”

you trudge out of the kitchen and up the stairs, barging into mikasa’s dark room. you watch her jump in her bed, obviously frightened with the abrupt entrance.

“hi hi,” you chant while closing the door behind you, jumping onto her bed next to her.

“you scared me.”

“i know,” you roll your eyes, “wanna watch a movie downstairs?”

“depends... what movie?”

you hum, “maybe the addams family, something like that.”

“yeah, if it’s the addams family then i’ll watch,” she says, scrolling through instagram.

“wanna see if eren will watch,” she asks you while she likes a post by sasha on her phone. the picture was of her, jean, and connie.

“sure, i’ll text him,” you pull out your phone, immediately pulling up eren’s contact and messaging him.

luckily, you’re able to hide the lovey dovey messages sent from eren. you text that mikasa does want to watch a movie and to be downstairs in three minutes.

“he said yea,” eren hadn’t even replied yet.

mikasa and you get off of her bed, making your way down the hallway and down the stairs while talking.

“popcorn?”

“yea, sounds so good right now,” you sigh happily, “we gonna cuddle?”

mikasa snickers at your question, “of course.”

you laugh a little before pushing her in the direction of the kitchen, settling yourself down in the middle on the long sofa. you pull up the addams family on the tv, smiling gently whenever eren comes in the room with his phone in his hands.

“sit at my feet, i’m cuddling with mikasa,” he scoffs at the claim, but puts your legs in his lap.

mikasa comes back into the room with a bowl of popcorn in her hand and some sodas in her hands. she manages to flip the light switch off in the living room while on her way to put everything on the coffee table in front of you. mikasa sits down when you lift your head, welcoming the weight of your head coming down her clothed thighs.

before you start the movie, mikasa asks eren, “do you have rehearsal tomorrow?”

“yeah. jean and annie’ll be here at like 11,” he sighs in slight frustration just as you start the movie.

“sucks for you,” you snort absentmindedly, pulling the bowl of popcorn into your body on top of your stomach.

eren flicks your leg with his fingers while mikasa ignores the both of you and continues to watch the movie.

during the movie, you notice a text from eren that asks you to stay with him after his rehearsal tomorrow, claiming that mikasa and zeke should be out of the house.

you turn off your phone with a giddy smile. you have a good feeling about tomorrow.

————

you’re laying in eren’s bed while he practices his drumming with his band in a few rooms over. you text mikasa the whole time, who’s telling you about some drama between zeke and her cousin, levi. well, it’s not really drama, levi and zeke just have a love-hate friendship. it makes you laugh, especially since the usually cocky and narcissistic man known as zeke was usually getting his ass chewed out by levi.

“i’m so horny,” eren groans while he walks into the room. menace.

you roll your eyes at him, continuing to text mikasa. eren’s pouting as he flops down next to you, face pressing against your neck.

“didn’t you just get out rehearsal? how do you have energy after drumming for an hour and a half,” you ignore the nipping of eren.

“‘dunno,” he sighs against your skin, sending chills up and down your spine.

you shut off your phone, throwing it to the side and pulling eren from your neck. you kiss him, to which he reciprocates happily, while he goes to straddle your waist.

his hands are already groping at your chest and his breath is already heavy against your mouth.

you pull away, “have you been horny since the beginning of rehearsal??”

he grumbles out a yes while he bites and sucks at your neck. your laughter is interrupted by a gasp when eren bites particularly hard on your neck. his hands creep up under your shirt, only to find a surprise.

“you’re not wearing a bra,” he asks, pushing the shirt up over your boobs.

“didn’t feel the need to,” you mumble with embarrassment as eren’s eyes stare at your chest.

without a second thought, his lips are attached to one tit, sucking hickies onto the skin around your areola. you whimper when he punches and twists a nipple with his fingers, chest slightly bucking up and burying his face further into your tits. eren feels like he’s in heaven.

when eren pulls away, he takes a moment to admire your tits. bruised and abused, glistening with his saliva under the lights in his room.

“pretty,” he mumbles, finally pushing your shirt entirely off of your body.

you wiggle your hips as a signal that eren takes. he’s ridding himself of his shirt and pants before he takes off your own pants. his fingers just barely swipe across the outsides of your thighs, giving you goosebumps.

eren’s spreading your legs apart, staring at the wet stain on your panties. you try to push your hips in his face, but eren swings his left arm around your hips to hold them down. his right hand is teasingly stroking your clit through the thin fabric of your underwear. each swipe of his thumb has your whole body tensing, something that has him smirking.

“please,” you bite your lip while you stare into his eyes.

instead of indulging in your desires, he’s pulling his body away from the spot between your legs. only to take off your underwear, and then settle between your legs again.

“you’re all wet and i’ve barely done anything,” he comments, running a fingertip against your slit.

you whimper whenever eren shoves two of his fingers inside of you unexpectedly. he doesn’t give you time to adjust to his fingers, immediately setting himself a tempo as he fucks you with his fingers.

moaning and acting without thinking, your hand tugs at his long hair. he almost immediately pulls his fingers outside of you, fingertips slapping at your needy clit. your hips buck while you apologize.

“pull my hair like that again and you won’t get to cum,” he resumes his finger fucking, slightly smiling at how your hands immediately go to grip at the sheets now. he’s trained you so well.

“do you hear that,” he snickers while curling his finger, squelch sounds following after.

“cumming! cumming,” you pant a few moments later, eyes squeezing shut.

eren immediately pulls his fingers out of you, resulting in a cry from you. he laughs sadistically as he repeats the process over and over and over again, so much that you’ve lost count, tears now running down your cheeks. he lets you come this time, admiring the blissed out look on your face as you moan wantonly.

but his hand moves to your clit now, listening to your pleading that you’re too sensitive.

“shut up and take it,” he stops his maneuvers on your clit to slap your clit again.

you yelp and buck your hips, starting to open your mouth to plead until he starts rubbing your clit again. you orgasm quickly, back arching against eren’s mattress.

“eren,” you whimper, legs shaking while eren pulls his hand away.

“what do you want, pretty girl,” he sits on his knees, looking down at your crying face.

“more,” you sniffle, small hand reaching out for him.

“more of what,” he raises a taunting eyebrow, catching your wrist in his hand, “c’mon, use your words, you’re a big girl.”

“you... more of you.”

“that’s not an answer,” he reaches down to wipe away a tear.

“want you inside me,” you pout and wiggle your hips again.

“you want it or need it?” he smirks while tilting his head.

you whine, “need it. need you here, ‘ren.”

you guide his hand to your tummy while you speak and eren feels his cock throb in his boxers.

“fuck,” he groans, roughly flipping you over to lay on your stomach.

you yelp, reaching out to hold onto the pillow your head was just laying on. he’s forcing you to arch your back, and the way he forces you to do it is almost unrealistic. he’s tossing his boxers across the room for him to search for later, reaching down to pump his cock in his hand.

his hands lay heavy on your ass, spreading your plump cheeks apart to get a better view.

your cheek squishes against the pillow as you stare at him over your shoulder, needy pout on your face. he chuckles at your eyes closing whenever he finally shoves his huge cock inside of you.

“so big,” you sob, “so big, ren.”

he ignores you, pulling him cock out of you until the tip before slamming his hips against your ass. you yelp as soon as eren starts to thrust in and out of you ruthlessly. so hard that you’re sure you’ll have bruises on the back of your thighs for a few days.

however, his hips still whenever he hears the front door of the house creaking open and a voice calling out.

“eren! i’m home,” mikasa calls out while she shuts the door behind her.

you reach your hand back to shove eren off of you, not wanting to risk the chance of mikasa even hearing you. eren grabs your wrist with one hand while the other slaps your asscheek harshly.

“okay, i’m about to take a nap,” he replies to mikasa, knowing full well she’s already making her way up the stairs.

“okay,” she replies, going into her room. her room that’s right next to eren’s.

“eren,” you whisper, “she’s gonna hear.”

“don’t act so innocent,” he growls, “i bet you want mikasa to hear. to hear just how you’re getting fucked like the slut you are.”

you whimper, “no... no.”

“want her to hear how good you’re feeling,” eren smiles sadistically as you turn your head to bury your face in the pillow.

he hears your whining faintly whenever he starts to thrust his hips again. your moans are being muffled by his pillow, and even so, you’re sure that mikasa knows what’s going on by the sound of eren’s skin slapping against your own.

he puts his hands onto your shoulders, leaning his weight onto you as he speeds up his thrusts. you’re almost screaming in his pillow now, nails clawing at the sheets under you.

“gonna come,” he groans breathily, “you gonna come when mikasa’s in the next room over?”

he watches you nod your head, which makes him bite his lips while releasing a groan.

he whispers in your ear, spitting out a command for you, “go ahead. go ahead and cum like the slut you are. give mikasa a show.”

you moan loudly into his pillow, pussy fluttering around his fat cock as you orgasm.

he fucks you through it, not slowing down his fast and vigorous thrusting.

“hurts,” you cry.

“don’t care,” he says, reaching a hand around your body to grip onto your neck.

he’s pulling you up with him, back flushed against his front as he thrusts wildly. you look like a mess, saliva dripping down your chin along with your tears, eyes glossed over.

your hand touches against your tummy gently, whimpering at the feeling of the bulge that is eren.

“feel you,” you mewl quietly, “feel you here, ‘rennie.”

he presses the hand not wrapped around your neck against your tummy, groaning out. his thrusts speed up at full speed, something he does not do often, but eren’s eager to fuck his seed inside of you.

“gonna cum, gonna fuck my kids into your slutty pussy,” he grumbles, slapping a hand over your mouth whenever it opens to moan.

“you want that, huh? w-want me to fuck a kid into you? maybe then mikasa’ll get the hint,” his voice is shaky when he feels you tighten around him.

he snickers, “fuckin’ slut. tightening around me whenever i spew that shit. you want her to hear you being fucked stupid, huh?”

you shake your head while you shut your eyes again. another orgasm is approaching, and you’re not sure that you can handle holding it in.

eren notices and decides to take pity on you.

“go ahead, cum,” and you do. you gush all over his cock and sheets, hands scratching at his wrist as you scream into the palm of his hand.

“fuck,” he hisses whenever he feels his balls tighten.

he comes not too long after you, finally slowing his pace down to a grind. he lets you drop onto the bed on your tummy, spreading your legs open to admire how his cum leaks out of you.

you’re absolutely sure that mikasa heard, but you’re too fucked out to care. she’ll confront you if she knows, and that’s when you’ll worry.

but then again, your best friend’s brother is irresistible.

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #snk #aot fanfiction #snk fanfiction #tw: dubcon #eren aot #eren yaegar #attack on titan eren #snk eren #eren x you #eren smut #eren jeager x reader #eren jeager smut #eren jeager #eren x reader #eren yeager x reader #aot smut #snk smut

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yandere-daydreams · 3 years

Text

Title: Desperate Measures.

Pairing: Yandere!Kaeya/Reader (Genshin Impact).

Word Count: 2.2k.

TW: Kidnapping, Emotional Manipulation, Implied Stalking, and Delusional Mindsets.

Kaeya was a man, distracted.

Distracted. Divided. Not inattentive, but pulled away from his responsibilities by a force he couldn’t name and couldn’t say he cared for, either. He wasn’t a stranger to romantic inclinations — fantasies, sudden flings, slow-burning inclinations that died the moment his attention was called elsewhere. Predictably, the few relationships he allowed himself were short-lived, at best distasterous at worst, but he didn’t have a problem with that. If anything, Kaeya appreciated it. He’d always thought of company as optional, and what little loneliness he was still capable of feeling could be drowned with a generous glass of wine. He wasn’t one to linger. He tried not to overstay his welcome. He’d been sentimental, once, too emotional for his own good, and he’d learned his lesson. He didn’t intend to change.

He didn’t want to change.

And yet, here he was.

Distracted.

He couldn’t think. He couldn’t focus. It was all he could do to look like he might’ve been trying to read the most recent document left on his desk – this one from Jean, a directive for the younger knights or legislation she needed him to review or another vague, important report that he probably would’ve dealt with weeks ago, if he’d been able to concentrate.

He made a half-hearted effort to straighten his back as the door to his office began to open, but Kaeya dropped the act quickly, abandoning it completely by the time he heard the sound of heeled boots against hollow tile, caught a glimpse of a familiar (albeit, rarely used) catalyst, searched for eyes and found the cover of a thin book, instead, your face still buried in your newest novel as you stepped through the threshold, not bothering to knock. It was you. He should’ve known it would be. Who else did he deserve?

You, Lisa’s new assistant. You, the latest addition to the Knights of Favonius. You, his current, infuriating, unshakable fixation.

You, the new recruit who hadn’t paid him so much as a passing glance since your arrival, much to Kaeya’s frustration.

You didn’t look at him. You rarely ever did, but it hurt more than it usually did, today, as you dropped another form onto his desk, letting it replace the greeting you’d forgotten to offer. “Lisa needs you to sign this,” You started, laying out your priorities clearly, a skill Kaeya was beginning to resent. “It’s just next year’s budget. If you don’t want to read it, I think I’ll be able to look the other way.”

He glanced over the rows of numbers, the messy hand-writing, the columns of meaningless gibberish that blended together into a mess of ink and digits, and took your suggestion, scrawling his name across the only blank line. It was a lost cause, especially with you in the room. Especially with your unoccupied hand resting on his desk, your fingertips idly tapping an unsteady rhythm into the wood, and all he could think about was who he’d be willing to kill to feel that hand pressed against his cheek.

He considered asking you, for a moment, giving you an order and hoping you'd absent-mindedly obey. He thought about touching you, or running his fingers through your hair, or pulling you into his lap and mumbling sweet-nothings into your ear until someone else dragged you away.

He thought about a lot of things. Then, he said, “I take it your silence comes at a price?”

“Do I seem that selfish to you?” You were selfish. You had to be selfish. If you weren’t, then surely you would’ve been kind enough to put him out of his misery months ago. “I like helping people. Just remember this when I need a favor from you.”

“I’m sure we could work something more immediate out,” He went on, but you were already starting towards the door, calling the conversation to a close before Kaeya could begin to finish. In the back of his mind, something flared, the urge to catch your wrist, to go after you, to put himself between you and the only exit and refuse to move until you looked at him, but he forced it down, swallowing the temptation before it could eclipse his common sense. He couldn’t be impulsive. He couldn’t make rash decisions. He wasn’t prepared to deal with how difficult that would make things, not now.

Not yet.

“Join me for a drink?” He tried, again, attempting to sound unbothered. Nonchalant, casual, normal. Like he wasn’t itching to burn every book you’d touched. “I know you don’t have anything better to--”

“Another night, Captain.”

And just like that, you were gone, leaving Kaeya’s muttered response to echo through his empty office.

“Of course.”

Kaeya was a man, desperate.

Like a starving dog. Like a traveler who hadn’t seen water in thirty days. Like a distraught, distressed, disturbed knight, wandering through a maze of a library, cursing the existence of every shelf that separated him from you. He knew where you'd be. You were a creature of habit, and he’d already had more than enough time to memorize your routine. He’d had enough time to memorize everything about you, as ashamed as he was to admit it. It was a testament to his devotion, to how much time he’d spent trying and failing to win your favor.

It was evidence of how pathetic he’d gotten, over the course of his one-sided pursuit.

You were in your usual spot – tucked into the far corner of the library, perched on the edge of a windowsill, your attention monopolized by the tattered scroll spread across your lap. You were still pouring over it by the time he reached you, slumping against the nearest wall, taking in how brilliantly the muted sunlight looked as it danced across your skin. He didn’t try to hide the way he stared, anymore. He was long past worrying that you’d care enough to notice. Your hair was unkempt, proof that’d you slept in the archives again, if you’d slept at all. Your lips were bleeding, too, the lower one chewed raw and split down the middle, but it might’ve been stranger if they weren’t. It must’ve been a nervous tick, but Kaeya found it cute. Kaeya found it endearing. Kaeya found everything about you endearing, and to the archons, he wanted to see those lips wrapped around his co--

And he hated it. He found everything about you endearing, and he hated it. That was all.

He sighed, the sound airy, exhausted. You didn’t look up, but that was fine. It would’ve only hurt him further if someone as simple as that drew out your concern. “I’m in love with you.”

There was a hum, soft and contemplative. A rather generous response, by your standards. “I’ve noticed.”

“You’re all I think about.” It was an awkward confession, one he’d already used a hundred different times. He didn’t care. He’d use it a hundred more, if he had to. “I’m a wreck. I can barely remember my own name, and some days I can’t even do that. I can’t fight, I can’t eat, I can hardly breathe. Every morning, I wonder what it would be like to wake up to your smile, and every night, I stare at my ceiling and loath myself because I’m not holding you in my arms. For fuck’s sake, just yesterday, I almost kissed Albedo because the chemicals he was working with reminded me of the way your favorite kind of flower smells, and I’m just so fucking desperate, I convinced myself that was the closest I’d ever come to kissing you.”

He was rambling, by the end, panting, yelling, but you only blinked when he was done, once, then twice. Your dull nails bit into the edges of your scroll, but you didn’t seem to mind, nor did you move to roll it up as you finally turned to face him, the confusion written clearly across your expression. “You kissed Albedo?”

“You don’t get it,” He said, and you nodded in agreement. “You don’t fucking get it.”

“I think I do,” You admitted, more earnestly. Your gaze dropped back to the ground, and instantly, Kaeya deflated. “I just… I just don’t think it’d work out, if I’m being honest. I’m still new. I still have to give everyone else a reason to trust me, and I don’t think it’s in my best interest to start a relationship with one of my superiors so early on.” You paused, laughing to yourself, and something in Kaeya’s chest tightened. It was the happiest he’d been since he met you, and he still felt like you’d pushed a sword through his heart and twisted. “But, you don’t really want a relationship, do you? You’re just bored, and you need something to fixate on. I’m the most available option, so...” You trailed off, finishing your sentence with a vague, stilted sweeping gesture. “It’ll be easier for both of us, this way. I like you, Captain, but I don’t like you enough to put myself through that.”

It was all he could do to remember how to open his mouth. Once he did, the words came stumbling out on their own.

“Of course.”

Kaeya was a man, determined.

Determined might’ve been the wrong word for it. Too soft, too suggestive, the impression too positive and the meaning too vague. ‘Depraved’ might’ve suited him better, but that was too harsh, too primitive, and he’d like to think he’d been as gentle as anyone could expect him to be, given your stubbornness. He’d tried to be gentle. He’d wanted to be gentle. If he was going to do this to you, he could at least do it gently. You deserved that much, at least.

Or, maybe you didn’t. Maybe you didn’t deserve any of this.

He couldn’t really make up his mind, about that.

“Lisa?”

And he was gentle, more so than he had to be. Sure, you were on the floor, bare stone already beginning to chafe at your skin, but the shackles around your wrists were padded, and he’d given you enough slack to sit down, to ball yourself up, to act like it’d never crossed your mind that he’d resort to something so… easily misinterpreted. The blindfold was, similarly, an act of mercy. You’d panic if you woke up like this, chained to a wall in someone else’s cellar, and Kaeya didn’t want that. You needed time, and he could give you that. He would give you that. Even if it pained him to stay at arm’s length.

“Amber?”

He wanted to touch you. It’d be easy, now, easier than it’d ever been before. You wouldn’t be able to push him away, and even if you tried to, he could always overpower you. Take you by the neck, pin you against the floor, leave you shaking and trembling and begging, pleading with a captor you couldn’t see. He’d find a way to make it up to you, later on. He’d find a way to lie, to smile, to make it better, even if he’d failed to time and time again, out there. But, this would be different. You wouldn’t be able to cling to your excuses, and he’d be able to show you how much he cared, how much he wanted this, how much he loved you. This would be better.

“Kaeya?”

See? You were already coming around.

Your voice was already soft, hesitant, a sliver of a whisper that was constantly on the verge of dying out completely. You were trying not to make noise, trying not to seem as terrified as you really were, but he could hear the way your breath hitched as he took a step forward, your restraints rattling as you curled into yourself. You couldn’t hide from him, but you wanted to. That much was obvious. You didn’t want this.

But, he did. More than you could ever want to run away from it.

He wanted to touch you, but he held himself back. Instead, he only kneeled in front of you, letting himself linger for a moment before he spoke. “I’m here, love.”

“Where are we?” You were afraid, too scared to put the pieces together. Not while you could still hope there was another explanation. Not while you could still deny the apparent. “My head hurts, and I can’t--”

“I know, and I’ll make it up to you.” This time, he let himself reach out, cupping your cheek and chuckling as you tried to shy away. The two of you could work on that, later on. He could live with the guilt if he let himself enjoy it, now. “Just give me a moment, alright? Just a second, then I’ll take care of you.”

You opened your mouth, then you closed it again. Kaeya wondered if you’d be bold enough to refuse if he did try to kiss you, or hold you, or go further than the fleeting touches he’d swore would keep him satisfied, at first, at least. He wondered if he’d care, when you did. “Are… are you going to hurt me?”

He wanted to reassure you. He wanted to promise he’d be patient, that he’d understand if you lashed out, that violence wasn’t an option he was willing to consider, but he couldn’t, like this, could he? He didn’t want to hurt you, but he’d never wanted to kidnap you, either, not until you made it obvious he didn’t have another choice. He didn’t want to stoop so low, he didn’t want you to hate him, but…

But, he was lying again, wasn’t he?

To tell the truth, he couldn’t remember the last time he genuinely cared whether or not you loved him back.

You stifled a scream as his hand dropped to your jaw, his grip tightening as he jerked you forward, just close enough to wrap his arm around your waist, to bury his face in the side of your neck, to get a taste of what you’d deprived him of. It wasn’t enough, he doubted it’d ever be enough, but he had you. He had you, he was close to you, and he had you. That had to be enough, for now.

“We’ll see.”

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

Text

Portrait of a Dangerous Man🎨1

Warnings: (series) non-consent sex and rape; slow creep; cucking; (this chapter) nothing as yet.

This is dark!mob!Clark Kent x reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: Your dream of having your work hung in an art show comes true but your first buyer is not all he seems to be.

Note: Yay, mob Clark. And I know what you’re saying right now, enough with Clark Kent! I get it haha. Promise, for a while, this will be the last I do of him. I have Lee fic in the work right now, the early development of medieval Peter, and I’m still sitting on some Loki ft. an exchange student... and then all my other series of course!

Thanks to everyone for reading and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 As usual, I’d appreciate if you let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

You stood against the wall, chewing your lip as you looked around the gallery. You should be ecstatic, you should be floating around on a cloud, but all you could feel was crushing anxiety. It was truly a dream come true; your art hanging on the wall. Only three pieces, but it was there, and your name was below it in print.

You tugged on the waist of your dress and teetered in your heels. It was a borrowed outfit, you couldn’t afford anything appropriate to the upscale venue. The classic starving artist, or almost. You slipped your phone from your purse and up your sleeve. You subtly checked the time and for the little chat icon in the corner. Still no message.

Marcus was almost an hour late. He texted just after the event opened to warn you he was caught up with work but you worried he wouldn’t show up at all. It wasn’t his fault his boss was a jackass but you weren’t prepared to face this alone. You dropped your phone back into your slender purse and snapped it shut.

Vanessa, the gallery owner, made you flinch as she appeared almost out of the air. You smiled at her shyly and stopped chewing your lip.

“You should mingle,” she said, “you have an interested buyer. You might have a few more if you come out from the corner.”

“I’m sorry, I’m so nervous,” you confessed, “I-- thank you so much for this opportunity.”

“You earned it,” she touched your arm daintily, “all those hard hours working the back room, I couldn’t not hang a few pieces.”

You fixed your posture and tried to seem as confident as her. Your income came solely from hours of at-home data entry as you volunteered at the gallery in your few hours between. It was all worth it and maybe if you sold something tonight, Vanessa would feature you work again and you wouldn’t need to spend the bulk of your days staring at tiny font.

“So, where’s this buyer?” you asked hopefully.

“That’s my girl,” Vanessa trilled, “he seems very interested.”

She led you across the room, stopping to greet other artists and old friends with a kiss on the cheek and deep laughter. You’d met them all before as you were often working at these events. It was your first time as one of them.

When at last you neared your little stretch of the wall, a man stood with his head slightly back as he stared at your proto-renaissance portraits. He was tall and his broad shoulders strained the rich fabric of his jacket. His dark hair was neatly parted and a slight curl marked the front above the shadow of scruff poking out along his jawline.

“Mr. Kent,” Vanessa chimed, “I found her.”

He turned to look at you and his deep blue eyes struck you. He smiled between you and the gallery owner, his chiseled jaw even more defined by the gesture.

“This is Mr. Kent,” she introduced you in turn, “I believe he was interested in the larger piece.”

“All three, if you don’t have another buyer lined up,” he intoned, “I think they belong together.”

“All of them?” you raised your brows, “well, I, yeah, I guess--”

“We can put something together for you,” Vanessa interrupted your awkward stuttering, “let me just mark them.”

She took the silver pen she kept on a chain around her wrist and scribbled in the corner of the tags to mark them as sold. You were slightly numb at your disbelief. You were a bit reluctant to part with your work but the check would ease your grief.

“The way you use colours,” he said as he faced the paintings again, “I’ve recently had some work done in my house and I hate the sight of naked walls.”

“Thank you,” you said as you stepped a little closer and looked at your delicate strokes.

“Pardon me,” Vanessa rushed away as she beckoned to one of her assistants and prattled orders.

“Vanessa tells me you’re a new artist,” he said.

“New in a sense,” you said, “I guess, I’m officially an artist now.”

“Oh? I’m flattered. Your first buyer?”

“Besides some online fanart, yeah,” you replied, “so, Mr. Kent, what do you do?”

“Clark,” he corrected, “and a little bit of everything.”

An awkward silence took over and was thankfully interrupted by your name. You turned as Marcus rushed over and his shoes slipped on the polished floor. He reached you and kissed your cheek as he caught his breath.

“I’m so sorry, I got caught in traffic on the way over and then my oil light started flashing,” he gasped out.

“Hey, you’re here,” you rubbed his shoulder and straightened his tie without thinking as it hung at an angle.

“So, you sell anything yet?” he asked.

“Yes, actually, um, Mr-- Clark,” you gestured to the man standing patiently to the side, “he just bought all three.”

“Damn,” Marcus said, “guess I can hold onto my savings.”

“Marc,” you nudged his arm with your knuckles, “you know we can’t afford your cheesiness.”

“Sorry, uh,” Marcus laughed at himself, “I’m Marcus.”

He held out his hand and Clark shook it. His eyes strayed to you as his features sharpened just a little.

“You two…?” he ventured.

“Five years,” Marcus announced, “guess we’re going steady.”

“Oh,” Clark nodded placidly, “are you an artist too?”

“God no, I can hardly write my own name legibly,” Marcus kidded, “I’m a developer.”

“Computers,” Clark mused.

“Yeah, computers,” Marcus scoffed, “and you?”

“Own a couple businesses,” Clark shrugged.

“Must be successful if you can hang around here,” Marcus said and you elbowed him in embarrassment.

“I guess,” Clark smoothed his dark purple jacket and checked his watch, “I’ll let you two be. Maybe I’ll find something to go with these fine pieces.”

“Thank you,” you said sweetly, “I’m happy to see my work go to a good home.”

“I hope to see more in future,” he returned kindly.

He turned and carried on to the statue constructed of can tabs and greeted another suited man. You looked at Marcus as he leaned in to read the tags beneath your paintings. He stood and looked at you with wide eyes.

“Holy shit, ten grand?” he hissed.

“Pretty good pay for one night,” you chirped, “glad you could make it.”

“Sorry again, I… I had to redo some code. Adam was in a mood so,” he shook his head and sighed, “let’s not talk about it. Let’s celebrate.” He peeked over at the server with a tray of stemmed flutes, “and you can decide what you’re going to buy me with that check.”

“Hush,” you chided as you took a glass of champagne, “now is not the time to go over bills.”

🎨

At the end of the night, you watched one of the assistants take down your canvas and you helped wrap them in paper and twine. As you finished a loopy knot, you were surprised by the figure beside you. You looked up and set the smallest piece atop the larger ones. Clark smiled as you moved to let him pick them up.

“All yours,” you said, almost mournful to see them go.

“Thanks,” he said as he tucked them easily under his thick arm, “I forgot earlier but do you have a card? Are you open for commissions?”

“You must have a lot of walls,” you looked down and opened your purse, “I have a card and I could try a commission.”

You slid out one of the cards that had lingered in your wallet for more than a year. You handed it to him and he read the flowery font before tucking it away in his jacket.

“I do… have a lot of walls,” he said with a smirk, “I’ll give you a call once these are hung.”

“O-okay,” you kept from wringing your hands and closed your purse, “thank you… again.”

“My pleasure,” assured, “have a good night.”

“Yeah, good night,” you said and watched him go.

You let out a breath and smiled to yourself. You would talk to Vanessa and get your cut of the check before you went. Then you could worry about getting Marcus home. He’d had a little too much champagne and you’d left him in the backroom so you could help with the clean-up.

Vanessa bid goodbye to one of her featured artists as you neared. She turned to you and threw up her hands in delight.

“Wonderful, darling,” she said, “you earned that wall.”

“Thanks,” you grinned bashfully.

“Really. That man has never bought a piece before,” she smirked, “I’ve been dying to get into his wallet for years.”

“I never saw him before…”

“Oh, well, yes, he has not been to many of these either. I often see him at other galleries,” she explained, “I hope you have some more for the next.”

“Um, yeah, I should be able to--”

“I’ll have the check for you tomorrow,” she patted your shoulder as her eye was caught by another, “go get your boyfriend out of my studio.”

You accepted your dismissal and turned on your heel. That was just Vanessa, steely but slightly flighty as well. Besides, you were exhausted and you would likely be dragging Marcus into a cab.

You found him slumped at the paint-splattered table. You shook him awake and smiled dopily as he opened his eyes.

“Babe,” he pushed his arm around you.

“Marcus,” you drawled in disappointment, “let’s get out of here.”

“Huh?” He looked around and hiccupped, “oh, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. You had a long day,” you assured him as you rubbed his back and let him lean on you as he stood, “I’m just happy you showed up after all that nonsense.”

“Of course, babe,” he slurred and you helped him through the door.

You kept your head down as you slowly sneaked out past Vanessa but you didn’t miss her side-eye. It was best to be as covert as possible. You came out through the door and nearly dropped Marcus.

“Jesus, can I get a little help?” you snipped as you looked around for a yellow cab.

“Sorry, baby, sorry,” he got his feet flat but it hardly helped take his weight off of you.

You raised your hand to hail a cab and he slipped down your arm. Your ankle bent as you turned to try to catch him before you dropped him entirely. He was saved from hitting the ground as he was caught by another. You looked over his head as he was pushed up to his feet again.

Clark kept his arm behind Marcus as you stared at him, “oh my god, thank you.”

“No problem,” he said as he steadied your boyfriend, “you okay?”

“Yeah,” you lied as you lifted your foot and kept the weight off your ankle, “I just need to get a taxi.” You raised your hand again as you tried to see past the large man, “if you don’t mind getting him in--”

“You can ride with me,” he said brusquely as he turned with Marcus and peered back at you, “this way.”

“We can’t--”

“On that ankle,” he said as you began to limp after him, “you won’t get him out on your own.”

“Really, I’m fine--”

“I don’t mind,” he said coolly as he came to a silver sports car and balanced Marcus against him as he opened the door, “I’ll need an address.”

“Uh, oh,” you folded your hands, “thank you. Really, you’ve done too much.”

“It happens. I’ve had these nights,” he put Marcus across the seat and folded his legs up and shut the door, “you can take the front and tell me where I’m going.”

You hesitated and he opened the front door. You neared and hissed as you stumbled on your ankle. You caught yourself on his arm and quickly retracted your hand as you apologized.

“It’s alright,” he said as you sat in the front seat. He knelt and gently took your ankle. His thumb rubbed the swollen joint, “you really banged yourself up.”

“I’ll be okay,” you assured him, “thanks.”

He let go and stood. He waited for you to turn your legs into the car and gently closed the door. He rounded to the other side and got in as he fished around for his keys. He turned the engine and gripped the wheel with one hand as he took out his phone. He placed it on the magnetic holder and his fingers flicked over the screen.

“Address?” he asked.

You recited it and winced as Siri responded, ‘calculating route’. You shrunk against the luxury leather and glanced at him. He let out a huff and steered into the mostly empty street.

“I’m sorry about all this--”

“No, don’t be,” he glanced in the rearview, “he must be happy for you.”

“Yeah, uh, I think he is,” you said as he followed the map directions, “I am too. I mean, it will go along way… uh, well, you know, things can be tough or--” you shrugged, “I mean, it’s not about the money.”

“Yeah, but it’s nice to be paid,” he said lightly, “and I don’t mind paying for good art.”

You looked out the window as your cheeks burned. You could smell his cologne, subtle but strong. You played with your purse as your nerves brewed in your chest. You watched the sidewalks and the street lights as your surroundings grew more familiar.

He pulled up to your building. It wasn’t the greatest area and the brick façade was faded and cracked. Before you could get out, he was at your door. He offered his hand and helped you out as you leaned on the car. He let you go and opened the back and lifted Marcus out. He hooked your boyfriend’s arm over his shoulder and offered his other arm.

“Come on,” he said.

“Look, you don’t-- there’s an elevator.”

“I’d feel better if I got you inside,” he insisted, “especially in this area.”

You relented and took his arm and limped beside him up the steps. You took out your keys and went ahead of him as he dragged Marcus in. You went to the elevator and hit the button. The doors glided open and you stepped inside. He stood close in the small metal box and Marcus murmured dumbly at his side.

The doors dinged and he let you out first. He followed you down the hall and you unlocked your apartment and waved him inside. He carried Marcus to the couch at your direction and you leaned against the armchair as you bent your leg to check your ankle.

“You should put some ice on that,” Clark said as he neared, “get some sleep yourself.”

“Yeah, I will,” you assured, “thank you, again.”

You felt embarrassed as you eyed his expensive suit and looked around your tiny apartment. It must have been laughable to him. He hardly seem bothered as he retreated to the door.

“I’ll let you then,” he said, “and thank you. I really do like your work.”

The door shut in his stead and you heard his footsteps down the long hall until the door at the end swung open. You glanced at Marcus and shook your head. You weren’t as happy to have had him at the show then.

#clark kent #dark clark kent #dark!clark kent #clark kent x reader #fic #series #mob au #mob!au #mob!clark kent #portrait of a dangerous man #dark fic #dark!fic #superman #au #dc #dcu

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amara-scott · 3 years

Text

Movie: Divergent Characters: Eric Coulter x f!Reader Categories: Anger, Fluff, Eric

“Again.” Another jump, down to the ground, push up followed by another jump. Kick, kick, uppercut, hook. My hands fall to my knees, hunched over I try to gulp down the pain in my burning throat. I don’t know if it’s tears or sweat but it’s covering my hot face.

“Again.” He sounds more and more stern. I blink a couple times, standing up straight and am about to do the whole circuit for the- what, 40th time? I lost count long ago. My bones shake and muscles ache. It’s past the point where only numbness is left and I am scared I won’t feel anything anymore after I am done today. If I will ever be done. If he lets me.

I jump and am about to go down to the ground, my hands planted on the cool mat, feet ready to kick back into a plank but my arms shake before they give out and I fall to the ground face first. The ground cooling my cheek. I close my eyes and only hear my breathing, it's loud. Just as my thumping heart. Sweat stinging my eyes now.

“What are you doing?”

My eyes snap open at that question and I feel full of rage and hate. Just- frustration spreading inside every fiber of my being.

I twist my head around, supporting myself on my elbows. “Taking a break maybe?” I say, trying not to sound ironic or rude- but I do. I really don’t care though. I am past the point of just sucking it up.

“What did you say?” He challenges, his cold orbs boring into mine as he folds his arms and shifts in his stance, glaring down at me. His lips twitching into a not so amused smile before sneering down at me.

“I said- taking a break, maybe.” I repeat and twist, sitting with my knees angled up, placing my arms atop. Eyes now down between my legs on the ground. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. He still is a leader. Someone I should respect and who's orders I have to follow.

“Stand up, now.” I sigh with closed eyes and stand back up, looking at his arms, chewing my lower lip.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

I gulp and look up, trying not to forget to breathe. My heart calmed down but once I meet his eyes, my heart rate picks right back up.

“You’re not here to take breaks. You understand?” I nod quickly, not really having enough energy to even form words. He keeps silent for a moment longer, knowing that I struggle to keep up the eye contact. He smirks at the end, moving his head a bit closer, leaning forward.

“I’ll see you here tomorrow. Same time." I force myself not to close my eyes and sigh in frustration.

"-Actually, for the rest of the month. Every day.” My eyes grow a bit wider and I want to reply, talk back- but he just raises his pierced eyebrow, daring me. I gulp down my pride and nod once.

“Go.” His jaw is clenched and I quickly, dizzily grab my bottle and move past him, walking quickly.

Why, of all people, does he hate me so much? Am I doing that bad? I didn’t feel like I was. I rarely lost a fight and Four even complimented me after a few. I can’t say the same about Eric though. He never spoke. Only to correct or mock. Nothing kind ever left his lips.

With a sigh I fall into bed after my shower, not even in the mood to go get any food. I’ll just eat more tomorrow at breakfast. My eyes sealed shut and I doze off.

Eric is back at it, yelling at an initiate for losing and telling them to go back to the punching bags. He scoffs and turns around, his eyes wandering around the room and landing on me. I quickly turn away, holding the knife tightly between my fingers and focusing on the target ahead. The clashing of knifes the only sound I hear until he stands next to me.

“Throw it.” He commands and I take another deep breath, throwing and hoping I hit anything. But the knife just bounces off the wall and lands at the bottom of the target.

“Pathetic. Go get the knife.” I whip my head around and look at him with wide eyes.

“You mean- right now?”

“No, after practice. Of course now, go!” I flinch as he ends his sentence and turn back around, looking to the side as a couple people stop and watch.

“Did I say stop? Keep going, all of you.” I squeeze my eyes shut for a second before taking a deep breath and not looking back as a few knives land in my way, only making me stop a few times. Don’t look back- don’t look back- don’t-

A knife whips right past my ear, I feel the wind brushing my hair away and I stop, watching it emerge from the target I practiced at. I grab the knife off the ground and turn around. Eric standing there with another knife in hand and throwing it up a couple times.

“Next time I won’t miss.” I can’t move my legs after that and Eric frowns, sticking the sharp weapon into the wooden box it’s usually stored in.

“Come on, get back here. You’re not done practicing.”

I want to say anything but I can’t, my feet also glued to the ground. I want to lift anything but I’m frozen.

“(Y/N)? Come on.”

“(Y/N)?”

“Stand up, hey!”

I gasp, sitting up in bed, breathing heavily.

"You looked exhausted, I just wanted to let you sleep longer." Emma sits down next on my bed, giving me a sad smile.

"Thanks, I probably needed that." I mumble, clearing my throat and sit up next to her, head in my hands.

"I brought you some food, don't tell anyone." She whispers and unpacks a sandwich and an apple, handing both to me.

"Wow, thanks, you're amazing." I side hug her, taking the food and gulping everything down with water. Emma giggles watching me and stands back up.

"You shouldn't eat so fast, you'll get a stomach ache- we have to be in the training room in ten." She turns around, smiling one last time and walking off to join some others on their way to the training room.

I sigh, remembering what will happen after training. The dream- it felt so real.

I get ready quickly, jogging down the hall and entering through the tall doors. Everyone is gathering in a circle and I join in, blending into the back of the group to maybe not get noticed.

"This week will be all about your aim. Especially throwing knives and shooting guns." I roll my eyes, shaking my head to myself. This is ridiculous.

"Any complains?" My eyes shoot over to Eric, who's stare is fixed on me for a second longer before wandering around the group. Some are shaking their heads or mumbling no. He saw my expression. I will suffer even more today. If that's even possible.

"Let's get ready then, the targets are back at the wall, pic one and start throwing." Four tells us and we make our way to the targets. I jog up to Emma, sending her a smile.

"You think you're any good at this?" She asks and I shrug.

"Well it's not like I would have a lot of experience so- I can just hope."

"I actually did throw knives a lot back in Amity." I frown, my eyes boring into the side of her face as she smirks.

"Well, more in my head but still. Not the first time I'm thinking about it. Maybe that helps." I chuckle and shove her lightly, both of us finding a spot and trying out the knives, holding them, turning them.

"You have to take multiple aspects into account when throwing a knife. The weight, size and distance to your target. Have a go." Four says and starts pacing behind us hands behind his back and observing. I glance around more, trying to find the piercing blue eyes and I find them, a few steps further down the line but he turns, as if he felt me watching him.

I get ready and try to mimic someone who just hit their target. Legs steady, slightly parted- arm leaning back and then- I close my eyes until I hear a clashing sound. The knife fell down, not even close to the target. Wow.

I try a few more times and get closer and even hit the target but the knife never sticks fully.

"What are you doing?" I flinch at his voice, nearly dropping the knife in my hand. I turn to the side, watching Eric.

"Trying to hit the target?" It sound more like a question as I'm not in the mood to come off as a smart ass or the ironic bitch I usually am.

"Well, you're not doing a great job then." He states and I nod, agreeing with him. There is a small pause before he raises an eyebrow with folded arms.

"Could you maybe- help me out?" I say before thinking about what I actually just said. I hear Emma snorting beside me, trying to cover it up with a cough. Eric's eyes find her for a second before coming back to me.

"Turn around." I frown but quickly follow his order.

"Angle your hips." I shift, one foot forward the other further back, trying to stand sturdy.

"Further." His hands find my waist and he twists it more, my breath hitching as I glance down at his fingers sitting atop my hips.

"Look up." He says, his breath hitting my neck before he steps back again. I focus on the target, reaching my arm back and twisting my shoulders.

"Don't just reach your wrist back. The whole arm." He pulls at my elbow, correcting my stance and I feel my skin burning from where he touched me. My skin tingling.

"Twist your whole body while throwing. Full force." I take another deep breath and do as I'm told yelling out this time, not closing my eyes, too curious if it changed anything.

It did. I hit the target. It sticks. I grin and turn to Eric- but he's already gone further down. I turn back forward and want to do it again. And again.

Maybe I'm actually looking forward to after-practice today.

_________________________________ More Divergent Imagines Full Masterlist

#divergent #divergent imagine #eric coulter x reader #eric coulter #eric coulter imagine

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luxwritesfanfic · 3 years

Text

On Tap

Sherlock insists that it would work better with the reader on top and after the night they’ve had, there’s no point in arguing. Or, the one where reader plays superhero for poor Greg and her beloved detective. Thanks for reading!

Sherlock Holmes/Reader

You hadn’t even taken your shoes off when your phone started ringing in your purse. Sighing, you dug around for it with one hand and reached for the lightswitch with the other. Work had been incredibly stressful since you were working short during flu season and everyone in London had been feeling under the weather apparently. You had told your coworkers that if they really needed you that you would come back even though you had put a solid 16 hours in. Sherlock and John had gone out for John’s bachelor party so you didn’t mind working late, and Bucky was visiting his brother in the States so all your time was truly yours. You had thought about soaking in the bath or catching up on that show you always missed, but all of those thoughts were stopped in their tracks when the ringing persisted.

“Hey, what’s up?” You tried not to sound like you’d rather chew on glass than clock one more minute into the hospital but you weren’t sure you were so convincing.

“Come get him. Please, for the love of God, come get him.” At hearing Greg’s voice, you were both relieved yet confused. Sherlock must’ve invited him last minute to celebrate with them, you didn’t remember him saying that he was coming along.

“Oh, I didn’t know you went out with the boys! Where are you guys?” It was nice to know they were all having a good time. You liked Greg and thought he was a really good friend for Sherlock and John. You had plopped down on the couch and had started pulling one of your shoes off when he said, “No, I didn’t go with them. They were brought to me. Someone called the cops on them and now I’ve got tweedle-dee and tweedle-dum arguing about the solar system and taking turns puking in my waste bin. Please, I beg of you, come get him. Matter of fact, I can bring him home. If that makes the process quicker--- I mean easier.” You heard Sherlock trying to take Greg’s phone in the background, asking to talk to you and then quickly after arguing with John once more if it was really that important he knew they orbited the sun. Greg sounded just as exhausted as you felt and you could only imagine how annoyed he was by the drunk detective that he was already annoyed with most of the time sober.

“Yeah, yeah of course I’ll come get him. I’m actually at my flat though, so if you could meet me at his place that would be awesome. I’d just need a few minutes to finish up here...” You mourned the hot bath you were never going to get to take and worked on shoving the shoe you just took off back on, “did you call Mary for John?”

“Yes, she’ll be over soon. As soon as she gets here, I’ll bring Sherlock. You’re doing the Lord’s work, thank you.” With that, he hung up and you went to your room to pack an overnight bag. You were exhausted and if you had to go all the way to Sherlock’s, it would be easier for you to crash on the couch than to try to come back home late.

By the time you got to Sherlock’s, you were dragging your feet up the stairs and you could barely keep your eyes open. You had received a text from Mary when she picked John up saying “good luck” and you wished you knew what you were walking into. You had never seen Sherlock drunk, or heard any stories of him being drunk, but you were sure he was even more eccentric than he was sober. If you weren’t so tired, you’d be jumping with joy at the experience to see Sherlock so out of character.

You went into Sherlock’s room and laid out some pajamas for him and went ahead and put a water bottle and some Advil on his nightstand because you were sure he would need it. After doing that, you changed into something more comfortable too and rummaged through his fridge to see if there was anything to eat. Thumbs, unsalted butter, and milk that shouldn’t look like blue cheese was what was on the menu and you had decided sleep for dinner sounded much more appetizing. You’d go shopping for him tomorrow.

Greg had texted that he was outside but Sherlock didn’t have his key so you made your way down the steps to meet them. Upon opening the door, Sherlock looked up at you like he hasn’t seen you in ages. He stumbled towards you and held you at arms length with a look of wonder on his face. “Finally! Y/N, I was thinking I’d die from being surrounded by total stupidity, and here you are. Ever the shining light and the beacon of hope.”

You felt the heat from his stare and turned to Greg to try and keep your composure under all his attention. “Uh.. I— thank you. For bringing him home.”

Still staring at Sherlock and shocked by his outburst, Greg met your eyes with a knowing smile. “It’s no trouble. He’s your problem now. Good luck, my dear.” He was gone in the blink of an eye, leaving you with a very drunk Sherlock Holmes and a dozen steps to climb.

“Okay,” you clapped your hands together, turning towards the door, “do you think you can get up the stairs? Or do you want me to help you?”

“Don’t be an idiot,” he started until his eyes widened like he forgot who he had been talking to. It had only been a second but he saw the look that flashed across your face. You hated when he made you feel dumb because you always tried so hard to keep up with him, and he knew that. You didn’t have a chance to react before he quickly interrupted. His previous statement was immediately followed by, “I’m sorry. Forgive me. Please help me.”

You just nodded, unsure of what made him have such a quick change of heart but you were happy he did. You hated him thinking you were dumb. In comparison to him, maybe, but you were intelligent in your own right and you did a better job of keeping up with him than most. He threw his arm around your shoulders to steady himself and allowed you to lead him carefully up the stairs. He started telling you about his night and it honestly sounded like he had a great time, and so did John. You were really happy that it all worked out even if they did end up with Greg at the end of it all.

As soon as the back of Sherlock’s legs hit his chair, he was down in a clean swoop and you took the opportunity to start untying his shoes. He seemed like he was lost in thought and was quiet for a few moments but you could tell from the way he was swaying that he was too far gone to sober up before the morning.

“I already put your clothes out for you and I’ll help you to the bathroom so you can brush your teeth. You’ll love me for that in the morning.” You smiled at him as you pulled off his loafers and moved to stand up so that you could figure out how you were going to get him out of his chair.

“Will I, though? Will I tomorrow once I’m in my right mind?” He asked, and while he didn’t say it in an ignorant tone, it sounded like Sherlock, and that was close enough.

You looked at him hoping he’d say something else. But he didn’t, and he looked back at you with a look of confusion as if he was really expecting you to answer that. It seemed like just last week he was in your bed trying to convince you that he didn’t have eyes for anyone besides you and now he’s reminding you that he’s not even sure of that. Sherlock could have you at the top of the poll and then have you kissing the ground in the same hour if he tried.

“It’s just a saying. I didn’t really mean...you know, let’s— let’s just get you to bed. It’s late and you have a date with a hangover in the morning.” You could tell he was on the verge of passing out which was good in the way of no more awkward conversations but horrible in that you’d never get him into bed as dead weight. So you pushed things along and eventually got him in bed before he was out like a light.

Draping the blanket over him, you watched as his eyes fluttered behind his lids and how his lips twitched as fell into a deeper sleep and you were sure then that you would never love anyone more. You would never understand how he didn’t realize how beautiful he made the ordinary and how easily he made everything extraordinary. Afraid that you’d turn to stone if you spent any more time staring at him, you turned off his light and made your way to the living room where the the couch had never looked more inviting. It didn’t take you long to get settled in and asleep seeing as the TV in the background ended up being the perfect thing to mask Sherlock’s drunk snores and you had never been more tired in your life.

—

“I thought you were staying over?”

It had only been a few hours since you had put Sherlock to bed when he found himself looking over you on the couch, wrapped up in his bedsheet.

“M’right here.” You murmured into the pillow, body still turned away from Sherlock on the couch. He was probably still drunk and you were hoping if you laid still enough he’d wander back to bed.

He didn’t respond to you, instead he continued to stand and stare with his lips pursed and brows furrowed. You had drifted back off only to be nudged awake once more.

“I won’t fit like that.” He gestured with the hand not holding the sheet to the couch, sounding exasperated like he had been explaining this to you all night. “It’ll only work if you’re on top, so get up so I can lie down first.”

You didn’t process what he said really, you just knew that if he was being persistent and you didn’t do as he asked he’d never let you go back to bed. You squinted as your eyes adjusted to the light and swung your legs off the couch, standing on stiff bones. Sherlock immediately made to get comfortable on the couch while you stood dazed and confused and he cleared his throat expectantly when he had finally got settled. He was on his back with one arm holding the sheet up between himself and the back of the couch allowing room for you to climb over and snuggle right into him.

All you could do was blink and hold his stare as he waited expectantly, still holding the sheet for you. You didn’t think he was asking you to lay with him, especially with how close you’d two be. Sure, you shared your bed before, but there was always enough room for you both to have your own space. You could tell he was getting embarrassed by your reaction, or lack there of.

“I didn’t think this would be rocket science, even for someone like you.” His nervousness was showing as he yanked his arm back down and curled into to himself like a child. You jumped into action so you wouldn’t upset him any more and shook his shoulder as you whined, partially from exhaustion and from missing the chance to sleep next to him.

“I’m tired, I’m sorry! I didn’t realize what you were asking. Come on, open up. Let me in.” You continued to shake at his shoulder until he looked back at you. He looked wrecked from drinking all night and you knew this bout of sobriety wouldn’t be as easy on him in the morning but you were sure he looked holy.

Sherlock reluctantly brought his arm up again and you wasted no time sliding under the sheet and tucking yourself under the crook of his arm. He smelled like beer and mouthwash and Sherlock and you thought you were going to go into cardiac arrest when he brought his arm back down on you, subsequently pinning you down to him. It was definitely a tight fit especially since the couch barely fit Sherlock but you had decided that if you had the opportunity to sleep with him like this every night that you would. Back pain be damned.

The steadiness of his heartbeat was already working you back to sleep. Sighing content, you let your body fully relax and sink further into him.

“You never answered my question.” He shifted next to you and kept you close to him all the same, his head leaning to rest on yours.

“Hmm?” You made an incoherent sound, your breath evening out as you fell asleep.

“My question,” he whispered more so to himself as he worked it out in his head. The feelings he found himself harboring for you were ones he had never felt before. He thought so highly of you in a way he couldn’t understand even if he wasn’t the best at expressing it. You were patient with him when he got on your last nerve and was amazed by him when other people would tell him to piss off. You were always kind and warm and made him feel human even after he spent so long separating himself from his feelings. He couldn’t stand the idea of you looking at anyone else the way you looked at him when you thought he wasn’t looking.

So yes, he thought. Yes, he would love you in the morning. He’d love you when you’re angry with him for putting himself at risk during a case and he’d love you when you were overly tired and petulant after he made you stay up all night to keep him company in the lab. He loved that you valued him regardless of what he offered you, and that you always showed him that even if he never reciprocated it. You were never embarrassed by him, you always tried to learn about what he was interested in, and you never doubted him even when he was wrong.

Girlfriends weren’t naturally his area... but he didn’t think he would mind if it was you. He liked being close to you and physical touch wasn’t something he had sought out often before. He found that he chased the opportunity to be near you at all times. He thought you looked lovely in scrubs and a lab coat and even lovelier in your everyday wear, even if you considered it plain. He had begun to notice the way other people stared at you when you walked by and it left him with the most unsettling feeling. But then you’d smile at him and despite himself he’d smile right back and he wondered if anything in the world mattered to you besides him. Because in those moments, nothing mattered to him besides you.

Sherlock woke up alone again the next morning with the worst headache he’d ever had. Light was shining through the curtains and he cursed the sun for rising another day as he covered his eyes and groaned. Peaking through his fingers, he saw that the Advil and water had been moved to the coffee table for him and when he reached out for it he noticed the note on the table. He sat up with one hand gingerly holding his head as he read it.

“Got called into work to help the girls. John and Mary are coming over for lunch, so text me what you want me to bring home. We can’t serve our best friends buttered thumbs for lunch. I’ll see you soon!

-Y/N xx”

He held the note in his hand, contemplating what his next move would be. You were interested in him, that he knew for sure. He’d contemplated casually mentioning to everyone that you were dating, but he technically hadn’t asked you to be his girlfriend and you two had never talked about any mutual feelings. Maybe he’d kiss you when walking you to your taxi, but he knew he’d make you stay with him instead of letting you go home. Possibly tonight when you were laying in his bed he’d tell you it had to be you, it could only ever be you.

Leaning back against the couch, he rubbed at his eyes and decided he’d call John over early and he’d help him sort it out. John always helped him. Standing up was harder than it looked apparently, as Sherlock wobbled to the side and fought the urge to puke. Perhaps he should shower first, surely you wouldn’t say yes to being his if he didn’t look his best.

He remembered how he looked and acted last night and winced. On second thought, maybe you would. You had already given yourself to him for better or for worse and soon enough, he smiled, he would give you himself in return.

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duskandstarlight · 3 years

Text

Embers & Light (Chapter 39, NSFW Nessian)

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter 39 Cassian POV

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If she doesn’t change her mind.

“It has to be tomorrow, Cass.”

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

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

Mor grinned slyly. “A very beautiful housemate.”

Cassian was more than aware of that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not the patient sort.”

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She doesn’t want it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Understanding dawned like millions of unfurling petals.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then a knock rapped at the front door.

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

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

But then it righted itself.

Another sharp rap at the door cleared his head completely.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It gave him the courage to do the right thing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The sudden distance between them felt like miles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Go home, Cassian.

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

“And this is your way of torturing me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was desperate to touch her again. Desperate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck, Nesta.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.

The bond between them creaked and cracked as it expanded.

Nesta panted his name.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Still breathing, Nes.”

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

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

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

Then Nesta stopped. Glanced downwards—

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

“Don’t you dare,” Cassian choked out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Abruptly, Cassian moved his hand away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And what about you?”

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

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

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

That was answer enough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Both.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nesta, Nesta, Nesta.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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#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

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navalcriminalimagines · 3 years

Text

Birthday girl

I can't believe I did that, but here we are. This fits the "Multiple partners/gangbang" square from the Summer Bingo. With our favorite boys; Mike, Rafael, Sonny & Mike.

Words count: 3,9k

Warnings: Gangbang, p in v, creampie, spanking (slightly)

Sorry if there's any typos...

@thatesqcrush

You had a lot of hopes for your 30th birthday. Not just for the celebration itself but also in general. You thought that by now, you would be in a serious relationship, maybe with a kid or two, or at least planning on having one. You had many things you wanted to do before you were 30, but now that you think about it, you didn’t do much of those things. You’re actually far from it.

It just hurts to see people around you having their life together. Your best friend is married to a lovely man, she has a two year old boy and is pregnant with a second and she owns her business. Your sister - older than you - is traveling all around the world with her husband and their dog. And everytime you meet with your mother, it’s like she has to put pressure where it hurts. Every single time.

The only thing you can’t complain about is your job, and the people you work with. Being a detective at SVU is hard, it’s challenging, but you wouldn’t change it for the world. And you have the most amazing squad with you. Also, the most handsome men you ever met. Seriously. Mike, Sonny, Rafael, Nick. How could you not like your job when you see those faces 24/7?

You had expectations for your celebration party. You invited the squad to a beach house that you rented. They became your family, they are the ones you want to celebrate with. But little by little, it was falling apart. First, Amanda had to cancel since her sister is in town, and everyone knows Kim is a handful. Then, it was Liv turn. The day before, Noah got sick, so she decided to stay at home with him. That’s fair, Noah’s health first. And last but not least, your best friend and her husband canceled too. “No one to take care of the kid,” apparently. Is that what it is to have kids? Not having fun anymore? Cause if that’s it, maybe you don’t want one.

So, in the end, it’s just you and the boys. Not that you mind that thought at all.

You left early in the morning with Sonny. He offered to help you prepare the house, and go grocery shopping. “How’s the birthday girl?” he asked, gently as always.

“Kinda upset that everyone canceled. But I won’t let this ruin my day!”

“You’ll have fun anyway. We planned a few things with the guys,” he teased.

You spent the entire day annoying Sonny so he would talk. But he didn’t say a damn thing. Whatever they have prepared, you have no clue. It does stress you out a little but one thing is sure; you can trust them with your life.

Everything was ready when Mike, Nick and Rafael arrived. When Sonny opened the door to them, their arms were full. You saw booze, food, and gifts. Way too many gifts for one person. “What the hell is all of that?” you exclaimed when they dropped everything on the floor, in the living area.

“Everything we need to celebrate your 30th birthday. You will remember this weekend,” Mike said with a huge grin on his face. He walked up to you and hugged you softly. “Happy birthday Y/N,” he kissed your forehead.

Nick and Rafael did the same as Mike. Then, they quickly put their stuff in the bedrooms, before joining you and Sonny on the terrace, facing the ocean. The weather wasn’t the best, but you couldn’t care less.

“One rule for this weekend; not shop talk,” Nick warned and everyone agreed with it.

The evening started pretty smoothly. You were having drinks, eating the apéritif you and Sonny prepared earlier and chatting about nothing and everything. At some point, Rafael came back with a bottle of champagne and poured everyone a glass. “To our amazing Y/N,” he said, holding his glass in the air. “You probably have no idea what you mean to all of us and that’s actually what makes you even more lovable. We care about you more than you know. Happy birthday, querida,” he smiled and toast with you.

You looked at Rafael with puppy eyes. He and the three others know you’re not used to being praised like this, even though you deserve any less.

“This is nice! Mike, your turn,”

The sergeant obliged. He stood up and cleared his throat, “Everyone knows that me joining SVU was my dad’s idea, but honestly, I can’t thank him enough for making me. Cause now you’re in my life and girl, you won’t get rid of me. I can’t imagine my life without you, Y/N,” he paused, “and without those idiots either, but that’s not their birthdays,”

“You said it anyway,” Nick teased Mike.

“Shut up, Nick! Let him finish,” you elbowed Nick.

“Well, I was done actually. Happy birthday, honey,” he bent over to kiss your cheek and then toasted with you.

“I love you,” you mouthed to him. “Nick, now you can talk,” you were excited about this. The past weeks before your birthday hadn’t been easy, you overthink a lot about your life. You actually cried yourself to sleep the night before, but none of them know. Their words make you feel much better. You’re lucky to have them.

“Thank you, Ma’am,” he said before standing up, “We didn’t start on the right foot, you and me, probably because you never chewed your words with me and I hated it. But you were right on most of the things you ever told me. You’re - without a shadow of a doubt - the best friend I ever had. I can’t wait for us to fight like cats and dogs at the nursery home. Feliz cumpleaños, cariño,” he smiled at you and extended his glass so you could toast together, “Also, you’re hot as hell,”

It was an understatement to be honest, but Nick added this comment because he saw the tears forming in your eyes and he refused to see you cry on your birthday, because of something he said. Fortunately, it worked and you laughed instead of crying. “He’s right,” Rafael added with a wink. Of course, none of them missed how your cheeks turned bright red, even if you tried to play it cool.

“I guess it’s my turn now,” Sonny spoke and stood up. But he stayed silent for a moment, “What they said,” he simply said before sitting again.

Mike, Nick and Rafael immediately started to playfully boo him, “You suck man!” Nick exclaimed.

“You usually can’t shut up and now, that’s all you have to say?” Rafael teased him.

“Y/N should have the right to punish you,” Mike added.

“Oh yes, please! Can I punish you?” you eagerly asked.

“Oh honey,” Rafael grabbed your attention, “you don’t ask someone if you can punish them. You just do it,”

“I know, Rafi. But he’s a good catholic boy, remember? We can’t have him running out of the house, praying for our souls,”

“Y/N. You know Sonny is worse then all of us reunited,” Rafael said this so casually, he didn’t realize how it sounded.

“Dominick Carisi, you’re such a liar!” Mike shouted, “you told me you and Raf didn’t hook up!”

“Yeah well, about that? I lied,”

Sonny and Rafael exchanged sweet looks, while you were silently drinking your glass of champagne.. “Are you two dating or something?” Nick asked.

Rafael was about to say something, but Mike stood up in one quick motion and shouted even louder, “Oh my god!” The four of you looked at him, “I think what you should be asking, Nick, is if the three of them are a thing!”

One thing you hate about Mike is how he can read you like an open book. It was hard to hide from him, the night you had with Sonny and Rafael a few months ago. Now, there was no point to lie.

“I can’t believe you three hook up and didn’t say a damn thing,” Nick said.

“To be honest, I’m more offended about not being invited,” Mike added.

That’s how the night took a very different turn.

*****

“I think all the attention should be on the birthday girl,” Rafael said as he was unbuttoning his shirt. You and Sonny were kissing on one side of the couch while Mike and Nick were making out on the other side.

“Raf is right. To be fair, we have an entire weekend in this house,” Mike added.

In a matter of seconds, you were standing in the middle of the master bedroom, with the four men around you. “Mike and Nick need to know the safe word.” Rafael commented, and Sonny took his tongue out of your month to let you speak.

“Armadillo,” you said.

You can’t even begin to describe how you feel about all of this. Those four men just for you? All of their attention on you? That thought only could make cum on the spot. You had to remember the ground rules you had with Sonny and Rafael a few months ago, and the first one is not to overthink. You all know you can trust one another. You’re more safe with those four guys than with one single random guy.

Once the safe word was known to everyone, Sonny remained kissing you. You immediately granted access to his tongue, it was sloppy but passionate. Meanwhile, you felt a pair of hands taking off your top and another one taking care of your pants. “Matching underwear,” Mike commented, as he was the one staring, “You hoped for this, didn’t you?” You smiled against Sonny. You didn’t hope for a gangbang, but yes, you did hope to get lucky. But this was better than anything you hoped for.

“Of course, she did,” you heard Nick’s voice coming from behind you. He gently unhook your bra, freeing your tits and he didn’t waste a second before playing with them. Your nipples were already hard, craving for attention. “She knew she could have any of us,”

“Oh Nick, that’s worse than that. She knew she could have the four of us,” Rafael added, as one of his hands slided in your panties, feeling how hot and wet you were. “Guys, she is dripping,” he let the others know, and he gently started to tease your clit with his thumb.

As Sonny kept kissing you, Nick kept playing with your tits, and Rafael kept teasing your drenched entrance, Mike got undressed. You saw him from the corner of your eyes, and your attention quickly fell on his rock hard erection. He smiled when he noticed where you were looking and started to stroke himself. You locked eyes with him while tentatively trying to touch one of the guy's cock. Your hand landed on Sonny’s crotch and he groaned at the sensation, even through the fabric of his jeans. But Rafael used his free hand to grab your wrist. “Such a needy cock slut,” he said, right next to your ear.

“Maybe Sonny should replace his tongue with his cock,” Nick offered and he felt you nodding. So Sonny stopped kissing you, he briefly took a look at your swollen lips, and your naked body being taken care of by Rafael and Nick.

“Well, Mike, get closer,” Sonny said as he undressed himself, “She loves having two cocks in her mouth. Am I right, Y/N?”

Everything that was happening was too much, you struggled to find your words, so you nodded. But it wasn’t enough for them. “You want to hear you say it,” Mike said after he finally got closer to you.

“I--I want your cocks--” you moaned as Rafael finally entered your core with one finger, “in my month,” you moaned even more when Nick pinched both of your nipples, just enough to make it hurt, “All of them,” you finally added.

To make sure Rafael and Nick could still work on your body, Mike and Sonny stood up on the edge of the bed. Your face was right at their crotch. You took one cock in each hand, gently stroking them, “I think Mike should be first. I already know how your mouth feels,” you agreed and focused on Mike’s cock, but with your other hand still stroking Sonny’s. You softly licked the head, tasting the precum coming out, before taking him in your mouth. Mike let out a huge groan at the feeling, “Man, when was the last time you had a blowjob?” Nick joked.

“Way too long,” he managed to say.

You have to admit, it’s hard to give a good blowjob to a man, while two others are worshipping your body. But Rafael decided to withdraw his hand from your panties and quickly after, you felt a cold breeze as Nick’s hands and body drift away from you. “Don’t forget about Sonny, babygirl,” you heard from the other side of the room.

Your jaw is going to be sore as fuck in the morning as you opened your mouth as much as you could, to take both Sonny’s and Mike’s cocks in. Obviously, they can’t both fit in but it is mostly about playing with the heads and your tongue.

You jolted when you felt a very warm body against your back. You recognized Rafael’s smell. He was fully naked. He held your hips strongly, sliding his hard cock in your panties and stroking it against your ass. You felt his hot breath in your neck before he planted a few wet kisses there.

Your face was a mess. It was a mix of saliva and precum from both men. Your pussy was a mess too. You were so wet, you could feel it on your thighs. You kept sucking Sonny and Mike for a short moment before they made you stop. Mike got down from the bed and kissed you deeply, enjoying the mixture that was there.

Someone finally took your panties off, you don’t know who and you couldn’t care less. You were desperate to be fucked.

*****

The first to get inside you was Nick. You were lying on the bed, a complete mess already, and Nick got on top of you. He gently kissed you, teased your entrance for a short moment before sinking inside your pussy in a slow motion. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groaned as he bottomed out. He started to thrust you, slow and deep at first.

The sounds you were making were such a turn on to the four men. As Nick was fucking you good, you had no idea where Mike, Sonny and Rafael were, until you felt someone climbing on the bed. When you opened your eyes, you saw Rafael’s face above you and his cock was a few inches from your mouth. “Open that pretty mouth for me,” he said and you obliged. As Nick was fucking your pussy, Rafael was facefucking you. And this was a lot to handle. It didn’t take long for you to feel your orgasm coming up. Your cries were muffled by Rafael’s thick cock as you came, and it brought him an overwhelming sensation that made him groan hard. “Such a good girl, creaming my cock like this,” Nick said. He wasn’t far from coming either. He buried his face in your neck, and he felt your nails crashing on his skull. It took a few more thrusts before he loaded his hot cum inside you, crying out your name.

He stayed on top of you for a moment before pulling out, at the same time Rafael stopped facefucking you and you cried at the emptiness.

“Someone doesn’t like to feel empty?” It was Sonny who talked. He was sitting next to you and he pushed two fingers inside your pussy, taking Nick’s cum back where it belonged. Your body arched at the feeling and you moaned deeply. “So worked up already. But we’re not done with you,”

“You better not,” you laughed.

“Oh, she’s teasing!” Mike exclaimed. “Babygirl, when we're done with you, you won’t be able to sit for weeks. Everyone at the precinct will wonder what happened during the weekend,” he kissed you while Sonny added a third finger inside your core. You felt a second orgams building inside your belly.

“You better not come on Sonny’s fingers,” Rafael warned you, “You’re only allowed to come on our cocks,” you found him in the room and locked eyes with him.

You knew from his expression what he was waiting for, “Yes, sir,” you agreed.

“That’s our good girl,”

Then it was Sonny’s. The man has a soft spot for a good doggy style, so he ordered you to get on all fours and you obeyed. He stroked his cock between your ass cheeks for a moment before sliding inside you so easily. “God, you take us so well, baby,” he said as he started to thrust. He was faster than Nick, and you know from experience that Sonny has incredible stamina. He can rock inside you hard and fast for a long moment.

“You feel so good inside me,” you moaned, “Fuck, Sonny! Yes!”

“That’s right, take that cock, doll,” he said, slamming harder.

As you grabbed the sheets into your fists, you felt someone crawling under you. It was Nick. He laid down and brought your mouth to his in an eager kiss. Sonny kept fucking you, his hands were strongly holding your hips, so you understood it was someone else that spank you. Mike or Rafael, you didn’t know - although, you had an idea; Rafael does love to spank you - and you cried inside Nick’s mouth. Then you felt someone grabbing your arms to lock them in your back. Nick held you close against him, stroking your hair as your second orgasm hit you hard.

Feeling your pussy clenching around his cock, and hearing you cursing non sense, sent Sonny over the edge. He almost collapsed on you as he came deep inside you.

You felt the emptiness when Sonny took his cock out of you but it was quickly filled by someone’s fingers. You were just a pile of lambs on Nick, but you jolted when one of them curled two fingers inside your pussy. “You love that, don’t you? Nick’s and Sonny’s cum mixing inside you,” You don’t know if that’s Rafael that is fingering you but he’s the one talking. You were still catching your breath when the fingers were replaced by a cock teasing your entrance.

“Do you want to keep going, babygirl? We can st--”

“I didn’t say the word, did I, Mike?” you shot.

“Right. Then it’s my turn to fill that pussy,” he didn’t give you the time to answer, he shoved his cock inside your cunt.

“Oh fuck! Mike, yes!”” you cried.

Nick stayed under you as Mike fucked you hard. Mike’s short nails scratched your back as he went in and out of you. He withdrew completely before sinking back and bottoming down. He did that a few times, enjoying your noises every time he hit your sweet spot. “Damn, that pussy is so perfect,” he growled.

“It was made for us,” Sonny said.

On your left, you saw Rafael standing there, stroking his cock as he watched Mike fucking you. You extended your hand to replace his and he let you. “You can’t get enough,” he teased you.

“Never,” you grinned.

Mike grabbed your hair in his fist, bringing your back to his chest. That new angle almost sent you over the edge again. “Holy shit, this feels amazing,” you breathed out. You didn’t notice the look Rafael and Sonny exchanged. You sloppily kept stroking Rafael, while Sonny’s hand found its way to your clit. Mike had to hold you close to him as a third orgasm arrived.

Nick was still laying on the bed, an arm under his head. “This is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life. It’s like my very own porn movie,”

“Get ready to take a new part in it,” Sonny winked at him.

“Working on it,” he said, stroking his semi hard cock.

Sonny chuckled before burying his face in your chest. He sucked on your nipples, and kept playing with your clit. “Jesus, fuck! I--I’m--coming,” you managed to say as your third orgasm hit. You held onto Sonny’s shoulder for dear life, Mike was slamming so hard and fast inside you, chasing his own orgasm. He bit your shoulder as he emptied himself deep inside you, adding his semence to Sonny’s and Nick’s.

You collapsed in Sonny’s arms and he gently laid you on the bed, next to Nick. Mike was catching his breath on the edge of the bed. “Water,” you managed to say.

Not that it mattered, but Nick seems to be the best for the aftercare. He gently stroked your hair, and planted sweet kisses all over your face. Sonny came back with water for everyone. All of this is more than amazing, this can’t be compared to anything you ever experienced before but you gladly enjoyed the water break.

As you were sitting on the bed, Rafael grabbed your face to kiss you. It was soft, almost loving. Your hands traveled his hairy chest as you granted access to his tongue. You fell on your back, taking him with you. “You okay?” he whispered.

“Never better. Fuck me, Raf,”

On the other side of the bed, Nick chuckled. “Three cocks, three orgasms and she is still asking for it. You’re such a pretty slut, Y/N, aren't you?”

“I’m your slut. To the four of you,” you smiled at him.

Rafael teased your entrance with his cock as he was kissing and nipping your neck. Your pussy was a wet and sticky mess. The other men fucked you open, Rafael slided inside you so easily. To be honest, he wasn’t far from coming already after everything he witnessed and you wrapped him so perfectly, it was overwhelming.

You moaned loudly in his ear, your nails digging in his skull. As he thrusted into you, he couldn’t help but to slap your thigh, since he can’t reach your ass for a proper spank. But you could reach his, so you returned the favor. It took him by surprise, so did the growl he let out. “Someone likes to be spank,” Sonny commented, before duplicating your action on Rafael’s ass.

Another spank, but this time from Mike. And one from Nick. You loved having all the attention from the guys, but you have to admit that this brings something else to you. Hopefully this will be repeated before you go back to New York, but this time, this will be an orgy, instead of a gangbang.

You bit Rafael’s bottom lip, as he thrusted fast and hard inside you. “Give it to me, Raf. I need you to cum inside me, just like them,” he crashed his lips on yours, as a hand traveled between the two of you to play with your clit. You were oversensitive, and exhausted, you weren’t sure you could have a fourth orgasm before it hit you. You wrapped your arms around Rafael’s neck, “That’s right, babygirl, let it go. Cum on my cock,” he said in your ear, huskily.

That was exactly what you needed to cum one more time. Rafael’s thrusts became sloppy as he chased his relief. Finally, he added his liquid to the mixture and collapsed on you.

*****

“I have to admit, I’m so glad everyone else canceled,” you confessed, laying like a sea star on the bed. Obviously, the four men agreed with you.

“Happy birthday, Y/N,” they all said at the same time.

Best fucking birthday ever.

#thatesqcrushsummerbingo #rafael barba x reader #sonny carisi x reader #nick amaro x reader #mike dodds x reader

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