#Elegance in Fancy Ink

[fancybendy]

Left to right: Fancy, Bun, Nathan, Vidal, Dandy I HAVE BEEN DRAWING OKAY JUST- other fandoms But I BRING YOU- WIP OF SOME BENDY KIDS- @grimmixxart ( designed the lovely Dandy for me a long time ago and I just now have drawn him cries)

[porcelian]

ROUGE IN HIS HANDS | j. todd | 3.3k

SYNOPSIS: jason 'n reader dance at a gala (result from voting) ;

RATING: smut with fluff ;

WARNINGS: clothed sex, p in v, oral fem receiving, oral sex, reader and jay have an obvious oral fixation in this, cum eating, public sex, switch characters, mutual orgasm ;

NOTES: during the writing process i had in mind a jason and reader who have been partners for a long time now, so sex is something they've explored, so he's more open in this specific work.

✹ ꕀ MASTERLIST & NAVIGATION & AO3.

THE SILVER BEAMS OF MOONLIGHT POUR THROUGH THE GLASS WALL, COVERING THE ROOM WITH AN OTHERWORLDLY HUE. Cool and polished, the marble wall gleams under the light, its smooth surface marbles with veins of smoky silver and hints of gold. Tonight, Wayne Enterprises is holding its annual charity gala at Gotham Museum of Antiquities—complete with an elegant venue; eye-catching décor and displays; unending speeches and presentations along with slow, dramatic waltz and special VIP rooms.

Tonight, Jason leans on that polished marble wall—with his own polished black-tie suit. The ink-black velvet suit makes him blend in with the rest of the crowd. He’s done well with avoiding the rest of the mingling Gotham elite, choosing to hide away in some dark corner. Jason watches the ivory-colored champagne in his hand as he tilts the glass from one side to another—a game, if you will. A game to pass the time.

He looks down at the opulent watch on his wrist. It was a gift given to him by Dick. No matter how much Jason said no—or complained, by his brother's words—he didn’t want the ridiculously costly accessory. Though, Dick persisted—just as he did with Jason attending this gala.

Jason glared at the numbers on the watch’s dial. The Roman numeral IX stares back at him as if it’s mocking the man. Jason fidgets with the collar of his alabaster button up shirt—too tight around his neck. His foot restlessly taps against the shining surface of the floor beneath. Jason folds his arms across his chest as he retreats deeper into the corner.

Time couldn’t move slower, he thinks.

He hears a singsong voice call out to him as light steps echo closer— “How long are you going to stand there like a statue?”

The raven hair and ocean-like blue eyes of Dick are unmistakably familiar, even the teasing and lighthearted tone of his voice is engraved in Jason’s mind. Dick takes his place next to his little brother, leaning against the tall marble wall. His smug grin danced across his face. Dick playfully nudges Jason, prompting an answer out of him.

“Until this tedious, faux gala—I mean, important social occasion—ends. I don’t know how you survive here.” Jason groans, head falling back against the cool surface of the wall.

Dick lets a soft chuckle escape, “—Well,—” he clicks his tongue, “—It helps when you have a pretty thing by your side.”

Jason picks up on the tone of Dick’s voice and the suggestion. He can’t help but roll his eyes at his brother’s oh-so creative idea. The thought lingers in his mind for a minute—you, in some fancy outfit, perfectly suited for you, thin fabric hugging your plush and petal soft skin in all the right places.

His hand tightens around the champagne glass. Dick laughs again, satisfied with Jason’s reaction.

“Just wait until you see it in front of your own eyes.” Dick makes sure to emphasize the final words as he motions Jason to look across the dance floor.

There you stand, on the edge of the dance floor. The golden filigree of the ivory floor glows beneath your feet. The crystal chandelier casts a shimmering light upon your dewy skin. The rouge-colored velvet fabric flows across your frame like waves in a calm sea. Your hair meticulously detailed and styled drifts down from your neck and lightly touches your bare shoulders. A rose-gold pendant rests in the dip of your chest.

Your piercing eyes scan the crowd, searching across the mingling elite for a certain someone. Their dim glow reaches Jason even from the distance between you two—it turns luminous when you spot him.

He almost chokes on his breath.

“I’ll leave you two to it.” Dick smirks as he pats Jason on the shoulder. He moves before Jason can give him a nudge of his own and disappears into the crowd.

Your heels clink across the ivory floor as you approach him. Jason can swear he can feel and hear the champagne glass crack under his tightened grip. The drink is left forgotten as he leaves it on a nearby table. Jason meets up with you. Suddenly the suffocating air of the gala dissipates.

“Thought I’d find you moping in some far away corner.” You giggle softly.

“Well,”—Jason takes your hand in his—palm face down as he places a gentle kiss on top of it. His lips linger on you as he holds eye contact, the aqua hue of his eyes are like a siren’s call, beckoning you closer—“everything has changed since you’ve arrived.”

Jason’s warm touch lights a fire on your skin’s surface. You take a second to break out of your sweet reverie. “For the better, I hope?”

“Of course it’s for the better. Without you this entire ordeal would be rather boring.” He muses.

“You think all galas hosted by your father are boring, but with enough persuasion, you always show up.”

“Enough persuasion, huh?”, he laughs, “you think I’m so easily persuaded?”

You gather the courage to step even closer to him. The slight bob of his Adam's apple gives you all the confidence you need.

Your eyes dart across his frame. The ink-black suit sits on his body like it was made for him specifically. The heat spreads throughout, settling deep into the crooks of your body. Does he even know how he looks right now? A sculpted statue of a Greek god, made meticulously by a renowned artist, stands in front of you.

You can’t seem to tear your eyes off him, your mind too busy and occupied with wondering what other details of the statue hide behind the black velvet fabric. Jason notices this too, proved by the flustered cough that leaves him and the slight pink tint on his cheeks.

You gaze into his eyes again, “Aren’t I proof of that? A few sweet words from me and you’re at my beck and call.”

Jason chuckles, “You’re the only one. Count yourself lucky, you minx.”

A sly grin dances across your face, “Oh, I am very fortunate. Though, I’d like to test your weakness for me one more time.”

“What do you have planned?” He lets out a faux groan, eyes following your lips every move.

“Dance with me.”

“What?”

You stammer, the confidence you felt a few moments ago slowly leaving your body, “It’s a gala, right? I’m your partner and I thought we could dance? Only if you’d like of course! It’s not mandatory to dance, I just-”

Jason takes your hands in his own, “—I want to.”

“To dance? With me?”

“Who else?” He laughs, the sound akin to honey. You want to taste his sweet oh-so desperately on your tongue.

“O-Okay.” You lead him to the dance floor.

The ivory floor contrasts with the colors of your clothing. The lights across the room dance on you both, bathing in the warm, golden hue of the glow. Jason’s eyes shine like aquamarine crystals under the sunlight on a coast near the sea, touched gently by the seafoam. The two of you move and sweep through the crowd on the dance floor akin to the soft, rhythmic ebb of a river. It’s not precise, nor perfect. It reminds you of the cracks between broken pieces dipped and stitched back together with gold.

Your hand in Jason’s feels incredibly right, as if it was always meant to rest in the safety of his touch. Your cheeks graze as you attempt to hide yourself in the crook of his neck. A single whisper breaks you out of your trance.

“Don’t hide yourself, please. I want to see you—all of you.”

The words escape from the tip of your tongue, “you can, if you’d have me.”

Your suggestion rings in Jason’s ears. The surprise on his face is proven by the widening of his eyes and the slight part of his lips. His grip on your hands slightly strengthens, careful not to hurt you.

“Fuck.” He groans, the sound going straight to your core. The music slowly ends as he starts leading you towards an empty hallway. “I t-think they have rooms for the VIP’s here.”

There’s excitement in your every step. The more you walk, the more impatience eats at you.

“Jay-” You whine out, “Please-”

“Shh,” He smiles, “patience, and maybe you’ll be rewarded.”

Jason spots an unoccupied room near the two of you. In a few seconds he has you ushered into the privacy of its walls.

Now it’s just the two of you. The air feels hot and intoxicating. It doesn’t take long for the both of your lips to meet. The feel of his lips against yours is so familiar it strikes an aching feeling deep in your heart. Your cherry lipstick gets smeared more and more with every move of your lips. You finally let go of the strings of worry pulling at you and melt into his hold.

His hands travel from your hips to your waist and lay flat against your spine, bringing you closer as if the two of you will embrace each other as one. Every touch lights a fire on your skin. You suck on his bottom lip as your hands move from his face to the back of his neck, luring him closer as his tongue explores every corner of your mouth.

You whimper against Jason’s mouth. The wet kiss finally breaks. He sucked in a sharp breath. His eyes pierce into your own. The look of them makes you quiver in his hold.

Jason’s fingers graze your swollen lips, parting them. Your tongue reaches out on instinct, searching for his skin—his taste. He chuckles followed by a quiet hiss.

“Needy thing.” He moves closer, making you take a few steps back before reaching the bed. “Did you plan this?” He softly lowers you on the bed, hands trailing down to your hips, teasing the slit in the fabric hugging your plum skin.

You shamelessly drag your hands down his chest, clawing to reach his skin underneath the layers of clothes. “Please, Jay-” Your body aches for him, every part of you calls out to him, yearning for his touch, his kiss, his—

“Did you think about this?” He asks, his voice low as he reaches down to whisper in your ear, his lips teasingly close to you. “I know I did.” You can see his flushed skin and slightly tangled hair. He looks so beautiful, intoxicatingly so.

You let out a whine as he kisses the skin connecting your jaw and neck. He nibbles down on the skin, pleasure and the slight bite of pain mixing into each other oh-so well. It lights embers in your body as in his. He takes in the captivating smell of your lingering perfume, making him wish he could drown in it.

His tongue on your neck trails down to your chest, leaving blossoming marks in its wake. They feel electrifying, sending bolts of lighting down your body, straight into your core. Your thighs press together, searching for friction.

He chuckles, looking up at you, “Shh—” He hikes the fabric above your waist, “—let me take care of you.”

Jason sinks to his knees. His lips dance across your thighs, leaving wet kisses in its wake. Your hips shake, body too sensitive from previous touches. Your hand covers your mouth to muffle the whimpers escaping from it. His hand reaches up to yours, ripping it from your mouth.

“I want to hear you—every sound. Just lose control, love. You look angelic like this—under me, spread and so giving, ruffled hair and needy whines—such a pretty mess.” He purrs.

“Jay—” You shudder when his lips graze across your clothed pussy, “—Oh my god.”

Jason chuckles against you, the sound vibrating from your pussy to the rest of your body. He hooks the fabric of your soaked panties on his finger, moving them aside. You bite back a moan at the cool air touching you. Tears well up in your eyes, ruining your mascara.

“Look at you, dripping from me. Did I make you wait for it, baby? Let me make it up to you, yea?”

“Yes, yes, please, Jay—Mh!” The moan hitches in your throat as Jason's lips kiss your folds, his tongue teasing the entrance. “Feels good, Jay…”

He pushes your thighs above, placing them on his shoulders. His hands grip around your hips, trapping them in place. You arch your back as his tongue delves in your cunt. Your breath quivers as he sucks down on your clit. His tongue flicks along it, sending bolts of pleasure up your spine.

“Fuck, right there—don’t stop!”

Jason’s digits rise and part your folds as he inserts one inside you. The moans bounce across the room as he works you towards your climax, as if you’re an instrument that he knows every string of, which one to pull, graze, shake, and grip.

The pleasure builds up, spreading slowly throughout your body. Your climax hangs as if it’s a thin thread about to snap. You shake and cry out for Jason—the one currently working you up to the oh-so satisfying cut of that string.

Your noises feel him with a confidence he doesn’t feel anywhere else. It’s enthralling—the fact he can make you feel so good. He’ll carry you to your climax because that’s what his darling deserves for giving him such a good present—dressing up for him, being so giving—his sweet darling.

The shaking of your thighs grows more intense, just like the moans escaping your mouth. He adds another digit, curling deep inside your cunt. His touch reaches you just in the right places, making you feel dizzy from it all.

“‘m close, baby,” you whine, “god, yes-”

The thread tithers on the edge. Every curl of his fingers and flick of his tongue pushes you closer to that very edge. Your breath gets caught in your mouth, only a strangled moan leaving when your climax hits. You can feel his satisfied grin on your pussy lips. Your chest rises with every bolt of pleasure. His tongue doesn’t let it go. He laps up your cum leaking from your cunt, savoring the taste.

Jason’s fingers delicately dance across your folds, cum collecting on them. He raises his hand for you to see. The moonlight reflects off of the shiny white liquid on the tips of his fingers. Your walls clench at the sight, eyes widening and head falling back against the bed. He laughs again.

“C’mon, be good—clean them.”

He rises from his position climbing on top of you again. His head tilts as his hand moves closer to you. You shudder as the smell of your own climax reaches you. You open your mouth, tongue searching for a taste. He settles the fingers in your mouth. Your tongue swirls around his digits. The striking taste of your slick and cum spreads your mouth. His eyes never break contact with yours, the stare is too intense. You squirm against his body.

Jason’s breath gets caught in his throat. “Fuck—god—pretty girl, good job, just like that.”

His praise makes your hips buck into his own. You want to pleasure him too. The bulge in his pants proves his arousal and need. Your hand slowly trails down his clothed body, searching for any sign of refusal. When he gives you a shaky nod with a crooked smile, you take that as approval.

You take this chance to switch positions. Lowering him down onto the bed you move to straddle his hips. The fabric of his pants grazes your bare pussy, the sensitivity making you shake. Your hands move to his bulge again, palming him over his clothes. He sighs with pleasure, hands clutching the sheets underneath him.

You coo at his reaction, “My pretty boy.”

He whines, the sound coming out as a quiet plea. His hands leave the sheets and grip your hips—surely leaving bruises decorating your flush body. Jason’s hair’s akin to a halo, the moonlight seeping through the window faintly covers him in a faint glow, making him look heavenly. The sight makes you groan.

“Let me take care of you now.”

Your hands move to unzip his pants and free his clothed cock. The flushed red tip leaks of precum.

Jason rasps, “darling, touch me, please.”

“Shh, don’t worry—” You lean down to press a chaste kiss on his forehead, “—I’ll do whatever you need me to.”

You raise your hips as you settle your hands on his chest, hands digging into his disheveled clothes. The tip of his cock kisses your cunt as you align yourself. You sink down onto him, his entire length slowly disappearing into your warmth. Your velvety walls hug his cock.

He shudders with pleasure, “—Fuck, baby- tryna milk me dry, ah-”

You try to settle onto a rhythm. His hands—still on your hips—help you along with the pace, pulling them down onto his cock. The sounds of moans and skin slapping against skin spread throughout the room, bouncing across wall to wall. His hands reach up to your chest, grazing your nipples. Jason chuckles as your eyes widen and thighs shake with every touch.

Both of your moans mix into each other—the sound downright shameless but akin to ambrosia. The similar thread coils for Jason. His breaths become shaky, as your rhythm changes and pace becomes messy. Jason’s hands trail down from your chest to your hips, hanging on.

“Don’t stop, baby- please.”

He bites down onto his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, trying to muffle his sounds. The coil threatens to unfold any second. Jason’s back arches with every desperate thrust, his hips coming to meet you in the middle, chasing that high. His climax reaches closer and closer.

“Can I kiss you?” You ask with a shaky voice.

He barely makes out your words in his hazy mind, “Of course, god-”

Both of your lips crash together as Jason’s climax hits him. He whines into your mouth, hands flying up to grip any piece of you he can—waist, spine, neck—he settles on cradling your face. Breaking from the kiss, his red and flushed lips tremble from ecstasy.

“How are you feeling?” You mumble into the crook of his neck, snuggling closer.

Jason wraps his arms around your frame, hiding his face in your hair, taking in your smell. “I’m feeling amazing- christ.”

You giggle in response. Moving from his neck you place a soft kiss on his cheek. “I love you—like I’m crazy in love.”

“I love you too, baby.”

You settle against his chest. Your eyes scan the room, taking notice of the messy sheets and the smell of sex spreading throughout the entire place. You suddenly remember the promise you made to his family about making him step out of his shell when it comes to these galas. Plan successfully failed?

The two of you slowly shuffle off the bed. Adjusting your clothing is fairly easy, the hair is more of a problem. Your make-up is a mess, too.

You tut, “Jay…”

“I think you look beautiful.” He moves closer to place a chaste kiss on your lips, his tongue slipping out to taste the smeared cherry lipstick.

“Crap, are we just going to leave the room and return to the gala like this?”

Jason lets out a laugh, seeing him lighthearted and content like this spreads a warmth in your heart.

“Well, I’m sure you’re a sight for the eyes, but I don’t want to share. We’re sneaking out.”

“I miss home. I don’t like these galas.” you whine.

“Me too. But I did like this one.” He smirks as his hands smooth out the back of your dress.

You snort, “Good. Maybe next time you’ll get lucky again.” You button his suit.

“I’ll hold you to that.” His hands try to settle your hair in a more presentable state. “We’ll get there and I’ll set up a warm bath for the two of us. After that we can finally rest.”

“I love you. I wanted to say that again.”

Jason smiles, eyes moving across your face, “—Me too, darling.”

© ROBINSFILM ﹕ I do not give consent for my writing to be posted or used on any other platforms without my permission and proper credit.

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Musician Age Gap AU Pt 7

When Kara receives a text from Lena that her ride to the restaurant has arrived, she half expects to see Lena waiting for her inside. She's only a little disappointed when to find the seat empty. What's more strange is that the driver doesn't take her to a restaurant, but rather a hotel.

Before she can wonder if maybe the restaurant is inside the hotel, a young woman emerges from the lobby and approaches the vehicle.

"Kara?" she asks a little breathlessly. Kara nods. "Hi, I'm Jess, Lena's assistant."

"Oh," Kara says, her stomach dropping. "Did she need to reschedule, or...?"

"Oh! No! Nothing like that, she's upstairs waiting for you." Jess hands her a keycard, offering a congenial smile. "Penthouse."

Blinking in surprise, Kara accepts the card with numb fingers. "And I just..."

"Yup! Staff and security are expecting you, so just go on in."

"Oh-kay..."

Jess holds the lobby door open, but doesn't follow her inside. When Kara pauses to look back, the woman is slipping into the same car Kara had just exited. As the car pulls away from the car, Kara takes a moment to collect herself.

This is fine. This is happening. And she's fine. She can do this.

Drawing her shoulders back, Kara presses further into the lobby, navigating herself to the bank of elevators with minimal fuss. When she presses the button for the penthouse suite, the car doesn't begin to move until she swipes her keycard against the sensor.

Catching sight of herself in the reflection of the doors, Kara feels flushed but exhilirated. For the first time in a long time, she feels... desirable.

When the elevator doors open, it spits her out directly into the middle of an expansive living space. Though a savory aroma fills the air, there's absolutely no one in sight.

"Hello?"

"In here!" Lena's disembodied voice calls from Kara's left. Kara drifts towards that direction, eventually turning a corner into a kitchen area bearing evidence of intensive cooking. Lena looks up from a saucepan she's stirring to grace Kara with a warm smile. "Hey."

"Hey," Kara echoes. Lena wears a stained white apron over what looks to be a black jumpsuit, pants long and elegant against her fair skin.

"I figure this is probably not what you expected for tonight, and I should have warned you, but I promise the food'll be as good as any restaurant's."

Only then does Lena seem to actually absorb what Kara is wearing. Green eyes widen minutely, then track up and down Kara's figure.

"Wow," she breathes.

A rush of pleasure floods Kara. She'd been mindful of her look even beyond the dress. She'd left her hair in a chignon, exposing the understated dangling earrings that brushed her bare neck. A gold cuff encircles her right wrist, catching the light as she leans against the island between them.

"Wow yourself," Kara returns in a low voice. She gives a teasing smirk. "I admit, when you said 'something fancy' I didn't think you meant chef boyardee."

Lena blinks, then throws her head back in a peal of delighted laughter. By the time she turns back to the pan, she has to scramble to save whatever is cooking.

"Oh shit!" she curses, still giggling as she  fumbles to turn off the heat. "That was close--- you're a menace!"

Kara lets her grin linger, watching Lena slide the pan onto a trivet. Then it's her turn to stare when Lena removes her apron, revealing a neckline that swoops lower than her sternum, accented by several strands of long, delicate chains looped around her neck. When Lena removes her hair tie, long hair spills around her shoulders.

With the intense styling from the show, her hair is soft and silky, as dark as ink in the overhead lights-- which Lena soon dims as she nods towards a small table set up with a pair of place settings.

"The wine cabinet is on that side. Care to pick something while I serve up?"

Kara readily obeys, if only to have a moment to calm her racing heart. She settles on a white she thinks will pair with the chicken she'd seen in the pan. She pretends not to see the label, one she does not recognize that she's sure is worth her half her yearly salary.

"Oooh, good choice," Lena observes when they converge at the table. As Kara sits, and Lena leans a little to deposit a plate in front of her, the inner curve of one breast becomes visible for the briefest moment.

Kara clears her throat, waiting for Lena to take her seat across the table. "You're full of surprises today," she tells her host.

"Let's just say I like to keep a girl on her toes." A mischievous glint sparks in Lena's eye as she lifts her wine glass. "To you," she toasts. "For making a certain niece slash goddaughter very happy."

"To both of us, then," Kara counters. Their glasses clink, and she's suddenly struck by how intimate her circumstances currently are. It's quiet in the penthouse, the only noise the sounds of their forks and knives clicking.

"Thank you," Lena says quietly. "For coming. I should have told you I didn't intend to bring you to resturant."

"I understand," Kara reassures her. "I can't imagine what the press would say if we were seen together--"

"What? NO. That is NOT what I meant." Lena leans forward, placing her hand on Kara's. "Are kidding? I would have absolutely zero shame being seen with you."

Kara flushes. "Oh."

"I wanted to spend time with you," Lena continues. "But being out there... it would mean sharing myself with the entire city. And the only person I want to share myself with tonight is you."

Her words descend to a low rumble, a tone that sends heat straight to her groin. She shifts in her seat, subtly adjusting in an effort to ease sudden arousal. It doesn't work.

"I hope you know how highly I think of you."

Kara's brow furrows. "That's part of what I don't understand. You don't... you don't know me."

She expects a denial, a claim of some profound connection that somehow explains everything. But Lena doesn't do that.

"You're right. We don't know each other very well. But do you know what I see when I look at you?"

"Honestly... no," Kara confesses. "I really don't."

"I see a busy woman who took time out of her evening to take her niece to a concert. Someone ran into a celebrity and didn't ask for a single thing except directions. And I see someone who saw a phone number on the back of a ticket, and had the courage to call it."

Lena gazes at her with even focus. Kara does her best to hold eye contact, until a flush creeps up her neck.

"I want to know more," she continues. She shrugs, lifting her wine glass to her lips. "Does it have to be any more profound than that?"

Kara considers her words, and to her surprise her anxiety about the whole thing begins to ease. Maybe Lena is right. Maybe Kelly is right too.

Maybe, sometimes, it's nothing more than two people enjoying each other's company. And sometimes, it doesn't need to be anything more than that.

"No," Kara agrees softly. "I suppose it doesn't."

The woman in front of her brightens even more, somehow. Lena leans back in a dignified sort of slouch, and Kara feels herself respond in kind. Her muscles loosen, and her grip on her fork eases.

"In that case," Lena says, "we have a whole evening ahead of us. Whatever shall we talk about?"

Kara meets her gaze, and relishes the energy she channels into it. Time to meet Lena exactly where she is.

"Anything you like."

---

'Anything' ends up spanning Kara's work, her family and even her limited travels, and she can't bring herself to feel self-conscious about how little it is. Despite having three times the worldliness at half her age, Lena listens with rapt attention, drinking it in.

It's easier to share than Kara thought it would be. She goes on and on, but it doesn't feel like too much, even when she figures it should be. Still, she makes a point to redirect the conversation to Lena, when they transition from the table to the couch for their second glass of wine.

"What about you?" Kara asks.

Lena snorts. "What about me?"

"Well, do you like to travel?" Kara settles into the cushions, letting her legs stretch a little. She notes the way Lena's gaze flits towards them for a brief moment before lifting back to Kara's face. "I mean, clearly you do travel, but do you like it?"

To her surprise, Lena shrugs. "It's part of the job. I don't really ever get the tourist experience, though. I think this afternoon is the closest I've come to it."

"Well, I'm always happy to be your travel guide to National City." Kara grins. "Next time I'll show you the karaoke bars I went to in college."

Lena stares at her, eyes sparkling pleasantly. "You said next time."

Instead of denying it, or trying to explain it away as a slip of the tongue, Kara tilts her head. "I did, didn't I?"

"You know..." Lena purrs, shifting to sit a little sideways, letting one finger brush the skin of Kara's shoulder. "I only had dinner in mind when I invited you out tonight."

"Mhmm," Kara hums.

"But ever since you showed up wearing this..." Lena's finger strokes the strap of Kara's dress. "I can't stop thinking what it might look like on my floor."

Kara's breath catches.

"No pressure," Lena continues, voice deep in her throat as she leans a little closer. "I just want you to know that you look.... ravishing." Lena's nose bumps the skin of Kara's neck. "And that I'd love to make you feel so, so good..."

Before she can think twice about it, Kara turns her head to meet Lena's lips with hers. Almost immediately, Lena gives a little moan, her hand coming up to cup Kara's cheek, deepening the kiss.

Kissing Lena feels less like fireworks, and more like a languid descent into velvet bliss. Lena feels soft, tastes sweet, and responds to Kara as though she lived inside her brain. Just as Kara reaches to tug Lena closer, the woman levers herself over to straddle Kara's lap. Now, both of Lena's hands are on Kara's face, and Lena's long hair brushes Kara's chest as she perches there, chin dipped to give Kara all her attention.

It's not until Lena's right hand begins to drift down towards Kara's chest that Kara pulls back for air.

"Wait," she urges breathlessly.

Lena pulls back immediately, concern plain over flushed cheeks. "Sorry. I didn't mean..."

"No, it's-- you're-- it's fine," Kara stumbles over her words. It's a struggle to form any words, let alone rational ones, past the cotton of desire stuffed between her ears. "It's just-- I haven't--"

Lena's brow furrows. "Ever?"

Kara barks a laugh. "No. Just a while." Letting her head fall back against the cushion, she sighs. "I don't want to do anything we both might regret..."

"Regret?"

Suddenly, Lena sounds small. Young in a way she hasn't before. Kara opens her eyes in time to see Lena's brightness dim, a shutter close behind her eyes.

"No, hey--" Kara reaches for her, but Lena pulls back, refusing to meet her eye. "Lena..."

"If you don't want this, you've got a shitty way of saying so."

Kara blinks in surprise at the shift in the woman's tone. But it's not anger that undercuts her words, but hurt.

"Not wanting isn't the problem," Kara murmurs. She reaches for Lena's wrist, and this time she lets her. "Usually, it is. But not this time. Not with you."

Lena looks at her, expression guarded, but says nothing.

"But I'd be lying if I wasn't afraid of what where this might lead. If tonight isn't... enough."

What had Lena said before? That she felt drawn to Kara... and if Kara were a magnet then Lena is the sun, with a gravitational field that could swallow planets-- and Kara-- whole.

"So... what do you want?" Lena asks soft.

"You." The answer is an easy one. "But maybe, whatever this is..." Kara waves her hand, encapsulating whatever invisible string was drawing them together. "Maybe it can last for more than tonight?"

Finally, Lena features soften into a timid smile. "Pen pals are cool too."

"Pen pal--!" Kara's incredulous exclamation gets swallowed by another kiss, this one soft and gentle, lingering.

"Friends, then," Lena murmurs. She looks into Kara's eyes, her gaze unfathomably deep. "And a reason to come back to National City."

When Kara leaves that night, Lena kisses her cheek one last time.

"You have my number," she murmurs, letting her hand run the length of Kara's arm as they part. "Use it."

When their fingers tangle together, Kara gives Lena's a squeeze goodbye.

"I will."

[tomriddlehyperfixataion]

The Diary of Tom Riddle- Diary! Tom Riddle x Reader - P3

pairing: Tom riddle x Fem reader

warnings: Horcruxes, Manipulation, Tom being Tom, side effects of being possessed.

summary: 16-year-old (y/n) finds a mysterious black book on the floor of after it slips out of Ginny Weasleys caldron, curious, she picks it up and keeps it-which leads to one thing after another and discovers the book is far more than it seems.

-Part 1- -Part 2- -Part 4-

=

Thankfully, as she woke up, (y/n) hadn't moved from her bed throughout the night. She sighed and slowly sat up, rubbing her face, drawing back the curtains of her bed, seeing her roommates all up and getting dressed for the day. It was a Sunday, so it was Hogsmeade day for years 3 and up.

Hogsmeade sounded fun.

(y/n) looked at the diary and grabbed it, popping open her ink well and grabbing her quill, flipping open a book to the now blank page she’d been writing in the night before.

“Morning Tom.”

Tom took a moment to respond, her ink disappearing into the page as his elegant scrawl appeared in its place.

‘Good morning (y/n), did you sleep well?’

“yes I did, thankfully. Woke up where I should be too, in my bed.”

‘Very good. Are you feeling better?’

“yeah, much better, thank you. Im going to go to Hogsmeade today, would you like to come with?”

‘Well, I wouldn’t be able to do much, would I?’

(y/n) hummed in thought, Tom had a point, as he could only see what she wrote/illustrated in the book.

“good point, but I could maybe bring you to the bookstore there and get some ink you’d like?”

‘I don’t eat the ink (y/n)’

“not what I meant but that’s a very funny visual thank you.”

(y/n) giggled to herself, imagining the book eating the ink instead of just absorbing it to write back to her.

“I meant like, would you like some fancy ink? I saved up some money from my allowance and can get some good ink from the store if you would prefer it?”

‘How…generous of you, (y/n)’

“thank you :)”

Tom took a very long moment to respond, as if he was thinking long and hard about her offer. Finally, after a few minutes, he wrote back-though he did so while (y/n) was getting dressed for her outing to Hogsmeade, putting on an oversized sweater for maximum comfort.

‘I suppose it couldn’t hurt if you brought the diary along, I certainly don’t mind good inks to write with, I myself was never able to afford more than the most basic brands.’

(y/n) tilted her head a bit, a smile growing on her face. Tom was opening up to her a bit! Okay-play it cool-don’t overreact.

“aww really?”

‘I don’t need your pity (y/n)’

Oops.

“not pity! Im sorry! Just…idk”

‘What in the merlin does ‘idk’ mean?’

“Oh-I don’t know-its an abbreviation.”

‘Why don’t you just write ‘I don’t know’, it’s not hard?’

“idk, just easier.”

She felt like she could hear him sigh, which made her giggle and she finished getting dressed before writing to him again.

“okay okay, im going to go eat, ill be back to grab you before everyone heads out to Hogsmeade.”

Tom didn’t respond so (y/n) closed the diary and put it back on her bedside table, capping her ink well and cleaning her quill before leaving her room, heading out to the great hall for breakfast.

-

Hogsmeade, thankfully, took the rest of the events from the night before off (y/n)’s mind as she went from store to store, starting at the book store and writing down ink brands and types to Tom, who eventually picked out a non-expensive India ink, but it was definitely more costly than the usual ink she got.

She closed the diary and put it back in her bag, taking the new ink to the front and buying it, the shopkeep wrapping it in paper and then giving it to her in a paper bag.

She counted how much money she had left as she walked down the main path of the village, nodding to herself as she pocketed the coins. She had enough to do someday after Halloween candy shopping.

She hopped straight into Honeydukes, where loads of other students were buying their own discounted candy, and quickly got some candies that were under the discount.

Including a bag of candy corn, and it was the type made in shop-which was even better.

“What is it with you and candy corn (n/n)?” one of her friends that had accompanied her to Hogsmeade asked teasingly, attempting to steal one of the candies (y/n) had bought.

“It’s good!” (y/n) defended the candy, holding the box to her chest. She knew candy corn wasn’t a worldly liked candy-but it was hers and her dad's favorite, so it not only tasted good to her, but it also was nostalgic.

(y/n)’s friend snickered, taking a caramel apple lollipop from (y/n)’s bag full of discounted Halloween candy. (y/n) rolled her eyes, the two catching up with the rest of their friends, hanging out at the three broomsticks for a while before heading back to the castle.

Upon getting back to her dorm room, (y/n) poured out the candy onto her bed and spread it out, sorting it and eating a few pieces here and there as she separated the chocolates from the hard candies, and the lollipops from the taffy.

She took out the diary and the new well of ink, opening the wax around it and setting it aside, testing the ink on her actual notebook before writing to Tom.

“back from Hogsmeade! Using the new ink as well :)”

‘I can tell, it’s far smoother than the ink you were using before.’

“I’m glad you like it! I also got a lot of candy from honeydukes, they were having a day after Halloween sale, I got nearly 5 pounds of candy for one galleon.”

‘Sweet tooth?’

“big one.”

(y/n) smiled brightly as she continued her conversation with Tom, which turned to her asking Tom what his favorite candy was…is.

‘I haven't tried much candy if I must be honest, though I do like treacle tarts.’

“yum, those are pretty good”

“great now Im craving treacle tart thanks Tom.”

‘You’re welcome, (y/n)’

­-

(y/n) happily painted on some Slytherin green and silver face paint onto her cheeks, today was the first quidditch game of the year, and the Slytherin team had gotten a new seeker-the spoiled as fuck Draco Malfoy, who everyone knew bribed his way in but he still wasn’t a terrible flyer-and brand new brooms.

The whole Slytherin house was excited, ready to win the first match of the season against Gryffindor, since they hadn’t won a game against Gryffindor since Harry Potter joined the team the year before.

“You almost ready (y/n)?!” her friend called from the bathroom as she herself finished her makeup.

“Yeah!” (y/n) said, hopping to her feet after pulling away from her desk mirror. “I’m all done!” she wrapped a scarf around her neck and hooked her arm with her friends and they all went down to the quidditch pitch together, the roar of excitement already humming through the stands.

The game started quickly after that and it was exciting! The Slytherins were walloping the Gryffindors easily-quickly overtaking them 90-30. (y/n) whistled and cheered for her team, throwing her fists into the air with each score. “Woah what the fuck?!” she heard her friend suddenly exclaim and (y/n) turned to see where she was looking, her brows furrowing as a bludger began to deliberately chase Harry Potter.

“Is that a rouge bludger??” (y/n) said, her lip curling in confusion. “What the hell they’re like-impossible to tamper??” (y/n) and her friend stopped paying attention to the game as a whole, watching in near horror as Harry was chased around by a bludger.

The Weasley twins tried to bat it away from him but it kept coming back.

“that’s not good-we should tell a teacher-“ (y/n) stuttered, turning to head off the stands, maybe catch Madam Hooch’s attention and stop the game before someone got hurt. (y/n)’s friend nodded and followed her through the crowd of Slytherins and down the stands.

Just as they reached Madam Hooch, the bludger had slammed into Harry’s arm as he reached for the snitch and he hit the dirt soon after; though he had the snitch in hand, Gryffindor had won the game. “Oh shit,” (y/n) muttered under her breath, looking at Harrys very broken arm, as Madam Hooch blew the whistle, ending the game.

The Weasley twins somehow caught the tampered bludger, getting it back into the box and locking it down. Madam Hooch instantly saw to it, and while that all happened-the idiot Lockhart…erm…mended Harry’s arm.

“Ew,” (y/n) muttered as her friend gagged at the rubber look Harry’s arm had taken. Lockhart hadn’t mended shit; he’d removed Harry’s bones!

“That is so nasty,” (y/n)’s friend muttered, and (y/n) nodded in agreement, heading back to the castle after Headmaster Dumbledore told everyone the match was over and to head back to the castle while Harry, and any other injured players, went to Madam Pomfrey.

“Gotta be honest, Gryffindor deserved that win, I mean-odds stacked against them, with those new brooms and that bloody bludger, they won. Shame Potter’s arm got broken for it though.” (y/n)’s friend ranted as they walked back to the common room, (y/n) nodding in agreement. “I have to wonder who tampered the bludger? I mean Madam Hooch checks them right before the game, and if it wasn’t tampered then, how could’ve someone hexed it within the minutes before the game began?”

(y/n) shrugged as her friend continued to rant. “Maybe someone tampered with it mid-game? Because it wasn’t doing it at first, if it was tampered with before the game-it would’ve gone after Harry straight away? Wouldn’t it?” (y/n) suggested, walking into the common room after several other students and her friend nodded, tapping her chin.

“That does sound logical, though I’m not sure how or why anyone would do that, I mean-he’s just a 12-year-old kid? Who’d want to charm a bloody iron magic ball to hurt him?” (y/n) shrugged in response to her friend's rhetorical question.

“Someone fucked up,” (y/n) answered anyway and her friend sighed, the two entering their dorm room. Her friend went to wipe the Slytherin-themed makeup off her face while (y/n) went to her bed and grabbed the diary.

“Potter almost got killed by a bludger at the quidditch match today.”

(y/n) could almost feel the sense of ‘!!?!?!’ from Tom as he hurriedly wrote back to her.

‘Who starts a conversation like that? also what? how? I never liked Quidditch but I’m sure those Quidditch gear chests are impossible to get into?’

“that’s what I said, I think someone jinxed it mid game because it wasn’t going after him at first.”

‘How odd. And it was going after Potter specifically?’

“yeah! Only him, the Weasley twins kept batting it away from him but it would go right back after Potter. Its really weird.”

‘I cannot tell you it isn’t, because it is very odd.’

“yeah”

(y/n) perked up as her friend came back out of the bathroom. “I’m going to go get lunch, you coming?” her friend asked and (y/n) nodded.

“Yeah, lemme just wash my face,” (y/n) said, looking back down at the diary and telling Tom she had to go, setting the book down on the bedside table and going into the bathroom to wash her face.

-

(y/n) woke up very late that night, a ringing in her ears as she opened her eyes, feeling kinda nauseous. She groaned lightly, realizing she’d fallen off her bed, her head pounding as she attempted to get up, pressing her palms to her eyes as they ached.

“What the fuck,” she muttered, rubbing her face. She’d never fallen off her bed before, but considering the odd dream she had-she wasn’t surprised. She eventually got to her feet after the nausea had passed and climbed back into bed, yawning.

She laid back down, but couldn’t get back to sleep. Her mind kept going back to that odd dream. She had been walking through the halls of Hogwarts, at what seemed to be a late hour, and went into one of the bathrooms and…spoke a strange language-a hissing language, and the…sink had come apart??? After that she woke up, having fallen off her bed mid weird dream.

She huffed and drew the curtains around her bed, grabbing her wand, the diary, and her quill. “Lumos,” (y/n) murmured and the tip of her wand began to glow and she opened the diary, flipping through pages and pages of notes, and doodles.

She dipped her quill and began to write to Tom.

“I fell out of my bed,”

‘And why is that so important to tell me? It’s late I’m sure, you should be asleep.’

“you’re right but I cant get back to sleep, I had a weird dream and woke up after falling out of my bed, which ive never done”

“or at least I havent done since I was a kid?”

‘Interesting. What was your dream about if I may ask?’

(y/n) wrote down what she remembered from the dream, and then added a small detail she hadn’t realized till now.

“it felt like I was having an out of body experience, or like I was watching through someone elses eyes? You get what I mean?”

‘I suppose I do, though im sure there’s nothing to worry about, everyone has odd dreams sometimes.’

“have you ever had an odd dream?”

‘Yes, I’m not divulging that information though, you’ll tease me relentlessly about it.’

“no I wont!”

(y/n) huffed as Tom didn’t respond, and she could imagine the expression of ‘sure you wont’ on his face. She wished she knew wha the looked like…wait maybe she could find him in the gallery! He did say he was a prefect in his time, maybe there was a picture somewhere of the 1942-1943 prefects.

“you’re no fun.”

‘Go to sleep (y/n),’

“fiiiine, goodnight Tom.”

‘Goodnight, (y/n)’

-

“A first year got petrified?!” (y/n) asked in a hushed tone, her eyes wide as she gripped her friend's hand tightly as they walked to breakfast Monday morning.

“Yeah, apparently it happened Saturday night, or well, early Sunday morning if you think about it that way-but Professor Dumbledore found him in the middle of the night-just-stone still, petrified.” (y/n)’s friend rambled and (y/n) frowned, squeezing her friend’s hand tighter.

Early Sunday morning…she’d had that weird dream and fell out of her bed Sunday morning.

“What time did the first year get petrified?” (y/n) asked and her friend shrugged.

“Dunno, I’m only telling you what I heard from the grapevine, all I know is Sunday morning, a first year got petrified.” (y/n) huffed nervously in response, swallowing harshly, that weird feeling of paranoia returning to her gut.

Just a coincidence, just a coincidence. It had to be; besides, she’d just fallen out of her bed this time, she hadn’t sleepwalked, she hadn’t even left her dorm room.

…right?

-

“I’m leaving.” (y/n) huffed as dumbass Lockhart came onto the long dueling stage that was set up lengthwise in the great hall, replacing the house tables. Her friend grabbed her arm as she attempted to escape, tugging her towards the edge of the stage-making them be front and center.

“Oh, come on (y/n)~ it’ll be fun!” her friend said cheerfully, she’d didn’t understand why (y/n)…disliked ‘Professor’ Lockhart, even thinking he was hot.

It was one of the few things (y/n) vehemently disagreed with her on.

“it’ll be cringe as fuck that’s what it’ll be.” (y/n) grumbled, crossing her arms as she pouted. She expected maybe Professor Flitwick to be the head of the dueling club, but noooo it had to be the obvious fake Lockhart.

Though-Professor Snape had agreed to…help Lockhart in a demonstration, and that, was going to be fun.

(y/n) couldn’t help the peal of laughter that came from her as Snape sent Lockhart across the dueling stage, her friend gasping as Lockhart landed with a thump. “Is he okay?” her friend asked and (y/n) just snickered with the rest of the Slytherin members of the club.

“Who cares? That was funny.” (y/n) chuckled, smirking as her friend gave her a glare. After that everyone got paired into groups, Lockhart nearly putting the little 1st and 2nd years with the 5th and 6th years attending, Snape correcting that mistake and putting (y/n) against a fellow 6th-year Slytherin, though (y/n) hardly knew his name.

“Remember, disarm only!” Lockhart said and (y/n) rolled her eyes, bowing her to dueling partner with her wand at her side and then holding it out in front of her, her other arm over her head for balance.

The dueling began moments later, and spells shot out of their wands every other moment. (y/n) began with the disarming charm, expelliarmus, but her opponent blocked it and returned with a Stupefy. (y/n) went to block but it felt like she wasn’t in control of herself anymore, she stepped to the side-avoiding the spell-and held out her wand in a grip that wasn’t her own.

“Relashio!” With a wave of her wand her dueling opponent was forced to drop their wand and then (y/n) twirled her wand again. “Depulso!” A blast of white magic flew towards her dueling opponent and they flew back, hitting the ground with a loud thud.

There was an intense satisfaction that ran deep in her bones for a split moment, and an odd feeling to finish her opponent off-but that quickly went away and (y/n) pocketed her wand, rushing over to her dueling partner. “Are you okay?” (y/n) asked, offering her hand and her dueling partner chuckled painfully, rubbing their lower back as she helped them stand.

“I’m okay-that was wicked casting though,” (y/n) only nodded in response, licking her teeth as the dueling groups were stopped, a green haze in the air from the dueling 2nd years. She began to leave the great hall as Potter and Malfoy began to duel, only stopping when she heard a strange hissing coming from the stage.

She turned, the hissing sounding too familiar, coming from Potter as he…hissed at a black snake? Her ears began to ring, her vision going a bit blurry as she stared at Potter, the boy hissing at the snake before Snape destroyed it.

What the fuck?

That was the same hissing she’d heard in her dream on Sunday.

-end of p3-

im very happy with this part and i hope you guys are too-taglist!!!

@dracosslxt4eva @dream-your-own-way @slaggylemon

@slytherinbackintomyroom @starryhiraeth @larallott

[gr1mstar]

⁰¹’ Love letters - Nanami

▸ synopsis: it's the three-year anniversary of your relationship. arriving home, you notice a gift, a bouquet of flowers and a letter on the table. your boyfriend seems to have prepared a surprise for you.

▸ contains: nanami kento x reader, fluff, sfw, love note, letter, established relationship, just enjoy a sweet nanami, 1.1k words

▸ notes [MUST READ]: this is a series, and yes i take requests on who should i do next. also, for everyone the flowers, gift and letter are different based on their character and personality (or how i see them). so… who should i do next? [can be from jujutsu kaisen or attack on titan] it’s going to be valentine’s day soon so :))

Kicking off your shoes at the entrance, the cool touch of the tiled floor grounds you. The scent of home surrounds you, a mixture of comfort and the promise of relaxation. The day has left you drained.

The living room lamps cast a warm glow, welcoming you. The familiar sight of your home unfolds — the worn-out couch, the comforting knick-knacks on the shelves and the sweet aroma of your boyfriend's cologne.

As you made your way to the kitchen, ready to see what you have in the fridge, you noticed something new on the kitchen counter. A vibrant bouquet of cyclamens stands tall in a crystal vase, their petals dancing in the gentle breeze from the open window.

Beside the flowers, you saw a neatly folded letter. Your name, written in an elegant handwriting, adorns the sealed envelope. Intrigued, you pick it up, fingers delicately tracing the edges as if unlocking a secret.

‘It has to be Kento," you told yourself, starting the process of opening the letter without ruining the envelope.

A letter. Handwritten, at that. After looking again at the flowers, you decided that it was time to read what your boyfriend left for you on your anniversary.

It was a shame you two didn’t have the day off, deep down wanting to fake a cold just to call your workplace to stay home. But Nanami assured you that the day was not going to be wasted, planning a fancy dinner and then a movie at his apartment.

‘It seems like he has tricks up his sleeve.’

Taking out the letter, you could see something else in the envelope. A mix of emotions floods you – surprise, joy, and a touch of disbelief. The destination reads "Malaysia," a dreamy place that now lies within your reach, a surprise awaiting on the kitchen counter.

In this moment, the weariness of the day evaporates, replaced by the excitement of the unexpected surprise.

“My boyfriend is the best, isn’t he?” you spoke to yourself, fingers on the plane tickets.

Malaysia was a destination both you and Nanami wanted to go on vacation at least once in your lifetime. But because of your schedule and his sorcerer job, you didn’t really have a lot of time to accomplish that wish of yours.

After a few moments of silence, you decided you were ready to read the letter you received, hoping that tears would not come out of your eyes.

His handwriting was beautiful and really neat. You could guess that he used a special pen to write the letter with. Your boyfriend used blue ink, every letter being almost symmetrical. You wished you wrote this beautifully.

‘Should I read this out loud? In my head?’ you asked mentally, your eyes looking at the letters on the paper. ‘Whatever, it doesn't matter.’

Dear my loved partner,

Every day I miss you is another day I fall harder in love with you.

I love you.

When I tell you that, I don’t say it out of habit. I say it to remind you that you are the best thing that has ever happened to me. No matter where you are, a part of me will always be with you.

If I could, I would carry all your burdens, all your pain, all your stress, all of your heartache. I’d be sick for you. I’d be sad for you. I’ll do all of this and more just so I’d know you were smiling, happy, free from all the weight you carry.

I’m so proud of you, baby.

I’m not usually good with words, you see. Today I tried something new. Being our third anniversary together, I thought I needed to make something worth remembering. I know it’s not much, but I wanted you to know how I feel about you.

I needed you to know how much I'm addicted to you.

From the moment I met you, my life has been transformed in the most incredible way. You bring me so much joy and love, I can not explain in words. And so, I promise from the bottom of my heart that I would show you how much you mean to be everyday, for the rest of our lives.

I know I’m not perfect. I make mistakes and my jobs are eating my time. The time I should spend in your arms. But baby, I promise you that every ounce in my body screams for you, and your love.

I wish you could see yourself the way I see you.

I love you. Today, tonight, tomorrow and forever. If I were to live a thousand years, I would belong to you for all of them. If I were to live a thousand lives, I would want to make you mine in each one.

I will kiss you every time you start to worry about your health and get lost in your own fears. I will always text you back whenever you text me, even if I’m only one room away from you. You will always have someone to lean on whenever you need it. I’ll always be there even when you don’t need me to be.

I want to see your kids growing happy and healthy. I know we don’t have kids now and we are not even married but I think I can’t resist much longer, because I love you so much that I want to spend every second of my life with you.

You’re the person I want to tell how my day went. You’re the person I want to share my happiness, sadness, frustration, and success with.

Because you’re the person who taught me how to love another person, how to cherish someone without fearing that they would leave me.

So, thank you.

I know you are worried about me and how maybe one day I will not come home. I thought about it for sometime now, and I think it’s time to quit, this time for real. A few years back, I didn’t have a place I could call home and so risking my life was not something I was concerned about. But now, after you became my home, I can’t do that anymore.

My love… I don’t think you understand how beautiful you make my world, just by existing in it.

I had never met a soul who could speak my language. Until there was you.

You, fluent in me.

Again, thank you, love.

I wish you a wonderful night and I confess that I can’t wait to see your pretty face at dinner.

With unconditional love,

your soon-to-be-husband, Nanami Kento ♡

*Cyclamen - Eternal cycle of life, which makes it the perfect flower that means forever. In Japan, cyclamen holds a special place as the holy flower of love.

© 2024 gr1mstar — all rights reserved. please do not copy, modify, repost, translate, or claim my content as yours.

[mrs-fatu]

Blossom in Summer

Chapter 1: Why me?

Paring: jey uso x Jasmine (fem!reader)

Warnings: Language, anger, confusion

WC: 2,824

Summary: Jasmine wakes up in an unfamiliar bedroom with no memory of last night. Who is this man? And why did he pick her?

As I slowly opened my eyes, the morning sun cast a warm glow across the lavish bedroom, bathing me in a soft, golden light. The silk curtains, adorned with intricate patterns, seemed to dance in the gentle breeze, and the sweet scent of dior Sauvage wafted through the air, filling my senses. But as I sat up, my head began to pound, and I was hit with a wave of confusion. Where was I? This wasn't my bedroom. The silk sheets tangled around my bare legs felt luxurious, but I couldn't shake the feeling that I was a stranger in this unfamiliar surrounding.

I forced my eyes open again, taking in the room around me with a sense of disorientation. The walls were a deep, rich blue, accentuated by traditional lavalavas hanging in beautifully crafted frames. To my left stood an antique black armoire, its intricate carvings telling a story of elegance and sophistication. The plush blue rug beneath the massive four-poster bed seemed to have been imported from a far-off land, and I felt like I was sleeping on a cloud.

As I sat up, holding my throbbing head in my hands, memories of the previous night began to trickle back. The fancy cocktail bar with my friends, doing shot after shot of tequila until the night blurred into a haze. Stumbling into a swanky hotel suite afterward, though I couldn't remember exactly how I'd gotten there. Who did this room belong to? And where had they gone? The questions swirled in my mind like a whirlpool, pulling me under.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood up on shaky feet, clutching the bedpost for support. My head felt like it was going to split open, and I needed to figure out what happened and get out of here. As I looked down at myself, I saw that I was still wearing the silky black dress from last night, now wrinkled and creased. It was then that I noticed something heavy on my left wrist - a tennis bracelet so bright it almost blinded me. What was it doing there?

Just as I was trying to make sense of the strange circumstances, the door on the side of the room swung open, and a tall figure emerged. He stood at 6'2", his chiseled physique on full display as he walked towards me. His ebony shorts clung to his toned thighs and waist, accentuating his inked legs and tribal tattoos that glistened against his damp skin.

His hair was styled in a seductive mullet, and his lips sported a perfect shade of color, revealing his dazzling grillz as he parted them. It was like he had stepped out of a steamy romance novel, and I felt like I was staring at a character come to life.

"Morning," he spoke, his deep voice low and husky.

I stood there in shock, unable to form words. He walked around me, opening a drawer from his dresser to pull out his clothes. My eyes followed him, mesmerized by the way his muscles flexed as he moved.

"I'm sorry, who...?" I stuttered before I could finish.

But before I could even get the words out, my stomach began to churn and I felt like I was going to vomit. I stumbled backward, but it was too late. The morning sickness washed over me, and I threw up right on the floor.

He darted towards me, concern etched on his face. "Shit, you good?" he asked as he brushed away a dangling curl from my face.

"I'm sorry...I'm..." I spoke, feeling tears pricking at the corners of my eyes.

But before I could finish speaking, he ushered me towards his bed and sat me down on the edge. "Sit down," he said softly.

As he left the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts and emotions, I felt like my world was spinning out of control.

I just wanted to go home, to crawl back into my own bed and forget the reckless night I had just endured. But instead, I found myself in a luxurious bedroom, surrounded by the opulent trappings of a life that was not my own. A diamond tennis bracelet glinted on my wrist, a constant reminder of my foolishness. How could I have been so irresponsible, drinking so much that I ended up in this strange and unfamiliar place?

As I sat on the bed, trying to gather my thoughts, my phone began to ring. I picked it up from the nightstand, hoping for some semblance of normalcy in this chaotic situation. "Hello?" I spoke, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Girl, where the hell are you?" asked my best friend Natasha, her voice laced with concern.

"I...I don't even know," I replied, trying to gather my thoughts. "I'm with a man, and...and I threw up on his carpet, so..."

Natasha's laughter came through the phone, followed by a gasp. "Wait, is he sexy?" she asked, her tone playful.

"Um, well...he looks like he's from some kind of Pacific Island or something," I replied. "He has all these tribal tattoos and lavalavas on his wall."

Natasha's squeal of excitement was music to my ears. "Don't stop there, bitch! Tell me more! How does he look?"

I took a deep breath before launching into a detailed description of the mans handsome features. "Well, he has a short-cut mullet, and he's kinda muscular. His thighs are thick...and he has bottom grillz...and his voice is low and smooth."

Natasha's reaction was immediate. "Oh my god, Jas! You're in trouble!"

I glanced up to see him standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable. "Shit, I gotta go," I said hastily. "he's back."

"Okay, girl, let me know if you need me to pick you up," Natasha said, her voice dripping with concern. "I love you, be safe Jaz."

The line went dead as Natasha hung up, leaving me alone with him once more. I felt a sense of trepidation wash over me as he walked towards me, his eyes fixed on mine with an intensity that made my heart skip a beat.

-

As I stood up from the bed, I felt a sense of unease wash over me. He had just finished cleaning up the spot where I had vomited, and now his eyes were locked onto mine with an intensity that made my heart skip a beat. I felt a flush rise to my cheeks as I met his gaze, my mind still foggy from the previous night's excesses.

"I'm really sorry...I need to leave," I said, trying to sound apologetic as I began to step into my shoes.

His eyes darted as he stood up, his expression unreadable. "You just gonna forget about last night?" he asked, his tone laced with accusation.

I hesitated, searching for the right words to say. The truth was, I didn't remember what happened last night. It was all a blur of music, laughter, and tequila shots. But I knew that I couldn't keep it up forever, not when I had no idea what had happened or who this man was.

"I don't..." I paused, feeling a sense of embarrassment wash over me.

The man let out a huff, his expression turning annoyed. "Damn, you don't even remember," he said, his voice dripping with disappointment.

"I am very sorry," I said, trying to apologize once again. "And...the bracelet. You can have it back, I'm sorry."

I started to unhook the bracelet, feeling a sense of relief wash over me as I handed it back to him. But instead of taking it from me, he spoke up again.

"Just keep the bracelet, Jaz. I don't want it back. If you want to leave then go, the door is over there," he said, his tone hostile.

I was taken aback by his words. "I'm sure you spent hella on it," I said, trying to reason with him. "I don't want to..."

But he cut me off again. "Bruh, keep it, Jaz. I gave it to you for a reason."

His words were laced with aggression, and I felt a shiver run down my spine as I realized that he was genuinely upset with me. But why? What had happened last night?

As I stood there, feeling a sense of unease wash over me once again, he spoke up again.

"And I bet you don't even remember my name huh?" he asked, his tone dripping with disdain.

I lightly shook my head, feeling a sense of shame wash over me. How could I have forgotten someone's name?

He sucked his teeth in disgust before speaking up again. "It's Joshua, Jey Uso," he said agitatedly. The name sounded slightly familiar but not quite.

With that, I grabbed my purse and made my way towards the door. As I left the room, I couldn't help but feel a sense of relief wash over me. I had no idea what had happened last night or who Jey was or why he was so upset with me. All I knew was that I needed to get out of there before things got any worse.

-

I stood on the sidewalk of the penthouse, my head still throbbing with a dull ache. The morning sunlight was harsh, and I winced as I squinted up at the towering skyscrapers. I pulled out my phone and dialed the familiar number, hoping that my friend Tiffany would be able to come and rescue me from this situation.

As I waited for her to answer, I took a deep breath and tried to clear the fog from my mind. What had happened last night? Who was Jey Uso, and why did he seem so angry with me? And why, for that matter, had he let me keep the diamond tennis bracelet? It didn't make any sense.

The phone rang again, and Tiffany's cheerful voice answered. "Hey, what's up?"

I took a deep breath before speaking. "Hey, can you come get me? I'll send you the address."

Tiffany's voice turned serious. "Yeah, I'll see you soon. Be careful."

The line went dead, and I was left standing alone on the sidewalk, feeling like I was in a fog. Who was Jey Uso, and why had I ended up in his penthouse apartment? What had happened last night, and why did I have such a pounding headache?

-

As I stood there, trying to make sense of it all, my thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a car approaching approaching. It was Tiffany, looking stylish and put-together as always in her benz.

"Hey, girl, get in" she said, concern etched on her face. i stepped into her car and took a deep breath, "What happened?"

I shook my head, feeling a sense of relief wash over me as I handed her the keys. "I don't know," I said. "I don't remember anything from last night."

Tiffany's eyes widened in surprise. "What do you mean?"

I shrugged. "I don't know who Jey Uso is or what happened. But I need some coffee and some crackers. Like, right now."

i rubbed my temples in an attempt to alleviate the throbbing headache, my friend Tiffany's eyes lit up like a bright light bulb. "JEY USO?" she yelled in question, her voice piercing the morning air.

I winced, feeling a wave of pain wash over me. "Goddamn girl, my head," I groaned, trying to hold onto my sanity.

Tiffany's eyes sparkled with excitement. "I'm sorry, but you said his name is Jey Uso, right?" she asked, her voice filled with curiosity.

I nodded my head, feeling a sense of resignation wash over me. "Yeah, why? Then he let me keep this bracelet," I said, holding up my wrist to show her the diamond tennis bracelet.

Tiffany's reaction was immediate. She squealed like a little child, her eyes wide with excitement. "YOU STAYED WITH JEY USO AND HE GAVE YOU A TENNIS BRACELET?" she repeated, her voice rising to a near-shriek.

I palmed my face, feeling a sense of embarrassment wash over me. "My head. Please stop screaming," I begged.

Tiffany's laughter died down, and she looked at me with a mixture of amusement and concern. "Oh, girl, I'm sorry. Jey Uso is the WWE wrestler, and he's fine as hell!" she exclaimed.

I gave her a skeptical look, feeling a sense of unease. "What? Come on, you can't tell me he's not sexy. He's main event Jey Uso. And God, the way he flicks his tongue... We have to go to the supershow tonight, you gotta see him in the ring," she said.

I raised an eyebrow, feeling a sense of trepidation. "I mean, he's okay, but he was kinda rude. If going to the show will make you happy then sure. But I really need some fucking coffee," I said.

Tiffany rolled her eyes. "Fine, we'll get you coffee and then get ready for the show," she said before driving off into the morning traffic.

I couldn't help but feel a sense of confusion. Who was Jey Uso, and why did he seem so angry with me? And what had happened last night? The questions swirled in my mind like a whirlpool, refusing to be silenced.

But for now, all I could think about was getting home and getting some coffee into my system. Maybe then things would start to make sense again.

—

I knew that having a hangover wasn't the best, but coffee always seemed to come in handy.

I reached for my trusty brush and gel, and began to work my hair into a sleek, curly ponytail. The hard bristles of the brush glided effortlessly through my locks, leaving them smooth and tamed. I then moved on to my eyebrows, using a precision brow pencil to reshape them into a thin, arching shape that I preferred. The gentle strokes of the pencil seemed to calm my frazzled nerves, and I felt a sense of clarity wash over me.

With my brows in order, I turned my attention to my makeup. I carefully applied a light foundation to even out my complexion, followed by a subtle blush to give my cheeks a healthy glow. A swipe of mascara added depth and drama to my lashes, and a swipe of lip balm left my lips feeling soft and hydrated.

As I finished up my makeup routine, I stood up and surveyed my reflection. I was pleased with the results - my hair looked luscious and bouncy, and my makeup was understated yet effective. I then gathered my clothes, selecting a nice outfit that would see me through the day.

As I dressed, I couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the simple pleasures in life - a hot shower, a good cup of coffee, and a fresh start. The night moonlight streaming through the window seemed to hold promise, and I felt a sense of renewed energy coursing through my veins.

I took one last look at myself in the mirror, smoothing out any wrinkles or creases in my outfit. Satisfied with the result, I headed out into the night, ready to face whatever happens.

-

As I emerged from the hotel, I was greeted by the warm night and the sound of Tiffany's horn blaring in the distance. I rushed towards the car, my mind still foggy from the lingering effects of the night before. As I slipped into the passenger seat, Tiffany flashed me a bright smile. "You look good, girl!" she exclaimed.

I smiled back, feeling a sense of gratitude for her kind words. "Thanks, you look good too," I replied, taking in her stylish outfit.

As we hit the road, Tiffany began to drive, her eyes fixed on the windshield. "Okay, so remember, we're going to see Jey tonight. I got us front row tickets, so at least cheer when he comes out, because I definitely will," she said, her voice filled with excitement.

I raised an eyebrow, feeling a sense of confusion wash over me. What was up with this man? Why did women like Tiffany drool over him so much? I mean, I got it - he was hot as hell - but I didn't understand all the hype. The traffic lights seemed to be flashing in sync with the diamond bracelet on my wrist, and all I could think about was why me? What had happened? Would it all come back to me?

As we navigated through the crowded streets of Las Vegas, my mind began to wander back to the night before. The anger in Jey's eyes as I told him I didn't remember anything was still etched in my memory. It was enough to keep me away from him, to make me realize that I didn't need another angry man in my life. Not again.

After dealing with Aaron, I had promised myself that I wouldn't dare let another angry man into my life again. And now, as I sat in the car with Tiffany, I knew that I had to keep my distance from Jey Uso. Maybe after the show, I could find him and give him the bracelet back - never look back. It would be for my own good.

As we pulled up to the venue, I took a deep breath and let my thoughts settle. I had five days left in Vegas, and I was determined to make the most of it. No more worrying about waking up in a random man's bed. No more drama or stress. Just me, myself, and a fresh start.

[nayziiz]

Speed | CS55

Summary: In a chance encounter at a gas station, a mysterious woman on a Yamaha YZF R6 catches the attention of Carlos, a charming Ferrari driver. Little did they know the journey they would both go on.

Warning: Smut, fluff

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x OC (Lola)

Masterlist

Chapter 3

As Carlos expertly parked the Ferrari right in front of the restaurant, Lola couldn't help but notice the large reserved sign that stood prominently in their designated spot. It was a subtle yet unmistakable indication of the evening's extravagance, a gesture that left her momentarily awestruck.

As Carlos stepped out of the car and came around to her side, offering his hand with a warm smile, Lola felt a rush of gratitude wash over her. Taking his hand, she allowed herself to be guided to the front door, the soft glow of the restaurant's exterior casting an enchanting aura over the scene.

With each step they took, Lola couldn't shake the feeling of anticipation building within her. This was no ordinary dinner—it was a night of luxury and indulgence, a world apart from her usual haunts. And as they reached the entrance, she finally understood what Carlos had meant when he said it was a fancy restaurant.

Stepping inside, Lola found herself enveloped in an atmosphere of opulence and grandeur, the elegant décor and soft lighting creating a sense of intimacy and sophistication that took her breath away. She had never been here before, nor had she ever been anywhere remotely as fancy. In that moment, she realised just how out of her element she was.

But as she glanced up at Carlos, his hand still clasped firmly in hers, she felt a sense of reassurance wash over her. Despite the lavish surroundings, he made her feel grounded and at ease, his presence a comforting anchor in the sea of luxury that surrounded them. Lola was a simple girl in many respects. His Ferrari may have caught her eye, but lavish things were never her end-all or be-all.

As Carlos pulled out her chair with practised elegance, Lola couldn't help but feel a flutter of appreciation at his gentlemanly gesture. Taking her seat, she offered him a grateful smile as he pushed her chair in, his warm gaze lingering on her as she settled into her seat.

As she removed her jacket, revealing the sleeveless top she wore underneath, Lola caught a flicker of surprise in Carlos's eyes. She couldn't help but notice the way his gaze lingered on her pale skin, a hint of curiosity dancing in the depths of his eyes.

For a moment, Lola felt self-conscious under his scrutiny. She was used to the curious glances and whispered assumptions that often accompanied her appearance. But as she met Carlos's gaze head-on, she felt a sense of defiance rise within her. She was who she was, and she refused to apologise for it. To her surprise, Carlos's next words caught her off guard.

“I was almost expecting tattoos.” He admitted, his tone tinged with curiosity and genuine interest.

Lola's lips curved into a wry smile at his observation. It wasn't the first time she had been mistaken for someone with inked arms, but she couldn't fault Carlos for his assumption. After all, appearances could be deceiving.

But as she glanced down at her unblemished skin, she felt a sense of pride swell within her. Her arms were a canvas waiting to be painted with the colours of her choosing—a blank slate upon which she could write her own story.

“I guess I'm full of surprises.” She replied with a playful glint in her eyes, her words carrying a hint of mischief as she met Carlos's gaze. “You sure know how to treat a girl.”

Carlos's smile faltered for a moment at Lola's comment, a pang of guilt tugging at his conscience. If only she knew the truth—that his busy schedule often left him with little time for anything beyond work, let alone finding someone to share a meal with.

As he watched her peruse the menu, a wave of admiration washed over him. Despite her initial hesitancy, Lola had agreed to go on this date with him, and he couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude for her willingness to give him a chance.

But beneath her flirtatious exterior, Carlos sensed Lola's underlying hesitation, her guarded demeanour a stark reminder of the walls she had built around her heart. And as he met her gaze, he knew that he had to tread carefully if he wanted to earn her trust.

“I'm glad you think so.” Carlos replied with a soft smile, his voice laced with sincerity.

After a few quiet moments, Carlos attempted to divert the conversation to a different topic.

“I wasn’t sure if you had any dietary preferences, so I thought this place might work well.” Carlos explained. Lola's smile widened at Carlos's explanation, touched by his thoughtfulness.

“That's... very considerate.” She replied, her voice soft with appreciation as she watched him study the menu.

As she observed him, Lola couldn't help but sense the undercurrent of nervousness that seemed to linger beneath his confident facade. It was a stark contrast to the boyish charm he had exuded the day before, and she found herself feeling strangely drawn to this new side of him—the vulnerable, uncertain Carlos who stood before her now.

Taking a moment to collect his thoughts, Carlos closed the menu and set it aside, his movements deliberate as he met Lola's gaze.

Lola pondered the menu for a moment, her gaze flickering over the tantalising array of options before her. With so many delicious choices, she found herself feeling indecisive, unsure of what to order.

“What're you having?” She wondered, turning to Carlos for guidance.

Carlos considered the menu thoughtfully, his eyes scanning the descriptions of each dish with keen interest.

“I was thinking the Fillet Moutarde.” He replied, his voice laced with anticipation as he met Lola's gaze.

“I think I’ll have…the pork belly.” She eventually told him and placed the menu on his. Carlos nodded in understanding as Lola made her decision, a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“The pork belly sounds delicious too.” He remarked, his tone warm and encouraging as he reached for her menu.

As he glanced over the menu once more, Carlos couldn't help but notice Lola's hesitation. He sensed her uncertainty, her desire to make a good impression despite feeling out of her element. And although he admired her willingness to try new things, he couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt at the realisation of just how stark the differences between them truly were.

“Good evening, sir. Good evening, madam. Can I offer you our wine list?” The waiter asked as he glanced between the pair.

“Good evening.” Carlos greeted the waiter with a polite nod, his gaze briefly meeting Lola's before returning to the waiter. “Thank you, but we won't be needing the wine list tonight. Perhaps just two glasses of Coke, please?”

Lola's heart skipped a beat as Carlos declined the wine list, a surge of gratitude washing over her. She appreciated his consideration. The waiter nodded understandingly and retreated with a polite smile, leaving Carlos and Lola alone once more.

Lola's chuckle bubbled up uncontrollably as Carlos made his suggestion, her amusement dancing in the air between them like a playful melody. The waiter nodded in acknowledgment before hurrying off to fulfil their request for sodas.

“Coke?” Lola asked, her chuckle finally escaping her lips in a soft, melodic sound. Carlos flashed her a sheepish grin.

“Well, I don't drink and drive.” He assured her with a playful twinkle in his eyes. Lola's laughter subsided, replaced by a thoughtful expression as she considered his question. 

“Mmh, I see. I don't really drink, at all, actually.” She confessed, her tone laced with honesty. Carlos arched an eyebrow in curiosity, his interest piqued by her revelation.

“Is that more of a health reason?” He wondered, his voice gentle and probing. Lola hesitated for a moment, considering her response carefully.

“Partly.” She admitted with a shrug. “I crashed my bike on my way home from a party back when I was at university. Ended up breaking my ankle, so I just never had a drink after that again. It usually takes just one small mistake and the next thing you know, everything is upside down.”

Carlos listened intently as Lola shared her story, his eyes reflecting a mixture of empathy and admiration for her resilience. His gaze softened as he absorbed her words, a newfound understanding dawning within him. Lola's experience had left a lasting impression on her, shaping her choices and guiding her decisions in ways he could only begin to comprehend.

“And yet you still get on the bike.” Carlos countered, his tone filled with admiration for her courage. Lola nodded, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. 

“There's something uniquely satisfying about controlling a powerful machine, especially when every ride is different and unpredictable.” She added, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

As Carlos listened to her, he couldn't help but feel a sense of kinship with Lola. He too had experienced the thrill of controlling a powerful machine, the rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins as he pushed himself to the limit on the racetrack.

But despite his success in the world of Formula 1, there was still a part of him that yearned for something more—for the exhilaration of the unknown, the thrill of the chase. And as he looked into Lola's eyes, he couldn't help but feel a sense of longing stir within him. For in her, he saw a kindred spirit—a fellow seeker of adventure, a lover of the open road.

As the waiter interrupted their conversation to take their orders and serve them their Cokes, Carlos couldn't help but feel a sense of disappointment at the interruption. He was eager to learn more about Lola—to unravel the layers of complexity that lay beneath her outward appearance.

“So, what is it that you do when you're not out riding?” Carlos wondered, his curiosity piqued as he met Lola's gaze. Lola smiled warmly at his question, her eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief.

“I work in software development, so I help create apps and programs.” She answered, her voice tinged with pride. Carlos's eyebrows shot up in surprise, impressed by Lola's profession.

“Wow, not just pretty, but smart too.” He mumbled, completely enthralled by the woman sitting across from him.

Lola chuckled at his remark, a blush creeping into her cheeks at the unexpected compliment. She had always prided herself on her intelligence and hard work, but to hear it acknowledged by someone like Carlos was truly flattering.

Carlos had been out of the dating scene for what felt like an eternity. Sure, there had been a few attempts here and there—dates set up by his fellow drivers, Lando and Charles—but none of the girls had ever captured his interest quite like Lola did. From the moment he first laid eyes on her, he knew there was something special about her—something that set her apart from the rest.

As he sat across from her now, Carlos couldn't help but feel a sense of nervousness wash over him—a feeling he hadn't experienced in a long time. It was a different kind of adrenaline, one that left him feeling more on edge than he ever did preparing for a race. But despite the nerves, there was also a sense of excitement—a thrill that coursed through his veins with every word she spoke.

He found himself mesmerised by the movement of her lips as she talked, the pale pink colour matching her complexion perfectly. It was a small detail, but one that left a lasting impression on him—a reminder of just how captivated he was by her presence.

As he listened to her speak, Carlos couldn't help but marvel at the way she lit up the room with her laughter and enthusiasm. There was a warmth and sincerity to her words that drew him in, leaving him hanging on her every word.

As Lola spoke, she couldn't help but notice the intensity of Carlos's gaze, his eyes seemingly fixated on her lips as they moved with each word she uttered. It was a subtle yet unmistakable gesture—one that left her feeling both flustered and intrigued.

For Lola, this wasn't just any ordinary date. It had been a while since she had ventured into the world of dating, and she found herself feeling equally unsure about how to navigate the conversation and experience. But despite her nerves, there was also a sense of excitement bubbling within her—a feeling she couldn't quite shake.

As she spoke, Lola couldn't help but feel a surge of self-consciousness wash over her, wondering if Carlos could sense her uncertainty. But as she met his gaze, she found herself drawn to the warmth and sincerity reflected in his eyes—a silent reassurance that she wasn't alone in this.

With each passing moment, Lola felt herself growing more comfortable in Carlos's presence, her laughter and enthusiasm flowing more freely as they shared stories and exchanged banter.

“Tell me what you do for work.” Lola insisted as she took a bite of her pork belly.

Lola's curiosity was piqued as she took a bite of her pork belly, her gaze fixed on Carlos as she awaited his response. She had sensed a hint of mystery surrounding his occupation, and she was eager to unravel the enigma that lay beneath.

“Well... It's, uhm, a bit difficult to describe without sounding crazy.” Carlos began, his voice tinged with a sense of hesitation. Lola's interest only grew as she leaned in slightly, her attention fully captured by his words.

“I drive for a living. Essentially, it's just one car, really, but it gets upgraded all the time and I kind of have to see what works and what doesn't.” He continued, his words coming out in a rush as he struggled to articulate the complexities of his profession. Lola furrowed her brow in confusion, trying to make sense of his vague description.

“Like a mechanic, then?” She countered, her curiosity getting the better of her. Carlos nodded slowly, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“I suppose in a way, yeah.” He admitted. “I work with the mechanics to make the car perform better.”

“That's so interesting.” Lola nodded, her eyes alight with curiosity as she absorbed Carlos's explanation. “And, you said you drive a Ferrari because you work for Ferrari?”

Carlos nodded in affirmation, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“Yeah. But, I've worked for McLaren and Renault previously as well.” He added, his tone tinged with a hint of pride. Lola's interest only grew as she listened to Carlos's words, her mind buzzing with questions. 

“How did you get into the whole car industry?” She continued, her curiosity getting the better of her.

“My father was a professional rally driver... I guess he still is.” Carlos chuckled, a fond smile gracing his lips as he reminisced about his childhood. “And I was just always around that space, so it just felt like a natural career path.”

Lola nodded in understanding, her gaze softening as she listened to Carlos's words. She could sense the deep connection he had to the world of racing, the influence of his father shaping his passion and driving him to pursue his dreams.

As they continued to savour their meals, Lola found herself lost in thought, reflecting on Carlos's words. Although she had been hesitant at first, her meal was delicious, each bite a symphony of flavours that danced across her palate.

Glancing over at Carlos's plate, she couldn't help but feel a pang of envy at the sight of his meal. It looked ten times more appealing than hers, each dish expertly crafted and artfully presented.

“Would you reconsider taking me for that ride?” Carlos wondered, breaking the silence after a few moments, his voice filled with a hint of anticipation.

“On the bike?” Lola asked, her eyes widening in surprise as she almost choked slightly on her food at his unexpected request.

“Yeah, on your Yamaha XYZ.” Carlos chuckled again, a playful glint in his eyes as he purposely named it incorrectly. Lola couldn't help but playfully roll her eyes at him before breaking into a smile.

“Have you ever been a passenger on a bike before?” She asked, her curiosity piqued as she met his gaze. Carlos shook his head, a sheepish grin spreading across his face.

“When I was a kid.” He informed her, his tone laced with amusement. Lola laughed at his response, the sound melodic and infectious.

“Alright, we'll just go through some basics before we ride anywhere.” She replied, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

-----------------------

Taglist: @itsjustkhaos @notyouraveragemochii @heyheyheyggg

[whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk]

How the Light Attaches to a Change of Heart (ao3)

It’s been three years since Rhys demanded Nesta move to the House of Wind or be exiled to the human lands. That day, she walked away and never looked back, choosing a new life for herself on the continent. But something’s not right, and when she returns to Velaris for Elain’s birthday, she figures out what she was missing all along. (For @nessianweek day 5! Title taken from the Marianas Trench song The Death of Me)

There were times when Nesta Archeron thought she had it all.

When she returned each night to the apartment she had by the river, for example, feet sinking into plush carpets as the sun set beyond wide glass windows offering a vista of a city she’d never once thought to see when she was human. When she was paid handsomely each month, two hundred gold coins heavy in her palm, or when she rifled through the papers on her desk and found the deeds to her apartment, her own name penned in ink at the bottom. Times when she found herself in a fancy wine bar, sipping expensive vintage at a marble counter— so vastly different from the dive bars with the sticky floors and low light she’d once drank herself to oblivion in.

A distant memory, now.

So much had changed since then— since she’d last stumbled down a darkened alleyway in Velaris. 

She’d gained so much since then.

Hadn’t she?

Ever since that day at the River House, when Feyre had sat shedding silent tears as Rhysand delivered his ultimatum, when he told her to move the House of Wind or be exiled to the human lands. 

He hadn’t given her a third option.

So Nesta had found one. Had made one for herself when she boarded the next ship for the Continent carrying nothing but a half-empty suitcase and a letter of introduction provided by - of all people - Lucien Vanserra. Within days she’d found herself accepting a job as advisor to the continental monarchs— an ambassador between the continent and the Night Court, Lucien’s counterpart across the sea. 

And her life was… elegant, now.

The kind of life she’d imagined herself living, once. Back when she dreamed of foreign skies and unfamiliar coastlines, a land beneath her feet that hadn’t damned her or ruined her or broken her— where there was salt in the air and the scent of wildflowers on the wind. Vallahan had given her all of that and more, a thousand opportunities and a hundred different paths, and it was enough, she told herself each morning as the sun filtered through the clouds and gilded the mist that hung on the river.

It was enough. 

Wasn’t it?

It wasn’t home, not quite, but it was enough. 

She certainly had more now than she’d ever had in the Night Court, where her grief had kept her in a chokehold so tight she could barely breathe. It was easier now, the weight no longer so crushing, and she’d even gotten herself a cat— long-haired and white, named Tristan after a white knight in some legend she’d grown up with.

It was enough.

And it didn’t matter that it felt hollow, that her victory felt short-lived. It didn’t matter that there was a burn in her chest, a creeping kind of loneliness that dimmed the brightest edges of her fledgling happiness. Something was missing, something lacking, but it didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter.

She had enough.

She hadn’t been back to Velaris since. 

Three years had passed, and her only contact with her sisters had been letters. She wrote monthly to Feyre— ambassadorial business only at first, but the distance made things easier between them, let old wounds heal, and before long Feyre was asking how Nesta fared on the Continent, and Nesta was answering in earnest. Their letters contained post-scripts now, a few brief lines each month that had no bearing on politics or business at all, just two sisters trying to mend a couple of broken bridges, attempting to salvage whatever relationship they had left. 

Nesta never asked about him— the one she’d left that day at the docks, his eyes burning with tears he didn’t shed and a face lined with a grief so complete it told her everything he’d never quite managed to say out loud—

No.

She shook the memory away, pushing it down, down— all the way back to the furthest reaches of that void inside her, where there was no hope of it clawing its way back up again. And with a deep, trembling breath Nesta looked instead at the letter sitting idle on her glass coffee table— the one that she had opened, read, and promptly cast aside. It had lain there for a week now as she tried to figure out what to do with it, the deep purple seal haunting her every time it caught her eye. 

On the wide sofa opposite, Tristan’s fluffy tail flicked as he too looked at that little square of ivory parchment, green eyes narrowed and head tilted as if he could sense, somehow, that that letter was about to take Nesta away. 

Because it was Elain’s birthday soon.

Her twenty-fifth birthday. A significant milestone, even if she was no longer human, and even though for the past few years Nesta had only ever sent Elain a birthday card and a gift, this was different. Feyre had planned a party, and the letter on the table was an invitation— a tentative one, in which Feyre asked cautiously if Nesta thought she might find it in her to attend.

Nesta’s first instinct had been to answer with a resounding, definitive no.

But then she’d looked around at her empty apartment, at Tristan curled up on her velvet sofa, and felt that old pang in her chest, the one that said something was still missing, even if her heart was far more mended now than it had been when she’d left.

There was something hollow inside, right where her heart should be, and if Nesta thought about it for long enough she knew that the reason she was so empty boiled down to messy dark hair and hazel eyes and an argument on the dock before a departing ship, but—

It didn’t matter.

It didn’t matter.

It didn’t matter.

Tristan made a small noise of discontent as Nesta sunk into the cushions beside him, and as she stroked her fingers across his ears, down his neck and over his spine, she figured that she could go back— accept Feyre’s invitation and spend a weekend in Velaris. Just a weekend, just for Elain. She could put on a smile, smooth and serene, and wish Elain a happy birthday in person for the first time in three years. 

And at the end of it all… well, would it really matter if the smile she hid behind didn’t quite reach her eyes?

Would they even notice?

***

The ship had been a bad idea.

Feyre had offered to winnow her to Velaris, but Nesta - stubborn Nesta - had refused, preferring to make her own way to the city, and oh, she regretted it now.

The docks had been an assault.

Each step she took over the creaking wooden boards had reminded her of the way they had shook as he had rushed after her, quaking beneath his leather boots as he reached for her hand. The call of the birds overhead reminded her of how they had cried that day, circling above as she spiralled below, and—

Her heart tightened, something in her chest breaking, cracking, all over again. Just like it had three years ago. 

Like she hadn’t been away at all.

The city beyond the port hadn’t changed either, she realised as she made her way to her sister’s sprawling estate by the river. It was all the same— the same shops still lined the riverfront, the same lemon verbena scent hung in the air, and working her way through the winding streets from the edge of the city to its heart, she found herself retracing old steps, passing the corner where her apartment used to be and walking the same path she’d taken that cold Solstice night, when the snow had fallen in drifts and he had walked her home.

Her breath hitched. 

No, Velaris hadn’t changed— but she had, and idly she wondered if she would find herself still absent from Feyre’s walls when she stepped over her sister’s threshold. If she would walk through that hallway for the first time in three years and find herself still erased, no space left for a portrait of her to fill.

She turned the corner, the River House sitting straight ahead, and wryly she shook her head. What would it matter if she did, she wondered? If the paintings that lined Feyre’s staircase hadn’t expanded to include her? Nesta had been the one to walk away, after all. She’d left, moved on, and refused to come back even though for the first year Feyre had sent invitations to come back for Solstice and Starfall both.

Nesta had ignored them all.

And by the time she’d made her way up that stretching driveway and reached that painted door with the shining bronze knocker, she’d begun to wonder whether she ought to have ignored this one too— if it had been a good idea after all, accepting this invitation. The walk between the docks and the house had done nothing but tie her stomach in knots, familiar grief rising up to meet her like an old, unwelcome friend, and all she could think of was how broken she had been the last time she had stepped foot in this city, how desolate and desperate. Standing on that wide marble step at the foot of her sister’s front door, suddenly Nesta paused. Hesitated. 

There was laughter drifting from an open window, the gentle buzz of conversation, and all she could think was… 

Did she knock?

The rest of Rhysand’s Inner Circle tended to let themselves in, as though this were their home as much as Rhys and Feyre’s, but it was different with Nesta. It had always been different with Nesta, like she had always been some kind of stranger to them, never so much at ease as the rest. 

But she was here for Elain.

Nesta allowed that thought to steel her, even though her throat closed as her fingers stretched towards that knocker. Finally she made herself lift it, letting it fall back against the brass plate with a loud, dull thud.

The laughter beyond that painted door quieted.

Not only had Feyre organised Elain’s party, she’d also organised a dinner the night before— a small, intimate gathering before the bigger party tomorrow. Nesta knew with certainty that she’d find all of Rhysand’s closest inside, all of those who had judged her harshest, and as she waited on that elaborate front step, she could only imagine why the room beyond the door had turned still. 

It was like Solstice Eve all over again, when they hadn’t wanted her there, not really, and she’d stepped into a room so thick with tension it had been almost unbearable. And what if Feyre hadn’t really expected her to accept this invitation? What if she’d only asked as a courtesy, and now that she was here and couldn’t turn back, what if Nesta walked into that room and was met with falling smiles and downturned eyes, just as she had last time? What if this was the wrong decision, and she wasn’t ready to be back in Velaris at all? What if the home she’d been searching for all these years was just a myth, a dream she’d never be able to hold in her own hands?

She had just about convinced herself to turn back around when the lock clicked open.

The door was pulled open, and suddenly Feyre was standing there, colour in her cheeks and a glint in her eyes, her parted lips splitting to reveal a wide, bright smile that was a world away from the welcome Nesta had received that fateful Solstice night. 

She had expected an awkward and stilted hello, but instead…

Instead Feyre lurched forwards, gripping her by the shoulders and pulling her into a fierce hug as she said, almost breathless, “I’m so glad you came.”

There was some kind of silent apology contained within that hug, some semblance of regret and understanding, and it took Nesta a moment - one where she did nothing but blink in surprise - but eventually she gathered herself enough to cross an arm across Feyre’s back, returning the embrace she hadn’t expected. 

“I…” Feyre pulled back, her smile turning soft as she glanced over her shoulder to the hallway behind her and the sitting room beyond. “I didn’t tell anybody you were coming just in case you changed your mind, but…” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she repeated.

Nesta offered her a weak smile, and didn’t look up to the stairs, to the portraits lining the walls. She didn’t want to know yet— didn’t want to see if her sister had missed her at all.

Instead she followed silently as Feyre ushered her inside, letting her sister take her suitcase and place it at the foot of the stairs. It wasn’t lost on Nesta that everything seemed to still the moment that Feyre led her through the sitting room door— that the conversation died, a hush settling over the room that was broken only by a glass being placed down on a table a little too hard.

She almost winced, and for an agonising moment time seemed to slow, but then Elain was rushing her, a high-pitched gasp slipping from her painted-pink lips as she hurtled forwards in a whisper of silk and rose-scented perfume. She grabbed hold of both of Nesta’s hands and pulled away just enough to take her sister in, holding her at arms length to study her from head to toe. When she spoke, her words were hurried, her tongue tripping over itself as her eyes danced. 

“Nesta— I didn’t know you were coming, nobody said anything and— oh, I can’t believe you’re here! You look well— are you well? Truly? You said you were in your letters, and Lucien said you seemed it, but still—”

“Let her breathe, Elain.”

Her sister stopped to take a breath as Lucien placed a hand on her shoulder, a gentle smile curving his lips as Elain lifted a hand to cover her mouth, fingers curling against her lips. Nesta smiled— at the casual intimacy, the affection, the way Lucien’s russet eye sparked as his hand lingered over the fabric of Elain’s dress. 

In his other hand, he held a cut-crystal wine glass, refracting the light and making it dance across his bronzed skin. With a single raised brow, he held it out and pressed it into Nesta’s waiting fingers. 

“It’s not as good as that bar downtown,” he whispered conspiratorially. “But we’ll take what we can get.”

He winked, his golden eye shining in the late afternoon sun, the honeyed light that spilled in through the wide windows. Nesta gave him a small smile. Sometimes she ran into him in a small wine bar in downtown Vallahan, when he was in her city on business. Sometimes, they shared a drink together.

Sometimes they shared several.

He pressed a kiss to Elain’s hair now, bringing a flush to her sister’s cheeks as she swatted at the hand he still had resting on her shoulder. Nesta’s heart twisted. At least Elain was happy, she mused as she sipped her wine, tasting the richness on her tongue, the smoothness of the vintage, and willing it to serve as some kind of distraction. And would anybody have guessed, she thought dryly, that it would be Elain and Lucien to work things out first? To find happiness in one another against all odds, whilst Nesta and Cassian were…

Well.

There was no Nesta and Cassian.

Not anymore.

With Elain and Lucien at her side, Azriel was the next to offer her a soft hello, Nesta. His scarred hand patted her once on the shoulder, and though his face was expressionless, those shadows of his twined about his neck, and the look he gave her said he recognised the falsity of her facade and saw through it as easily as anything. But he said nothing, merely slipped past her as Rhys gave her brisk nod and a tight smile, as if he was at least trying to be civil. Feyre’s doing, Nesta suspected. And perhaps the distance had done them all some good, she thought wryly, because soon Amren was approaching her with a glint in her eye, slender fingers toying with a sapphire as large as duck egg hanging from a chain at her neck. Her raven-dark hair shone as she tilted her head, and when she said, it’s good to have you back, Nesta half thought her words were genuine. Even Mor made some degree of effort, her bracelets clinking as she too rose to greet her.

But he was the last.

Cassian.

She hadn’t let herself so much as think his name for the past three years, hadn’t let her mind stray so far, and there was no escaping it now, no escaping him, or the way her chest suddenly felt unbearably tight, like it was bursting with all the things she did and did not want to say, all of the things she’d regretted in the time they’d been apart. She had needed to leave— for her own good, she had needed to walk away three years ago. But gods, it had broken her— had taken her away from something that could have been beautiful. 

She blinked as he rose from his chair, pretending not to notice the way her sisters suddenly found somewhere else to be— Elain tugging on Lucien’s hand and whispering something about fetching another bottle of wine from the kitchen, and Feyre clearing her throat and saying she’d better take Nesta’s things upstairs to her room. All of it faded into insignificance as she felt the press of his gaze on her skin, his lips parting in something like surprise— something like agony. 

She’d had the entire journey across the sea to think of what she was going to say when she saw him again, and still she came up empty. The words in her throat dried up, slipped through her fingers like mist, and standing there entirely alone as he approached…

It was a harsher kind of torture than anything even Azriel could inflict. 

And gods— he hadn’t changed. He was still Cassian, with hair a mess of waves falling to his shoulders, his left ear still pierced with a single garnet. His hazel eyes were still that depthless swell of gold and green and brown, and when he stepped closer, his familiar scent engulfed her, soothing in a way it had no right to be.

Her mouth went dry, and this— this was the reason her life on the continent always felt just a shade shy of complete. It didn’t matter who she took to bed or how many fine things she owned. Nothing mattered, because nobody else had ever looked at her the way he had.

Unbidden her mind went right back to that battlefield. She hadn’t thought of it in years - actively tried hard to avoid thinking of it most days - but there she was, dragged right back again as those eyes widened, dark eyelashes framing a hazel that was fraught with the same kind of pain they’d held when he lay dying beneath her, her hands trying to staunch his bleeding as he promised to find her in the next life. Her heart lurched and something like regret swarmed thick in her gut. Not regret for leaving but rather… regret for what could have been. A grief for the love Nesta had almost touched, the devotion she’d brushed with her fingertips just before it had slipped from her hands.

Cassian cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair, making his messy strands even messier. Nesta’s heart thumped once in her chest, and even though she cursed the damn thing, she didn’t move away, didn’t turn from him.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” he began at last, his voice hoarse. 

Nesta shrugged. Swallowed. “I’m here for Elain.”

His eyes shuttered. “Of course you are.”

Because she couldn’t be here for him. She wouldn’t go down that road again. Couldn’t. 

Stay, he’d asked, as the salt-air breeze carried off the sea shifted his dark hair across his forehead, as that same garnet earring winked in the sunlight. He’d held out a hand, then. Fingers outstretched, a silent plea.

I can’t, she’d answered, and the guilt had almost destroyed her, had broken her heart so thoroughly there could never be any hope of making it whole again. She had wanted to stay— more than anything she had wanted to stay, but there had been no place for her here back then, and nothing but grief and sorrow waiting for her. 

“Well then,” Cassian said briskly now, drawing back an inch. It was over— the conversation, whatever had lingered between them. It was over, dead and buried and beyond repair, and though Nesta hadn’t expected him to welcome her warmly… something inside her wilted, withered, when he refused to meet her eyes. “I suppose it’s nice to see you again, Nesta.”

Nesta.

His voice was flat— detached, like he couldn’t wait for this to be over, and gods— he’d never called her Nesta. It was always Nes, or sweetheart, or princess. It hurt. More than it should and more than she expected, and the cracks in her heart she’d papered over suddenly felt like deathless chasms, too wide to bridge and too deep to fill. 

And maybe she should have opened her mouth— maybe she should have begged him to understand. Maybe she should have raged, screamed, asked him why he thought she’d left in the first place. But her mind was blank, and before she could so much as ask how he’d been, Elain was reappearing, bottle in hand and smile on her face.

Cassian took another step back, his face as empty and as cold as the space in Nesta’s chest, and she could do nothing but let herself be dragged over to the sofa by the windows, so far away from the warrior who turned and clung to the shadows now, as if hoping they might hide him, might save him. Azriel handed Cassian another drink, one he knocked back as his fingers gripped the glass so tight his knuckles were white, and still Nesta said nothing, forcing herself to focus on Elain’s excited chatter as she lowered herself to the cushions. When Lucien joined them, she spoke at length about her life on the continent, about her apartment and her work, infusing her voice with a joviality she didn’t feel, an optimism that escaped her, and a lack of regret that was so false it made her throat feel tight.

And all the while she ignored the pulling in her chest that begged her to turn around, that pleaded with her to find the warrior on the other side of the room.

Because if the look on his face had made anything clear as they spoke, it was that Cassian did not want Nesta to find him. Not now— not ever again. 

***

She managed to ignore him throughout dinner.

Feyre had placed her at the other end of the expansive mahogany table, between her and Elain, like it might shield her somehow. Or shield him, she wasn’t sure. Either way, Lucien sat across from her, and over a candlelit meal of roasted chicken, Nesta kept her attention far from that other end, never daring to so much as turn her head more than an inch to the side. And it might have worked, might have helped her forget just a little bit of the anguish still swarming in her gut, had it not been all too easy— had there been anything but silence from the seat he’d taken.

He was quiet, subdued, and even though Nesta had spent the entire journey across the sea dreading the sound of his booming laugh, she found its absence to be a pain all of its own.

Because she was the reason he didn’t laugh— the reason he’d switched to whiskey from wine and drank deeply from his glass, like mixing his spirits might help, somehow. 

And when dinner was over and they returned once more to the large sitting room at the front of the house, Rhys pulled out another expensive bottle of wine and uncorked it. But with so many people inside the air grew quickly stuffy, and she wanted nothing more than fresh air. So she made her excuses and got to her feet, murmuring a quick I’ll be right back to Elain as she slipped through the doorway and headed for the back door in the kitchen.

But stepping outside, Nesta found Cassian already standing half in darkness, right beside her sister’s wrought-iron patio set, as though he was too restless, too agitated to sit. There was a fresh glass in his hand as he looked out towards the river, and his face was lined with something like grief, the moonlight drifting across his thinly pressed lips, and he didn’t turn to look at her. Like he couldn’t bear it. 

Nesta stilled, the silence growing thick, awkward.

“I’ll leave you—” she began, at the same time as he said, 

“I’ll go—”

The words died, leaving behind a thick silence, stretching between them uncomfortable and unwieldy. Never before had she been speechless around him, but now…

What was there to say?

She lingered for a moment before turning on her heel. “I’ll leave you to it,” she said again, finishing her sentence this time. She cleared her throat, taking a deep breath of the cool night air, biting her lip as she faced the house, the windows glowing with the warm, golden faelight from inside.

She heard the sigh Cassian let loose, felt in it every piece of his agony. He didn’t answer, didn’t say a word, and yet even though Nesta turned back to the house, her steps were slow— like some part of her was wondering if he would stop her.

Her hand had just closed around the door handle when he spoke. 

“Did you—” He started, running a hand through his hair. “Did you find someone?”

His voice was strained, almost cracking, and even in the darkness Nesta could see that he gripped his glass so tightly it was a wonder it didn’t break beneath his fingers. He didn’t look at her, kept his eyes forward, out to where the moon gilded the river silver.

After a minute Nesta shook her head. “No.”

The silence stretched, and she found herself stepping forward, taking in the cut of his jaw, the way it was clenched tight, as if he’d been hoping her answer would mean something.

“Did you?” she asked.

Cassian let out a bitter laugh.

“No, sweetheart.”

The old nickname fell from his lips easily, but it wasn’t the same as before. Years ago, it had been said with a kind of teasing, a kind of flirting that always accompanied a glint in his hazel eyes, but this…

This was almost mournful.

“Not after you,” he added a moment later. He looked at her, and maybe it was the wine she’d had, or the whiskey he was drinking, but he swallowed and Nesta could swear that she saw him steel himself. “How could there ever be anybody after you?”

“We weren’t anything,” Nesta said, but her heart thumped against her ribcage and she knew that her words were false.

Cassian only shrugged. “We never got a chance.”

She might have asked him whose fault he thought that was— demanded of him why he thought she’d left in the first place. After all, he’d pulled away from her long before she boarded that boat. He’d been the one to wrench his wrist from her grip during the war, the one to gift another woman lingerie at Solstice. But in three years she’d never quite managed to silence that small, small voice in the back of her mind, the one that whispered, quiet in the dark, what if? 

What if she had stayed? What if he had taken her hand that day during the war, what if he’d stayed by her side on Solstice? 

What if?

Nesta looked down at her hands now and somehow found the strength to ask, almost hesitantly, “And if we did?”

“If we did what?”

“Got a chance?”

Cassian shook his head ruefully. “Could’ve, would’ve, should’ve, Nes. What’s the point in going over all this again?”

His voice was low, pained. Grief shone in those hazel eyes, heartbreak written all over that beautiful face. Nesta had forced herself to forget, over the past three years, the way he’d looked when she boarded that ship for the continent. She’d refused to remember the way he’d begged her to stay.

Is training with me such a terrible option? he’d asked, his hand fisting over his heart as his eyes widened, begging her to reconsider. Is it so awful that you’d walk away from me— from us?

There is no us, she’d said, and her voice had been cold because it had needed to be. Her back had been straight and her shoulders back because she’d needed to get on that ship, needed to spend some time away.

It had never been that training with Cassian was the problem with the options Rhysand had given her. It was that he’d dared to give her options at all, to think he had a right to interfere.

And— her heart had broken because how could Cassian not see it? He’d chosen Rhys over her the moment he’d expected her to bend to Rhys’ demands, the moment he’d stayed his tongue and let Rhys lecture her like she was some kind of… delinquent. Cassian had fetched her from her apartment to the River House, knowing all along the ultimatum she was to receive, and as Rhys had laid out her options - as if the choice was anything more than illusory - her heart had cracked because Cassian hadn’t said a word in her defence.

She’d been angry— heartbroken and angry, and that day at the docks…

There is no us.

No lie haunted her like that one.

Cassian sighed now, tipping his head back. He drained the last of his whiskey and set the glass down on the table, eyes sliding to her slowly, as if he were afraid to look at her for too long, afraid she’d melt away into the darkness, like she’d never been here at all. 

“I don’t know,” Nesta whispered at last, shaking her head. “I don’t know why I even…”

“What?” Cassian said sharply. “Why you came back? Or why you came out here?”

Weary, she sighed. “What do you want from me, Cassian?”

“Nothing,” he countered, but she didn’t think she imagined the bitterness in his voice. “I never wanted anything from you, Nes.”

I have no regrets in my life but this— that we did not have time.

Her words tuned to ash in her mouth, and Nesta felt her heart breaking all over again, the wound she’d thought years healed suddenly rupturing, tearing back open with the kind of brutal force that once had her seeking solace at the bottom of a bottle.

“I couldn’t stay,” she whispered. “You know I couldn’t stay.”

She expected him to argue, to fight back, but Cassian… 

He dipped his head, lips tugging downwards. Sorrow limned his face, the same kind of heartbreak that ravaged her own chest playing out on every beautiful plane of him, every line of him she’d tried so hard to forget these past three years.

“Tell me you’re happy,” he murmured. “Give me that, at least.”

“Does it matter?” she countered, because despite how much she so desperately wanted to tell him that yes, yes, she was happy… she couldn’t make herself speak the words, couldn’t lie to him now, because as much as she liked her life on the continent, there was too much missing for her to truly feel… happy.

He turned to face her fully now, his eyes seeming to burn beneath the starlight. “Of course it matters. It’s all that I ever—“ He hissed, cutting himself off. He shook his head, and found the strength to finish, “It’s all that I ever wanted.”

Nesta looked out to the river. Thought of her apartment, overlooking a different river, in a different city.

“I have a fancy apartment now,” she said softly. “Right over the river in Vallahan. You’d…” She faltered, but when she looked at his face, the eyes that hadn’t yet left hers, she continued, “I think you’d like it. It’s better than my last one.”

He huffed a sardonic sort of laugh, blinking slowly.

“I have a cat too,” she added.

“A cat?” he asked, eyebrows rising.

“Mhm.” She smiled a little. “I called him Tristan.” She swallowed again. “Maybe you could…”

She fell into silence, and Cassian’s brows furrowed. 

“Maybe I could what?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Nesta said, shaking her head. Stupid— stupid to think it, to even suggest it—

Cassian stepped closer, raw emotion on his face that Nesta didn’t dare name. It looked… it looked like hope, and damn if that didn’t break her heart all over again. He shook his head again.

“No,” he whispered. “Tell me. Maybe I could what?”

“Maybe you could come visit sometime,” Nesta said, in a voice so low she could barely hear it herself. She didn’t miss the hiss of breath that slipped through Cassian’s teeth though. Didn’t miss the way he stilled.

“I’m surprised you’d want me to,” he countered.

“I always wanted you to,” Nesta said, letting her eyes drift closed for just a moment. “I always… wanted you.”

Maybe it was the time away. Maybe it was the distance she’d had for so long. She didn’t know what it was, but it was easier, somehow, to speak honestly to him now. Maybe it was the space she’d needed to deal with her pain, the time she’d needed to grieve and to heal. It felt easier now, to tell him what she wanted. Far easier than it had been that day on the docks three years ago.

Slowly, Cassian lifted a hand. He brushed his knuckles across the back of her cheek, a slow, fragile smile curving the corners of his lips. It was the first time he’d touched her in three years and— oh fucking gods, how she had missed that gentle brush of his hand across her cheekbone. 

“I’d drop everything to come see you,” he said gently. Quietly. “Just tell me when.”

Nesta turned her face into his palm, her lips brushing the top of his wrist. Her eyes had snapped to his this moment he’d reached for her, their gazes locked, and she was unable to look away now, to see anything but him. 

“I’d like that.”

Her eyes searched his— looking for something, some answer she’d been seeking all this time, and though neither of them moved, neither said a word, volumes were spoken with the way neither took a step back. Cassian’s beautiful face looked like he’d shatter if she so much as turned her face away, and Nesta felt her heart steady in her chest as that hollow place inside her suddenly began to warm, to feel less like a void and more like a place where comfort might be harboured.

She swallowed, her mouth suddenly feeling dry, and Cassian tracked the movement, his gaze breaking, dipping to her throat as it bobbed.

“I’m so sorry, Nes,” he said, so softly it was like he was afraid his voice would break. His hand fell away from her face, and Nesta suddenly felt cold. “For all of it. The moment you got on that godsdamned ship I knew that I should have done more—  that I should never have let Rhys order you about like that and—“

She stopped him with a palm of her own against his cheek. “I forgave you a long time ago,” she murmured.

His eyes slid closed, and she might have whispered his name, or he might have whispered hers, but without thinking her thumb brushed across his cheekbone, her palm lying flat on his cheek, and his eyes fluttered closed for a moment before he turned his face into her palm the way she had just done with his. 

“I missed you,” he whispered, like it was a confession— like something he’d kept inside for so long that it hurt, now, to let it out. “More than anything, I missed you. So much I—”

He cut himself off, lowering his brow until it was barely an inch from hers, but Nesta shook her head, dared to raise his face to hers. “What?”

His eyes opened, burning. “So much I almost went to the continent myself to beg you to come back— to come back to me.”

She didn’t say anything. What was there to say? That there had been nights where she’d dreamed of him doing just that? That every morning she woke and hoped she’d find him waiting at her door? That even now, every time she walked by the docks in Vallahan she scanned the boats coming into port, just in case he’d be stepping off the deck of one of them? She couldn’t find the words, and as his breath whispered across the skin at her wrist, she shivered. Every single nerve in her body felt alive then, more than it had in three entire years.

“I missed you too,” she confessed.

Cassian dared to lower his chin, to press a kiss to the soft skin of her palm— then another to her wrist, his hand rising until it covered hers, his warmth sinking into her bones as he kept her touch pressed to his cheek, like he couldn’t bear the thought of her pulling away just yet. As his fingers slipped through the gaps between her knuckles, he let out a rueful laugh.

“Why are we doing this, princess?”

“Doing what?” she asked, trying not to think of how his lips brushed the heel of her hand when he spoke.

“Dancing around it,” he said, letting her hand drop and pulling away just enough to look her in the eyes. She mourned the loss of that touch, but not for long— his hand slid to her waist, his palm settling at the curve of her ribs. “Ignoring the fact that the past three years have been hell for the both of us.”

“I didn’t say it had been hell,” Nesta muttered tartly, and Cassian let out a bitter huff of a laugh as his hand rounded her waist, falling to the small of her back as he pulled her that last inch closer.

No, it hadn’t been hell. Not for the most part. And yet…

With his other hand Cassian traced her jaw, moving over her cheekbone and up to the curve of her ear, where he tucked back an errant piece of hair that had escaped her braid. His touch was soft— slow and reverential, but his hand fisted in her dress at her back. She braced her palm on his chest and he dipped his head, bringing his brow to rest, at last, against hers.

“I’m not letting you go this time,” he murmured. “Not without a fight.”

Her heart skipped— stumbled, and it suddenly felt like there was no air in this entire city, like she couldn’t breathe at all. It was all she’d ever wanted, she supposed. For him to fight for her the way he’d promised he would on that battlefield. 

She smiled as his nose nudged against her cheek, her palm sliding across his chest, feeling the muscles covered by that thin shirt that did nothing to hide the definition beneath. Gods, how had she walked away from this— from him? How had she survived without this, the feel of him beneath her hands, of his warmth encompassing her as he held her so close to his chest that she wasn’t sure where she began and he ended? 

Wandering, her fingers traced a path over his collarbone until her arm wrapped around his neck, her fingertips just barely brushing the edges of his wings. He hissed, both hands resting on her waist now, gripping her tight.

And there was nothing left to say - she couldn’t make her mind form sentences anyway - so Nesta tilted her head back, and when Cassian opened his eyes… 

She was left stunned, for a minute, by the raw emotion in the hazel, the way he looked at her like he saw every part and piece of her and wanted it all. He looked like he was holding himself back and Nesta…

Nesta didn’t want that at all.

So she rose onto her tiptoes and hauled his face to hers, crashing into him like a wave breaking against the shore. His lips met hers, rose to the silent challenge she issued, and gods, his kiss wasn’t soft or gentle— it was three whole years of longing and missed opportunity. It was everything she’d ever lost, every piece of him she’d given up, contained in the swell of his lips against hers— every time she’d stopped herself before she could remember the sound of his laugh or the way he called her sweetheart, every time she woke from dreaming with his name dancing on her tongue, like she wanted nothing more than to speak it aloud. Every ounce of anguish and every kernel of heartache was healed by that kiss, by the way he claimed her so thoroughly she wondered if his name had been scarred across her heart all this time.

He moved against her, so perfectly in sync it was like he was made for her. His hands stroked her waist, brushed her ribs, and as her hands delved into his hair, she felt every inch of him flush against every inch of her, and oh gods— the taste of him eclipsed anything and everything she’d ever known.

She’d had lovers over the past three years but none of them— none of them compared to this, to him, to the way his hands skated across her middle, down to her hips to bring her closer, eliminating any remaining space between them as his thigh pressed against hers, as his hands roamed, as she tasted him on her tongue, all lips and teeth and heat, precious, precious heat, warming that hollow space inside she’d felt for so long.

She might have moaned into him, might have let herself lean into his touch and melt in his arms— he might have moaned her name too, whispered it as he crashed against her, but she could barely hear, barely think, barely knew anything beyond what he was doing to her.

Only when her chest grew tight from the lack of air did she pull away, and even then— she twisted her head to the side, her cheek pressed against his lips as she drew air into her lungs, her chest heaving.

He’d stolen everything, every breath she’d had, and she clawed them back now, trying desperately to bring herself back from the edge of the brink—

But she looked at him, and those hazel eyes had her falling all over again, reaching back and framing his face with her hands, pressing her palms into his cheeks as she brought him back to her for another soul-searing kiss.

Gods— there was nothing sweeter than this, than him, than the way he breathed her name as he backed her up against the wall.

With a thumb beneath her chin he tilted her head back, deepening the kiss until Nesta wasn’t sure which way was up. Distantly she was aware of her hands falling from his face and landing on his shoulders, scrabbling at the fabric of his shirt as she all but clawed at him, so desperate for every last inch of him, like she’d been starving for three whole years. 

Cassian was a warm weight against her, moving a hand to the small of her back to keep her from pressing uncomfortably into the brickwork, and just that - that small, simple gesture - had her heart squeezing in her chest to the point of pain because…

She loved him. 

Oh gods, she loved him.

It was what she’d been running from ever since that day on the docks, what she’d known the moment she’d left, and all the time she’d been away hadn’t changed a thing. Hadn’t dulled the spark he’d ignited, the one that couldn’t be extinguished, no matter how hard she tried. 

Three years— and it hadn’t changed a thing.

He was still the only one that made her feel like her head was over her heels.

He was home— she knew that, felt it when he took her into his arms at last. He was everything she’d been missing, everything she’d been chasing. It was right here, all along, and no wonder she’d never found it on the Continent, no wonder there had always been an empty space in her chest, right where her heart should be. He’d held it all along, all this time.

Still, Cassian wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her as though he was afraid that if he let her go, she’d leave again.

But Nesta wasn’t going anywhere— not this time. She’d figure things out— find a way to keep her apartment on the Continent, to keep the parts of her life that had healed those deep, deep wounds she’d been dealt by the Cauldron and the war and everything else that had sent her running from these shores three years ago.

She’d do whatever it took, because she didn’t think she could go back to being without him— without this.

Breathing hard, she tangled her fingers in Cassian’s shirt, pushing closer and rising on her tiptoes so the crown of her head nudged his chin. Oh, he reminded her of magic— of all the stories she’d wanted to be true when she was a girl. Of knights and princesses and wondrous, marvellous beauty. Of a love so great the world turned vapid in its wake, one that redefined the heavens and stars above and made life itself worth living. She’d forgotten what it felt like when he held her, forgotten what his touch did to her, but beneath that Night Court sky, suddenly she remembered. And…

Home.

In his arms, she found home at last. 

So as the moon shone silver on the river and laughter echoed from inside the house, Nesta let Cassian kiss her again, let herself be lost in every inch of him. And when he tilted her chin up towards the sky, Nesta looked into those hazel eyes and let him remind her what it was to be loved, to be held, to be cherished— 

To be home.

[judeandcardan]

Lured (Part-1)

He hated her defiant wicked mouth even worse, which was always ready to spew insults at him. And in the deepest, darkest, most secretive cranny of his brain, he thought of bringing his own cruel mouth against hers, her soft pink lips against his own, to shut her up once and for all.

Read it on ao3

Cardan stared long and hard at the textbooks sprawled in front of him. He sighed — rather dramatically — and picked one of them, flipping it open to reveal a bunch of scribblings about the constellations and their meanings. He threw it away in sour distaste. He hated learning about things as impractical as constellations. He scoured the other books, none it seemed took his fancy any more than the first one. He huffed. Why did he have to learn about all these measly things? Shouldn’t being royal pardon him from his useless studies? He thought bitterly.

He thought of his lectures, of Valerian, Nicasia, and Locke. His mind on its own accord, unbidden, went to the mortal sisters. Even thinking the word “mortal” left a bitter taste in his mouth. He shook his head, determined not to sully his day with even the mere thought of the Duarte sisters.

He abruptly stood up from his tall elegant wooden chair, stalking off to the low bookshelf kept just beside his bed, to procure his copy of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass bound in one pretty green leather hardcover with intricate gold lettering made on it, stating its title. He sat back on his table keeping the book that Vivienne had lent to him months ago on the side of the table. Ever since then he had read it as many times as he could and naught a reading went by where his treacherous mind didn’t stray to Jude, Vivi’s very much mortal half-sister.

He hated Jude. He hated her. He hated her dull brown locks of hair. He hated her light-brown eyes — which he never got to look into closely enough to determine the exact color of them — that always gleamed with hatred at him. He hated the swell of her breasts and the sway of her hips. He hated the sound of her name and how it rolled off his tongue, leaving a bitter aftertaste in his mouth, like poison. He hated even the shape of her name, the loop of the letter ‘J’ in it. He hated her mere existence, that sometimes when she was near, he thought he might just combust into flames. He hated her defiant wicked mouth even worse, which was always ready to spew insults at him. And in the deepest, darkest, most secretive cranny of his brain, he thought of bringing his own cruel mouth against hers, her soft pink lips against his own, to shut her up once and for all.

Distinctly he heard a satisfying snap of something brittle nearby, he looked down and clutched between his fingers was a quill. Well, a broken quill now. Beneath it was a sheet of yellow parchment with the name “Jude” written repeatedly on it over and over again until the whole parchment was full of it and ink stains. Cardan brought the yellow parchment delicately closer to him to inspect it with sharp scrutiny. In some places, he had pressed the nib so forcefully that the paper had torn. Rage, shame, and worst of all, desire flared up in his stomach engulfing him whole. He quickly folded the parchments and stuffed it in between the pages of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass repressing any feelings he felt in the past minute beneath the surface.

He then slowly, languidly, strolled towards his bed, seemingly without any care of the world. He then carefully laid down on it, smoothing out its crumpled satin sheets, he made sure to think of anything but Jude. He thought of the wide expanse of the midnight black night sky outdoors with millions of glittering stars adorning it like diamonds. He thought of the evergreen trees with their deep gold everapples and their sweet, intoxicating taste. He thought of the turquoise ocean, the one where Nicasia’s mother — the Queen of the Undersea — lived, the one where he visited with her when he was in — or at least what he thought he was in — love with her. He then thought of the cold breeze swaying his soft white linen shirt as he drank his red wine peacefully sitting on fresh earthy soil, flipping the pages of a book. He thought of—

Just then there was a sharp knock at his door, breaking Cardan out of his — Jude free — thought train. Cardan grumbled under his breath, clearly annoyed with the interruption.

“Yes?” He called out with his head resting comfortably on his soft pillow. Yet, there was no reply but more insistent knocking.

“Who is it?” Cardan asked again. This time the knocking stopped and instead the elegant gold doorknob in the shape of a gargoyle twisted ever so slowly as if urging Cardan to stop it, but he remained silent unable to say or do anything, as the door eventually flew open.

In front of him — or well rather the door — stood an elegant young lady togged up in a beautiful ombré ball gown, its color deepening from white near her throat, through the palest blue to the deepest indigo at her feet. Over that was stitched the stark outlines of trees, just the way Cardan saw them from his window as dusk fell. Over them, little crystal beads were sewn to represent stars. The lady’s face — or well half of it — was covered by a pale blue mask encrusted with diamonds.

She looked at him with fierce eyes, a fire in them so similar to Jude, he thought with a surprised blink. Her eyes which were the lightest shade of honey brown he had ever seen, looked at him from under her long thick brown lashes behind her mask. Her lustrous brown hair fell in cascading waves down her back. Her breathing was hard almost as if she had been doing some kind of physical exertion before coming here, unannounced, in Cardan’s chambers. The rise and fall of her chest accentuated her generous breasts, clad in the tight material of her gown.

Catching Cardan starting at her breasts, the woman smirked wickedly. Her lips were painted the deepest shade of coral. Cardan gulped. A strange mixture of desire and dread pooling in his stomach.

“Who are you?” Cardan asked, his voice breaking at the end as the woman took a step forward towards him. The woman didn’t reply.

“What do you want?” He asked breathlessly, not expecting a reply and indeed there was none. The woman merely tilted her head, as if curious to what he was going to say or do next. He didn’t do either of those things but simply stared at her, in awe of her beauty. The woman seemingly bored with him proceeded to move across the room, her skirt trailing after her. She stopped near Cardan’s table. Slowly, carefully, she picked up his Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass hardcover book kept on his table. She examined it closely, bringing it closer to her eyes, her expression remaining hidden beneath her mask. Then, she precariously kept the book back in its place and turned towards him to access him, just like a wilder fair folk might assess their prey. Her cold gaze swept over him, making Cardan shudder from the sheer intensity of it.

She stepped towards him, it took Cardan everything in him not to shrink back from her. Suddenly, she was by his side, sitting on the edge of his bed. She held up a hand and Cardan watched, awestruck, as she brushed back a stray strand of hair falling on his face.

“I—” Cardan began, his breathing shallow but the mysterious lady having none of that, held up a long slender finger over her own plump lips, shushing him, making him gulp. She smiled a wicked smile at seeing his reaction, showing off her perfect white teeth. She then slowly but surely brought her perfect coral lips to his unworthy mouth.

Cardan became as still as a marble statue. Her mouth was surprisingly soft against his. But after what seemed like too soon she broke off from him. She stared at him, her face as blank as a fresh sheet of paper. Cardan daringly brought his shaking hand to her neck, beckoning her forward for another kiss. He was like a fairie starved for another sip of his favorite wine, begging for it. Fortunately, the woman, sitting beside him, was more than happy to serve it to him, if her smile, slow and sensual, was any indication at all.

Encouraged, Cardan brought her face closer to his by the hand still kept on her neck. Stopping, just as they were close enough for a kiss. He stared into her eyes, which seemed to hold all the answers, and promises, of the universe within them. Such a deep shade of honey was in them that Cardan was reminded of Jude as she spread honey over her bread, sitting on the white blanket with the stupid red stripes over it which she brought with her at every one of her lectures to sit on, laughing at some silly joke with her twin. Appalled by his traitorous thoughts of the rash mortal, he finally brought his lips to the exquisite-looking female, driving all his attention to the feel of her lips against his.

He groaned into her mouth, the sound embarrassingly desperate. Cardan could even feel the woman’s lip curve up into a smug smile against his. The woman never once breaking their kiss, moved to straddle his lap, rubbing herself against him, making Cardan moan with pleasure and desperation. Bringing her as close to him as possible, Cardan kissed her hard and rough something the woman was more than happy to retaliate with her own brutal kisses. Their mouths slipped together effortlessly, teeth over lips over tongues.

Seemingly done with kissing, the woman moved to place some hot, open-mouthed, sloppy kisses against his jaw and down his neck. Cardan was sure that by the next night, there would be a variety of bright red marks blossoming his pale skin that he would have to glamour them away but he couldn’t care less at the moment, as the woman’s mouth moved lower and lower until it reached the collar of his loose linen shirt. She looked up at him with inquisitive brown eyes and Cardan nodded, knowing what she was asking for. Nimble hands unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged it off, showcasing his defined pale muscles. He wouldn’t describe himself to be particularly muscular but rather lean muscular but that seemed to please the lady enough as she continued the journey of her kisses down his chest, stopping just above his waist.

Leisurely, tantalizingly, taking her precious time, she slowly undid the silver buttons of his breeches, dragging them down slowly, her nails lightly scraping against his skin, the sensation weirdly pleasant. Surprisingly, she kissed him again. Long yet slow. Teasing yet sensual. Reverent yet careless. Cardan sighed into her mouth as her calloused hands gently moved through his smooth black hair, making her giggle into his mouth at the sound. A corner of Cardan’s soft mouth quirked up by her tinkling laugh. He almost thoughtlessly, caressingly fondled her sharp jaw with his thumb. The touch so reverent that it scared him. Even with Nicasia never had he ever truly been vulnerable. Even as they lay bare, with their limbs entangled, their breathing hard and their faces flushed with ecstasy had he ever felt this exposed as he felt now, with a stranger. A stranger wearing a pale blue silk mask.

Her small hand slithered down his chest, down his stomach, and came to rest on his waist. She cocked her head to the side, looking up at him, asking him for his consent. He nodded fervently, desperate to be touched. By her, his mind added automatically. He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t notice as she uncertainly gripped his hard length, making him let out a harsh animal-like sound from the back of his throat. Breathing wildly, he looked down at the woman, her pupils were dilated, the black swallowing up the deep honey of her eyes, and a self-assured smirk graced her mouth. Cardan watched, mesmerized, as she slowly, more confidently, started moving her hand up and down his length.

Cardan threw his head back, pleasure and hunger humming through his body in wild waves of desire. Hunger for something more. Hunger for her. Hunger to have her body as close to him as it was possible. Hunger to have her moan his name in frenzied bliss as she pleasured herself with him.

He could still feel her rough hand move up and down over and over against him. Squeezing and caressing him from the base to the tip but what he wasn’t ready for was for her to take him in her mouth. He gasped as he felt the warmness of her mouth surround him. He watched in rapt attention — careful not to blink so as not to miss anything — as she took him whole in her mouth. He watched as she bobbed her head on his length, sucking when necessary. He was so close. So close to reaching his sweet long awaited climax, but just when he thought he could hold himself back no longer, she stopped and with a resounding ‘pop’ removed him from her mouth. He thought that he might have groaned with frustration and as the woman’s mouth connected with his lips again, his frustration only heightened with each brush of lips. The kiss was chaste but filthy at the same time. Almost as if she was apologizing to him for not giving him his sweet release but also promising something much better as her hands roamed his chest with reckless abandon.

Abruptly, she stood up, away from him, making a noise of protest, he said, “Why—” but the sentence died on his tongue as she tortuously slowly, began undressing herself. She first slipped off one of her flimsy sleeves then the other and then pushed the dress down all together until it pooled in a mess of blue at her ankles. Stepping out of it, she was left standing just in her underclothes but it was of a very different kind, he realized with a start. When he came to think of it, her curves were far too voluminous to belong to any fey. But all thoughts left his head as she reached behind her back and the strange blue under cloth covering her breasts fell to the ground. He almost groaned at the sight of her bare perfectly round breasts. Then, she pushed down her underwear until she stood naked in front of him. Before Cardan could so much as utter a single sound she straddled his waist again, kissing him, hard and hungry, parting his lips with her own, delving her tongue between his mouth.

Then, detaching her rosy swollen lips from his equally swollen ones. She moved to kiss his neck again but before she had time to do anymore, Cardan flipped them over so she was lying beneath him with his arms supporting his weight so he didn’t crush her completely but looking at her he couldn’t think that she could be crushed by anyone, but still he held himself up by his arms, anyway. Just in case.

The woman’s eyes went wide like saucers clearly surprised but pleased by this new change of position. He threw a lazy smirk at her and she laughed one of her rare laughs — rough and low — throwing her head back and exposing her neck to him. Cardan immediately began peppering the woman’s neck with kisses and her laugh turned into a long drawn-out moan. Pleased with himself, he made his journey down her neck and onto her chest, paying special attention to her breasts with his mouth, eliciting sounds sweeter than the sweetest of wines from her mouth.

One of his hands moved down to her thighs, nearing the region between her legs. He teased the woman mercilessly by never quite touching the spot he knew she ached the most. Just when he thought she might yell at Cardan with frustration and anger he finally gave in and touched her. He cursed under his breath. She was soaking wet. He tried to not let that get into his head but the rush of knowing that he caused this was as heady as the strongest of wines, if not even more so.

He parted her folds, rubbing small circles on her clit as she made sounds sweeter than everapple which fell on his desperate ears, instantly going to his throbbing length. He inserted two fingers inside of her, making her grasp and scratch his back hard enough to draw blood. Soon enough, he moved his head between her legs too, his tongue licking and sucking, determined to make her come. She tasted so sweet and bitter at the same time. Like poison, he thought.

He continued his ministrations till he felt her clench around his long slender fingers, obviously reaching her release. Her moans filled the room, echoing around it until she quietened, and then gingerly Cardan removed his fingers from her and moved up to kiss her, sweet and slow. He knew she could taste her own arousal on his lips but she didn’t seem to mind, she simply kissed him back, her fingers threading through his soft black hair.

She lightly pushed him back, surprised Cardan looked at her but seeing the mischievous glint in her eyes he laughed and lifted himself up from her to lay on the other side of the bed. She soon enough followed him to move over him, kissing him lightly before positioning her sopping heat over his length. She slowly as if keen on tormenting him even further, took him inside her. Whimpering, she slid even further down him, making Cardan groan loudly and grip her hips in a desperately poor attempt to hold onto any shred of sanity that he currently possessed.

The woman, once adjusted to the size of him, began to move more swiftly on him. Soon, her movements became reckless, wild, hasty, and brisk, that even Cardan had trouble keeping up. Fairies never did what this woman was currently doing with him. Fairies tumbled, they frolicked, they made love, they took hours to discover each other’s bodies, never in haste, always taking their precious time and Cardan never complained, he liked it, but currently lying beneath this woman as she took her sweet pleasure from him, he didn’t know if he could go back to the ways of the fair folk. He didn’t want to go back to the ways of the fair folk.

Cardan watched as if under a spell — though that wasn’t possible as no one knew his real name — as the woman’s movements began to waver, her release obviously close. Deciding to take matters into his own hand, he flipped the woman again — with her laying on her back and him hovering above her.

He slammed into her, never had he ever been this wild while making love, if one could even call it that. He was so out of control and he loved every second of it. It was the most free he had ever been since, well, forever.

The woman gasped under him, her eyes scrunched up, face down. He tilted her head up with one of his slender fingers and said, “Open your eyes, please.” He was practically begging but he didn’t care because she listened to him and opened her mesmerizingly stunning eyes, her eyes that were now so dark and filled with desire and reckless wildness, that even staring at them almost made him come.

“I—I can’t hold on much longer,” He murmured, hot against her ear. Apparently, that was enough for her to fall over the edge as she came around him, pretty little moans falling from her mouth. Just by the sounds alone he soon followed her into the sweet blissful afterglow daze.

He lay still against her, his breathing hard. When he finally calmed down, he looked up at her with half-lidded eyes, she was watching him. He smiled, and she smiled back a toothy smile. She looked without any care in the world as she lay beneath him, a small, genuine, smile plastered on her face. Cardan was sure he looked the same. He never knew you could feel this kind of feeling, this sweet nothingness, that he was currently feeling with anyone, let alone a stranger, yet here he was, freer and happier than he had ever been his whole life.

“I—” He began, then reconsidering, “It just occurred to me that…we just made love and I haven’t even seen your face.” And Indeed he hadn’t. She still wore her pale blue mask, hiding her whole face, except her deliciously swollen red mouth. He was proud to see that he had done that to her, but looking at it, he noticed that the smile she wore slipped off. He panicked, fearing he had said the wrong thing and ruined this beautiful moment he was having with her, one where he was not a prince but just a mere boy laying in the arms of his lover that he just met, but then, she smiled slightly and he felt his worries evaporate in thin air.

She slowly lifted her arms and then her head, just an inch, from the pillow where it currently lay, to undo the knots tying her mask together. He watched as she gently removed it from her face and he stilled immediately. His breathing stopped, it even seemed that his heart had altogether stopped beating itself too. He couldn’t believe his eyes. He wouldn’t believe his eyes. But as he stared at the woman’s face it could not be denied that she was who he feared she was. Jude.

He abruptly threw himself off her, horrified. The woman, no, Jude, just slanted her head as if in mild confusion, as if she couldn’t understand why he was freaking out. He wanted to yell at her to get out of his chambers but all he did was point an accusing finger at her and hiss, with all the vehemence he could gather, “You.”

Jude stared at him for a moment, then laughed, as if the whole ordeal was beyond hilarious to her. Lifting an amused eyebrow at him, she said, “Yes, me.”

“I—I will—” He stuttered stupidly, at a loss of words.

“You will what?” She asked, mildly interested. She stood up from the bed to stand in front of him and tilted her head as if waiting for him to continue and finish his sentence. He stared blankly at her, he also didn’t know what he was going to say because all he could think about at that moment, was Jude, standing naked in front of him. The familiar pit of desire opened up in his stomach once again but he closed it up. What he couldn’t stop though was glancing, for a fleeting moment, at her luscious lips, but unfortunately for him, Jude, who never missed anything, of course, saw this and smirked.

“Oh, Cardan,” She said, leaning in towards him, close enough for a kiss. His eyes fluttered shut automatically in anticipation, in want. He closed his eyes even harder as if somehow that would make this any less real and hide his growing desire for her.

“You really do want me,” She whispered, her mouth mere inches apart from him, “and you hate it.” With that, she brought her dangerous mouth to his own traitorous one. She kissed him, slow and rough, and he let her.

xxx

Cardan woke up with a start, cold sweat coating his pale skin, desire running wild through his body like a fast-flowing river ready to drown anything that came in between it. He looked around his room, trying to look for Jude, but then it dawned on him that he had been dreaming. It all had been a dream. Kissing Jude was a…dream. Making love to her was a dream. He shook his head as if somehow trying to rid his head of the ungodly image his brain was currently replaying, one that featured a very cloth-less Jude. Ungodly and not real, he reminded himself furiously.

He took a couple of deep breaths, willing himself to calm down, trying to think unpleasant thoughts about Jude, but none currently came to his mind. He was in a lot of trouble, he thought, appalled.

Horror, shame, anger, and worst of all stupid hope pooled in his stomach. He threw himself off his bed, opening up the shelf where he kept all the alcohol he possessed. Well, all the alcohol he possessed in his chambers, at least.

He grabbed himself a bottle of red wine, immediately opening it up and chugging it from the bottle straight. He couldn’t be sober for this. He wouldn’t be sober for this. When the familiar, soothing, taste of wine filled his mouth did he finally calm down. The sweet and bitter wine — like her, he thought but abruptly dismissed — guzzled down his neck and into his stomach, cooling down the intense feelings that seemed to overwhelm him until he couldn’t breathe.

xxx

Later that night, as he took a fairie with long ash-blonde hair and brown barky skin to bed, he thought of Jude and he hated every single second of it.

[whitherwanderer]

3 // tempest

// 487 words. Anger isn't pretty and Sawyer isn't trying to be.

Yours is not the domain of ‘loveliness’.

You do not turn heads when you enter a room. You pull at skirts with discomfort. Your steps are less a glide and more of a march, and your hair doesn’t keep elegant curls’ like the other girls’ does. While they flit from group to group, greeting and giggling, you try to put on forced smiles and what conversations you manage to strike up are short, light, usually end with one of you excusing yourself to find a drink or get some air.

You understand there is no expectation for a lowborn midlander to rise to such fanciful heights as the Haillenarte socialites, but your well-meaning godmother tries to encourage you regardless, extolling the virtues of a well-connected woman. She pulls you into conversations with the elders who politely oblige, and you speak of your work in the manufactory, only to be given the polite, yet disinterested compliments about how proud you should be. You are reminded sorely that these are merchants and magisters whose hands have scarcely been sullied by ink, let alone oil, and you are ever more aware of your hyuran stature as they tilt to look at you.

Most have already heard about you. Critical. Overly serious. Disagreeable. A little stormcloud of a girl, your free-wheeling mother once teased, and though she meant it lovingly, the words haunt you well into your midlife. All things that a young woman should endeavor not to be, and yet you cannot convince yourself to put on the wool long enough to fool the flock. You were not born soft and delicate. You pulled at your lips in the mirror one day and found sharp teeth. But instead of reaching for the file, you tested your bite.

You were not the first, of course. Other little girls like you had long found their fangs and grew into them, offering up their swords in service: Of the sky, from the sky, for the sky. How you envied their silver armor, all of them walking together in one shining sea. No one questioned if they belonged. If their teeth had merit.

Why couldn’t someone value your anger, then? Were storms not a blessing for the farmer? Was this not the city whose matron goddess was exalted as Fury?

You pour yourself into your work. Mad scrawl turned metal, metal turned machine. This endless churn of concept, design, prototype, product appeals to your critical eye. Your seriousness demands the respect of your peers, and your disagreeable attitude is no worse than any of theirs. You fashion weapons for the weary because you have no wool to warm them and pray to Byregot that it is enough. Bark and bite are tools where charm avails you naught, and you hope the Fury smiles.

Yours is not the domain of ‘loveliness’. But a storm needn’t be lovely to draw all eyes to its brilliant light.

[fancybendy]

Fancy Fancy Fancy! Very Fancy!

Fancy: "I'm not Beetlejuice darling, You can't summon me by saying my name three times."

[reine-du-sourire]

Amaranthine

Cheslock's in the library when Edward finds him, standing on tiptoes to reach a gilt-edged blue tome with golden letters dancing along its spine. With a soft grunt, Cheslock manages to tip it down and turns, triumphant, tucking the book under his arm. "Hiya, Ed." "Hello, Cheslock." Edward can't help a smile. "Are you busy?" Cheslock looks curiously at the elegant rectangular parcel that Edward is holding. "I can spare a minute. What have ya got there?"

Edward opens the box. "Some new inks. I only ordered black, but I received this set as well- it might have been an accident, or maybe they're just complimentary samples. I thought you might like to have them. I don't use colored inks."

"So send 'em back," Cheslock shrugs. His eyes scan the row of little jars nestled in black velvet lining, and he selects a bottle of deep reddish-violet ink, turning it over in his fingers. "It's nice stuff. Or save 'em."

"Or I could give them to you. It's hardly worth the bother to return them."

"Why would ya give 'em to me?"

"I thought you'd like them."

Cheslock picks up a midnight blue ink and rolls it back and forth between his hands, allowing it to clink gently against the purple-red one. "Where'd ya say you got 'em from?"

"Antoine & Fils," Edward replies. "My father's favorite manufacturer."

"Oh. Pricey." Cheslock passes the ink back. "Nah."

"As a gift, Cheslock! You don't have to pay me for them!"

"Not into gifts."

"As a favor to me, then? So I don't have to return them?"

"Not into favors either. I don't like owing people."

"It's not owing-! And- and it's not like you don't do favors, you've done favors for me, you gave me a massage last week-"

"That's 'cause ya squeak like a sick mouse, and it's funny."

Edward flushes. "I do not!"

"Yeah, ya do," Cheslock says lazily. He picks up the purple-red ink again. "Think the teachers'll have a fit if I hand in essays in this?"

"Cheslock, you shouldn't do that." Edward shakes his head. "You can use it to write your music. Or your letters home."

"Or I can make tattoos."

"You definitely shouldn't do that."

"You're the one who wanted me to take 'em."

"Yes, but not for tattoos!"

With a grin, Cheslock replaces the ink and takes the box from Edward, tucking it under his arm with the book and leaning forward to whisper directly into Edward's ear. "Maybe I'll give you a tattoo."

"Cheslock!"

"There's that sick mouse again. Is that why ya bought me fancy inks, 'cause I gave ya a massage? See? You can't stand owing anyone either, I bet."

"I said it's not owing! And I didn't buy them, they were complimentary!"

"You're such a gentleman, Midford." Cheslock's hand comes up to tug gently at Edward's earlobe. "Your ears go all pink when ya lie."

The rest of Edward's face goes vibrantly red as well. "Cheslock!"

"Thanks for the inks, Eddie. I've gotta go now. See ya 'round, okay?"

"Of course," Edward mumbles, and wonders whether his munificence will be the death of him.

The spring in Cheslock's step as he leaves the library suggests that it might not be, though, and Edward smiles.

Link to AO3

[spockandawe]

Hello! I've been thinking about binding some danmei novels in my native language, but I don't know where to start. I found your blog recently and find it very inspiring! I was wondering if maybe you could share with me what tools and materials would be good to get started with?

Sure!!!! So, I'm on mobile and don't have links at hand, but if you go back through my bookbinding tag, there are other replies I've got about the materials for making a book specifically. The renegade publishing blog also has resource documents that walk through the bookbinding process and include links to educational materials, etc. So for here, I'll focus on the danmei side of things!

So, a fun feature about these books is that they tend to run LONG. I've seen a number of people try to take up bookbinding in google docs, and honestly, it's doing things on hard mode. For many danmei, it's basically impossible. I think my EARLIEST earliest attempt at svsss began in gdocs, and that's not a super long novel, but gdocs was choking on it. A word processor on your desktop is going to be your best bet. Personally, i invested in a microsoft office license, because it was familiar and i could afford it. But the free parallel to that will be libre office, which does basically everything word can do, with just minor differences.

On the fancy end of bookbinding software, affinity, indesign, and microsoft publisher are also names you may hear tossed around. These can do fancier, more artistic layouts, but also come with a heavier price tag. And because i had webnovels on my radar from the start, i wanted something ROBUST. I wanted to be able to dump all of the husky and his white cat shizun into a single file and work from it. And i did eventually do that! Being able to typeset a single file rather than repeat each step across several is great, especially since i tend to tweak design choices as i go.

For danmei, you're also going to want a robust printer. I have a color laser that's been an absolute beast of a machine, but a black and white laser can get you a long ways, and monochrome designs can be very elegant. You don't want an HP brand printer, their toner subscription practices are downright predatory, but Brother and Canon are names I've seen recommended highly. You probably don't want an inkjet printer, because long books take a LOT of ink. The one exception would be if you can find an affordable ink tank printer.

And the last major thing i can think of is that if your main computer is a laptop, consider typesetting with an external mouse and keyboard! Danmei novels are split into lots of short chapters, frequently split across just as many web pages, with lots of footnotes to format, and laptops are convenient but not ergonomic. Doing too much on there is just asking for a repetitive strain injury. I've done it, but often paid for my sins in pain! And your laptop keyboard may start complaining too, I'm almost certain my first typeset of mdzs was the nail in the coffin for my last laptop's keyboard, haha

I hope that helps! Best of luck to you! Ive found binding cnovels to be EXTREMELY rewarding, even though my original reason was because these things would NEVER be licensed in english 😂 I'm delighted to see people experimenting with it for other translations in other languages, I really hope it goes well for you!!!!

[nuwonuwo]

VilEpe short fic, in which appleboy writes with a quill

Fandom: Twisted-Wonderland

Pairing: Vil Schoenheit/Epel Felmier

Warning: Some suggestive imagery

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Each tick of the clock was another iron weight pressing down on his nerves. The ink was scented with a veneer of lavender just thin enough to feel like a slow strangling by silk gauze. Epel did not dare look up from the parchment, or to his right at his dorm leader intently watching him from the bed. He focused with penetrating intensity on the strokes of fresh ink shimmering in the warm golden light, the peacock feather that made up the quill pen in his hand.

One more dip into the inkwell, one more line of spells learned in class intermingled with complete nonsense.

Earlier, Vil had asked him to come to his room for a photoshoot. That night, he was to don a white ruffled shirt with a cravat and sit at Vil's desk, writing absolutely anything (short of profanities and other such inelegances) with a peacock feather quill. He was going to argue that the usual magical pen would produce the same penmanship for less work, but held back for fear of being subject to worse — perhaps actually having to wear a fancy brocade waistcoat and a knee-length jacket on top of the shirt.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The photoshoot was done, Rook with his camera and his endless supply of flowery praises was sent away, but Epel wasn't yet allowed to leave. It was thus just he and Vil together in suffocating silence, the former's composure teetering on the brink of shattering.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

"Go on, keep writing. Fill the page," Vil said, a low, silky hiss that shook Epel to his bones. He could not afford to even let out a whimper, much less allow any falter in his quill strokes; to do so would be to let Vil win yet again.

His stiff hand reached up for another dip, but he was held back.

Hot breath lusciously caressed his neck, elegant fingers softly stroked his quill-holding hand. Epel's body gave a very visible shudder; Vil had already risen from the bed and was right behind him. "That'll do for today. You did better than I expected," Vil whispered into Epel's ear, dangerous, smooth, dark like the scented liquid filling the inkwell. "Your hands are born for classical writing implements. To hold a quill, touch parchment, wear a signet ring. Can't have those elegant hands do nothing but farm apples and roll around in dirt, can we? You can go now... but your quillmanship still needs work."

Epel's sleep was certain to be anything but peaceful that night.

[femmefighter]

Hi, fellow Sabine fan here.

What do you think Sabine’s favorite sex toy in the collection of toys she most definitely has is?

I’m thinking prolly something with a nice color combo to it

I think I'm getting too much of a reputation for being a Sabine or Ahsoka smut writer. Is that a bad thing?

Hello fellow Sabine fan!! Let's be friends and scream about Sabine's sex toy collection together.

I feel her favourite changes as frequently as her hair does. She has some that she has certain nostalgic attachments to. Did Kanan and Hera give her a strap as an 18th birthday present as a 'welcome to adulthood' present to watch her blush, but also as a subtle hint to Ezra that Sabine prefers the women? You bet they did, and she will never get rid of it, even if it hasn't matched her own aesthetic in years.

But as far as which ones she favours? For toys she uses on partners, she's a classic strap and harness gal, but they have to match her current hair/armour colour scheme. Hence why she has a collection.

For toys she uses solo? She favours dildos/vibrators that remind her of her current crush. Are her thoughts wrapped up on that Alderaanian princess she once rescued? She's using some fancy, elegant glass dildo she imagines Leia would own. Got some weird obsession for that murder-kitten Force wielder that stabbed her in the abdomen? She's using a glowing-orange vibrator that heats up. Thinks the Togruta Jedi that hangs out with the Ghost crew from time to time is a babe but doesn't know much about Togruta biology, and so is guessing what Ahsoka has under her skirt? She's using some bulbous alien dildo that the Holonet advertised as 'Togruta dick'.

She also has her sex toy collection booby-trapped with a ink bomb, especially when she was living on the Ghost. Ain't no way she's letting Ezra or Zeb gain access to that.

Thanks for the ask!

[dailyadventureprompts]

Sometimes I wish I worked in wood.

My father was a carpenter, a man who made his living with his hands. He had a workshop out back behind our house where he carved wood into useful shapes for his friends and neighbours:  Fence posts to protect a yard, replacement legs for damaged furniture, toys I often neglected for whatever new piece of plastic had captured my fancy. One of his favourite things to do was to make candle sticks, take a piece of wood he’d found and spin it on his lathe, hewing away a little piece here and there till the block became a smooth, elegant thing that he’d stain with utmost care.

I work in words, not wood.

Crafting stories is like trying to take a chisel to the wind. My medium is a fluid, shifting thing that doesn’t exist all the way and often requires what feels like magic to have any hold on. Putting words on the page is a struggle most days. It felt like my father could build anything from horsejumps to houses and his hammersure skills and calloused hands made him confidant he could face any challenge, even if he couldn’t. My skills with the quill leave me soft and timid, growing in increasingly introspective neuroticism as I probe the hollows where trauma has gouged searching me for some blockage that has stoppered up my words. If I beat my head against the wall long enough surely I’ll dislodge it, and the ink will flow from my fingertips again and all my dreams will come true.

But It doesn't work.

I am not the thing being carved, I am the hand holding the tool, holding the pen and the only way to get better is to keep at it. To correct my grip, to learn my own process, to repeat the same lucky mistake a hundred hundred times until it becomes a skill. My father could make a fence that would outlive him not because of some innate brilliance but because he’d spent thirty years perfecting the little tricks it took to make board and bevel and beam, and know how to efficiently repeat them over and over until the project is done. Maybe If I practice enough, work at those little unnamed tricks of the storyteller’s trade I can make something that outlives me too, as much a welcome and unnoticed part of someone’s life as a chair that doesn’t wobble or a wax covered candlestick.

I’ll keep working on it...