#I perfected by heart and then to chose to have multiple character draw it??

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

The Bird And The Man

Chapter Nine

Rated: Explicit | Warnings: Heheheh oops

Ao3

Chapter Eight | Chapter Ten

Orpheus had planned this out and wrote it a million times.

Like a detective, he laid out, notes upon notes and the red strings with his mind mapping out the multiple paths a conversation can go with you.

Everything the Novelist extrapolates, every possible outcome based on both Nightmare's dreams and his personal interactions with you.

Yet, at this moment in time, he finds himself lost.

Seeing you, being in the same room, in your presence with your attention on him; it is just like in dreams Nightmare's emotions bleed into clouding the Novelist's judgment. To yearn, he only yearned for one thing in all his life but here you are adding to his list.

“What does he have that I do not?”

When you love the darkness of a person, the flaws and parts people hide from the world, when the facade is taken away… He is laid bare to you.

Nightmare is every twisted sin and dark thought personified as a hunter. Yet, you draw out the light in him, that spark of Orpheus within the monster.

Orpheus… Felt that love.

This strange connection to his hunter counterpart and he shares unwillingly on both sides.

The love Nightmare has for you is bleeding into him, you are becoming important to Orpheus— Which is dangerous, far more dangerous than you realize.

You stand there unsure what to say, but your face says it all: you pity him. “I'm sorry.” Apologizing as if you did something wrong is a knee-jerk reaction.

“No, don't be,” Orpheus says, “My question was inappropriate. I should be the one apologizing.”

“Orpheus,” Placing the cue on the pool table to hold his hand.

“Please, Hypnos, it would be best if you do not touch me.”

“Have I offended you?” Stopping your hand just above his hand.

“No, not at all. You have been a light in my life these days and I fear I selfishly want to hold that light as my other has.”

Some romance novels have the third person who creates the plot of drama between the couple. Sometimes, it is brief or part of the whole book until the end where the main character has to make a choice. It always ends in heartbreak on one side, a minor thought of regret before being tossed aside to look forward to the happiness the main character chose.

In this case, how do you choose?

If one were to love Mr. Hide, would they love also Dr. Jekyll? They are the same person, a representation of the duality of humanity. Orpheus and Nightmare are these: two separate beings meant to be opposites but the same as well.

“I want to know why.” You tell him as you take your hand away, placing them by your side, “Do you feel what he feels?”

“Of sorts.” Turned and leaned against the pool table with both hands behind him to hold himself up. There is a pause before he talks, long-winded at first with flowery words as if writing a novel. Then it changes, simple and half sentences, his eyes on you the same way you imagine Nightmare's eyes are behind his mask.

“When I see you, all I feel is his love in my heart.”

You stand there, heart yearning for both men who share these emotions because they are the same person connected by this cursed manor.

You love one currently, while you had adored the other from afar.

Yet, it is the flawed man you choose and the perfection you were fascinated by because it was unattainable. You had a goal to reach, to become as well-known as the Novelist Orpheus… He is the moon, you were just a human on Earth looking up at him.

“Permit me to show you.”

“Show me?”

“Yes, I do not wish to steal you away… If you allow me to have a part of your heart.” A step closer, you step back, he moves around in front of you; your butt hits the edge of the pool. His arms caging you in, hands planted on the pool table. “Hypnos.” The way he sounds is dangerously close to Nightmare, or maybe it is the other way around. It pulls at your heart, that confusion both with his confession and reasoning (explained like a detective solving the great case of his love life), and now this.

The way he looks at you is the way you know how Nightmare looks upon you every time you are around him, kissing his mask and telling him— Your heart races as if scared and curious, not thrilled.

“Orpheus…” You feel your breathing quickening, chest tight, hands on his chest unsure what to do.

Do you love the monster more than the man? Or man who is the monster?

To deny him, would that mean you are denying Nightmare?

His lips take yours, not the sort of way you have read in romance novels. Your hands grip his vest as he leans forward forcing you to tip back, his kiss with tongue leaving you helpless and lost. Having no idea what to do but be taken and he takes a lot. His body is completely on top of you and both of you are lying on the pool table. You gasp, hands pinned down as he is above you. His leg hooks and drags your leg upward and his crotch is flush against yours. 

Your heart is racing as his lips are on your neck, it is like you unlocked something within him that you fear will consume you. You cannot keep up with his skill and a moan that escapes your mouth is loud in this quiet space.

Orpheus hovers above you, “Hypnos.” A darkness falls over part of his face, only one brown seen in the light. 

“Orpheus,” A bit dizzy as you are lost and confused, “Stop.”

And he does. Pulling away and wiping his mouth with his thumb then licking the pad of his thumb, “That… Was my fault.”

You sit up on the pool table still in a bit of a daze but aware enough to not look at the man, “I should go.”

“Of course.” Moving out of your way, “I hope you consider this.” He speaks while you pass by him.

Orpheus stands there, his eyes closing as he sighs in disappointment. The mundane task of cleaning up the game of billiards is not helping him relax.

You sent him a letter urgently asking for this meeting, the penmanship frantic and quick. You had to send it by Lady Nightingale who had Lucky Guy deliver the letter.

Within an hour, you get a reply sent by a raven with a letter detailing where to meet. Nightmare waits for you under the moonlight in a different meeting spot. Outside the estate in the old Kreiburg Race Course, he is in the middle with his arm out for you to hold. It is a cold winter night, you wear proper winter clothes and speak with him about what happened a few hours ago.

Frantic and over-explaining while apologizing a ton.

Nightmare will not tell you how much pride he feels that despite you being with his counterpart, you still thought of him. To know he equally plagues your thoughts, to know you yearn for him too, he is smiling though you are freaking out.

“Do you hate me? I should have said no…” He stops to catch your tears, “You must think me a hussy.”

With a shake of his head, as he stops you from walking and stands in front of you, he pulls out the notebook from inside his coat and starts writing.

Two pages worth of writing.

“Oh.” Reacting when he lets you read it, a quick read then a detailed read, “But… Isn't that unseemly?”

Another shake of his head and he takes the notebook back to write a few more words.

“I… I need to think about it, Orpheus. This is… Very new to say the least to me.”

His beak rubs your cheek affectionately, his hands pulling and holding you close to his chest. you gladly and clingy hug him back.

You inhale his scent, rubbing your puffy face into his chest.

“Touch. You?”

You nod, “I wish you could touch me every day.” Gripping the fabric of the coat as if it is a lifeline and the safest place in the world, “The New Year celebration,” Lifting your head to look at him, “Will you spend it with me?”

His beck touches your lip, a kiss, and he nods his head, “Yes but away.”

“We can find a spot for ourselves.” Smiling that beautiful smile he prefers over the tears you were shedding. Agh, he knows Orpheus is better than that but they both are too eager when with you. Fiend-ing for someone they do not need to wear a mask around (not completely). You laugh when he picks you cradling you in his arms like a bride, his mask once more covered in your kisses.

The others saw the blue lipstick when he returned from your room, the whispers and glances. None of them ever truly interact with him given his isolationist behavior. To see the blue lipstick all over him must have been a sight, and again he is prideful about it.

To be marked, he likes it.

[goldensunset]

i’m not about to draw a minimum of twelve entire pictures but i wanna do this anyway (i guess i could just edit the images in there but that’s lame lol)

•my favorite gym leader is probably either tulip or clay! something about tulip i just always found very endearing and respectable and i love clay’s no-nonsense attitude and sheer strength. plus he gets bonus points for his daughter being lacey

•fav champion is clearly volo. like how could you not classify that as a champion fight. that was so freaking hard man. runner up goes to kieran though bc he was also really hard for me. but of course if we’re talking official true pokémon league champions then cynthia

•fav elite four member has gotta be lacey. i adore her. first time i’ve ever lost to the same opponent multiple times in a fair fight (aka being prepared and on-level). she’s sooo cute and fun! she also terrifies me severely

•favorite protagonist is akari no surprise there. la does such a good job of making it clearly important why the protag is the protag. it offers a legitimate in-universe explanation as to why this one child in particular is so much more powerful than all the others. out of place in time and space, literally chosen by a god… the way certain characters question her humanity, both in a good and evil way… it’s so good

•favorite rival… well pokémon fans use the term rival really loosely. it can mean any friend character that you battle for funsies even once. it can mean literal arch nemesis. idk. arven stole my heart with his story but i don’t consider him a rival like most people do so that goes to cheren. i love his story and he has also mopped the floor with me several times

•favorite antagonist is also volo next question. i’m sick in the head about him. n is a strong and clear second place obviously though. i’ve done enough rambling on here about them

•professor laventon is the guy ever he feels like he actually personally cares about akari so much. that’s her dad. the way he’s actively involved in plot stuff, he accompanies the team on field missions even when he really doesn’t need to… he’s always there. you see him a lot. and he’s clearly writing the pokédex entries himself and they’re absolute gold. but seeing as professor is also a broad term because they’ve been really breaking up the older tradition in recent games, i nominate director clavell as second place bc i respect the guy a lot. that old man (tm) enjoyer here

•fav battle facility leader… well. i don’t really have one bc i’ve done very little with the battle facilities in the two games i’ve played that had them lol. so i guess throwaway answer is ingo but mostly for pla reasons. actually i think he counts as a battle facility leader in pla with the daybreak update and i’ve done some of his stuff so he does in fact count for me

•for fav clan member i’m gonna say arezu i like her a lot. she tried doing the right thing in a very chaotic way and i respect her for her efforts. plus her design is cute and she gives great haircuts and her noble is adorable

•character from other media… well i’m obsessed with the way n is portrayed in pokespe. perfect blend between sad prettyboy and freak behavior. they just made everything so intense. and i love oshawott from poképark 2 with the way he’s trying so hard to be serious and cool but snivy keeps getting on his nerves lol. that’s the reason i chose oshawott in pla bc that was the only of those pokémon i recognized

•i’m classifying arven as miscellaneous bc like i said i don’t consider him a rival but MAN!! man… this guy just got shortchanged so many times but i’m glad he was able to get closure for his parents’ disappearance and death and that he can move on and just live his own life. also certified dog lover moment

•top fav character… yeah you all know it’s volo LOL. completely shrimp fried my brain. the absolute hyperactive high i was on when he revealed himself. made even more insane bc i had literally been spoiled that he was a twist villain but i had no other context so i was just waiting the whole game for him to be evil. imagine the sinking in my gut when the credits rolled and it didn’t happen i thought i’d been embarrassing myself the whole time but then the postgame punched me in the gut HARD. i thought he’d end up being like the sad sympathetic frenemy guy where you don’t really want to fight him but NOPE full on evil full on he was just using you. made even better by the context that he had been your biggest fan throughout the whole game while everyone else had been suspicious of you. i lost my entire mind. once again second place to n though

[ol1verdrawsyt]

What r things you like about the dsaf community, and things you don’t like about it? Just curious to hear some thoughts! :D

Oh boy, I have a lot to say abt this one. I'm just gonna preface this by saying, I have a very special place in my heart for dsaf. Idk where I would be today if I hasn't have found that trilogy. With that being said, I'll start with the good.

Tw: opinions 😱😱

For starters, its a very welcoming community. Because a good majority of the community is queer, it makes it a safe space. In my experience, it was the first time I felt open and comfortable being myself inside of a Fandom.

It's also a very talented community. Like holy hell, have you seen those amazing Henry fanarts with him in the void? They're fucking epic!

Finally, the DSaF community is pretty sweet to new artists. I remember when I was in the piggy Fandom, they were brutal man. I got bullied constantly for my art and was pretty close to quitting for a while. In DSaF though, I just simply received constructive criticism and people helping me rather than shaming me.

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Now onto the not so great

First, the ships that shouldn't really be normalized. Steven x Peter is probably a big one. Peter had a wife, Steven was a horrible boss and sent Peter to the factory knowing what would happen to him, and that he had a family (we know from Peter and Jimbo that you can refuse to do that. In the slightly evil ending, Peter refuses to send Jimbo to the factory) and also they canonically hate eachother. Also the horrible power imbalance? Like, idc what your excuse is, shipping boss x employee is just wrong.

And yet, this is like the 2nd most popular ship in the Fandom. I'm not done with it either cuz the people who ship Steven and Peter lead into my next point.

Being toxic towards straight ships. I'm gonna preface this before anybody gets mad by saying, I am a trans and queer man, I can have an opinion on this.

So Peterline is not a very popular ship despite it being cannon. Caroline is Peter's wife, and you see her at the end of the perfect ending. I've been bullied before (mainly on tiktok) for shipping this. I've had someone just go off on me because I'm "taking away gay rep and that Peter is canonically a gay man." Like, tf?? Also, side note: he isn't. Dogman confirmed the characters sexualities and Peter is "probably straight." Not to mention he had a wife that he chose and married himself, not a manufactured one like with Steven. But back to my point. Peterline is overshadowed by all of the Steven x Peter shippers because it's EVERYWHERE. I don't even know why it's a ship in all honesty. But heaven forbid you don't ship it and ship Peter and his WIFE.

You thought that was the worst of it? Wrong. We go away from the side that's mainly queer/allies and go to the homophobic side. Yep. There are homophobic/transphobic DSaF fans despite a good majority of the main cast being queer. Luckily, they don't really show their faces anywhere near the queer fans, so we're all set. I have seen them comment on davesport posts before though complaining. Speaking of davesport:

Davesport has completely taken over the Fandom. I love davesport as much as the next person, but if you truly love something, you have to admit the flaws. First, the weird kinda fetishism of it? I won't name names **cough cough daystars cough cough**, but there are artists who draw this ship and intentionally make the characters look like teenage boys and not old zombie men. Plus, people kinda romanticizing / glorifying the fact that Dave stalked and had an unhealthy obsession with Jack. That isn't cute and romantic that "he loves him so much that he broke into Jack's house on multiple occasions and watched him sleep 🥺🥺🩷🩷☺️☺️☺️" (genuine comment I saw btw, minus the emojis cuz I wanna make sure people know it's satire what I'm saying). Plus, people are bullied for shipping anything other than Davesport. I can understand if it's a proship (I'll get into those fuckewads later), but someone shipping anything other than davesport will get you witchhunted in this community. I know I said I don't like boss x employee, but I don't hate someone if they ship something like Harry x Jack or something. There are people genuinely scared of showing that they ship that because of the hard-core davesport fans. Final note on this point, it's the only DSaF content being made. I want more Blackjack and og managers art pls I beg of you I want more art of the og managers. But instead, it's just davesport again. It gets to a point where I'm kinda tired of it.

Next point: people babying characters. Now, I won't name names **cough cough daystars again cough cough** but there are very popular artists who get away with this. The biggest ones I can think of are Peter, Roger, and Jack. Here's why I think this happens:

Jack: Because he's shown to have a soft side. It's mainly seen in DSaF 3 on the flipside with him gently talking to the other souls and telling them that it's gonna be ok and he'll help them find justice and peace. Also, he is somewhat civil to Dave at the start of a few routes so probably from the fucking davesport shippers again.

Roger: Because he's hinted at to have an anxiety disorder. Hey there! Person with a diagnosed anxiety disorder here. DON'T FUCKING BABY US! Like, just because you have an AD doesn't mean you need 24/7 protection and babying because "what if you get scared 🥺🥺🥺😔😔😔". People with ADs can do amazing things despite it. And Roger is no exception. In the evil ending, he goes off at Jack about everything he's done and doesn't break a sweat. He's probably the strongest out of the 3 phone guys because he's the first person (other than Peter) to stand up to Jack when he's doing something wrong.

Peter: Same as Jack, he's shown to have a soft side. Mainly when talking about how he remembers his wife and family, and invites Jack to live with him and Caroline despite (to his knowledge) he's only known Jack about a week. But like with Roger, he puts his foot down when needed. In the evil routes, Peter takes Jack back to his office and just let's him have it. He goes off about the fucked up shit Jack has done and even throws in some amazing lines like

"That's Mr.Cawthon to you, employee. We certainly aren't friends."

"Employee, let me tell you something. I am a VERY good boss."

"It takes the truth to fool me, or close to it. And you've played me for a goddamned fool."

But of course, with this community, that entire badass scene with Peter and Jack is overshadowed by him being "uwu smol bottom gay boy"

I mentioned them earlier, so here it goes: the proshippers. They're everywhere. Some of the biggest dsaf artists **cough cough fucking daystars again cough cough** are proshippers. It's mainly a problem on tiktok. I've seen people ship: Peter x Dave, Dave x Henry, Steven x Henry, Jack x Peter, Henry x Dee, Henry x Jack, Dee x Jack, Jack x Dee x Peter x Dave. It's honestly disgusting, and I really don't wanna talk abt it anymore.

Next, people drawing Henry skinny. This one pisses me off a lot. People draw Henry as a skinny little bottom boy and not the fat old man he is. There's a lot of people guilty of this. **cough you probably know who I'm abt to say cough cough**. Some people try at least. For example, I tried sticking with my roblox-like bodies and giving Henry a very big torso. Later on, I finally learned how to draw plus sized bodies, and so now that I can, I immediately implemented it. Some people just don't even try.

Finally, people mad at dogman for moving on from the series. I shit you not. I came across people complaining about this just last night. Here's the thing: DSaF has a lot of problematic stuff in it. Nobody can deny that. Dogman has apologized for it on many occasions and doesn't want that to represent his work now. He moved on to Dialtown, where he can now get paid for his hard work and pay his team. But because he isn't talking abt DSaF anymore, people refuse to even look at Dialtown. It's just kinda...childish in my opinion? It'd be a different story if you just simply didn't enjoy Dialtown. Like that's fine and understandable, the game isn't for everyone. But really? Just because the creator moved on from his problematic past and made something original, you want nothing to do with him. That's just stupid.

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Alr ty for coming to my Ted talk. If someone wants it I'll do one of these with Dialtown (there isn't much bad, it'll just be me ranting abt how much I love Dialtown)

Btw don't harass anyone I mentioned here if I did mention them. It doesn't solve anything, and you just look like and asshole.

[thidwicktails]

And now adding Nancy, Jonathan, and Argyle!

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4

Markers:

Blue- Robin

Black- Steve

Red- Eddie

Green- Jonathan

Purple- Nancy

Orange- Argyle

[stargazer-balladeer]

S/o’s birthday but locks themselves in their rooms because they don’t feel special [Genshin Impact]

Characters Included: Aether, Childe, Diluc, Kaeya & Venti.

Notes: Ayeeee! Since it’s my birthday today, why not make this? :))) I actually got carried away 🥲 this is around 3.5k words in total. Hope ya’ll like this!

Reader’s Gender: Neutral (tho i think there’s a slight implied female hehe…)

Warning: probably some swear words here and there knowing me- and mild suggestive themes in kaeya’s part 

[albedo, scaramouche, xiao]

Aether remembers your birthday more than he knows his- like srsly, he’s the kind that remembers his s/o’s bday more than his. He’s also the kind that celebrates it privately unless you want to celebrate it with others, which he doesn’t mind. He might have a hard time deciding what kind of gift you want, but sooner or later, he already has one (or multiples bc he can’t decide-). 

Imagine his confusion when your day finally arrives but he can’t find you anywhere, even Paimon, who was excited to celebrate your bday (“oohh~ I can’t wait to eat the cake!” - Paimon), seems confused. Probably the culprit in planting worry in the travellers head as she jumps to conclusion that you might’ve been kidnapped. 

Luckily, he checked your house before he could report it to the knights of Favonius or the Qixing (like any normal person should do really-). When he received no reply, he takes out the spare key you gave him and entered your house, an invasion of privacy he knows but it's an emergency- 

Knowing that you’re in your room when he can’t find you downstairs, he knocks on your bedroom door softly while calling your name. Imagine his (and Paimon’s) relief when the door cracked open. Immediately engulfing you into a hug, he lets out a sigh of relief. He then proceeds to ask you what you were doing inside your room when it’s your birthday. His heart literally broke when you stated your reason. Tightening his hold around your figure, he smiles bitterly, knowing that feeling all too well..

“That’s not true. None of that stuff is true. Everyone deserves to feel special on their birthday, most especially you. We’ve brought some food, and cake of course. Also some gifts from other people. If you want, do you want to celebrate it with just the two, or rather three, of us?”

You, who was a literal angel in his eyes deserve the world. He honestly wants to find whoever put that idea in your head but that was reserved for another moment. For now, his main priority is your happiness. Guiding you downstairs where Paimon was (she left when aether hugged you, knowing you two needed privacy. also the cAKE-), he watches as your eyes sparkle at the sight of the cake. 

Grinning softly he made sure you had fun with your birthday. Even though it would be more fun with more people, it feels more special if it’s celebrated with just the two of you. Staring you with pure adoration as you laughed merrily at the sight of Paimon stuffing herself with food. He couldn’t help himself but lean forward to place a kiss on your forehead and then on your lips, leaning back with a smile on his face. 

“Happy birthday, my love. May many more to come. Maybe next time, we can invite other people. Though I don’t mind if we’ll celebrate it with just the two of us only-” And Paimon! Don’t forget about Paimon!” “Yes yes. And Paimon.”

Similar to Aether, he would most definitely remember your birthday. After all, it holds a special place in his heart, alongside his family. And since this boi is rich af, he would most definitely try to spoil you on your birthday. Piles of expensive (or just cheap yet meaningful) gifts, reservation to a high-class restaurant in Liyue Harbor, and all that glamour. 

Actually, he didn’t find it odd that he didn’t see you immediately, thinking that you overslept or just relaxing in your house. But he soon finds it weird when it’s already around 3 in the afternoon and no sign of your face in the crowd, something he raised a brow at but shrugged it off. It isn’t until it’s almost the time of the reservation he made when he finally realized what’s going on. 

When he arrived at your house, dressed in a suit similar to Zhongli except it’s entirely black and white, waiting for you to come out. After a couple of minutes, he soon got concerned and decided to enter your bedroom through the window (pls do not do this at home). Startled at the sudden appearance of your handsome yet cheeky boyfriend, he stares at you with eyes asking the questions he didn’t dare to tell. 

Knowing he will get his answer one way or another, you decided to tell him about your dilemma. After you finished explaining yourself, silence surrounds you, which is quite worrisome since your boyfriend is known for his rather talkative behavior. Blinking in surprise at the sudden embrace of the 11th Harbinger, his hug was rather tight but not too tight that it cuts your oxygen. Speaking in a low, faint voice, a surprising feat for him, you can make out what he said as clear as day. 

“I’m sorry. I should’ve noticed it sooner. I was trying to be a perfect boyfriend for you but I guess I failed in that aspect. You know, if you feel like you aren’t special enough to celebrate your birthday, then what about me? Me who stained his hands with the red blood of his enemies, always engaging in a fight, clashing with other blades. Insecurity is really an asshole huh? Let me make it up to you now. Let’s not anymore go to that stupid high-class restaurant, c’mon, up you go. You better dressed comfortably when I come back or else…”

Leaving you quickly before coming back immediately, this time in more comfortable clothing rather than the stiff suit he wore earlier. This time as well, he entered your house normally through the door. In his arms, he was holding a bunch of stuff and proceeded to dump it on the living room table. It was different kinds of movies in different genres, you spotted some of your favorite movies in them (makes you also wonder where he got these from since you don’t remember seeing these in the room he stays-).

He would suggest making a pillow fort, and while making the pillow fort, he proceeded to smack you with one. Which ensued a pillow fight between you two. It successfully made the both of you a laughing mess by the end, filled with feathers. Childe then carries you bridal style to the incomplete pillow fort and starts the movie you chose. Placing you in his lap and placing his head either on your shoulder or head depending on your height, cuddling you from behind tightly with a contented smile on his face. 

“You know what? This might not be how I envisioned how your birthday would go, but I’m not complaining. Happy birthday, comrade. My most adorable and most cutest and only love. I love you so much that you’ll be the very reason why I die so suddenly. So stop being so cute okay?” 

(You two are living together in this one.)

Diluc has the probability of forgetting your birthday due to his busy schedule, especially if it’s starting to rise when your birthday draws near. He might neglect you for a couple of days, too engrossed in his work. When the day finally arrives, it completely leaves his mind. Like he’ll think of it as a completely ordinary working day. It isn’t until one of your friends told him to send you their birthday greetings that he remembered. And oh boy does he feel guilty, like srsly, he literally froze when he realizes what day it is today. And you know what that means? ✨Panicc✨

Honestly, I can see him buying the whole store XD. In the state of panic, his common sense just leaves him completely that he ends us buying practically the whole store. It would be sent to the Dawn Winery immediately as he buys some flowers from Flora, who also sent you her birthday greetings, which made him more guilty-

When Diluc steps foot inside the manor, he tries to search for you outside the gardens where he usually finds you but when he doesn't, he gets worried. Asking the head maid immediately about your whereabouts, and his concern and worry (and guilt) grew even more when he finds out that you haven’t gone out of your room. He quickly went to your shared room, with the flowers still in his hands, and knocked on your door. Calling your name softly and asking for permission to enter, when granted he entered the room as quickly as possible. But seeing the sight of you bundled up in your blanket made his heart crack.

Placing the flowers at the bedside table, he quickly made his way in front of you and kneeled down to meet your eye level. You can tell he was very worried about you with how frantic his eyes seem and the concern underlying it. With the way he was staring at you, you can’t help but spill your insecurity to him. The reason why you were hiding in his room rather than go out to celebrate your day of birth. Every word you spill made his heart break even more. Seeing tears started to leak from your eyes, he placed his two hands on your face wiping away the tears with his thumbs. Smiling at you gently and placing a kiss on your eyelids and on your nose.

“I completely understand, my love. Even I sometimes feel that way. Also to the point where I don’t want to celebrate my birthday even, but that won’t do my love. You are so special, you deserve your special day to be well special. If you want to simply lay here and sleep, then so be it. If you want to go out and do something, then I’ll happily oblige. Let’s obliterate those awful thoughts, and if those keep persisting, I’ll slice them up for you. I’ll keep picking you up when you fall. So, what is your command, my love?” (i'm so tempted for him to say master-)

Whatever your answer may be, one thing for sure, Diluc is seen smiling adoringly at you. Even the maids noted how soft the master is around you, particularly today. Whether curled up together in the bed, with him embracing you tightly to his chest and placing a kiss on top of your head. And if you listen carefully, you can hear him quietly humming a tune that his father (or mother) sang to him. Or you two outside in the garden, simply admiring the view with his hand around your waist. 

Either way, at the end of the day, he would wake you up or make you go inside for dinner. You haven’t eaten breakfast or lunch yet so you’re probably hungry by now. If you don’t want to leave your room or want to return to your room, he would understand and make the maids bring the food to you. When the maid(s) finally arrives with the food, you notice the cake on the tray. Looking at him as he chuckles, taking the trays from the maids. Humming a light tune, he scoops a spoonful of cake and holds it to your mouth, with a slight smirk on his face, eyes twinkling with mischief. 

“Stop staring at me like that, did you really think I would let the day go by for you to not celebrate your birthday properly? From what I know, birthdays have cakes in them, whether a huge cake or a cupcake. Say ‘ahh’~... Happy birthday my love. May next year be more enjoyable than now.”

Kaeya remembers your birthday like the back of his hand, I think he’s even more excited than you really. Eagerly awaiting your birthday as he counts down the days, dropping hints and stuff to you birthday-related, and probably plans a birthday party for you. The knights immediately agreed on it, including a certain bard, traveler, and wine master (albeit more hesitantly). He made sure that this party would be successful, constantly checking on the plans and such. To the point that everyone was practically fed up with his constant questions. But they understand that he wants this to be a successful and enjoyable party for you. It got to the point where Diluc kicked him out of his Tavern after asking for the umpteenth time. 

When your day finally arrives, he was practically beaming with joy and excitement. To the point where he can’t hide it behind the cool and suave facade he wears. He quickly made his way to you, going along with the plan of distracting you as they started to prepare for the party. In his total excitement, he didn’t notice the rather gloomy atmosphere around the house. But when he arrived at your door, that is when he noticed how quiet your house is.

Now albeit worried, his excited smile slipping from his face and now replaced with a worried frown, he knocked on your door, calling you in his usual teasing voice. When he didn’t hear your response, the bubble of anxiety appeared in his body. Twisting the knob and finding it unlocked, he quietly and carefully opened the door. Seeing your back immediately, seeing your side rise and fall making him sigh in relief that you were still alive. Closing the door gently but made a noise to alert you of his presence. Taking a seat behind you, he ran his cold fingers on your back, watching you arching at the sudden coldness of his fingers. Smiling slightly, he asked what’s wrong. 

Turning around to face him, you buried your face on his chest, inhaling his strong masculine scent. Instinctively wrapping his arms around you, he played with your hair with one of his hands. Tapping on your head slightly, beckoning for you to answer his question. With no way out, you decided to come clean. You explain how you feel like you don’t feel like you deserve to be treated as special on your birthday and all that sort. His face was void of emotion as he stared at the ceiling with his unique pair of blue eyes. Outside he might seem emotionless. But inside, he was on the brink of insanity. Who dares to put such an idea on his s/o’s mind? Why would you think of that? Was this insecurity of yours also his fault?

“That must be the most stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. You’re not special? Please. Don’t try to make me laugh with that joke ‘cause it’s not funny. You are a jewel, a star, a constellation. As rare as the gems, or rather visions. You can even rival the very sun with your smile. I know those demons in your head keep saying those words to you, the temptation is so tempting, right? Just succumbing to them to make them quiet. But that’s why I’m here, my dearest snowflake. I’m here for you. You’re so special to everyone, most especially to me. You mean the world to me. Anyway, enough of this tear-jerking stuff, we have a party to celebrate. And we can’t celebrate it without the birthday gal/guy now can we?”

Despite your protests, he lifted you effortlessly and carried you outside and into the dawn winery where the party was held. Placing you on the ground and pushing you forward where people from Mondstadt came and greeted you with happy birthdays. Smiling at the sight of you being overwhelmed at the warm greetings, and then chuckling at how bright your face became. Diluc nudges him to you, beckoning him to help you before returning to what he was previously doing (most likely trying to force a bard to not finish all the wines in the vicinity).

After a while in the party, Kaeya brings you to a secluded place with no people for air. Being in a party filled with people could be suffocating at times, especially if you’re not used to it. He intertwined his hands with yours and bends down to meet your eye level (or leans down if you have the same height as him-). He gives you a cheeky smile and proceeds to place a peck on your lips. Chuckling when you pouted and glared at him, wanting more kisses.

“My my, what a greedy vixen~ But it is indeed your birthday so I guess I have no choice but to oblige to whatever my birthday vixen wants me to do. Would you like me to strip as well? Haha. Kidding kidding. Happy birthday, princess/prince. May many more to come. Oh! I forgot. I heard from a certain birdie that you ordered for a personal performance from me~ would you like to get it now?” 

Since we all know that Venti practically doesn’t do anything like every day, I would safely say that he would remember your birthday. Probably save some mora to buy you a gift for your birthday, even though it’s not as fancy as the people in Liyue (they all rich kids-), it’s still meaningful. He probably made a bracelet all by himself with the beads he either bought or also made by himself. Nevertheless, he was as excited as Kaeya for your birthday. Already prepared songs to sing for you when that day comes. 

Venti immediately searches for you when the day finally arrives, but his excited and bright smile vanishes when he can’t find you in the crowd of people. Raising a brow at your sudden disappearance, he searched for you everywhere, the tavern, the church, the headquarters, everywhere but your house. So when he finally arrives at your house, he was filled with worry and concern. Entering your room through the window like usual, he sees your figure sitting on the floor while reading a book.

He pouted at the sight as he made his presence known by asking you why you were here and reading a book on your birthday. He watches as you jump from where you are and turns to look at him, sighing at the sight of him. He slowly made his way to you and sat next to you, his legs sprawled across the floor. He takes note of the food around you, which was non-birthday festive, it was just ordinary food. Not understanding why you’re sulking in your room, he asked you what’s wrong. 

Venti’s eyes widened at your explanation, feeling the sadness leaking at the words you said. They weave themselves around his heart, squeezing it, making him have a hard time breathing. He shares your pain. He was your soulmate after all. He immediately engulfed you in a hug, stuffing his face on the crook of your neck. You were so vulnerable in his eyes. You were so fragile. He desperately wants to protect you from the pain. But looks like he can’t protect you from your own demons. 

“Even though I promised myself to not say or do anything that’ll make you sad, I just need to get it off my chest. I’m sorry you had to suffer through that, those demons that a simple bard that weaves stories into songs can’t erase. Alright, no more feeling sorry for yourself. It’s time to get out and spend the rest of the day enjoyable, perfect for my precious Cecilia.” 

Without any warnings, he picked you up and jumped out of your window. Shrieking at the sudden fast pace, you instinctively wrapped your hands around him as he landed on the ground. Giving you a smug smile while saying “didn’t think i’d let you fall now?” Please slap him. Anyway, he laughed at your aggression and continued to run. Even if you ask where you’re going, he just says it's a secret. So might as well enjoy being in his arms as he continues to run (you swear you can feel the wind adding to his speed but that was just maybe your imagination-).

After a while, he placed you down and you realized where you are. It was Starsnatch Cliff, surrounding you were Cecilia flowers. Venti jumped on you, making you fall to the ground as he giggles. His hat flown back from the force of his sudden attack, he still has that stupid big smile on his face. Since his laughter is contagious, you couldn’t help but laugh alongside him. His eyes glistened with delight at the sight of your smile finally. Grabbing your hand and placing the bracelet he made, he pressed a kiss on your knuckle.

“This bracelet shall be a promise from me to you, a fellow bard to the fairest queen/king. I shall love you for eternity, this heart will only beat for you, and this body belongs to you. If you’re in dire need of assistance, don’t hesitate to call me. I’ll be there, forever and always. Happy birthday, my sweet flower.”

[x] Main Page || [x] Mondstadt Page || [x] Fatui Harbingers Page 

[mightymorphingayagenda]

cant wait for lethal combination chapter 5! and loved the holiday nessian fic you wrote!

then you shan’t have to wait! and thank you so much, nonnie. the fic they’re talking about and all previous chapters of lethal combo can be found here,  x

“Forgive me, father, for I have sinned.” 

Nesta kept her gaze on the wall of oak opposite her.  

“Is this the part where I tell you to get on your knees for me?” She asked.  

Humourless. 

And she could practically feel the feral rage radiating from him. Bleeding through the grate to her left like he were trying to smoke her out.  

“This is the part where you-“ 

“Shhh.” 

A lean shadow, a head of auburn hair, muted in the darkness like the decayed verdure of autumn, barely distinguishable through the latticed window no bigger than her hand.  

She’d made Eris wait almost a day.  

In Nesta’s experience teenage girls understood psychological warfare better than any CIA types she’d met. And rule one in the handbook was never call him back right away.  

Eris might as well have been a cute boy from home room, the advice stood fast.  

She’d also chosen the time and place for their meeting, giving no concessions in authority. Picking the church as unlike her he’d inherited both the egregious wealth of his family and their faith. Irish Catholic. Meaning he’d find himself here every Sunday evening regardless, and providing not only the guise of normality, but the cosy anonymity of a confessional.  

The only people who did secrecy better than assassins, were the Catholics.  

It was perfect really, the perfect plan. Undistracted Nesta had been able to work it out pretty quickly after Cassian had left. Leaving her all those hours between four in the morning and her meeting the following evening with nothing to do but hate him.  

Avoiding returning to the bed he’d screwed her in. Glaring at his jacket which still hung beside her front door over a bottle of vodka.  

It was a blow to her pride to be sure. The closest thing to rejection she’d ever received from a man. Whatsmore, some gooey part of her she’d pushed down had been upset.  

Too worked up to sleep she’d spent hours tucked into her armchair and entertaining plucking his teeth from his mouth like the petals of a rose. He loves me, he loves me not. Because worse than revealing himself to be a complete ass as most men did, Cassian had done so subsequent to fucking her better than she could have dreamed. And she’d had that dream. Multiple times.  

Wet dreams that couldn’t hold a candle to the way he’d had her dripping down to her knees, begging for his cock, trembling on legs he’d thrown over his shoulder to lick out her cunt like it was the reason he got out of bed in the morning. The man had spoilt her rotten.  

Nesta knew she probably shouldn’t have been thinking about sex in a church. Her mother was likely burning with a fury hotter than the flames that surrounded her down below, but she couldn’t help it. Because while she hated the sinner- ever bronze buffed, tattooed inch of him - god did she love the sin.  

“The adult is going to talk,” she said quietly. “If you want to throw a tantrum you can do it on your own time because as of this moment, I’m officially off the clock.”  

Eris’ silence said he knew better than to interrupt her. Perhaps he was smarter than she was about to give him credit for.  

“In fact I stopped working for you as of the moment you chose to question my methods and profess concerns that I may have jeopardised our venture because I lack the professionalism to keep my legs shut,” she said.  

“So if you want Helion Day neutralised, you’re going to have to find someone else to do the job. Though I seriously doubt you’ll be able to.” 

Cue phase two of the plan.  

Because she may have hated Cassian, but she wanted the monopoly on causing him emotional anguish.  

Like hell some other pro was going to put a bullet between Helion’s eyes and devastate his bodyguard. Making that man cry was Nesta’s prerogative. 

“I have made it clear to anyone in my field you might attempt to solicit that you are a impertinent, trust fund brat, who insists on micromanaging the work of other’s despite your incompetence in an attempt to feel important beyond the breeding mummy lied and told you made you special.” 

“I wasn’t aware you also specialised in character assassination.” 

Eris’ voice was charred with a sweetness like wealth; earthy and rich it reminded Nesta of muscovado sugar.  

He was right. She was being unprofessional. But she was tired and hungover and out of a gorgeous lay so fuck him.  

“My specialities are no longer any of your business, Mr Vanserra,” she replied. “My displeasure however, should be of great concern to you.”  

“Is that a threat?” 

“I wouldn’t do you the courtesy of warning you if I intended to kill you.” 

Eris said nothing.  

“You can consider it incentive if it helps you sleep at night though,” Nesta continued.  “To do as you’re told.” 

She gave him strict instructions.  Wait five minutes then leave. Never contact me.  Forget we were ever in correspondence in the first place.   

“Murder is cheap, Mr Vanserra. You don’t want to learn the cost of disobeying me. It’s not the kind of thing daddy’s wallet can cover.” 

She emerged from the confessional, slim shades obscuring her eyes and the deep bruises beneath. Her heels clipping against the stone floor as she made her way toward the station of votive candles at the back of the church.  

Each glowing stick a prayer for a lost loved one. Matches and and a few unlit offerings still available.  

She lit herself a cigarette on a flame.  

And Nesta couldn’t have missed the fresco above those colossal doors of oak and rustic gold flake even through the plumes of smoke that curled upwards as she stalked lazily down the isle:  a depiction of the Heavenly Father himself.  

She didn’t bother flicking a glance behind her to the confessional.  

Who’s your daddy, now?  

- 

She’d collapsed face down into already rumpled sheets.  

They’d smelled like sex and heaven and she’d smelt like cigarettes and a church and that was all she knew before the exhaustion caught up with her, the world went black, and she was waking up in exactly the same position . Vex’s fluffy tail swishing against her ear. The tickling sensation plucking her from the bliss of pure nothingness.  

Nesta groaned a little as she rolled over and pulled herself to sit up. Pleased to find she’d had the energy to take off her clothes. Unlike her makeup.  

“Damn it,”  she hissed as she saw the smudged mascara on the pillow.  

Not that the sheets didn’t need washing anyway… 

“Ugh,” she huffed, dropping flat onto her back again.  

She’d been awake less then seven seconds and a man had already ruined her day. Just thinking about him…  

“Ugh,” she said again, louder.  Like she was angry with the ceiling for not acknowledging her the first time. 

Vex meowed, his little head nudging at her bare arm. As though he were trying to coax her bra strap back up to a respectable position on her shoulder.  

“Hi, baby,” she grumbled, picking him up for a cuddle. “You hungry?” 

He meowed again.  

Padding down to the kitchen she’d made them both breakfast (technically lunch, she’d slept in till almost one) and carrying her plate of fruit back upstairs to draw a bubble bath he winded between her ankles, catching her attention as he hissed at something in the living room.  

“What?” she inquired, looking down at him before tilting her head to follow his own.  

Cassian’s jacket.  

Uhg.  

Now she was thinking about him again.  

Childish, dumb, insecure little prick. How he’d had the fucking nerve to call her a coward was truly a mystery.  

He was so crippled by that fear of not being good enough he’d immediately presumed she wanted rid of him. Lashing out defensively- God he was infuriating.  

She looked back to Vex who was now staring up at her. “If that thing somehow ends up on the floor,” she said, “you have permission to piss on it”. 

He purred.  

Vex truly was the only boy worth his salt. Something he proved yet again in hopping atop her bathroom counter and guarding her like a fluffy little gargoyle as she sank into the bath.  Opening m the window to let out the smoke of her cigarette so as not to bother him.  The sound of rain slipping something comforting through the January chill, twirls of smoke and steam visible in fatigued plumes.  

Another lethal habit she’d picked up from Aunt Ripleigh.  

The thought gave her an unpleasant feeling in her heart. Like a worm writhing in the rotted meat of an apple.  

Ripleigh wasn’t actually her aunt. But Nesta avoided her much like she did the rest of her family and that was what really counted. Besides, spilling blood together arguably made for a closer bond than just sharing it.  

Like Nesta said, not really her aunt.  

Aunt Ripleigh – initials AR, an homage to the assassin’s preferred weapon the AR-47, American hybrid of the Russian Автома́т Кала́шников, A.K.A the AK-47.  

Some mothers left their little girls pearls, or scrapbooks packed with baby pictures and the lingering scent of their perfume. Angelina Archeron had left her’s a Mafia assassin’s cell number.  

Of course Nesta hadn’t known that.  

Not until she’d found herself with her hands caked in something dark and sticky, her boyfriend’s skin stuffed beneath the lip of her nails and a taste in her mouth like hot rust.  

She’d been seventeen the first time she’d killed a man.  

Not a man. A boy.  

A few months her senior, Thomas been a child just like her.  

Her first crush. Her first boyfriend, her first love, and her first.  

Nesta had known Thomas was using her for sex.  Just as she’d been using him for his money, and wasn’t that what love was? Finding the gratification of your needs in someone else? In Thomas’s case he’d needed to get his dick wet.  In Nesta’s…it was more than embarrassing but half the time all she’d needed was a hot meal.  

She couldn’t count the number of times she’d called him in the dead of the night to hook up in his Porsche so she could sleep there instead of at home, where the windows screamed freezing air from their shattered mouths and the electricity bill was rarely paid.  

But one night Nesta hadn’t felt like earning his kindness. And so he hadn’t offered it. 

Instead he’d held her wrists, ripped at her shirt, forced his hands into her jeans. Pushed up against the bonnet of that Porsche by a lake in woods she’d torn through his face, her nails splitting through the waterline beneath his eyes as she’d kicked and screamed, blood pouring, his hand on her neck, throwing her head against the wing mirror. Heat spilling heavy down her jaw and neck from somewhere which had smelt like lose change.  

She remembers blood in her eyes and the taste of soft, smooth skin and a kind of rubbery strength between her teeth as she’d bit down hard until something had popped or burst or split with a squirt or a tear. She remembers spitting out whatever of Thomas’s ear she’d torn off between her teeth and something swinging into her lower ribs so hard one broke. She remembers the sounds that had been both of them and then at some point just her. 

Her screaming.  

Her sticky, disgusting face, stinging with every horribly wet sob and shriek. The shrieks that hadn’t choked to shaky breaths until she’d pulled herself to sit back against the wheel of the car. Clutching at her ribs which had only hurt so much worse when she’d thrown up right next to her boyfriend’s body.  What looked like a pint of blood glowing in the dust. His face…his head.  

It’d looked like a Halloween prop. Like dark jam. Like a brutalised seventeen year old dead in the dirt.  

And sometime after noticing one of his teeth in the dust, Nesta had realised how fucked she was.  

It wasn’t much of an achievement when you considered Grafton, Vermont had a population short of seven-hundred: but the Mandrays had been quite possibly the most well connected and well off people in its less than seven-hundred square miles.  And despite keeping Nesta’s name out of their sneering mouths through referring to her almost exclusively as “that white-trash bitch”, that population short of seven hundred didn’t give a shit about her.  

Didn’t give a shit she’d been top of her class with a place at Georgetown. Because Nesta could never have afforded to accept it.   

And it certainly didn’t matter she was a pageant queen when everyone knew the petty cash prizes were the only thing that paid the rent on their shitty one bedroom. Especially with things barely breaking even.  In spite of Feyre’s making use of their father’s rifle and sourcing for the butcher any chance she could.  

A too skinny child in the woods with a gun and blood in her braids.  

Nesta’s efforts to keep food on the table had always seemed to pale in comparison to that. But she’d never felt bad about it. Wouldn’t bother hating herself when everybody else was already doing that for her.  

Nesta Archeron was the cheap fuck that nice Mandray boy was messing around with. The gold digger with the dead commie mom and daddy issues. 

No one would have ever believed he’d tried to rape her.  

And she’d had no money for a decent lawyer- she hadn’t even had anyone to call. Not her dad, not a fourteen-year old Feyre nor Elain, sixteen and the last person she’d ever want wrapped up in something like this.  

Nesta had been desperate and vulnerable and jaded for as long as she could remember but she’d never felt as terrified and broken as she had in that moment. Crying alone and hugging herself tightly, she’d just wanted her mom. As cold and neglectful and dead as the woman was.  

“три три два пять семь девять пять шесть три восемь” 

 Her mother’s last words.  

 Ten numbers.  

 Nesta had somehow gotten to her feet, only realising Thomas had broken a few of her fingers when she’d tried opening the car door.  All but collapsing inside once she’d managed as she’d fumbled for her phone.  

 “три три два пять семь девять пять шесть три восемь” she’d repeated to herself, voice hoarse and wet and cracking as she’d dialled.  

 Ten numbers. Ten numbers. Ten numbers.  

 Like a phone number.  

 No doubt concussed Nesta had deemed it logical enough.  Her mother’s dying breath a kind of atonement for leaving her children with nothing in the whole word but a father that could watch his girls starve and go into the woods with his hunting rifle and whore themselves out like they meant nothing.  

 A life-line in the deep waters opaque with clouds of blood.  

 “Здравствуйте.” 

Those three syllables had been like a punch to the gut.  

Nesta had made a noise that might have sounded like “mom?” or the creaking of a damn as it ached under duress. She’d obviously known it wasn’t her mother, but she hadn’t heard a woman speak Russia since- hadn’t heard Russian at all in years.  

“Who is this?”  

Trying to pull herself together Nesta had taken a breath that had rattled, dripping wet and slightly wheezing. Everything was going to be okay. She’d been right. It couldn’t have been a coincidence. Of all the phone numbers in the world what was the likelihood that the voice on the end of this one spoke her mother’s native tongue?   

“I’m- I’m Angelina Archeron daughter. She gave me this number I don’t know what to do I-” 

The specifics aren’t as clear after that. Like a jigsaw left out in the rain or soaked in fresh hot blood, the pieces, the details, they’d melted to mush.  

 A mess she’d held in her hands and wondered what the fuck to do with.  

What do you do with a dead body and the knew found knowledge your mother was a boyevik for the Russian Mafia? What do you do with her retirement package which contained nothing but the contact for an assassin working for the New York arm.  

Nesta had only known what she wasn’t going to do.  

Go down for murder.  

Aunt Ripleigh had told her what to do over the phone, instructing her on how to deal with her injuries and Thomas’ pulp of a body.  How to explain the state of her face and ribs and fingers and head. What to do with his car and how to speak and sit and and react when then police came asking questions about Thomas’ disappearance. How to get away with it.  

 Nesta had followed each direction flawlessly.  Consoled in finally having a definitive plan. Even a plan that started with “buy meat cleaver, trash bag, battery powered blender and bucket, with cash from dead boyfriend’s wallet.” Even a plan that got progressively worse from that point on.  

 Filleting chunks of a body that had once been inside her. Hauling a trash bag of boyfriend smoothie to the river with broken fingers.  The thick slop sinking almost immediately just as Aunt Ripleigh had said it would. Before she’d told Nesta to burn the bones and roast marshmallows over them.  

 “If it had not been you it would have been next girl,” Ripleigh had said. “And she might not have had your fight.”  

 “You mean she might not have been disturbed enough to kill her boyfriend?” 

 “Killer instincts, Anastasia. Is not disturbed, is talent,” Aunt Ripleigh had said. “Cannot be taught but what can be taught you learn quick. No whining. Like very good puppy with very sharp teeth.” 

 “Woof,” Nesta had said dryly. 

 “Stray puppy though, no? Is why you have no manners.”

 “You offering to adopt me?” 

 “I have pet already. And my husband is funnier than you.” 

Nesta’s compromised rib had punished her for finding that funny.  

 “But you ever want job, you call me.” 

 Needless to say that was not the last time she’d called Aunt Ripleigh.  

 Three weeks later and four months shy of getting her high school diploma Nesta had turned eighteen and moved to New York in order to “pursue modelling”.  

In reality she was doing coffee runs with a dash more arsenic than normal and luring prosecutors to hotel rooms they’d never leave. A personal assistant of sorts to Aunt Ripleigh.  

She had kept the mafia, the Bratva, at an arms length whenever she’d been able. Paying off the shitty house she’d left her sisters in with one less mouth to feed and not wanting their address in any files accessible to people with skill sets like her’s.  

And while working with Ripleigh had been a mortiferous riot, two gals shattering the glass ceiling in their industry and slitting throats with the shards; Nesta had developed expensive taste from the fringes of high criminal society. She’d cared less about the art of killing than she had about the art she could hang up in a penthouse apartment if she were in private practice.  Her lust for comfort winning out after two years or so at which point she’d gone freelance. Assisting in a few heists before getting in with a crowd of Nazi hunters for a bit, all the while keeping in touch with her mentor.  

Until Feyre had moved to the city.  

 Then she’d given up on the more dangerous antics,  selling out for safer and even more lucrative bets like CEOs and cutting ties with Aunt Ripleigh. Terrified if not a little paranoid of something happening to her sister. Which had been shit.  Because Nesta hadn’t had any other friends. Like, at all.  

 At eighteen Feyre was still as bitter and proud as she’d been when Nesta had left. As Nesta herself still was.  

 Elain had tried bridging her sisters’ relationship once she’d moved to New York but she’d had better success career-wise. Working at a florists before eventually graduating to a self employed wedding planner. 

 Nesta had kept her thoughts on the psychological tells of a girl jilted at the alter becoming a wedding planner to herself. Mostly because Elain was always brining her cake samples she’d stolen and Nesta wasn’t going to sabotage her supply of free cake.  

 Feyre on the other hand had gone about far less conventional means of making a living. The child was a force to be reckoned with if for nothing but her resourcefulness and almost objectionable will to survive. Fiercely independent and clumsily capable she’d taken a crack at everything while selling her art on the side. It was a piece she’d modelled for that had delivered her to true economic grandeur however.  

 Well, “modelled” maybe wasn’t the word. Her sister had essentially been used as a human stamp. Her naked body detailed with intricately painted swirls then pressed to canvas.  

 The work had been showcased somewhere high brow and had caught the eye of one Mr Rhysand Velaris, thirty-one and the sole inheritor of his late father’s worldly possessions. Among which were several millions of dollars.  

 Half of which now belonged to her sister thanks to a very reckless prenup on his part.  

 Though Nesta had briefly wondered if he’d spent at least that on the engagement ring.  A glittering iceberg that seemed to only glare brighter next to the stark black band tattooed just beneath it, a matching tattoo on Rhysand’s own ring finger. Because of course they’d eloped in Paris and gotten tattoos instead of wedding rings. 

 If Nesta had been closer to her baby sister she imagined she might have felt betrayed on some level. But as things were, Nesta wasn’t entirely sure she would have received an invite even if they’d had a traditional wedding, planned to perfection by Elain. 

 It was probably the worst part of her job. The distance she had to put between herself and everyone she had the potential to care about. A distance she could never close even if she decided to retire right this minute because the damage had already been done.  Nesta had become a liability to their safety the minute she’d moved here and started in this line of work.  

 She took another chocolate from the box she’d snatched from downstairs on second thought. Her supply already dwindling thanks to the rather depression freight train of thought she’d embarked on.   

That and the fact they were really very good.  

Cassian may have been a prick, but she couldn’t deny he had great taste.  

In chocolate, and women, she thought smugly.  Sinking deeper into the basin.  

A heat flushed up her neck that had nothing to do with the bath as she unwillingly remembered how he’d softly coaxed one of these lovely little parcels between her full lips. The drunk hunger in his deep brown eyes and what he’d done next, snapping her lace thong between his teeth-  

Her music stopped. Only to be replaced by a buzzing thrum of her phone.  

Leaning forward Nesta checked the caller ID before swiping across the screen to accept the call and sinking back to her earlier position.  

“I’m not in the mood,” she hummed dismissively, head tipped back against the lip of the tub and eyes closing. She’d known this was coming, better to get it over with.  

“When I supply you with handsome, rich, and eligible men, I do not expect you to break them!” Feyre castigated through the phone, and anyone might guess she were the elder sibling.   

Feyre indeed thought herself wiser and more worldly than both Nesta and Elain, and getting married hadn’t helped diminish her false sense of maturity. Thrusting her character into some weird sarcastic seriousness that mirrored her husband’s demeanour perfectly. It made Nesta cringe so thoroughly she was mildly concerned about getting wrinkles.   

“And I thought we’d grown out of sharing toys, but it seems both our expectations were thwarted.” 

“Humans aren’t toys!” Feyre reminded her. Not that Nesta didn’t already know that. No vibrator had never made her cum as hard as Cassian had.  

“And if you resented me setting you up with Cassian then why did you fuck him ?” Feyre asked. And she said fuck as though it were synonymous to stab or poison.  

“Was it to punish me? Because if so you did a spectacular job. He’s crazier about you than ever and won’t stop moping. The second-hand embarrassment is painful enough without the added agony of how annoying it is.”  

If he likes me so much why was he so eager to assume the worst of me? Nesta thought spitefully. 

It didn’t matter that she technically was lying to him. He didn’t know that.  

“You told me to give him a chance.”  

“And you couldn’t have decided you didn’t like him before having sex with him?” 

Nesta wasn’t surprised Feyre had taken Cassian’s version of things at face value.   

Her husband’s family were unimpeachably wonderful in her eyes. Meanwhile Nesta remained just another reminder of a time Feyre couldn’t have afforded the plane ticket to get to New York, let alone a town house on the upper east side. A cold bitch who hadn’t begged to join the weird cult that was the Velaris family and their innermost circle when Feyre had married Rhysand last year.  

“Oh I’d already worked out he was an ass by that point but I thought he could at least make up for putting me through the date. Not much going on in that head but he quite clearly had it all going on- 

“Ew ew ew!” Feyre interrupted. “One, I need this conversation to steer clear of anything anatomical, and two, do you have to be so horrible?” 

“You’re the one pimping out your friends, I just took you up on the offer.”  

“Ever heard of the third date rule?” 

“Didn’t you marry Rhysand on the third date?” 

Feyre sighed.  

“Cassian’s a good guy, Nes. It takes a lot to come out the other side of what he’s been through a good man and he deserves the world so-” 

“So why did you send him my way?” 

Nesta knew what Feyre thought of her. And if she hadn’t then this conversation would have made it very clear.  

“Because Nesta! You’re twenty-four and already a crazy cat lady! I’m sorry I tried to save you from dying alone and having Vex eat your corpse.” 

Nesta rolled her eyes.  

“Have you ever considered I choose to be alone because I like it?” She asked. 

Feyre sighed again, but it was softer this time, sad more than exasperated.  

“You’re not alone, Nesta,” she said. “You’re lonely.” 

It was annoying enough that she was right, she didn’t have to be so pretentious about it aswell.  

“I’m fine,” Nesta said.  

“You sound just like Cassian,” Feyre grumbled.  

“Well I’ve been smoking.” 

“I’ll be sure to put how funny you were on your headstone when those things kill you.” 

“I’m racing Rhysand to the grave, he has more cigars than I do shoes.” 

“He only smokes them on special occasions.” 

“And how do you know this isn’t a celebratory cigarette on account of you calling me?” 

“Because instead of saying hi you said I’m not in the mood.” 

“Oh so you did hear me?” 

“I hear you, Nesta,” Feyre conceded, disappointment weighing on her words. “Loud and clear. Have a good week.”  

She hung up.  

“You too,” Nesta said into the silence.  

When the silence replied she sank beneath the water. As though she hoped it might act as the cushioned walls of a padded cell meant to protect those who posed a danger to themselves.  

It didn’t. And that unpleasant ache didn’t go away. It never did.  

Worse than the dull pounding in her ears and tightness in her chest as she held her breath.  

But it would be nothing compared to the devastation of seeing Feyre or Elain hurt. The tender ache of keeping them at arms length, knowing they were at least there to brush her fingers against, was worth avoiding spending the rest of her life reaching for someone taken from her.  

Perhaps that was also why she’d wanted so fiercely to dislike Cassian.  

Nesta re-emerged with a gasp, her chest on fire.  

What an unpleasant notion, she thought, running her fingers through her wet hair and  sinking back as she took a slower breath. That she’d been looking for a reason to dislike him even after overcoming the minor detail she was going to kill his friend and client.  An excuse to throw in the towel as soon as she could.  Because it was just easier.  

Easier than accepting she was fundamentally terrified of keeping him around.  

Easier than keeping him around and seeing him get hurt.  

Fuck.  

Her being mad at him had been a cop out.  

Because yes he’d been a petty, insecure idiot;  but hadn’t she told him she was going to fuck and chuck him? Hadn’t she been at typically fast to get in a fight with him? Substantiating his insecurities.  

Nesta might have been furious at his calling her a coward, but he hadn’t actually been wrong. 

She’d let some subliminal fear convince her to sabotage things.  

A subliminal and blissfully irrational fear she realised because, Cassian, a monument of pure muscle, could definitely look after himself. He’d been marine corps for Christ’s sake. Not to mention she’d seen him take down Helion enough times in the ring while still working for Eris and the fact the man literally specialised in keeping people safe for a living! 

Nesta felt a weird and almost unfamiliar lightness in her shoulders. It felt a little like hope. Which was also terrifying.  

But she wasn’t going to the let the fear control her this time.  

 — 

 Cassian had ignored her calls.  

All three.  

Which was fine because she’d been stalking him for the past month. She knew exactly where he’d be that evening and doing things in person meant she could kill him if he kept up the asshole routine.  

Nesta’s platform stiletto boots clipped against the laminate flooring as she emerged from the elevator.  Stalking lazily through the top floor of the Illyria building.   

Even if she killed Cassian he was going to die happy.  She looked good enough to eat. Thick hair fastened back into a high ponytail, the details of her face were subject to full attention. Her eyes appearing almost wider and lashes lavished with a black like her jet thigh-highs and tied coat. Plump lips softly lined and shaded, she looked drop dead fucking gorgeous.  

Though it was what she was wearing under her fastened coat that was the real killer.  

Nesta didn’t uncross her ankles from where they’d flicked over one another as she let herself lean against the doorframe of Cassian’s office.  

It was wide open. No privacy needed when everyone else had gone home around four hours ago. The night detail on Helion allowing Cassian time to catch up on work as he had every night and well into the morning for the past month.   

“All work and no play?”  

Cassian looked up from his desk.  

“I can fix that,” she said.  

He’d never looked more handsome.  

Hair bundled into a dark band, his shirt cuffed at his forearms and a bit of scruff marring his chiselled jaw. A pair of slim reading glasses were pushed up his slightly imperfect nose and it was such a turn on Nesta was glad she was leaning against something.  

He looked a little exhausted in a kind of brooding and adorable way.  

It gave her this awful pining to massage those sculpted shoulders as he let loose a deep, tired sigh, arms folding across that powerful chest causing his white shirt to hiss as he leaned back into his chair. It was a fucking massive bit of furniture. But then it had to be to accommodate him.  

“What are you doing here?”  

Rude.  

Nesta pushed off the doorframe and into his office.  

“You ignored my calls,” she said by way of explanation. Making her way to the bookcase and running her fingers across a row of spines. It was mostly files, but she noticed a few novels as well.  

“You kicked me out of your bed at three in the morning.” 

She turned to find him watching her.  

His words were dismissive and effortlessly confrontational as usual. But there was an edge to his voice. And it wasn’t arousal. Even if his gaze caught on her boots and lingering there for longer than he’d probably care to admit.  

Nesta leaned back against the bookshelf, inspecting her manicure with an eye roll.  

“You’re still upset about that?”  

“Not at all,” he said with a smirk. Reclining back against the chair a little further, hips rolling and arms casually folding. Too casually. The dangerous grace of it speaking to the emotion that no doubt roiled beneath his bronze skin. Belied by that bullshit cockiness which grated her to the bone. “It seems I dodged a bullet.” 

“Oh really?” 

“The whole hot but mean cliché is one thing, but crazy hookup who stalks me-“ 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she sneered.   

She’d seen hints of this before. The rugged and crude act meant to cover up the insecurity she’d also been treated to.  

“Oh I’m sorry. I forgot you can’t ever admit what it is you want.” 

“You don’t have a clue what I want.” 

“I have several, Nesta.” He looked her up and down pointedly. 

The way he said her name. Even like this it made her weak in the knees while her fingers itched to choke him.  

It was all very conflicting.  

“Oddly confident in your last performance for someone so insecure,” she quipped lazily.  

Cassian rose his brows with a mean a laugh.   

“What do I have to be insecure about?” He said. “I didn’t hide behind a half-ass lie to throw someone out of my bed. And I’m pretty sure even your neighbours can attest to how good of a time I gave you,” he smirked again.  “You’re not a good enough liar for the way you moaned my name to have been an act.” 

The white hot fist in her stomach folded in on itself as it melted to a stickiness despite the misguided insult. She certainly hadn’t been putting it on Saturday. Every sound he’d drawn from her dripping with sincerity. Every moan and whimper well deserved.   

“You’re right,” she said.  

Cassian blinked.  

Nesta prowled toward him and hummed, “those, four, orgasms, were about as fake as my emergency.” 

The sultry softness to her voice thickened to something less affected at those last words.  

Cassian scoffed. Though there was something withdrawn and careful to him that hadn’t been there a second ago. Like a snake recoiling in case it needed to strike.  “Your emergency, of course. Which was?” 

“Nothing to do with you.”  

He shook his head, laughing bitterly.   

“Seriously, Nesta? You’ve had two days to come up with something now.”  

“You’re not listening to me,” Nesta slipped atop the corner of the desk, perching there with her long legs crossed over one another. The blade of a stiletto heel close enough to brush up his calf if she wanted to make him shiver.  

But she didn’t. She just wanted him to listen. To understand what she was saying so she didn’t have to say anything more because for fucks sake he was the one who’d acted up and yet she was here putting her pride on the line again.  

“It had nothing, to do with you,” she said slowly.  

A weighted silence settled like snow between them.   

Until Cassian took a blow torch to it.  

“Shit.” 

His head fell into those large hands.   

“Shiiiiiiiit,” he cursed again. “Oh god, how badly have I fucked up?” He groaned, looking up.  So humbled and distraught it was almost comical.  

“Irredeemably.” Her eyes flirted with the notion of a little smile even if her mouth remained unquirked as she propped her hands against the desk behind her and leaned into them to more comfortably watch him suffer.  

“I’d beg you not to tease me but honestly I think it’s the least I deserve- fuck.” 

“Like me teasing you isn’t the highlight of your day.” She rolled her eyes.  

Cassian laughed, pained and almost sheepish, which shouldn’t have been hot but god it made her blush.  

Keep your cool goddamn it. She wanted a little more bang for her buck where grovelling was concerned before she let on how eager she was for things to get back on track.  

“Want to flat out abuse me and make it the highlight of my year?” 

She was struggling to keep the smile off her face even as she said, “I’m not in the habit of rewarding bad behaviour. You’re a man, you get enough of that already.” 

“Nesta,” he took his glasses off, setting them down on the desk beside her thigh. “I’m sorry,” he said, looking her in the eyes. “I’m, really, really fucking sorry I’m an idiot.” 

Nesta slid of the desk.  

“Go on,” she instructed.  

“A moron a fool a stupid, stupid son of a bitch.” 

Taking a step forward she was stood between his thighs. Picking up his glasses and pushing them back on his nose. Missing the sight of this hulking, powerhouse of a man in spectacles.  

“I’m sorry.” Cassian was looking up at her with those big brown eyes, and the bastard actually leaned into her palm.  

“Oh for fucks sake how did anyone discipline you as a child with those damn puppy-dog eyes?” She growled softly, furious.  

“They didn’t to be honest,” he admitted with a breathy laugh.  

“I can tell.” 

She slid her hands to his shoulders, fingers curling soft and possessive over the stacked muscle and palms pressed to his upper chest, stepping tighter into him.  

“I guess I’ll just have to do it.”  

Cassian swallowed.  

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, sweetheart,” he tried. Intoxicatingly deep, trying to maintain that arrogant and playful edge in a way that made his words all the hotter. The simmering ache he attempted to push down all but throbbing in his voice.   

“Don’t tell me what to do,” she returned, brows arched. Battling a smirk off her face.  

“Can I ask you to do something for me, then?” 

“If you say please.” 

“Please don’t screw around with me.” 

Nesta faltered.  

Those warm hands came to rest on her lower back, long fingers curling slightly into the fabric and coaxing her that last bit closer so that her thighs brushed against the edge of his chair and her stomach was brushing up against his.  

“I’m really into you,” he admitted.  “You’re smart and you’re beautiful, and at first I thought the whole hard to get thing was an act but woman you are genuinely hard to get and it is, so sexy. But whatever it is that’s holding you back, that made you wait a week to call me, that made you claim all you wanted was a hook up; I’m clearly not cut out to compete,” he confessed. “It got in my head, and that’s on me and me lashing out at you the other night that’s on me too and I’m so, so sorry Nesta. I need to know where I stand with you though. I need to know if you’re actually interested in me. Because I like you. But I’m too old for games.” 

The silence was so thick she could have cut through it with a knife.  

Nesta’s hands fell from his chest slowly.  

“That’s good,” she assured him at last. “Because I’m not a toy.”  

She brought her fingers to the belt of her coat and pulled slow and deliberate.  

Black glazed her figure with a gorgeous intimacy. The dress hugging at what little it concealed with perfection enough to make up for its lake of mercy. Long legs sheathed in those thigh-high boots, the item was short enough that a decent length of her thighs could be seen. Interrupted at the last possible moment by sleek jet as though she’d been dipped in oil of purest night.   

Cassian’s eyes blew out to sticky treacle behind those glasses.  

“I’m human, Cass,” she hummed, tossing her coat onto the desk behind her as she spoke. “Which means I make mistakes.” He swallowed as she sighed softly, her cleavage swelling a little with the motion.  “And that I have needs. Needs you can be the one to fulfill or not.” 

She slipped into his lap, straddling him, knees bent either side of his thighs. The corded strength of which pressed painfully and exhilaratingly apparent against the soft seam of her inner thighs and she was genuinely suffering from some kind of contact high. Every inch of him seizing up subtly, deliciously taught at her touch in an effort not to respond and yet it only revealed just how much she affected him.  

“Nesta-“ 

“Shhhhhh,” she interrupted. Hands cupping that ruggedly handsome face and titling it back to tuck her’s against him slowly. “But I want it to be you,” she purred against his jaw, tracing her nose up the stubbled curve. “Let me show you how bad.” 

“Someone could come back-“ 

“I don’t care,” Nesta murmured against his mouth. “I want you.” 

His eyes fluttered shut. And she felt his cock stir in those immaculately tailored slacks.  

“Nesta-” 

She could feel every muscle that licked up his stomach tremble with a drawn out contraction as she said it again, her hands slipping down to his broad shoulders. 

“I want you,” she purred again.  

He might have tried to breath.  And it might have rubbed up something uncomfortably nice in her lower tummy.  

“Say it,” she whispered, tilting her face so that the tip of her nose brushed up the side of his. Her breath hot on his stubbled Cupid’s bow and hands running down the solid power of his upper body, burning up through his shirt. “Say it, Cassian.” 

His brown eyes like cognac and magnolia were hooded behind his glasses as he conceded.  

“You want me,” he breathed.  

She grazed her mouth against his. Lips parted suggestively and an almost silent, utterly cruel noise escaping her.  

The length of his thick cock pressed up against the seam of her plush sex as he grew to full, hard attention in his slacks. Warm and thrilling even through her panties and their open mouths melted into one another hot and heavy, tongues caressing as his large hands came to her knees and smoothed up her bare thighs covetously. 

“Fuck,” he groaned lazily as her hips began rolling deeply into him, and her hands slid under his shirt. Fingers splayed, she snaked up the cobbled muscle of his stomach, the flesh burnished and warm beneath her touch. His shirt riding up to reveal the gutter of his hips, gruesomely toned and dusted with hair.   

“This is…such a…” he breathed, between the perfect and yearning motions of their jaws, a hand smoothing up her waist in a way that made her shiver.  

“Dream come true?” She hummed, kissing him wanton and unhurried. Dangerously close to becoming a brainless mess with the way his cock rubbed up her core.  

His groan melted to a laugh or maybe it was the other way round.  

“Yes,” he admitted breathlessly. “And a bad, bad…idea.” 

“Well you’ve been a bad, bad boy, Cassian,” she whispered filthily against his ear, before capturing the lobe between her teeth softly.  

She sucked and nibbled oh so gently and he expelled a breath so gravelly and masculine it twisted the hungry knot in her core tighter. 

“Nesta…we-fuck you’re good at that…” he groaned lethargically . “Sweetheart, we can’t…” 

“Why not,” she coed quietly, the sound airy and affectedly filthy.  

“We’re…” he choked as he took in the sight of her cleavage, pushed intimately to his chest and escaping the neckline of her dress like a plume of toothpaste squeezed from the tube. “Fucking hell Nesta we’re in my office.” 

“And I’m saying you could be in me.” 

She rocked her hips against him with a particularly cruel slant.  

The groan that escaped him made something flip in her stomach, tossing about whatever sweet, impossible to describe feeling rushed there at the same time at the way his head fell back against the chair as she worked him over.  The hot friction that rubbed against her sensitive core the cherry on top of the sweet, creamy, decadent sundae.  

“Besides,” she moaned, breathless and sultry. Teeth plunging softly into her plump bottom lip as she continued rolling her hips. Hands rubbing over his shoulders and providing her leverage. “You’re the boss.” 

“I think we both know…that I’m not the boss…right now…” he groaned. Almost pained.  

“Your cock a little much for those slacks?” She hummed, faux sympathy dripping through her mocking pout. 

“I thought you liked a tight fit,” she teased, still pouting but eyes smokey. Her toes curling in her boots as her fingers began work on pulling his shirt apart.  

The buttons popped undone with a sensual and pining tempo and she was moaning quietly into his mouth as she explored the panes and ripples of that powerful upper body. More than thorough in her hands-on assessment.  

Cassian’s own hands were keeping just as busy, massaging and kneading her ass indulgently before smoothing over her rolling hips and eventually coming to her lower back. His thumbs pressing to the small of her back either side of her spine and it made something tight inside her swoon. The touch so hot and the memory it conjured so good. His big hands on her as he fucked her from behind.  

“Nesta,” Cassian groaned deeply, as she began rocking into him tighter, hotter. The impression of his cock lined up just right with her aching core.  

“Hey, baby,” She purred, drunk on the friction that made her whole body throb and hum with pleasure and the tip of her nose brushing the side of his. Hands snaking from his exposed chest to either side of his face and capturing his bruised mouth with her own. Chewing on his bottom lip obscenely, the friction beginning to push her over edge.  

“Fuck you’re incredible,” he groaned huskily once she let up. Kissing back decadently. “I’m so sorry,” he breathed almost mindlessly. “I’m so fucking sorry, Nesta.” 

“You wanna show me how sorry you are?” she purred, sultry and low, mouth parting, forehead still pressed to his and eyes fluttering open to hold his own.   

Cassian nodded, dumb and silent and eager and Jesus it turned her on.  

“Yeah? You wanna make me cum?” She hummed.  

“Yes, yes, please.” 

“Touch me, Cassian,” she whispered against his open mouth. “Make it up to me, make me feel good.” 

Cassian’s hands slid back to her ass and she moaned into the kiss he captured her lips in as he lifted her with a sensual squeeze,  wrapping her long legs tightly round the tapered cut of his waist as he stood.  

The surface of the desk was beneath her before she could work out which way was up and his touch smoothed down her legs to her knees before she could take a a breath in reprieve from kissing him. Her legs splitting either side of his broad hips and his erection, tucked to the side in his slacks and thick and heavy and hard, pushed against the inner seam of her thigh as he pulled that band from her hair. 

“I’m gonna make these gorgeous legs tremble for me,” he pledged against the her jaw, kissing and nipping his way down to where her pulse throbbed for him as he a hand through the loose locks.  

And he began suckling at that sensitive spot just as a calloused hand slipped between her thighs.  

“Mmmmm,” Nesta moaned smugly, gripping at his biceps still sheathed in the sleeves of his shirt as Cassian’s thumb ran up the seam of her dripping cunt through her panties. The lace a flimsy veil between her swollen clit and his hot touch.  

“Fuck I’ve missed you,” he moaned into her neck, her head rolling back as he snapped her panties and began stroking his fingers through her soft folds possessively. “Missed those little sounds and your mouth and this pretty neck and perfect pussy.” 

“Then cut out the all bark no bite bullshit and prove it,” she breathed.  

“Yes ma’am,” he murmured thickly, the pad of his thumb coming to her clit and she moaned as he circled the sensitive bundle of nerves expertly. Her nails pressing into his shoulders, a few through the hiss of his shirt but the others carving crescents into the bronze muscle and tattoos like the meat of an apple.   

His forefinger began teasing at her tight entrance and Nesta’s breath caught.  

“Tease me and you’ll fucking regret it,” she warned thickly, and he pushed the digit inside.  

The intrusion was far from the thick, eight inches she craved, but when he curled his finger against a sensitive, swollen spot deep inside her Nesta keened aloud.  

“You look so fucking good like this,” Cassian breathed, husky and bestial as he crooked his finger inside her over and over.  

“More,” she demanded. 

It probably wasn’t clear if she was demanding more dirty praise or physical attention but Cassian was a good boy and covered all his bases. A second finger pushing inside her that second.   

She gasped as the snug walls of her cunt stretched to accommodate the two of them as he waxed lyrical about how hard her moaning got him.  Their foreheads level and those deep brown eyes lathering her with his earnest attention.  

“You’re dripping down my knuckles like a fucking peach,” Cassian told her as he thrust inside her over and over, the only thing more obscene than her facial expression and the breathless sounds she was making being the quite, wet noises his fingers illicited.  

He hadn’t let up on her clit, and at the exact moment he decided to start curling those two fingers together, he increased the speed and pressure with which he rubbed at her most responsive spot with his thumb.  

“Cassian,” Nesta moaned, her fingers running up the nape of his neck and delving into his hair, still pulled into that bun.  

“That’s it, that’s so fucking hot, baby, I want your cum dripping down my wrist,” he growled softly. Her nails sliding down his scalp.  

“You’re so fucking needy,” she got out, which only served to utterly delight him. His thumb working at her from an oh so subtly more intense angle that had a familiar buzzing low inside her threatening to pluck her apart at the seams.  

“Oh my god fuck,” she moaned. “Uhhu, that’s it, just like that oh my god.” 

“You gonna cum, Nesta? You gonna cum on my desk- Jesus I’m gonna be thinking about you moaning, long legs spread for me while you moan so fucking dirty for my fingers every time I’m sat at this fucking desk now, you know that?”  

His words sent her over the edge.  

Silently she threw her head back as her orgasm licked up every frayed nerve in her body. It was hard. And Cassian kept on working those thick fingers inside her and over her sensitive clit throughout.  

Fucking her dirty and skilled. Prolonging her twitching and bone melting pleasure.  

Until she was snaking her hands from where they’d wound through his fastened hair, and pushing him off her at the shoulders.  Falling back on her forearms with a shaky exhale, thighs still trembling subtly.  

Cassian smirked. And brought his fingers to his mouth. Licking up the length of the calloused, sticky digits. Eyes on her’s from behind those obnoxiously sexy reading glasses she had half a mind to slap off his face.  

“You taste even better than I remember,” he purred.  

“Then get on your knees.” 

Her voice was shaky but he didn’t even throw her another of those antagonistic and gorgeous smirks, just sank down. All six foot whatever, two hundred and something ridiculous pounds of muscle. Knelt on the floor between her legs.  

“Is initiative encouraged of am I to be strictly obedient?” There was that smirk.  

“You can use your brain,” she permitted. Still out of it. But still dying for him to touch her again.  “If only because I need to be convinced you have one.”  

His chuckle felt like fucking heaven between her thighs. His stubbled jaw rubbing up against her aching cunt as he kissed her like he meant it. Open mouthed and his tongue then slipping out to lavish her dripping slit before he began playing with her clit with the tip.  

Nesta moaned, chewing down on her lip once she located the dignity to quieten down so she could keep it that way.  

Her previous orgasm should have taken the edge off, but it had only reminded her already whetted appetite what there was to gorge on. Leaving her pining for more and disastrously sensitive.  

“Mmmm,” Cassian moaned deeply- though honestly it was closer to a growl which was hot- and brought those large hands to her thighs. Holding her open for him stoking the bruise-blue flame that writhed in her core and allowing him better access to her pussy.  

“Oh god right there,” Nesta keened. His nose brushing up against her clit as he licked up her snug entrance, teasing his tongue inside.  

He threw her legs over his stacked shoulders and obeyed, working his tongue inside her with shameful enthusiasm only emphasised by the noises he was making. Seriously he was putting her to shame.  

In fact if she hadn’t been rapidly approaching another orgasm she might have thought he was have more fun than her.  

Hands no longer occupied with gripping her black-clad thighs they came to her hips and waist. Coaxing her to slant forward at an angle that granted him an even more advantageous angle from which to eat her out.  

She moaned, manicured nails almost clawing into his desk behind her. “Mhmm mhmm uh,” she gasped sharply at the sudden relocation of his tongue. Cassian capturing her clit in his mouth and sucking on the sensitive bud as he flicked his tongue up and down.  

“Fuck, yes yes yes yes,” she was utterly breathless. “Oh god, oh fuck, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum,” she whined.  

Cassian fucking groaned and it was like he’d pulled at the knot in her stomach with his teeth.  

The muscles in her lower stomach twitching as she came, the cushiony walls of her cunt pulsing tight and the only thing grounding her to reality.  

Though she was just lucid enough to know Cassian was lapping up the nectar between her legs with audible and pleased snarls of pure, masculine satisfaction.  

Nesta couldn’t say how long it took her to stop seizing, just that she was completely drunk on pleasure by the time her body allowed her to at least try and think. She failed completely. Wasted on her orgasm, on Cassian.  

“Come ‘ere,” she said, breathless and doped up. Eyes barely fluttering open, heavy lidded and probably glazing over with unabashed appreciation as Cassian did as he was told. Rising to stand before her, thick arms winding round her waist snuggly and pulling her to him tight.  

His sheathed erection pushed to her sticky inner thigh and his powerful upper body, chiselled and broad and comforting, warm and hard and dusted with dark hair, pushed to her’s.  

His sharp jaw, like her thighs, was slightly sticky, and his mouth looked even more abused than it from the attention of her teeth. But the best part- better than his mid-sex blush or the way he was breathing all deep and powerful and hungry for her, were his glasses. They were slightly fogged up at the edges.  

“Apology accepted?” He asked huskily, like he was already sure of the answer. Like he didn’t care because no matter what she said he was going to have her screaming for him till they were both sick of each other.  

“Apology accepted,” Nesta confirmed. Splayed hands smoothing up his broad chest as she captured his lips in a wanton kiss.  

“That still leaves your punishment though,” she whispered.  

Cassian’s dark brows had barely risen before she’d pushed him back and he was falling into the chair again. Breathing deep and thrumming with a desire that destabilised him as he watched her slip a stiletto heel beneath her panties on the floor and flick them up into her hand. Prowling toward him and climbing into his lap. Hoping it wasn’t obvious that her legs felt like liquid.  

“Hold these,” she demanded, feeding the bundle of lace into his mouth, his groan muffled by the fabric and her hands making quick and embarrassingly eager work of removing his unfastened shirt. All but tearing it off his sculpted arms that must have been as thick as her thighs- his body was ridiculous.  

She griped his wrists before he could start doing something like feeling her up and brought them behind his head. Elbows out and biceps flexed, his hands meeting in the middle at the nape of his neck.  

Cassian kissed and nipped at her fingers as she plucked her panties from his mouth with one hand, holding his wrists with the other.  

He licked at his lips as though chasing the taste of her lingerie, eyes on her’s from behind his glasses.  

She wasn’t gentle knotting the lace round his wrists.  

“Oh,” he grinned, trying to move his arms.  

He couldn’t of course, the physics working against him and rendering it so his only way out would be pulling until the lace snapped for a second time this evening. Still, it was a fucking gorgeous sight watching him try. Biceps and broad chest flexing.  

Tied up and at her mercy she was dripping wet for him and slipped her tongue into his mouth as a little reward for how fucking hot he looked like this. Kissing him obscene and wet.  

“Safe word?” She murmured into his mouth.  

“Harder,” Cassian grinned. No doubt referencing her answer to the very same question the other night.  

Nesta bit his bottom lip, puncturing the bruised cushion subtly and she tasted blood on her teeth and his tongue.  

“Safe word,” she insisted once more against his lips, fingers winding through his hair with a drawn out and yearning pull.  

“Amren,” he groaned`. Then added, “don’t ask.” 

“Yeah we’re done talking,” she informed him dismissively. Unbuckling his belt and pulling it through the loops of his slacks with a swift tug.  

Cassian’s hips jumped beneath her and she unfastened the button slung low on his hips, pulling the zip of his fly down. Parted lips close to brushing.  

“Down boy,” she purred.  

“Bit late for that,” he breathed raggedly, jaw feathering as she slid her hand into his boxers.  

“God you’re adorable,” Nesta pouted, freeing his thick cock. Obnoxiously engorged and a dribble of pearlescence spilling from the uncut tip.  

“Now be a good boy and don’t you dare cum until I say,” she warned.  

And sank down on thick inch after inch of his hot, rigid shaft.  

Nesta couldn’t help the arch that slipped through her spine as he filled her up, the stretch so acute it had her eyes rolling back with a flutter of her thick lashes.  

“Oh my god,” she moaned breathlessly, hands splayed against his powerful chest. Thighs straddling his, her walls hugged him vice like and- Jesus, he rubbed up that deep spot inside her perfectly. 

“Nesta,” Cassian groaned beneath her. “You’re so… fucking tight.” 

Nesta rolled her head to the side in tandem with her hips, growing accustomed to the sheer size of him and eliciting a raw sound from the man before she removed his reading glasses. Fitting them over the bridge of her own petite nose.  

“No backseat driving now, sweetheart,” she purred a little shakily.  

She rose onto her knees only to sink back down again with a filthy twist of her hips. Repeating the motion again and again. Gliding up and down his cock with a tight and slippery friction that had her stomach flexing and his gaze heavy lidded. Encouraging, low noises escaping from deep in his chest that she wanted to bottle up and get drunk on.  

“Uhh,” she keened, dirty and blissful, hands on his stacked shoulders. “Uhhu.” 

“Oh fuck,” Cassian breathed huskily. “Mmhhm…that’s it…fucking ride me baby” 

Nesta felt a familiar heat fan at her core as she drank him up. Every perfect, delicious inch there for her to use.  

“Cassian,” she moaned. The sound tasting like sex in her mouth.  

She fluttered around him again on an upwards twist of her hips, his cock pushing in and out of her snug cherry with a delicious wet sound. Just audible above her filthy moans.   

Riding him was like sucking on a hard candy, that intense sweetness at the centre burning ever closer. And he kept running that damn mouth.  Gravelly and deep, lavishing her body with sickly sweet and dirty compliments.  

“Fuck that’s it gorgeous, just like that sweet thing fucking hell you’re fucking perfect.” 

Powerful and dripping with raw fucking desire his body rolled upwards into her, slick with sweat and chiselled sinew.  His cock burying deeper inside her. The sounds he was making just to top it off causing a tight fuzziness to tremble in her upper thighs.   

“Oh my god,” Nesta moaned, hands coming to his face and lips brushing his as so she moaned a hot, “I’m gonna cum,” into his mouth.  

Cassian groaned. Kissing her hard and deep.  

“Cassian,” she keened.  

She began bouncing deeper in his lap. Up and down up and down. His cock thrusting inside her hard and rubbing at her g spot just right while her clit grazed the coarse hair at his rugged hips. There was a bead of sweat gliding down the chiselled muscle that carved his broad torso, washboard abs flexing as he resisted release and Nesta felt the pressure between her thighs reach a fever pitch.  

Grunting he bucked violently beneath her once, twice, and she was undone.   

Nesta might have made a noise this time. Airy and hot and open mouthed against his neck as she buried her hands into his hair.  

He was so tense beneath her, like pure marble soaked in the heat of the sun. Trying not spill inside her as her walls flexed with every hot wave of pleasure.  

And once it passed his breathing was as ragged as her own.  

“You did so good,” Nesta whispered at last against his ear. Voice wrecked like she were experiencing a sugar crash. Nibbling at the lobe. Tasting salt on her lips and eyes fluttering shut at the heady scent of his aftershave.  

“Does that mean I get a reward?” he managed.  

“Something like that,” she hummed, repositioning herself so that her back was to his chest.  

“Nesta please. Just untie me, sweetheart,” Cassian whispered against her ear. Voice trembling like he’d shot up something good.  

Nesta only chuckled, head knocked back so she could hold his eyes as she rolled her hips. Teasing, tormenting.  

“The second you get your hands on these,” she brought her hands to her tits, giving them a soft squeeze and biting her lip, “you’ll be cumming and out of commission.”  

Cassian growled, watching her feel herself up as she rolled her hips in leisurely circles.  Sensual and dirty. The length of his hard shaft, thick and velvet smooth beneath her.  

“Fuck,” he moaned huskily. Nose buried at her throat and lips working against her pulse point with the assistance of his tongue and teeth. Just as slow and through as her hips. 

She gasped softly, grinding deeper.  

“You know how good I can make it for you,” he purred.  

“Mmmm,” she moaned quietly in agreement.  

“Let me take care of you.” 

“Cassian.” 

“You make my name sound so sexy,” he grazed his stubbled jaw against the bruise he’d worked into her throat, the sensitive skin blushing warm at the contact as he moved his mouth to another location and started kissing and nibbling there.  “Untie me, baby, and I’ll give you everything you want.” 

Nesta smiled.  

“Or I could keep you tied up and just take it.” 

Cassian growled against her neck as she tilted her hips forward allowing his cock to spring up, and sank down on him again.  

She moaned, loud and keening. Hands snaking through his hair behind her as she rocked herself up and down slowly. There wasn’t a lot of friction, but for now it was enough just to revel in how good Cassian’s cock felt. That last orgasm having finally takes the edge off.  

“Fuck that’s it grind for me,” he moaned. His breath was hot against her neck and she could feel his heart beat. Feel every deep sound reverberate through his chest as she moved.   

His cock rubbed up against her g spot, colours and stars bleeding behind her eyes like fireworks.  

“Cassian,” she whimpered lowly.  

It was so good.  

Hands fumbling distractedly she brought her fingers to untie him.  And he deemed it all the permission he needed. Tearing himself free with a growl.  Capturing her mouth in a slow and wanton kiss as those big hands came to rove her body, taking his time to pull her apart.  

His touch hot and calloused, Nesta moaned into his mouth as he ran up her stomach, her hips, her thighs, her tits. Massaging and glazing every inch of her with a rough heat that made her feel like she was going to explode. Her body a champagne flute dangerously close to shattering at the frequency of his hot groans and growls.  

“Right there, oh right fucking there baby,”  She moaned quietly against his lips, one of his hands rubbing her hip and guiding her motions while the other palmed at her breast.  

“Yeah? You like that?” He dipped his head to pull down the straps of her bra and dress down with his teeth until her cleavage spilt from the cups. Pebbled nipples tight and rosy in the dim light, peaking over the balcony of her bra.  

“Mmmmm,” he murmured against her throat, exploiting the sensitive spot as he made his way back up to her face and watched her plump tits sway. A hand running from her hip down her thigh and back up again to slip between her legs to stroke her clit. 

Nesta whined softly.  

“Cassian…more…” 

She kissed him sluggish and distracted. The two of them humming and moaning every so often until he started caressing her clit tighter and her sounds grew more frantic.  

“Fuck uhhu, uhhu just like that,” she panted quietly into his mouth. “Oh god uhh, uhhh more…more…more more Cassian fuck me.” 

She was on her feet before she could complain that his hands were no longer between her thighs. Pushed up against the edge of his desk, hands falling splayed against the surface to stop herself falling across the wood and legs split apart.   

“Oh!” 

“Good girl,” he grunted deeply. “Moan for me.” 

His calloused fingers came to her clit, coaxing her closer to the edge as the other gripped her hip.  

“That’s it, that’s my girl such a good girl baby.” 

Mouth caught open as though on a fish hook Nesta started seeing black splodges, the puddles flaring in her vision on every one of his thrusts. Deep and dirty and filling her till she was so impossibly full she spilt over.  

“Fuck fuck just like that oh my god you’re so fucking tight, cum on my cock, cum on my cock, uh, uh, uh.”  

Cassian finished inside her with a guttural sound as she came. Pumping her full one last time with a brutal snap of his hips.  

She was vaguely aware of his ragged breathing against her ear. Somewhat sure her forearms had fallen flat against his desk and her head hung forward. Hair falling over her face and back arched as her tight sex twitched and fluttered around him.  

Coming back to her senses took longer than she’d ever admit.  

“Is that cctv?” Nesta asked eventually, head tipped back and resting on his shoulder. Eyes flicking in gesture to the tiny little camera in the opposite corner of the ceiling.  

“Don’t worry,” Cassian breathed. “It’s switched off.” 

She turned her gaze to him.  

“Shame.” 

He let out an exhausted and reverent sound that might have been a laugh. And just as exhausted, once he’d pulled out, he fell back into the chair behind him. Trousers pulled back up but unbuttoned.  

Nesta followed in fatigued suit, working her dress back down over her hips and sinking to the floor, back against the desk. She probably shouldn’t have worn black… but the impending bill and judgement from her dry cleaner would be worth it.  

“Friday night. Pick me up at eight,” she breathed.  

Cassian grinned.  

“You like Italian?”  

Nesta rolled her eyes from behind the reading glasses askew on her nose, but nodded none the less. She was sort of screwed if she didn’t. Cassian’s adopted family were Italian on his father’s side. The cuisine was going to be pretty commonplace if they kept seeing each other she imagined.  

“What are you thinking about?” He hummed, watching her.  

Nesta smiled. Then crawled toward him across the floor. “How I still have that table cloth you call a dinner jacket at my place.”  

 “Was that plan b?” He laughed, snaking an arm round her waist as she climbed into his lap. “Hold my jacket hostage till I agreed to go out with you again?”  

“No,” she glared at him softly, nestling into the crease of his shoulder. “Though I had thought about wearing it tonight. Just your jacket and a pair of heels.” 

Cassian licked his lips as though contemplating the sight and liking what he imagined very much. “Next time,” he hummed distractedly. Less promise more pleading. “This was…,” his free hand roved down her side, the black fabric glued to her figure. “And these…,” his touch made her melt as he ran down her thigh and platform boot, her legs flicked over one another.  

“Lethal,” he whispered.  

Nesta scoffed. “You’re telling me. My toes are killing me.”  

Cassian hummed sympathetically, fitting a heel in his hand and guiding the shoe off her foot. Nesta groaned softly and he did the same with the other boot.  

“That bad?” He chuckled, starting to massage her.  

“Worth it though,” she sighed, nuzzling into his shoulder.  

  Cassian held the door open for Nesta to emerge out onto the street first. The cool night air whipping lazily at her hair. 

Their second date had been incredible.  

He’d taken her to Gnocco in the East Village. Proper Italian food, fairy lights, and intimate little corners perfect for flirting over too many glasses of wine and playing footsie beneath the table. Not to mention casual enough to see Nesta Archeron fitted out in heels, a snug black top, and a jaw dropping pair of jeans.  

Tactically quiet and effortlessly biting as ever, she’d been armed with passionate reviews on the podcasts she’d listened to or books she’d read that week. Asking him about his own week and listening thoughtfully in a way that had probably made him blush.  

If it hadn’t, then the way she’d licked at the creamy vanilla gelato on her dessert spoon definitely had.  

Cassian was far too tempted to slip his hand into the back pocket of her dark skinny jeans as he emerged after her, but he felt Nesta probably wasn’t one for PDA. Or more accurately, public groping. And he was determined to be on his best behaviour this evening. Determined to make her forget all about how shit-awfully he’d handled last Saturday.  

Not that he hadn’t given her a thorough apology.  

Consistency was key however, and there would be no lapse in his conduct any time soon when it came to Nesta. He’d lucked out so fucking hard in getting a second chance when he hadn’t even deserved the first with a woman like her. Clever and beautiful and passionate and god he had it bad.  

Had been thinking about her all week. Their date the only thing getting him through the late nights that were pretty much killing him at this point and the days spent arguing with Helion.  

Cassian had worked out who’d put a hit on his friend. And why.  

The contracts Helion was in the midst of signing were of a more personal nature that he’d originally let on. His will to be precise. In which it was detailed that upon his death, the pharmaceutical powerhouse that was Day Inc. should be handed over to Saoirse Vanserra.  

The married woman Helion had gone and fallen in love with twenty odd years ago. The mother of his child. 

Not that Helion had been aware of the that little detail until recently. Terminally ill, Saoirse hadn’t wanted the secret buried with her, and had gotten in touch with her old flame to tell him her youngest was his.  

Despite being well into his fifties, Helion behaved like a twenty-something at the best of times. But learning he had a son that actually was twenty-something had thrust him into a panicked play at accountability. Saoirse was going to die, and soon, but Helion would still have a piece of her, a piece of the both of them despite the estrangement that had haunted their relationship since the start. A piece he’d do every and anything in his power to do right by.  

Which meant Lucien would inherit his father’s company when the time came.  

But removing Saoirse from his will…it felt like signing her death warrant. At least that’s what he’d told Cassian. That it it felt like he was giving up on her.  

Cassian wished Helion could process everything in as much time as it took him. But time was a luxury not even the multi-millionaire could afford. Not with Saoirse’s eldest, Eris, trying to take him out before the will could be changed.  

As things stood, Eris was set to inherit anything of his mother’s- a compromise reached between Saoirse and her cunt of a husband who’d wanted everything in his name. The Vanserra court its own savage little patriarchy of snakes and vipers, meaning as long as Beron was around, what belonged to his sons, belonged to him.  

Still, Eris was the undisputed second in command and Beron wasn’t getting any younger. If he could take Helion out before any changes were made to the CEOs will, and if Saoirse’s doctors were to be believed, Day would practically be his by the end of the year.  

Maybe sooner. If Beron beat his cancer ridden wife to death upon learning she’d been left Helion Day’s company and why.   

He doubted anyone would put it past the bastard.  

“Hey,” Nesta’s voice tugged at his attention as they turned off tenth. “Where’d you go?”  

Cassian snaked his arm around her small waist, pulling her against him. “Just thinking,” he said. And as hard as he tried to push those thoughts away, something of them lingered in his voice.  

She raised a neat eyebrow. That little beauty spot above the arch lifting with it and the one beneath the corner of her plump bottom lip quirking just barely.  

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you do that before.” 

He couldn’t help but laugh. Tucking her tighter to his side as he looked down at her. “That’s because the only thing I ever think about is you. And when I’m with you, I don’t have to do that, do I?” 

Her blush was so utterly adorable it made him want to kiss her senseless.  

“How do you do that?” Those eyes like the smoke of ice narrowed in sincere curiosity. It was a little terrifying.  Which off course only made him like her more.  

“What? Make you blush like a-” 

“No,” she interrupted him with an embarrassed and chiding laugh, pushing at his chest slightly. “Say things, just say them-  like the only thing that matters is that you mean them?” 

Cassian smiled. “Not everything has to be done strategically, Nesta.”  

“Says the military man.” 

“And wouldn’t you say that makes me qualified to- okay fine, roll your eyes at me. Jokes on you because it’s actually very sexy when you do that so.” 

Nesta laughed, her head falling to rest below his chest as they walked.  

“Fortunate you say something to make me roll my eyes every five seconds then,” she hummed.  

“And that I know just how to make those eyes roll back,” he purred lowly in response with a roguish grin, rubbing his thumb against where her coat lay over her stomach.  

“Oh and you’re telling me this whole conversation wasn’t strategically constructed so you could use that line?” Nesta looked up at him.  

“Sweetheart, when are you going to accept that I’m just incredibly smooth?” He grinned. “Besides, that wasn’t a line.”  

“That was so a line!”  

“You’d know if I was giving you a line.” 

“Go on then. Give me your best line,” she challenged. Stopping dead and turning on him with her arms folded. Cassian didn’t let his arm slip from around her waist though. Kept it right where it was as he brought his free hand to tuck a lock of chocolatey hair behind her ear. Inspiration striking him.  

“Are you a box of chocolates?” he asked, gravelly and suggestive.  “Because I’d love to take your top off.”  

Nesta really had the loveliest laugh in the world.  

“That’s awful!” She put her hands firm against his chest. “How did you ever get laid before I took pity on you?”  

“Um I’m gorgeous and rich,” he reminded her, both arms now caging her in.  

“What a coincidence,” Nesta purred, their noses tucked against one another just barely thanks to his date’s shoes. No doubt expensive as they were tall.  

“No coincidences here, sweetheart. This is all fate.” 

“I’m deliberately not rolling my eyes just to spite you for saying something so cliché and dumb,” she murmured.  

“Fine then. Fate and your meddling sister,” he admitted.  

“Let’s not talk about my little sister right now,” Nesta’s hands snaked up to toy with the lapels of his coat.  

“What would you rather we talk about?”  

“I don’t want to talk at all,” she whispered. And pulled him down lazily to meet her mouth.  

Cassian moulded his lips to the perfect pressure of her own. Hard and soft, her mouth like velvet and her body pressing into his tight and loose in all the right places.  

Kissing Nesta was like brushing you fingers against the glacial softness of snow like flakes of glass. Irresistible and inevitable. Burning so soft at first before the sensation grew unbearably tender and acute.  It reminded you that you were alive.  

The movements of their mouths grew hotter, no less lethargic, but simply heavier. Like they had all the time in the world and planned to exploit every second.  

So much for not into PDA, Cassian thought, as she coaxed his mouth open further with her tongue, his own slowly swiping to meet it. And he did slip his hand into her back pocket then, giving her a fond and pining squeeze which pulled her tighter into him.  

The pads of her thumbs brushed at either side of his jaw as she arched a little, those perfect tits pushed against his upper body and he dug his fingers a little more possessively into the fabric of her coat. Bunching at her waist beneath his calloused touch.  

Nesta sighed sweetly into him-  

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Cassian swore.  Tame Impala playing from his pocket.  

“Looks like I’m not the only one who likes your attention,” Nesta laughed quietly, hands smoothing back to her sides politely. The little menace. Her effortless composure all the more devastating with her mouth kissed cherry-red and pupils blown wide as saucers.  

He fished out his phone, and declined the call.  

“Well you’re the only one getting it.” 

She rose her brows as though she were impressed, winding her arms back around his neck.  

“For a man who hates games you have game, Velaris.” 

“Would you feel less wooed if I told it you was just Rhysand?” He admitted. Rejecting his busybody brother’s phone call a far less bold gesture than if it had been work.  

Nesta’s little smile was like molten satin.  

“That makes it even better,” she kissed him again.  

Cassian kissed her back through his laugh, dipping her back slightly for a more indulgent angle, her arms lacing tighter around him to hold herself up. Like he’d let her fall.  

Nesta was the one laughing now and it tasted like gelato and champagne and sunrises. He nipped at her lip as he pulled her back up with him snuggly, and she brought her hand to cup the side of his face, the other at his tapered waist.  

“I should get going,” she hummed distractedly,  hand gliding up his body like she didn’t even realise.  

Her tongue caressed his slowly before he was muttering against her, “probably”, chasing the plush heat of her mouth.  

They didn’t stop. Not even as Nesta was murmuring a disjointed, “heighten the…suspense…keep you…wanting and all that.” 

“I’m already losing interest,” he purred gruffly, their jaws knocking intimately as the kiss became hotter and fitful, short breaths and hungry mouths. Her nails scraping softly up the nape of his neck and through his hair.  

“And you’re looking for it in my back pocket, is that it?” She whispered, and Cassian gave her ass a firm squeeze as either confirmation or reprimand.  

She bit his bottom lip, the nip of her pearly teeth giving way to a sensual sort of chewing that made his eyes roll back behind closed lids and his large hands wound through her hair to guid her head back so he could take charge. Kissing her slow once again but dirtier, thorough and wanton and Nesta keened almost silently.  

“Found it,” Cassian said thickly into her mouth.  

“Want your prize?” She whispered breathlessly.  

“Yes please.” 

Nesta slid her hand between them. Fingers brushing his belt, then lower- 

Cassian couldn’t tell if he was relieved or devastated when she slipped her way inside his pocket and plucked free his phone.  

She withdrew just barely from the kiss, switched it on and turned the screen to him. The device unlocked as both his hands tucked into her pockets and her manicured thumbs were tapping away.  

Cassian brushed at the curved beam of her high cheekbone with his nose, trying to see what she was up to.  

“What are you doing?”  

“Callander says you’re free Friday. Or it did.  Now it says you have a date.” She nestled herself back into him tightly, tucking the device back into his pocket, exploiting that teasing proximity to something else entirely and driving him crazy as she grazed his mouth with her own.  

“Congratulations.” 

Cassian grinned.  

“Tha- wait just to be clear the date is with you, right?”  

 “Yes, Cassian, the date is with me,” she chuckled. “And I can’t wait,” her humming melted to something wordless and heavy as he kissed her again.  

Slow and explicit he stroked his tongue inside and he swore he felt the flutter of her lashes against his cheek.  

“Cassian,” she breathed almost silently and it burnt his lungs like freezing air.  

“Can I take you home?” Cassian whispered.  

“May I take you home,” Nesta corrected between the sinful caress of their lips.  

“Please do.” 

She was kissing the smirk off his face like she could taste how snug he was and wanted a piece of it for herself. Like she were working at a marshmallow or strawberry lathered with thick chocolate from a hot fountain of the stuff.  

“Maybe you are smooth,” she whispered and it only inflated Cassian’s self satisfaction. “But we both know I like it rough.” Ouch. “Just like we both know you’re way too exhausted to have your way with me.” 

He pulled back abruptly.  

But his mouth had barely opened to argue when she gave him a definitive “don’t”. It was little bit arousing. “You said yourself how late you’ve been working. Have you slept at all this week?” 

For all her icy glares and hellish attitude, at her core, Nesta was kind. She cared despite her pretences to the contrary and it meant she noticed things. Like how despite his lively grins, Cassian was out for the fucking count.  

“That’s what I thought. You can screw me when I know you won’t pass out before making it to third base.” 

“The only one who’d be passing out is you once I’m through fu-” 

“Save that thought for a night you have the energy to see it through,” she said.  

“But I-” 

A quirk of her neat brows shut him up.  

He growled a bitter but accepting sound. She was right, of course she was right, because she was Nesta and a Nesta was always right.  

“Friday,” he promised. “I’m gonna cook for you, something fucking romantic.” 

“More romantic than that sentence?”  

“Look I may not be Keats but I know my way round a stove, so hold all sarcastic comments until I’ve fed you.” 

“I’ll try, but I know for a fact you’re going to make that very hard.” 

“How have you already failed?” 

“Shut up,” Nesta laughed.  

“You have the sexiest fucking laugh.” 

“So you’ve said,” she blushed.  

“And I’ll keep saying it if every time I do you blush like that.” 

“Like I’m embarrassed for you?” she countered with an arched brow and a cruel twitch at the corner of her mouth.  

“You’re so mean,” he grinned.  

They made their way to the curb and hailed down a car on twelf. 

“Want me to ride with you back to your apartment?” he said, opening the back door of a yellow cab that had pulled up for her.  

“That’s sweet, but trust me, I can take care of myself,” she promised.   

“Text me when you get home safe and sound just to spite me then,” he said from the opposite side of the door.  

“I will. But you better not be awake to read it,” She gave him a lingering kiss before gracefully tucking herself inside.  

“Night, gorgeous,” he winked, and shut the door.  

Her ride had just turned onto fourteenth when Cassian decided against hailing his own despite the cold. It was only fifteen or so minutes on foot, and he could probably do with cooling down.  

Though even if he had to trek through tundra to get home he suspected he’d still find himself burning up under a cold shower in an attempt not to jack off to the thought of Nesta like a fourteen year old.  

Stuffing his already slightly numb hands into his pockets he began walking, his fingers brushing against his phone. He should probably call Rhys back.  

The phone rang for a moment before his brother picked up.  

“Did you decline my call?” 

“Yup.” 

“Bastard.” 

“I’m sure Feyre will kiss your bruised ego better,” Cassian grinned as he walked. “Along with something else so long as she doesn’t hear you’ve been calling me names,” he added slyly.  

“Are you threatening to tell on me to my wife?” Rhysand asked, a little wound up by the allusion to Feyre’s kissing certain places even if he hid it behind an unimpressed drawl.  

“Are you pretending the thought doesn’t have you quaking in your givenchy loafers?”  

“On the topic of not upsetting Feyre, she’s demanding a family dinner.” 

He laughed deeply at Rhysand’s avoiding the question.  

“That why you’re calling?” 

“Partly,” Rhys said. “Work’s been…She wants to be around family right now,” he said with an all too familiar casualness. “You free?” 

“For Feyre?” Cassian said without hesitation.  “Yeah, I’m free.” 

He would just have to pull an all nighter on the Monday. 

“Thank you. And also fuck you for implying if it was for me you wouldn’t be,” his brother said.  

“Well you called me just as Nesta was about to slip her tongue down my throat so-” 

“Nesta?” Rhys interrupted. “I thought that was over?” 

Shit.  

In all the carnage that had been the last week he hadn’t bothered letting his family know he and Nesta were back on. The woman was a touchy subject and he hadn’t had the energy or balls to get into it.  

While Rhys had been able to excuse Elain’s inactivity when the Archerons had been at their financial lowest, he’d never managed to extend that same courtesy to Nesta. Maybe it was because the first time they’d met she’d called him a cradle snatching whore. Regardless, Rhysand pretty much hated the woman’s guts, meanwhile his wife was desperately trying to lure her into the inner circle of the Velaris family.  

Cassian may have been able to bench a number higher than his IQ but he wasn’t dumb. He’d clocked on to the fact his sister-in-law was using him as Nesta bait.  In all honesty he was loving it. Nothing made him happier than helping out his family, and if that meant taking out an intelligent, passionate, stunning young woman, then really it was a double-win.  

Taking a second to grind his jaw softly he was reminded to tread carefully. Not something he generally excelled at, but for the sake of his brother he could try.  

“I know you’re not her biggest fan,” he said. “But Feyre forgave her years ago for bailing-” 

“Well Feyre’s a better person than I am.” 

“I’ll say. She set me up with a smoking hot model, meanwhile you’re trynna cock block me,” he tried.  

“You can put your dick wherever you want, doesn’t mean I have to like it.” 

“I guess not,” he ground out. Itching to hit something at the implication Nesta was just “somewhere to put his dick”.  

“Cassian if you want to date a biblical plague in human form knock yourself out, seriously, god knows Feyre will be thrilled. And Azriel, your moping-” 

“I don’t mope,” Cassian interjected.  

“Fine, your stropping-” 

“Fuck off.” 

Rhys’ laugh was about smug as the bastard’s crooning voice.  

“Mor’s gonna kill you by the way. You put a two grand dent in her wine collection over a woman you took back the next week.” 

Cassian groaned, wiping a hand over his face. The only thing worse than the hangover he’d had Monday morning would be Morrigan’s laying into him on this.  

“Don’t you dare tell her,” he warned.  

“Fine but you’ll have to do it before next Sunday, you’re bringing Nesta.” 

“Hang on a minute-” 

“Feyre wants a family dinner and if you and Nesta are back on that means she’s coming,” Rhys said.  

“Boy you are asking a lot of me here,” Cassian sighed dramatically. “I mean I can think of a few ways to persuade her but most of them are illegal in a lot of countries,” he grinned.  

“I don’t care if you have to roofie her and strap her to the hood of your car, just make sure she’s there.” 

“Alright, alright Don.” 

“Don’t call me that,” Rhys growled irritably to Cassian’s delight.  

“What else were you calling about then?” He smirked. “You said dinner was only part of it.” 

“I wanted to ask how things were going with Helion,” his brother said. “Any update?” 

Cassian sighed heavily.  

“This a secure line?” 

“Always”. 

“The hit’s Eris,” he said. “Apparently Saoirse does pretty well for herself if Helion kicks it and it’s looking like she won’t last the year. When she goes Eris takes the lot so he’s trying to take Helion out before he can change his will.” 

“That little bitch,” Rhys interrupted.  

“I’m not done. Guess who Helion might be transferring that inheritance to?” 

“Is Azriel going to finally have the funds to build that sex dungeon?”  

“Not quite,” Cassian said. “The money’s going to Lucien.” 

“Lucien?” 

“Turns out the kid’s his.” 

“Fucking hell.” 

“Seems obvious in hindsight to be honest.” 

Rhys was silent on the other end for a moment as he evidently thought through matter.   

“You said might, is he waiting on a paternity test or something?” 

Cassian winced. “No. No he’s dragging his feet about changing the will altogether.” 

“Why the fuck is he doing that there’s a bullet with his name on it!” 

“You think I don’t know that?” Cassian hissed, trying to keep his voice down. “I’m the one whose gonna have to jump in front of that bullet if he doesn’t get his ass in gear. But he…he’s losing the love of his life, Rhys. I’m trynna cut him a little slack-” 

“Slack Eris is going to have someone strangle him with.” 

“I’m handling it,” Cassian promised.  

Rhys went silent again.  

“We could always just kill Eris.” 

Cassian would have laughed at the unrestrained glee in his brother’s voice if the suggestion hadn’t been so tempting.  

“No you can’t,” he reminded him, ascending the steps to his front door.  

“Sorry, sorry, you probably want plausible deniability and all that- which is a shitty reason to leave a family business-” 

“What are you talking about? I left because I don’t like any of you.” 

“Dick.” 

“See it’s that kind of thing that made for a hostile work environment I really couldn’t foresee a future working under,” he grinned, unlocking the door.  

“You taught me words far more creative than that growing up, monte de merda-” 

“Desenmerda-te, and don’t cuss at me in Portuguese carcamano.” 

“I’m fucking Persian!” 

“Tell that to your pale ass like unbaked garlic bread, minchia,” Cassian retorted in Italian as he tossed his keys onto the skirting board and shrugged off his coat.  

“A fanabla!”  

“Love you too, tell Feyre I said hi.” 

“See you and Nesta on Sunday, I’ll text you timings.” 

“No shop talk okay, she still doesn’t know anything about-” 

“I know, I know, it’s not me you have to worry about. Feyre keeps asking me to hire her.” 

“As what? Has Cosa Nostra began dabbling in the modelling industry under your direction, baby brother?” 

“If I said yes would you come back to us?” 

“I’m a one woman man, Rhys.” 

“Jesus, it’s been less than a month.” 

“At which point you and Feyre were engaged.” 

“Nesta’s no Feyre.” 

Yeah, Nesta has enough wit about her to know you can’t go round offering Mafia jobs like candy, he thought to himself.  

“Whatever man, I’ll see you then.” 

“See you then.” 

 TAG LIST

@featherymalignancy

@sleeping-and-books

@my-fan-side

@hearts-of-persephone 

@witchling13

@theoverlyenthusiasticwriter

@typicalmidnightsoul

@sezkins79

@thebitchupstairs

@fourshizzle149

@monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies

@yikesitsmaddie

@jjellybean

@thronesandstars

@mis-lil-red 

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@bookstantrash 

@illyrianshadowhunter

[chaoticpuff17]

Something Wicked

part 12

masterlist

Warning: major character death, yandere behavior, violence

Hello, my darlings. This is unfortunately the last chapter of SW except for perhaps an epilogue, but I’m still undecided on that. It’s been a ride. Thank you all so much for reading! Enjoy!--- chaotic puff

Much like everything else in her life, Jin chose her dress for the evening and embarrassingly enough, her undergarments as well. She had to admit though that the dress was flattering. Should she have expected anything less though? Nothing in the closet was particularly unflattering. Jin had picked everything so that she would match the image of the dazzling Kim Seokjin. She was long since unsurprised by any of it though. Weeks under Jin’s thumb had left her a shell of herself. She didn’t even have the dog to keep her company anymore. Jin had sent him out to a kennel in preparation for their honeymoon a week in advance. He wanted all of her focus to be on him and the wedding. The dog was deemed an unnecessary distraction. It was just another little thing that made her resent him on an ever growing list.

It was more was becoming more and more of a struggle just to keep herself together, but no one ever would have guessed from looking at her. That was what it meant to be a part of the Kim family, unending grace and poise, never a hair out of place. She had to assume that this was why the heads of the family had even gone along with Jin’s decision to marry her. Not only was he their golden son, but she was perfectly matched to their image of a daughter-in-law in all but family background. They could overlook her lack of background when she was suitable in all other categories and Jin, their most darling son, had chosen her.

She stared at herself in the mirror trying to reconcile the woman before her with the memory of who she had been before everything had happened. This woman was elegant, refined, empty, nothing more than a puppet on a string. The color of the dress made her ill. Red. Red dress. Red shoes. But it was not the bright red that was associated so commonly with weddings. No, this was a deep wine red closer to the color of the bruises so carefully hidden all across her body.

The bruises that marred her wrists were only highlighted by the color as was the hickey that Jin had so meticulously placed on her neck. The halter top of the dress did nothing to distract the eye from the offending mark, and neither did the earrings that Jin had provided her with. A thin string of diamonds fell from her ear ending at her jaw in a perfect pear shaped gem. He had even instructed her to wear her hair up. The simply pony tail she had chosen over a bun provided some cover, but it still left her neck and the mark there exposed for all to see.

Jin didn’t need to hide the marks on her body though. This was his family, and they wouldn’t question his actions. Why would they? Jin could do as he pleased. He could probably even get away with murder if he so chose. He already had if her suspicions about Minseok were correct.

The thought of her love made her heart ache. She couldn’t help the guilt that swept through her at the thought of him. If it hadn’t been for her, he would still have been alive. If she had never agreed to that first date, Jin would have had no reason to act against him. She could only hope that whatever Jin had done with him had been swift, though she doubted it. The Jin she had come to know was anything but merciful. He was many things, a narcissist being among them, but he was not merciful.

“Y/N?” He called walking into the closet where she was getting ready. “Darling?” he called again stopping with a smirk in the middle of the room as he took in the sight of her through the mirror. “You look lovely, darling. Absolutely beautiful.”

Her answer was robotic, ingrained. “Thank you, Jin.”

“Are you ready, darling? I don’t want to keep my parents waiting.”

“Yes, Jin.” She nodded turning to face him though keeping her eyes downcast in submission. He liked her submissive. It fed his ego. “I just need to grab a coat, and I’ll be ready.”

He hummed instructing her to stay where she was as he began to rifle through her side of the closet. Of course she wouldn’t be allowed to choose her own coat. How silly of her to ever think she had a choice.

He returned moments later with a black coat in hand carefully draping it over her helping her into the soft material before stepping back so she could fasten the garment around her. If there was one thing she was grateful for, it was that Jin’s fashion sense never drifted to the risqué in anything other than the array of lingerie he provided. Everything else was demure, fitting for the wife of such an important man. None of her dresses and skirts were shorter than the tops of her knees, and her necklines were always modest with only the barest hint of cleavage being revealed if any at all. Even the coat draped around her was demure. It fell down past her knees stopping at the tops of her shins. The collar was high providing coverage to her neck and half hiding the mark Jin had left there, and like everything else in her wardrobe, it was high quality.

“You look lovely in Dior, darling.” Jin murmured placing a kiss just under her jaw as she finished fastening the belt around her waist.

It was cinched more than it would have been before all of this. The stress of living under Jin’s tyranny had seen a drastic decline in her weight. She never stepped on a scale. She didn’t know where one was, but she wouldn’t have been surprised to find that she had lost twenty pounds or more over her weeks with Jin. Even her hair had suffered. Clumps of it would come out in the shower as it had in her college days during exam weeks or during times of extreme stress. She could barely recognize herself in the sharp angles and hollow eyes of the woman that stared back at her in the mirror.

“Shall we, darling?” Jin grinned offering her his arm, which she reluctantly took allowing him to lead her out of the penthouse for the first time since he had taken her.

One of the hardest pills to swallow was the look of surprise on Jin’s driver’s face when he saw her. She had known Suho for years. They had commiserated on more than one occasion on the harsh realities of working for a perfectionist like Jin, but he looked almost as though he had seen a ghost. Perhaps he had. She certainly felt like one.

“Mr. Kim.” Suho stuttered opening the door of the car for them his eyes still wide with shock.

Jin ushered her into the car first throwing Suho a harsh glare as he did. She was his to look at, not some lowly driver’s. Jin didn’t like other men staring at her, but Suho had been a loyal member of staff for years and quickly averted his gaze without another word as soon as he felt Jin’s glare upon him. He liked Y/N, but not enough to risk Jin’s wrath by attempting to speak with her or take any further notice of her.

The ride out to the family estate was silent. Jin fiddled with his phone while resting heavy hand on her thigh as they drove through the city. There was nothing for her to do but stare at the city as it went past. The path was a familiar one. She’d been to the family home before on multiple occasions. She had never suspected that it would be under these circumstances though. If someone had asked her a few months ago if she could see herself marrying Kim Seokjin, she would have laughed in their faces. She would have given anything to go back to those days, to go back to the day she had first entered Kim Seokjin’s life and turn and run for the hills. There was no use lingering on such thoughts though. This was her life, retched as it may be. She had to survive even if it meant submitting to someone as vile as Seokjin.

The house looked much like it always did, grand and imposing much like the people who inhabited it. She had never been fond of Jin’s parents. She’d always felt out of place in the large house. Seokjung was really the only member of the family that Y/N liked, but it wasn’t as if she knew him very well. That didn’t matter though. It wasn’t as if she got a say in who her in-laws were. She didn’t get a say in any of it.

When they exited the car, Mrs. Kim was standing there ready to greet them, well to greet Seokjin at least. She was an accessory on her son’s arm.

“Jinnie!” She cooed rushing forward to hug her son a smile stretched across her painted lips. “It’s been too long!”

“Eomma.” He greeted hugging her back. “This is Y/N.” He stepped back pushing her forward and bringing her to his mother’s attention.

“The assistant.” She mused staring down her nose at her. “She’s pretty at least.” She huffed taking her son by the arm and pulling him into the house with Y/N trailing behind. “Your father and I have been looking forward to seeing you. I can’t believe that my little boy is all grown up and getting married.” She sighed dramatically stopping in the foyer so that a maid could take both of their coats.  

“Son.” Mr. Kim walked into the room greeting his younger son in the stoic way that he always did. “This must be Y/N.” He nodded looking her up and down critically. “You picked well. She’s beautiful.”

“She’ll give us beautiful grandchildren.” His wife agreed looping her arm through his. “Don’t you think so, dear?”

“There’ll be plenty of time for talk of that later.” He hummed leading his wife towards the parlor for drinks as he and Jin began to talk business. Y/N trailed along her head bowed and arm looped through Jin’s.

She couldn’t help but wonder where Seokjung was. Surely he would be at a family dinner. He was her only saving grace in this nightmare of a dinner. She knew full well that he was the only one that would talk to her like a person and not just the pretty bimbo that their son was marrying. Jin certainly wasn’t going to make this evening any less awkward or her, but so far he was nowhere to be seen.

“Will Seokjung be joining us?” She dared to ask drawing the attention of the entire family to her.

Both Jin and his father stared at her with disapproval, but Jin’s mother pasted on a condescending smile. “Aren’t you sweet?” She hated the sickly sweet tone of the woman’s voice. ���I’m sure he’s somewhere, maybe in the kitchen. He does so love to bother the staff in there.” She chuckled the sound grating against Y/N’s ears. “If you’re worried, you could go check on him, but I’m sure he’d be much happier eating in the kitchen than with the rest of the family.”

Y/N had to bite her tongue to keep her temper in check. It had always bothered her how the family treated Seokjung after the accident. He was paralyzed, not a pariah. “I think I will.” She pasted on a smile of her own ignoring the way look of slight annoyance and disapproval that Jin was giving her.

“Hurry back, darling.” He murmured placing a kiss on her cheek as he let her go.

She shot him a strained smile, but didn’t say anything else as she made her way towards the kitchen. It was where she normally ended up when she went to the Kim’s home. Much to her relief, Seokjung was inside when she entered the room which was oddly empty of staff.

“Hey, busy bee.” He greeted and she couldn’t help but smile at the fond nickname. It had started out mockingly when she had first met him, but it was an affectionate term now. “I see Jin finally got to you.”

“Not by choice.” She scoffed coming to take a seat across from him at the breakfast nook. “Can I ask you something?” Seokjung raised a brow taking a sip of his tea but making no move to stop her from asking. “Did Seokjin do this to you?”

The man froze something dark flashing in his eyes before it left again. He set down his cup and leveled her with a serious gaze. “And why do you ask that?” She raised a brow of her own waiting to see if he could piece things together on his own. Seokjung was by no means a stupid man despite how the rest of his family treated him. “I’m guessing the bruises on your wrists are from him.” He sighed leaning back in his chair. “How long?”

“Since this started.” She whispered staring down at the marks on her wrists. “There’s something very wrong with your brother.”

“I’m glad someone else is willing to recognize it.” He scoffed chuckling bitterly. “Yeah. This was his fault.”

“Your parents didn’t do anything?”

“Why would they? They always liked Jin better. Mother’s precious boy.” He shook his head as though clearing his thoughts before steering the attention back towards her. “How did he rope a sweet girl like you into this, bee?”

“Would you believe me if I said kidnapping?”

“He put his own brother in a wheel chair. I’d believe you.” He chuckled humorlessly. “Sweet kid like you doesn’t deserve this.”

“And you did?” She scoffed staring him down from across the table. “Your family is seriously fucked up.”

“I’m aware.” He rolled his eyes though a slight smile pulled at the corner of his lips. “How long do you have before Seokjin comes looking for you?”

“Not long.” She shudder hating the thought of going back to sit through dinner with Jin and his parents.

“Perfect.” The smile that overtook Seokjung’s face was vicious, his eyes too bright, too manic.

“What are you…”

She couldn’t finish her sentence. Jin had entered the room immediately zeroing in on her. “There you are, darling.” He walked over a frown on his face as he looked between her and his brother. “We were wondering what was taking you so long.”

He reached for her wrist only to freeze as a harsh thud sounded through the kitchen sending Jin crashing to the floor. Y/N watched in horror as Seokjung raised a pipe she hadn’t even been aware that he had up bringing it down on the disoriented Jin’s head with a sickening crack.

There was an odd sense of satisfaction that filled her as she watched a puddle of red almost the color of her dress form under Jin’s head.

“What…why?” Her gaze flitted back to Seokjung who was staring down at his brother with burning hatred.

“It’s time he got what was coming to him, rotten bastard.” He spat bringing the pipe down on his brother’s head again, Y/N flinching at the sight of it.

“Oh god…” She whispered her gaze flitting back to the growing puddle on the floor.

“Bee… bee!” Seokjung’s voice pulled her attention back to him before she could begin to spiral. “Do you wanna get out of here or not?” he asked his serious gaze keeping her pinned in place.

“What?”

“Do you want to get out of here?”

“More than anything.”

Seokjung nodded pulling a two bags out from the next to him at the breakfast nook and setting them on the table between them. “There’s a change of clothes in that bag. The tote has passport and a ticket on a flight leaving Korea later tonight as well as all the paperwork you’ll need to start a new life.”

Her head was reeling try to make sense of what was going on. “I don’t…”

“If you stay here my family is going to try to pin this on you. They can’t do that if you’re not here.”

“What are you… You planned this.” She breathed out in quite awe tinged with a little horror at the thought.

“You’ve given me the opportunity I’ve been looking for for ages. He’d never come visit me on his own, but he does so love to brag, and you’re the only one that would come looking for me in this hellhole.” He nudged the body with the pipe. “You’ve done me a favor, busy bee.”

“You killed him.”

“An eye for an eye.” He shrugged. “I’m just taking back what he took from me. Now do you want to get out of here or not?”

“More than anything.” She whispered pulling the bags towards her. “What about my dog?”

“Go to the states. Start fresh. I’ll send him along once you’re settled.” He ordered humming in approval as she began to move. “I have my driver waiting outside waiting to take you to the airport. You’re home free, bee. There’s even a phone in there. It’s got my number if you need anything.”

She stood up carefully avoiding the body and the blood as well as she could. “Why are you doing this for me?”

“You’re a sweet girl, bee, and you’ve always been kind to me. Don’t rat me out, and we can both be living the good life.”

She nodded letting the realization that he was giving her an out, a real out, settle in. “Okay…. Okay.”

“What will your parents say?”

He scoffed rolling himself back from the table. “You leave them to me. Now get out of here before they come looking for their precious son.”

She nodded resolutely making her way towards the door leading to the back entrance to the Kim house. “Thank you.”

“Good luck, busy bee.”

She made it to the door before turning back to look at Seokjung one last time before she left behind his crazy family for good. He nodded urging her to leave, a manic gleam in his eyes. He was enjoying this far too much, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. He’d set her free, and she’d take his secret to the grave.

She smiled, her first real smile in weeks. “Give them hell.”

“I plan to.”  

 epilogue....

[soyeahitsmiddleearth]

Dimension Jumping Pt. 5

Comforting a grieving hobbit and time get everyone ready to go out!

Via the genius idea from katzrfsoa / Kat88

There's been mention of the reader not wanting to take the groups out, for fear of the public's reaction... so what about a cosplay convention? it would give the Reader the perfect excuse to allow them out, and they would wear their original clothes 

----

This morning has been uneventful for the most part.

Breakfast passed by without issue and now everyone is off doing their own things.

You looked outside and took a peek in the guest room, but you still can't find him.

Sam, Merry, and Pippin are playing a board game you showed them; Legolas is doing his meditation sleep thing; Boromir and Aragorn are discussing something; and Gimli is stacking bread on Legolas' leg to see how long it takes until he notices.

Frodo, however, is missing at the moment.

Right as you were considering telling the others of his disappearance, however, you heard some shuffling from your hall closet.

You open the door carefully and take peer inside, not wanting to startle the small hobbit, and at first you don't see him.

There's more shuffling and you hear a quiet sniff, followed by soft sobs, and you then realize he's hiding behind the shelf.

The door makes a soft clicking sound when you close it, and right away the quiet cries cease. You didn't want to alert him with the door, you wanted to do it yourself, but it's too late now, so you just go with it.

"Frodo?" You call in a gentle voice, staying by the door incase he wants you to go.

"Y-Yes?' He calls back, not moving from his spot.

His voice is thick with emotion, and the sadness in his tone makes your heart ache painfully. And when you walk closer and see him huddled up behind the shelf, your heart breaks a little for him.

He hastily rids his cheeks of any evidence of his sorrows, though the puffiness around his eyes and constant sniffles don't much help his cause, and looks at you with a false smile.

"Frodo, why are you crying?" You ask with furrowed eyebrows, kneeling down in front of him so you may look at him at eye level (mostly).

"It's nothing." He tells you quickly, looking away from your compassionate face with the same sad frown on his lips.

When you don't move to get up or leave, his gaze slides back over to you and he realizes that you're not going to leave unless he straight up tells you to go away. This makes him sigh, but truthfully, he doesn't want you to go away. Not really. For having company in a time of sorrow always mends suffering.

"I... did not have a proper time to mourn Gandalf. I've been so caught up in the oddity that is this place that I almost forgot my sorrows altogether, but then this morning is all... came rushing back." He explains with a surprisingly even voice.

While he speaks you cross your legs and listen along intently, your hands folded neatly in your lap. When he finishes, you reach forward and place your hand atop his with a gentle touch, "I didn't know him, but I can tell he was very dear to you. Honestly, I can't offer much advice, but I can tell you that keeping it all bottled up inside is not a good idea."

He looks at you with that sad face when you speak, and it prompts you to continue, "Also, I know everyone else can be pretty overwhelming or they just don't understand, and I want you to know that I'm always here to listen if you're feeling down, okay?"

Your words draw a small smile from the grieving hobbit and it elicits a similar grin from you.

"Thank you, Y/N. I... actually do feel a little better."

"I'm glad."

---

After your discussion with Frodo you rejoin everyone back out in the main room and let him recollect himself, going right onto your laptop to get some work done.

You're idly scrolling through a scholarly article you need to research when you see it.

An advertisement for some sort of comic book, cosplay, convention... thing in the area (no wonder you've been seeing so many oddly dressed people recently).

At first you almost scroll past it, but then you get hit with the brick of knowledge and a lightbulb goes off in your head.

"Yes!" You scream, successfully scaring everyone in the room and Penny who is sitting with you for once. "Ohh, my god. This is freaking perfect!" You exclaim, clicking on the link to get some more information.

Your eyes practically soak up everything on the information page, and, once you've skimmed through all of it, you look up with a bright smile on your face.

Literally all of them are looking at you like you've grown two heads, but you only clap your hands together a few times. "Guys, I just had a huge brain moment!"

The joke goes over their heads as per usual, but you don't let that deter you.

"Huge brain moment?" Pippin asks in confusion, looking at his cousin like he thinks he heard it wrong or something.

"Yes! I've figured out a way to take everyone out!"

That certainly gets their attention.

"You have?" Sam asks exuberantly, dropping his game piece so he can turn towards you and pay perfect attention.

"I have, yes," you start, continuing once you're 100% sure they're all paying attention, "So here's the thing, I knew that I could take out you tall boi's without issue besides having to find a hat for Legolas here, and I could explain that Gimli here has dwarfism," you pause at that and realize it may be offensive to him, but you continue once more, "but I also knew that there's no way I can explain away the hobbits, and then I found this gem."

You turn the computer so it faces all of them, but they only look more confused.

"There's a convention thing in town for the next week, and it's the perfect opportunity for me to bring everyone out! We just have to dress up the hobbits a bit and pretend that they're children."

At your explanation you receive multiple pleased smiles, and it serves to make you feel even better about your idea. "And you can all wear your normal clothes, too. And if someone asks who you are... I'll figure out a game or something you guys can use as an alias."

"Are you sure that will work?" Aragorn asks with furrowed eyebrows, sitting up from his spot in your arm chair.

"Um, like, maybe 98%." You confirm with a shrug, "It's better than 88% though."

He doesn't seem like he disagrees with you, so you look back at your laptop again and start to look for ideas to make them more believable as humans.

---

3 hours of research later, and you've successfully compiled a completely fool proof plan to smuggle this merry band of bizarre boys out of your house.

What you've decided is that you'll put some makeup over Legolas' pointy ears to make them look more fake since the concept of elves is not lost in this world. Boromir and Aragorn can go as themselves, and you'll put some makeup on the hobbits much like you will Legolas (they'll be children elves since there are no hobbits in your world) and tell everyone who asks how they look so good that you're a professional makeup artist.

Gimli, fortunately for you, was the easiest to come up with something for next to the other two humans of this group. You can just tell people he has dwarfism and that's why he chose to go as a dwarf character.

Everything is in order except for what you're going to do, though you suppose you should match their theme and be some sort of renaissance, maiden, lady, thing. You'll figure it out, though you do need to make sure it's convincing like theirs.

You decided to, instead of putting it off, go ahead and start working on finding a costume to match theirs.

A couple of searches later and you come across a really pretty dress that looks to fit their style, and when you show it to them they give you the thumbs up, so you order it with express shipping so it should arrive tomorrow.

It's a lovely flowy medieval dress *just look up flowy medieval dress and go to images, there are some good examples there*, and you feel excited just looking at it. Of course, there's no guarantee that it'll be the best quality, but it's got great reviews and you certainly paid a hefty sum for it.

After that's done with you head to your bathroom to see what makeup you've got, and you find that you don't really have any theatrical/special effects makeup. You're going to need skin colored wax makeup, powders, and contour stuff.

You're no makeup artist, obviously, but luckily for you, your goal is to make them look less realistic, so it should be easy enough.

It's surprisingly easy to figure out what you need to make them as convincing as possible, and pretty soon you've got a nice little list going on that outlines each thing you need.

Since you don't want to delay anymore, you head out of your bathroom and grab your bag while putting on your shoes, "Legolas, I'm leaving now if you wanna come with." You suggest since he stated his desire to join you in the one of the last chapters (:o).

When you call his name he looks over at you quickly, smiling a bit at your offer, "Yes, but you said I need a hat."

"Oh yeah! I have one, just gimme a sec." You tell him, walking over to a drawer.

When you open said drawer, you find a grey beanie with ease and toss it over to him, "Here ya go. Make sure it covers your ears... and uh, tuck your hair up into it too if you don't mind."

He does as you say with ease and, surprisingly, he looks just as good with shorter hair as he does longer hair.

It sticks kinda awkwardly at first, so you waltz on over and gesture for him to crouch down so you don't have to reach up.

Once again he does as you request and leans down so you may fix it.

You adjust it a bit to make sure it won't fall first, and then you smooth it back a bit so it'll also look stylish. And once you're done you take a step back and smile at him brightly.

"All done! Let's go!"

---

He seemed rather fascinated in the way your car works first and foremost, but once you got him to look out his window instead of watching you, his excitement quickly turned into awe.

When you both get to the ULTA store he follows you without hesitation and asks some hushed questions about things he sees, like the light up signs, other passing cars, stoplights, and some other things.

You, of course, answer each question happily and lead him inside, holding the door open for him while he enters and looks around the brightly lit up makeup store.

Right away you head towards the general direction of the nose and scar wax (it's multi purpose, don't judge me), forgetting to make sure that Legolas follows you.

When it does occur to you, however, that the blond elf didn't come after you, you panic.

You turn in a circle and only stop when you see him standing with some ladies who practically have hearts in their eyes.

Unconsciously you breathe a sigh of relief and head over with the wax in your little basket, immediately reaching up to wrap your arm around his, "I got the first thing on my list, come on."

The girls stop their giggles and flirting as soon as you show up and look genuinely surprised.

You give them a smile and nod in acknowledgement, not wanting to make them feel bad over something so silly before turning with your arm still around his own and walking him over to look at some contour stuff and other things.

They make some snide comments when you turn your back about you being a 'clingy girlfriend' and 'not pretty enough to be with a model like that', but you only ignore it and relish in the fact that you didn't make them feel bad over something as silly as a cute guy in a makeup store.

"Why are those women talking about you like that?" He asks in a whisper, leaning down so only you will hear his question.

You look up at him with a bit or surprise since you didn't expect him to pick up on that, before you smile, "They're attracted to you, and they think that I was being selfish with taking you away from their advances."

"Selfish? Advances?" He looks confused, but you only smile and turn back to the display case.

"Don't worry your pretty little head over it, Leggy my boy."

"Leggy?" He asks slowly, looking at you in confusion.

"Leggy." You confirm with a nod with a distracted hum.

It isn't much later that you have everything you need, and so you go to the checkout and buy everything.

"Going to the convention?" The girl at the counter asks with a smile.

You smile back and nod your head, glancing up at Legolas before looking back at her, "That obvious?"

"No of course not, just the items in your basket always fly off the shelves around convention time." She replies with a giggle, ringing up all your items.

"Well, that's fair." You muse, putting your card into the reader to pay for it.

Once everything is in order she hands you your receipt and adds, "Maybe I'll see you there."

"Maybe!" You chirp back happily, liking the nice conversation going on here.

"You and your boyfriend have a good day now!"

You elect to ignore that.

---

On the way home you pretend to not notice the black car following yours and make small talk with the elf, answering some more of his questions and speaking idly on different things.

"There are so many odd, interesting things here..." He comments after a while, glancing out the back window. "Are you aware that, that car has been following us for the past 10 minutes?"

You nod and hum as an answer, "Mmhm, it's just Brian. He's probably trying to figure out who you are."

The blond knits his eyebrows together and glances back to look at the car again, "Should I do something about it?"

"The only thing you can do is ignore it. He went from lowercase 's' stalker to uppercase 's' since you guys arrived, and it'll only get worse if you intervene." You mumble, trying not to look in the rearview mirror at him. "It's fine."

"You don't seem to think it's fine." He challenges in the same even tone, turning in his seat towards you.

Instead of answering his question you look at him while you stop at a light and grumble, "I told you to put your seatbelt on."

"It's uncomfortable."

"I don't care."

"I will be fine."

"Not if we get into a crash, you won't."

The two of you stare each other down before he slowly reaches up and buckles his belt, never breaking eye-contact.

"Good boy." You coo in a way-too sweet voice.

"Anyways, I know we said as much before, but you needn't worry about that man while we're here." He continues despite your obvious subject change.

"I know." Your reply is softer and less defensive this time, for you really do appreciate it, "Thank you."

He looks surprised at your sudden gratitude, and his expression shows as much "For what?"

"For being you. For looking out for me. All of you."

This time he smiles and says no more.

---

When you both get back to your house you immediately put everything in your bathroom and get onto your laptop to view some techniques on theatrical and movie makeup, Pippin and Merry on either side of you while they view through the pictures and videos with you.

"That one looks interesting." Merry pipes up suddenly, pointing at a person to wolf makeup transformation.

"Yep, and way past anything I can do."

This pattern of going through pictures and viewing clips goes on for a little while until they two hobbits depart to have lunch, meanwhile you continue on so that tomorrow will be a success.

You're both excited and nervous at the same time, wanting to see how it'll all turn out but also dreading it incase something goes wrong.

You know the most important thing is to have a positive mindset about it, but it's kinda hard sometimes during your more anxious moments.

Also, there's the issue of Brian possibly following all of you...

Nah, that'll be a problem to think on for tomorrow.

"What time will we leave tomorrow?" Aragorn asks from his usual spot on the rocking chair, Penny still nestled in his lap as per usual.

"Around the morning. I bought the tickets already so we won't have to stand in line for too long... Hopefully."

"Thank you for working so hard so that we may see more of your world." He comments suddenly, stroking his hand down her fluffy back.

You tilt your head to the side and smile a bit, "You don't have to thank me."

"No, I do. You have seen to our every need and we no doubt pose to be a huge burden. Thank you, really."

His words make you flush slightly, and you look away shyly.

You've grown to care about all of them, so of course you would do anything to keep them comfortable at this point. More than anything you're just glad they see how much you're trying to make things easy on them. It feels nice being recognized for your efforts.

Plus, the added protection from Brian is pretty sweet.

"Anything for you guys."

[hungryflowers]

You’re Different Backstage

Title: You’re Different Backstage

Rating: Explicit (NSFW)

Continuity/Fandom: Balan Wonderworld

Character Relationship(s): “Balance” Balan/Lance

Character(s): Balan, Lance

A/N: This is going to be my FIRST NSFW submission for this fandom. Do not come at me with the torches, pitch forks, knives or shotguns. I, very recently, sent myself down the rabbit hole of Balance (Balan/Lance) and kept wondering: how nice would it be to see some good ol’ fashion sexy time with the two of them? Since no one has done it yet, I thought, why don’t I? What’s stopping me? Who can stop me? NOBODY!!! So I did this. And it took me 10 days to do, so please accept my thing!! Also, also, this will probably be the longest porn w/o plot I’ve ever written. Hence why it took nearly ten days. The editing alone was bananas!! Another thing, I’d like to apologize in advance if I offend anyone here who is Non-Binary or go by They/Them pronouns. Since Lance is canonically non-binary, I tried to keep it as close to the orientation as possible. This was real hard as I usually default to male pronouns for both of them. 

However, I didn’t do the same for Balan, as he does tend to go by more male pronouns than Lance does even though they are also androgynous in appearance. Maestro is a more masculine term even if neither of them actually are. Another big thing: Balan’s genitals here. Since they don’t have actual default genitalia, I like to think that he has the ability to oscillate his genitals. He can have male and female parts just not at the same time. With that out of the way, please indulge in this steamy lil’ fan fic. And yes, I take criticism.  

Other/Warning(s): Massive smut warning!! Penetrative sex, Oral and Cunnilingus, Some minor swearing, graphic depictions of sexual situations as well as multiple orgasms.  

Lance didn’t enjoy setting the ‘mood’ as others had assumed it. They weren’t  deeply inclined to romantic, or sappy gestures like the better half of themselves had been. Balan seemed better at the sentimental side of affirmations of love and adoration. Or of praises and well-wishes that devolved into lasting conversations of love and happiness. 

No. No such things came out of Lance. They never gave in the way Balan would crave it. All they have ever wished for in turn was the physical catharsis of those suppressed feelings. Lance never called it love. Far be it from them to say what it wasn’t, but call it what it is. For them, it was just sex. The debasing art form of it too; bed-rocking, sloppy and wet, body tingling sex. That kind one would have as a means to purge the physical, mental garbage of the day and get back to work. The sex that revolved around more the need to take and not deal in the emotional ramifications. Lance’s fangs would draw in a wicked grin, the idea of that perfect, lasting till the morning time sex rarely sounding so bad. They had raptured, fantasized of the feel of Balan’s more delicate, tender frame mashed into theirs as he was ridden to a mind-blowing high that could leave them both speechless for a long while. 

They would languish in these thoughts. The perverse nature of them driving him to do insane things in search of the release from the monstrous, bone-rattling ache. For now, Lance busied themselves to look away... their thoughts hazy and muddled with the resurfacing gnaw of pursuing pleasure. Their mouth ducked into their tattered caplet, hiding the baring growl that prickled at those lips. Soft, ocean-colored eyes hardened with shock, and some surprise as they locked with Balan’s. They must’ve been so entranced with the inner turmoil, Lance never registered the glance the maestro was giving them. The Maestro of Wonderworld’s presence did things to Lance. Things they acknowledged and didn’t like. Gods, who decided to torment them so by making this being so damned beautiful and siren-like? How dare he sit with an air so casual, it appeared nothing ever bothered him? Damn him. Damn his soft, luscious and devilish curves; feminine in some ways while masculine in others. But moreover, damn those goddamn large and intelligent yellow eyes.

Golden pools shimmered deliciously in the lamplight of the slow evening. The theater was always quiet at night. It was period of reflection, relaxation. Or maybe a time to finish some old project. Maybe begin anew. For Balan tonight however, it was his time to catch up on a few good reads. He hadn’t picked up a good novel in some time. Usually the only papers he read were his rough drafts of scripts and plans. But he loved to read. When he didn’t harass Lance with trivial tasks, or for the nuisance of conversation, Balan read. If not that, he wrote. He was a maestro of the craft; short stories, full-lengths, prompts and scenarios, or sometimes just a journal entry. On this night he didn’t busy himself with putting quill to parchment. 

Balan's mouth opened, a sound coming out but no words. He wasn’t entirely sure how to ask about Lance’s wellbeing with being snapped at. The other appearing to be in a dour mood tonight. Placing the book on the small, rounded oak table Balan unfolded his legs to stand. He stretched idly, rubbing at the back of his top hat before pulling it off his head to fluff out his bouncy mint-colored dreads. Humming a little tune, Balan rummaged through his showman jacket, pulling out a golden rubber band to tie his long dreads back. The tendrils folded down his shoulders neatly once they were out of the way, exposing the intricately made heart marking atop his dark forehead. 

His eyes fanned over the negati’s hidden features before he walked over to the bar on the far side of the room. Opening one of the cabinets, he pulled out an aged bottle of wine; the label slightly tarnished and dusty read in calligraphic silver “Caraveét”. He grabbed gold-rimmed chalices, pouring the shimmering iris colored wine into each of the glasses. He grinned, smelling the sweet and tart flavors. He took a slow sip from his glass before tapping the bar table with his gloved fingers, the racketing bring Lance out of their stupor.

“Did you want some?”, He inquired, hoping the swirling liquid would ease the storm that ravaged the negati, “You seem a bit broody tonight. Perhaps, a couple of glasses should ease both our minds.” The maestro chuckled giddily raising his glass as it gleamed in the low light. 

Lance regarded the glass, then the maestro as he walked over to them. The tentacles on their back lashed so abruptly, Lance had to do a non-verbal apology when they knocked over a few chairs by accident. They weren’t brooding. Not even mad, but they were feeling something. Just not sure how to find the words for it. 

Balan’s eyes drifted to Lance’s, regarding them. Waiting for them to answer the question they most likely didn’t hear in the first place. 

“What?” The tone was not to be a biting, agitated type yet Lance couldn’t make themselves look at Balan, knowing full well the turmoil they were in.

“Nothing... I was just asking if you would like a glass of wine? You are more the brooding lot than usual. Drink with me.” Balan’s playful baritone voice felt like velvet as it caressed their ears. That voice caused Lance to sulk further more, hiding their face inside the caplet as the thoughts, seeming to feel more like whispers of temptation, dominated their rational thinking. 

He took the offered glass yet chose not to drink of any of it. Instead he loomed over the rim as Balan took a long swig of his. 

Lance licked at their lips, unknowing of the gesture. They would give more than anything to kiss the taste off of Balan’s lips. Or just to kiss them at all. They had wondered what it would be like to feel the maestro’s lips tentatively licking, caressing theirs in a heated lip-lock. The maddening thoughts came back tenfold, causing the other in audible snarl, attempting to shut them away. 

“Lance... are you okay?” They heard Balan on the bridge of their conscious, the other’s voice like a muddling hum as they stood up quickly to move in front of Balan. The other, not knowing how to judge the move, backed into the bar, his glass still in hand while he searched the eyes of Lance. They appeared to be wild, nearly frantic with an energy Lance never expressed. 

Lance leered at the other silently before pushing himself right into the maestro’s form; trapping him in front of the wood lacquer. Balan’s fleeing gaze made Lance smile. Not grin... smile. His mouth perking with something that could not be said as his hands went to Balan’s cravat, pulling the other slowly toward him. 

“No...”, Lance confessed, eyes lulling closed dreamily, “I am not okay. And you are to blame.” That smile showed off the fangs, the points flitting in the soft lamplight. 

Balan could not fully process what was going on before Lance leaned in fully to capture the other’s lips. Night after night, they had dreamt up this moment and even now they cannot believe they had gotten this far. It was far better than any dream or wish; light blue eyes sliding closed as a slender tongue went past the maestro’s parted, stunned mouth. That moment caused a ripple of shock to seize Balan, contents of his glass spilling onto the floor, no doubt leaving a stain that’ll have to be dealt with. He didn’t even have the knowledge of dropping it, yellow eyes staring at Lance’s softened face before he willed himself to kiss back. His hands, once frozen indecisively, pulled Lance in close.  

Neither were sure how it had come to this, but Balan didn’t have the heart in him to make Lance stop. A small purr rumbled the kiss as Lance began to pull off. They disconnected breathlessly, only the small tail of spittle between them. Their breaths were heavy and hot, burning like steam with each exhale. It took the maestro to gather his bearings before his mouth was able to work again. 

“W-Why am I to blame?? Lance what’s happened to you?” Balan felt as if he knew what was about to happen, and tried his best to make it all make sense. He was normally in a lot more control in surprise like situations; yet here... he was unable to predict the sheer tumbling force that Lance was portraying. 

“You’ll understand soon enough,” Lance whispered, deftly kissing down Balan’s neck, inky-black hair brushing amethyst sparkled cheeks, “I’ll make you understand.” They said louder with a growl that exposed fangs.

Purrs rumble through Lance as they fumbled with anything that would be able to get Balan’s ensemble off. Instantly they are met with resistance as Balan shoves at them, hands going to the sharp shoulders defensively. 

“Lance! What do you think you’re doing?!” Balan exclaimed, standing his ground before Lance doubles their efforts to expose the maestro. They are only slimly successful when get to expose Balan’s upper shoulder; the tear just big enough to reveal swirling lines of golden runes, “Have you lost your mind?!”

 The other refuses to answer him, bringing themselves flush against Balan to kiss down the exposed markings. 

Had they managed to lose their mind? Lance would have to give that some thought later on. In the afterglow. But first, they’d have to get down from the tantalizing high that has them under a spell. Their lips brushed softly down the exposed skin, running lightly over the maestro’s clothed arm. Gods, both of them just had on too many layers. Lance flared up, frustrated by the inability to firmly feel the decadent skin.

“Lance, let me go!” Balan demanded, the command in his voice barely swaying Lance to push off him. He was losing control of the situation. And the scary part of it was that was what he wanted. Balan would have been lying to himself if he said that he didn’t want this. Yet to get it from Lance this way was never a part of the plan. 

“You don’t want me to let you go.” Lance stated, eyes twinkling with more than just mischief behind them.

“Yes I do!” Balan choked out, his act and bravado beginning to fail him.

“Then why are you pulling yourself into me?” Lance chuckled, allowing their hands to wander down Balan’s waist.

“I’m-” He stammered not expecting to see or know that he had been pulling Lance closer the entire time. Forbid it all, he wanted this negati more than anything right now. And he was showing how badly. Damn his body for this. He was normally in better control of his reactions, this lapse should not have been tolerated. 

His be-speckled face shown with the brewing embarrassment of being caught before shoving himself a bit harder, finally escaping Lance’s grasp. The poor thing looked a fright; face flushing a deep violet, hair askew as it rolled down his shoulders and back, teeth clenched in discomfort as he attempted to steady his breathing. His chest must’ve rattled from the urge to scream at Lance. Instead he stamped off, refusing to let Lance see how flustered he became. He’ll have to be in his room for a while to work out the steam that began to build.

He didn’t get far as a few tendrils of inky black wrapped around the other’s waist. He could hardly make a verbal protest while being pulled back into the other’s form. Large claws going up his neck, arresting Balan’s smooth belly as the tendrils dipped further. The tentacles moved lively, squeezing and pulling on the other as Lance’s hands swept and groomed over the maestro’s suit. When one hand dipped between Balan’s legs, he seized up. 

Yellow eyes dilated, Lance’s touch freezing his mind. The groan that escaped him was not intended yet was enough to make Lance’s groin ache. He was going to force those sounds out of Balan. In one way or the other. Their night was going to be fulled with these delicious noises. The tendrils smoothed over him, probing the other perversely. 

“Lance...please.” Balan became unaware of what he was begging for. He wanted this to stop, but he also felt like he’d regret refusing. This Lance... was much different than the one he’d encountered previously. The change felt real jarring; since they never made moves into his personal space. For anything. Least of all... This! He wanted to see where this could go. How much better it could get. 

His own hands skimmed over Lance’s suit, prompting the other to loosen their grip as Balan slid away from the tendrils. Balan took one coil in between his fingers, golden eyes gazing into the blue ones. The heat behind the other’s eyes made Lance shudder, a harsh sigh coming from his mouth as Balan took the tip of Lance’s tendril into his. The look stayed as the tendril came from Balan’s mouth, his tongue connecting it. The appendage darted out to swipe at the excess spittle left behind, the maestro’s eyes still glowing with a renewed heat. 

The action prompted a sneer from Lance’s features, their hand waving for a portal to open up behind Balan. The maestro gasped, turning to the hazy violet-colored portal. The shout of shock was to be expected as he was shoved right through it, the residual tethers of Lance’s self control snapping audibly as it receded. 

The overwhelmed, unknowing audience of Tims sat, wiggled, waddled and creeped up to sit in the place both beings had been.

                           ______________________________

It was not the fall that left him breathless as he landed on the massive expanse of what felt like a lavish bed. It wasn’t the deep contrasting colors of purple and gold accents that were illuminated by rainbow-esque runes and paintings of Negati markings throughout the immense, intimate space. Nor was it the pulsating rivets of scarlet that blended salaciously with the black and purple blankets and amassing of huge, plumy pillows. 

Lance himself left him utter breathless; transfixing him, mesmerizing him with the oscillating negati runes that gleamed in the room. Lance had never done this display before. Their runes barely pulsed or shined vibrantly whenever they were around each other. Evermore rarer when he was alone. The runes gave him an ethereal hue that the nighttime sky couldn’t rival. He brushed that thought away as Lance struggled out of their wardrobe, hardly mindful of seams, buttons or zippers as the top half of his shorn cloak was disposed of somewhere in the low lit room. Balan flinched yet shuddered at the ferocity Lance had showcased in removing his own tunic and darker colored vest from underneath. With his chest exposed; the tapestry of rune lines and fuchsia gleaming in the violet backdrop of the room, he was on Balan.

The maestro’s bright color scheme contrasted a great deal with the whole room, snow white wrapped in gold and scarlet with the fettering of navy with his undershirt. The colors screamed obnoxiously in comparison, and Lance wanted them all off. Balan looked on, dazed by the negati while Lance’s -no longer gloved, dark- fingers delved to pull apart the top of the collar, effortlessly tearing it asunder, a low suffering sound coming from the maestro but not much else. He would figure that Lance would be like this. There was no such thing as intimacy or care with the negati. Everything he touched broke in his hands. Balan knows well that this time will be no different.

 Those warmed hands skimmed over the prone body, fingers probing through the opened seams of the tattered clothings. They tickled him, a warm and fuzzy sensation spreading throughout the squirming frame. Balan felt lips on his chest, hands assisting in the pleasing endeavor while the other arched and shook. His mouth opened in an exhalation of steaming desire. When Lance pinched a nipple, Balan shot upwards in heated rebellion, forcing Lance to restrain him with his tendrils. 

He was about to demand that Lance release him yet was cowed into silence by a startling growl, “This ends if you keep moving.” That voice, their voice had done something to the maestro. In other instances, Balan would have fought Lance until the other relented control, but during this... he went oddly still, placate as Lance continued to trace a trail of kisses down his chest. He brought his hips forward and up as the negati began kissing down his belly, stopping shy of the seam of his pants. Warm hands went into the other’s pants, the kindled heat coming off of Balan’s genitals enough to make Lance purr. 

The maestro struggled against the hold as Lance pulled his pants down, heeled boots joining them as pile on the floor; kissing trails down his waist and down his legs. When the teeth pricked his skin, Balan thrashed. His face aglow with purplish speckles that brightened with his flush. He sparkled everywhere; cheeks, chest, hips and down the markings of his illuminated, swirling markings. Even the tendrils of his hair began to glow a slight with the forbidden heat. The hold on the restraints doubled.

“What did I just say?” Lance growled, the reverberating making Balan tense.

“L-Lance! Lance...”, Balan was calling to him yet couldn’t reach him as the negati roughly rid him of his clothing. Nearly naked, Balan shivered in the cool of the room as well as under the heated gaze of the negati, whom crawled up his frame to, again, kiss and lick at his newly glowing speckles, “Please... don’t stop! Please, Lance.” The maestro whispered pleas were a shock to the negati’s ears. He still wanted to punish him for fighting but couldn’t bring himself to do it. He was becoming so lost to the feelings. 

“Save your voice, pet...”, Lance whispered as his fingers slipped past the maestro’s brightly colored panties, feeling him for the first time, “It is too premature for you to be screaming for me now.” He chuckled more as his folds became reactive to the fingers smoothing them over, luscious wetness forming inside the panties. 

Balan’s eyes widened, the shock of Lance’s finger boldly touching him made him to squirm, his own palm moving atop the negati’s. Much to Lance’s surprise, he didn’t hinder him yet chose to guide his fingers even closer, near enough for them to breach the delectable, delicate walls. Sun-yellow eyes rolled back once he felt one fingertip push its way inside, stopping short of sinking in completely. The maestro’s moan was unabashedly loud, body rolling in venture of more fingers. Lance marveled with fascination at the other’s willingness; form softening as he shook his head to and fro in delirium. He couldn’t stop shaking, lithe body aroused as the finger came from his wet sex. He smelt utterly delicious, dripping the natural nectar like a perfectly ripe fruit. His tongue slipped out to have a taste of it... and it had been everything he had hoped for. 

The aroma of the finest wine with the scintillating notes of vanilla and lavender. His cock pulsed in his own pants, over eager for its own taste. 

In horny glee, Lance yanked off the maestro’s panties, tossing the last piece of clothing into the darkness of his chambers in order to marvel at the most succulent sight in between the other’s rune spiraled legs. The plump lips of the vulva were just perfect enough to kiss, the natural wetness dribbling onto the blankets, glittering a soft purple as it did. The negati locked eyes with the heated, glazed expression before moving to take Balan’s mouth in a heated, soft kiss. The other kissed back with more fervor than before, free hand going behind Lance’s head to drag him down. 

 They pulled away with a long, loud sigh. The other scoring hot in contrast to the sheets beneath. Balan splayed his legs more, allowing for more room.

Lance grabbed up his thighs roughly, pulling him to the end of the bed to comfortably rest on their knees. Without much warning, Lance dipped his mouth right onto the humming lips of his vulva. That tongue went right to work at lapping up the sticky juices in and around those lips, a soft chuckle coming out of Lance as Balan shouted in lewd desire. His giant hands went right to Lance’s head, twining his fingers in the other’s hair as he shook and shimmied to the lapping tongue, hips arching to bring those lips closer to his pussy. 

Lance focused on the luscious flavor of his cunt, dragging Balan closer to them as the maestro attempted to pull back. Their grasp got tighter the harder Balan fought against the hold.  He felt the other’s grip in his hair, the tugging just enough to keep Lance deep. He lost his mind to Lance’s teeth grazing the top of his clit before sucking hard on his folds.

“Gods! Uhh, huh, L-L-Lance!”, Balan stammered, the corner of his eyes prickling with unshed tears while he fought and screamed into Lance’s lips. He was in heaven, but damn him if he’d admit that to the Negati. Balan flailed his head, mint-colored dreads going all over as he lost all semblance of control, “Dear gods Lance! Please! I cannot take...!” Balan pleaded for him to stop, to show any mercy on him as an intense rush of savage, carnal desire shot through him. When the other didn’t heed him, he wept. A startled sob ripped from his gasping maw as he arched into Lance’s rippling tongue. 

Lance backed off in order to awe at the loss of self control Balan was beginning to display. He took in the panting, shaking mess of a maestro before his very eyes; mouth hanging open as he greedily swallowed gulps of air, body aquiver with mind melting lust, hands holding his head like a vice as those sinful thighs wrapped around him. The sight of him made the negati moan unintentionally, tongue plundering the maestro. The vibrations of it caused Balan to clench on him and scream, both hands abandoning Lance’s hair to slide against the cooler sheets. 

“Oh! Oh gods, please, please...” The maestro whimpered, body relishing in that feeling while his mind boiled in intensity. 

Lance, accounting for Balan’s behavior, moaned louder and longer against the lips of Balan’s clit, as well as kept their tongue inside with the intent to find his G-spot. They kept at it for sometime, their tongue buried deep as their hands massaged over Balan’s heated, dark thighs. They kept the maestro as close as they could as they tongued the bundle of nerves located far up the other’s pelvis. 

“Wait! Wait! Lance please... don’t...please-” He hardly could finish the plea as instant rapture shot through his frame, causing him to clench on Lance’s tongue in a spine-melting orgasm. His mouth hung open in a room-rocking cry as his body snapped rigid, arms behind him as he grasped tight on the sheets. His chest thudded rapidly to his erratic breathing. His flesh clenching and tingling around Lance’s tongue the climax continued through him. There would be no reprieve however as he became rigged again, legs snapping around Lance’s head suddenly with another powerful orgasm. 

Lance had not stopped even through the second climax. Not even with Balan wailing in what could be felt as pain. The silky walls gushed with his essence, the liquid sex simmering on the negati’s tongue as they drank it. A pleasured laugh rippled through them as they pressed hard kisses to the top of Balan’s pussy. Kissing it several more times as Balan screamed at them in another language. They still didn’t stop as he felt the other kicking at them with feverish intent. When he almost clambered away, Lance reinforced their hold to plunge their tongue into him again. 

“For gods sake Lance! I can’t take anymore! Stop, please! I beg of you!” He wailed as tears streamed down his face. 

An empathetic grimace came to Lance’s face as they finally relinquished his hold on the thoroughly ruined maestro. Their lips were deliciously wet with the slick of the other’s sex, the taste even better than the wine he captured on Balan’s lips only moments ago. He watched him roll on the sheets, finding some balance of his overheated body and the cold contrast of the dark sheets. Deliriously, he crooned and purred as he came down from the high. It took him about five minutes total to calm himself. And then he smacked Lance’s shoulder. Hard. 

“Bastard! I told you to stop! What in the hell would it have taken for you to listen to me?!” He hissed, eyes narrowing darkly as he sat up. He seemed the opposite of pleased at the moment. A contrast that Lance felt prepared to deal with. Can’t please some people. The sentiment literal in Balan’s case. 

“You were fine with me not a few minutes ago.” Lance jabbed as they groaned at the pressing of that erection against their tight pants. The glare Balan shot at Lance made the other’s ears pin low. 

“That was before I had two orgasms in a row, heathen! You should have more respect for me. And be more receptive Lance. This isn’t just about you!!” He snapped. Nope. None too pleased at all. 

Lance blinked, “This... wasn’t about me. Trust that if it were; I would’ve fucked you through this bed. The only reason I didn’t do that is because I want to see you cum. I’ve only ever heard that-”

“Wait, wait a minute. You’ve heard me climax?” Balan started, a touch confused. 

“In your bedroom, when you think you’re alone. True, there are no visitors around but someone was always in the theater,” Lance purred as soft as a breeze. The negati smiled at the brightening embarrassment on Balan’s face, wishing now he had his hat to hide it. It softened them so seeing the normally composed, bombastic maestro reduced to a shivering, blushing mess. Gingerly as allowed, Lance caught Balan’s face, causing the other to look at them, “I guess I just wanted to put the face to the voice. And I am not disappointed.”

Lance leaned over to kiss the still warm cheek of the maestro as the other side-eyed him, the smallest smile forming. 

“I’m... not used to this side of you. You’re normally so far away from me. In fact doing you’re very best to stay out of my sight. Even when I want you there. You know...”, A slow pause before Balan finished the thought, “You are different... too bad we both have to be backstage to see it.” 

“I’m different backstage?!”, Lance’s long ears perked at the comment, not ever having someone feel or compare the sentiment, “I’ll remember that then. Do you want me to continue then? Or would you rather sulk about how I never know about your needs and cues?” Lance’s eyes sparkled with a mischief that could rival Balan’s.

“Yes, damn you. That...was a genuine experience.” He giggled, the noise a delight to Lance’s ears, leaning back on the plushy pillows, tendrils sprawling out comfortably behind him. With a singular exhale Balan relaxed against the sheets, hands going in his hair, fiddling with and tossing a singular white sliver of his tendrils. Only... it wasn’t his hair, Lance noticed and then raised an unseen brow in suspicion. 

“Is that... an ear?” They breathed a laugh as Balan hid it in his hair again. When he sat up, it confirmed everything that Lance thought prior; he had the same ears as they did, a slight longer, floppier and appeared to be super soft. The negati’s eyes sparkled as they pulled out the hidden appendages, wondering why they hadn’t noticed them until now. 

“I-I-I never liked them. They’re long, cumbersome and don’t fit under my hat properly. So I just have been tying them back along with my dreadlocks. Wha? Why are you pulling them?!” Balan shrieked, his sensitive membranes folding as Lance fiddled with them. The stark white with the hue of light green made the ears stand out, the occasional flap picking up the slightest noise. 

“Why hide them? I think they’re absolutely wonderful.” Lance emphasized as they waggled their own long, dark ears. Their ears sat higher than the maestro’s and didn’t bend as much. He crawled over to the negati, aligning his hips in between the others legs with care. Their pulsing erection awoke his deepest desires, causing Lance to grind their clothed crotch into Balan’s exposed one. He gasps weakly, feeling the outline of the negati’s cock against his sensitive folds, gloved hands moving up Lance’s arms to bring them in for a deep kiss. 

Consumed by more the kiss than the passion behind it Lance drove their tongue deep into Balan’s mouth, tasting the other’s breath and intermingling the taste of his fluid sex. Balan’s tongue stuck out as Lance’s lips engulfed them, teeth grazing over the appendage while Balan groaned hotly. He brought his head higher, the expert work of that tongue making him drunker than any alcohol. The longer it went, the more impatient the maestro became; his hands going from Lance’s arms to dip into their pants to rip out the other’s cock. 

Lance’s eyes flew open as hands peeled off their pants and pulled out their cock, the member free from the strain at last. They’d never lie to themselves about not feeling relieved. The darker phallus was impressive at best; thick in girth and longer than Balan’s, some negati rune marks trailed on either sides of their crotch and lower hips, and the tip looked spire like yet appeared to be soft to the touch. Balan would find out soon enough. 

“I get it. This is moving too slow. But I thought that you’d appreciate it.” Lance inquired, chest rippling in steady laughter. It felt like a punishment for forcing Balan to ride out his first orgasms. 

Balan didn’t speak as he shoved Lance over, raising himself atop the other. Seated on their lap Balan took in the sight of his paramour, and just how dazzling they appeared. Chest rising and falling with softened breaths, the runes coming to life again in a brief flashes of multicolored lights, but he couldn’t stop looking at the other’s face. The heart marking atop his forehead blazing almost vermillion instead of the darker pink it usually was, their small fangs bared, glittering in the soft purple hue of the bed chambers. 

He leant down, kissing the long neck, chest, pressing his lips hard onto his ribs and trailed a heated kiss down their pelvis; stopping just short of that maleness. He spared them a coy heated glance before kissing the drooling tip, eyes going to Lance to see their reaction. The other tensed, mewling the moment they felt those lips, tip swelling on demand.  

“I’m going to suck the soul out of you. Just as you had did to me.” The heat in those words made it more fact than statement and Lance couldn’t wait long enough. They could have never imagined having the current maestro of Wonderworld’s mouth on their dick. To be honest, they could not imagine any of this happening right now. There was something so decadent and sinful about the way Balan talked dirty. Such things were just never heard from such an angelic mouth. 

He stopped thinking altogether as Balan removed his gloves, throwing them onto one bedside table to fist his thickness roughly, stroking the lengthy girth. Thumbing over the head, he gauged how steady Lance was, the swelling member making the maestro’s mouth drip with unshed spittle. From the way he opened his mouth and sucked in them in deeply, Lance could have sworn that he had done this before yet can never remember a time this would ever happen. 

“Ohhh yes! Balan...” Lance’s lungs stopped working the second Balan’s tongue encircled the head and bobbled repeatedly, his saliva silkening his hot length. Lance shuddered, moaning deeply as the tendrils on their back came back to life and spread across Balan’s pussy, massaging the outer vulva instead of the velvet walls. The sensation caused the maestro to moan around the dick in his mouth, a chain reactive shiver from Lance followed. 

Balan slowly rocked on the tentacles that fondled on his folds as he swallowed down more of Lance, lips almost resting on their crotch before pulling off. Soon the maestro began working his hands with his tongue, hands pulling at the medium sized balls as the underside of the long cock was stroked by Balan’s tongue. 

The tentacles worked Balan harder, the other groaning loudly with the near penetration on one tendril. The movement caused Lance to swear, hands digging into his hair, pushing the mint colored coils out of his face. 

“Don’t stop Balan! Please don’t stop!”, Lance cried as they got closer to an explosive release. The vision of seeing cum painting the maestro’s immaculate, lovely face caused a shudder to surge out unconsciously. The tentacles groped the silky vulva with an intensity that caused Balan to pull off the other’s cock to choke out a cry. 

“Lance!,” Balan called, drippings of drool falling onto the sheets as he shivered on the tentacles that never penetrated. He growled low as he pushed himself back on the largest of the tentacles, the bulb going right into his pussy, slicked with the welcomed wetness, “Ha, oh yess.” He crooned before stuffing the throbbing cock back into his mouth, pumping and sucking with the same vigor as the tentacle inside. 

Lance mumbled something in a different language, thrusting into Balan’s warm mouth, along with the tentacle slipping through the sticky mess seeping from his tightening walls. They could barely muster the maestro’s name as a ringing sound flushed through their ears, body going tight as a bow while Balan swallowed down the cock fully. Their hands dug into the other’s hair making sure Balan was close enough to swallow all of the rich, violet colored seed as it splashed down his throat. The tentacle widened inside of his pussy, pushing on the clit with the vibration of its master’s climax.

They thrashed in zeal as Balan continued to suck them dry, not worried about the veiny tentacle that fucked him deep. He was determined to live up to his statement; soft, warm hands smoothing over Lance’s sharp hips as he swallowed him down more, moaning and whimpering as the length sputtered more seed. When the tentacle pushed more into the G-spot, Balan cried out, forcing his hips down to rock with his new orgasm. He had to get the cock out of his mouth in order breathe a bit proper as his walls vibrated with the climax.

The room became blanketed in a contented silence as they both came from their highs; Lance’s chest heaving air as Balan sat on their hips to find his mind. He purred with fervor as the tentacle slipped out of his cunt.

“That was good, yes?” Balan inquired, eyes wide and soft, body just as soft and pliant as he awaited a reply. The poor darling was self-conscious. A trait he never displayed when performing for anyone, nor anything. 

Lance’s laugh brightened the maestro’s be-speckled face, ears twitching with the tenor of sound.

“That was the best head I’ve ever gotten, my lune-light. And you did what you said you would do.” Lance spoke breathlessly while they leant up to brush their forehead against Balan’s. The feathery kiss, as well as the compliment, drove the other to keen delightedly, ears flapping in exuberance. 

“Your... ears. They flap whenever you’re excited or praised don’t they?” Oh, Lance was about to be so evil now. The sly grin invited as much. 

Balan nodded his head, not even knowing he was acknowledging the question, smiling and flushing like mad as he did. 

“Look at you. Flushed, heated and so devilishly handsome. A most salacious siren you turned into,” Lance growled as they pulled himself up but kept Balan in his lap, “A gorgeous being like you deserves to be drenched in the most opulent of pleasures. The thickest form of desire. Do you want me to worship you?” That damning voice caused Balan to shudder and grasp them in desperation. 

“Yes! Worship me, worship my very body, revere it!”, He shouted, no longer bringing himself to care about anything other than the euphoria, “I want to feel you in me, on me, all over me!” Heat basked from his body as his ears flapped, mouth open in heavy pants. His naked cunt rocked on Lance’s cock, not sinking in fully. The movement caused Lance to spur into action, going on their knees to better to better position Balan, the maestro spreading his thighs eagerly on Lance’s lap. 

Lance’s fingers intertwined with Balan’s, his hands warm and only touch wet. They pressed their teeth into the skin, reveling in the dark wrists that glowed subtly with golden accents and swirling patterns. Lance repeated the motion, tongue lapping at both wrists, palms and fingers. Lance felt the smoothness of the maestro’s beautiful hands. Their eyes shimmering in reverence as they pressed sweet kisses to each fingertip slowly. Their own hands felt up his palms; still so warm and just as silky soft. That tongue continued to trace the long golden lines, taking his time to press his lips into his wrists. 

“Balan...” There weren’t enough words for Lance to say, or piece together for the time spent with each other. Nothing could prepare either of them for the sheer intensity of this new emotion. Melding of carnal lusts neither have the ability to describe. So for the first time tonight... Lance stopped talking. Letting only their bodies say so much more. 

Steadying him, Lance brought Balan down on the hard thickness slowly, agonizing slow. The maestro’s glint was hot and heady, hands going to Lance’s shoulders as support. Lance heaved a hot moan, aligning the next thrust directly into the maestro. There wasn’t a need to test if the other was ready for it or not; his tightness giving way subtly with each small piston. The fiery gaze of Balan soften into kindled embers once he was fully seated on the other’s cock. He was starting to perspire, a reaction that Balan never had to anything in his life. Rushing sweat beaded down his neck, his chest and around his waist glazing him in a hue of condensation that began to make his body slippery. 

They stayed in each other’s laps for a second before Lance thrust upwards, igniting Balan’s tongue again. He cried out in another language, most likely a swear considering the dialect. He groaned weakly, his body submitting to the roughness Lance invited with each movement. The moment Lance had worked out the rhythm the thrusts became harsher, more precise, pinpointing the exact spot to hammer him into a delectable frenzy. Lance’s breaths got rougher, louder, more of their teeth becoming exposed as they snarled in ecstasy. 

Balan could barely hold on. Literally. His grip on Lance’s shoulders loosened each time the negati impaled him, the motions making him too sensitive, body on fire. Though barely cognitive, Balan did his best to rock up to meet with his thorough pounding. Moving his hips at an angle, Balan caught the ribs of Lance’s spired phallus, screaming out as it stabbed him. 

The maestro’s screams did something primal to Lance, the sex-fueled fire warping and corrupting their licentious mind. 

“You like it?”, The negati spoke deeply, the baritone voice smokey and laced like a honey-tipped whiskey glass, “Look at yourself. Becoming undone with just my cock. You cannot comprehend how fucking devilish you are! Siren!” Lance dragged Balan down, further stabbing him with the rigged member. They were so close yet weren’t about to go if Balan didn’t first. They were going to see the maestro climax on his dick. There would be nothing to stop it now. Astoundingly, Balan replied to the question, voice much like Lance’s yet tremulous in its form.

“Yes! I love it, I love you!,” His gaze meets the others in an embrace that Lance cannot escape from, “I love you so much, don’t stop please.” The plea is whispered as the remainder of Balan’s self control is pounded out of him. His lanky legs surrounding the negati, forcing them to stay the course as his cunt devours them hungrily. 

It becomes too much for Lance; the fucking, the confession... just the sounds of Balan’s voice as they fuck. They snap forward hard, cock slamming the maestro’s pelvis as they climax, taking Balan right with them. The guttural snarl that surges from Lance actually scares Balan, those golden eyes wide with an erotic fear of the other before it fades with a deep-bodied orgasm that reverberates through his soul. He wails out, the pleasure so cavernous it eats him alive, body stiffening to the point of pain, absolution and exultation drowning him in high waves. His clit sucks Lance of everything; reason, sense, the will to stop. He trembles at the feeling of the other’s seed shooting inside of him, viscous ropes of cum shoot forth as Lance loses the rhythm of their own thrusts. 

They stop fully when Balan’s cunt loosens its hold, the negati falling forward atop the messy sheets. Balan makes a cry of something between pain and pleasure when he is flopped on his back with Lance atop him. Lance’s member has yet to soften inside the other’s creamy walls, the spired tip rubbing on Balan’s g-spot. 

The room falls silent again, save for the heavy pants and breathless laughs from the two. Neither recovering fast enough as the euphoria drains all other sensations from their bones. Lance’s spine is dexterous as wet spaghetti, mouth open in loud gulps of air. Balan fares no better, legs twitching uncontrollably. Bare chest dripping with sweat, golden markings along his arms and stomach gleaming and flickering in the contrasting violet lights. His coils are drenched as well, pouring over his eyes and messily over his face. Speckled markings aglow with the shades of amethyst make him look pulchritudinous. 

Lance raise themselves up, both of their hands going on either side of the exhausted maestro’s supine form, loins still burning from the near volcanic heat from their fucking. They readjust their position, body flush to the other, seeming to never be close enough. They smile softly as Balan smiled chastely at them. 

“That was fantastic... honestly the best sex I’ve ever had.” Balan complimented, his eyes not as glazed from before. 

“Good to know, but I hope you didn’t start thinking it was over?” Lance drawled, the tone eerily lustful.

Balan stares quizzically. How could anyone want another go after that?

“You want to go again?”

“Just one more?,” Lance breathily laughed as their hips rock gently, phallus a touch harder than prior, “If it helps, you can lie on your back and I’ll handle the rest.” They lean over Balan, kissing his cheeks and the heart on his forehead. 

Balan rolled his eyes. He wasn’t complaining about another time, but his body sure was. He internally decided one more bout wouldn’t cause too much strain. 

“Lancelot, the insatiable one. Who knew you’d be addicted to my cunt?” Balan chuckled; the nickname still an endearment to Lance. It would be rude to lie about how the name made them warm on the inside. And hearing that sugared voice utter it with a playful air softened the negati. 

“Not just your cunt... but you as well. I love you too.” The words came out before Lance knew. Their lips moved yet didn’t have any prior knowledge of it until seeing the way Balan stiffened, long ears swaying upwards at the words.

Both of their chests fluttered; Lance never expected to say those words during sex. This...this was not supposed to be about love. And yet, it was all Lance had on their mind. They had Balan now. All they would have to do is love him. In more than this way. With all of this joy they had felt in the confession, the familiar ick of something tar-like bubbled to the surface. Lance’s mind honed in on all the deprecating things the voice said.

‘What? You can love? Oh Lance... it will be ruined by you so soon.’

‘You once loved...and look at what it turned you into!’

‘This is sex Lance... that’s all it will. ever. be.’

‘He can only feel pity for loving a monster like you’.

The voices began to make Lance physically sick. No matter how hard Lance tried, they wouldn’t be willed quiet. They began to tremble uselessly, a sob retching from the negati as those thoughts and words; their own words swallowed them.

The maestro lunged forward, planting a kiss on the other’s lips. The cathartic heat that came from it brought Lance out of their head, focusing on the other below them. They both stayed lip-locked for a moment, Balan kissing as if Lance were about to drown any minute. The kiss saving them from themselves for a moment like this. The voices dissipated, barely a hum coming from the back of Lance’s mind. They didn’t matter. Only Balan did. The kiss ending when Balan pressed those lips to the fuchsia colored heart atop Lance’s brow.  

The touch was so gentle. So tender that it made Lance’s heart swell.

They looked down at Balan, who smiled pleasantly back at them. The look of love so much more than it could ever be. ‘It’s okay. You’re okay’ is what those golden pools spoke even if Lance didn’t hear it aloud. There wouldn’t be a need to. 

In spite of how small it was; Lance smiled. The motion felt real. He hadn’t had a genuine smile in over a thousand years. Gods, when was the last time he felt pure happiness unfold in his heart? There’d be a time and place to think on that later as they shifted Balan’s hips more, grinding forward, hips shifting to reawaken his long erection. The stings of pleasure rode through Balan, arms going behind his head to grab for the jumbled mess of velvet purple blankets. A small whine went past his lips as Lance’s midline bumped against Balan’s pelvis again, causing a flare of scorching desire to arise. The maestro never subdued, or otherwise suppressed his moans. He would allow Lance the ability to hear how he felt for him. 

The negati gripped Balan beneath his thighs, pulling his legs away so they could splay open. The new position allowed Balan to relax instead of trying to readjust too often. 

A surprised gasp from the maestro made Lance look at his face; the beatific expression of this dazzling, bewitching and downright mesmeric creature spurring Lance to pump into him harder. The be-speckled maestro had his eyes closed, turning out the warm, shimmering pools of the richest gold many would never see. 

“Please lune-light, open your eyes for me.” The reciprocal adulation of love  Lance gave could break someone’s heart and warm another’s but it was his tone that made Balan’s eyes open; aroused and so husky. When he looked upon the negati, a form of ardor seeped through him. A shy smile graced his features as he nuzzled into Lance’s chest. 

“Ohhh, say that again. Call me that again,” He whispered as his body arched with the deeper, slower thrusts, “I need to hear it again, Lance.” He began pining for the sound of the other’s voice, chest heaving in irregular patterns. Long ears flicked up, picking up the sounds of Lance’s exertions as they grounded each other closer to climax. 

“Lune-light...my lovely lune-light, you are so stunning.” Lance cooed, eyes warm as they watched Balan’s ears flap in jubilance. They fucked into him harder, faster when Balan’s hands went from the sheets to cling to Lance’s arms in order to steady himself. He was succumbing again, mind lost as avaricious lust ensnared his visage. 

Lance repositioned one hand to grab the maestro’s tight waist and underneath his back, slowing their thrusts first in order to shift a portion of their weight to sink in deeper. They kissed the inner thigh of Balan’s left leg as the other hand grabbed there and held him tight. The new position brought Balan’s ass up from the bed, both legs hanging on either side of Lance as they brought their pelvis’s together. The negati had to get to their knees for the next part to become effective, sprawling their hips a little. When they had gotten in position, they leant over to press another reverent kiss to Balan’s forehead, the friction causing the maestro to growl. 

“Move. Lance, I beg you.” Balan’s resistance melted a long time ago as his hands tightened around Lance’s upper arms. 

When they move, Balan’s equilibrium gets flipped upside down. The position had the maestro screaming so loud, Lance tipped their ears down to block out the sound. The reaction was instant, the gorgeous being’s mouth flying open as he threw his head back with each stroke. His hands scrambled for purchase of the negati as he began thrusting back on the other’s cock. Body spasming at the rippling sensations. 

The change in position did wonders for Lance as well; they were able to take in all of the other’s grace, elegance and succulent desire. The screams of pure ecstasy powered Lance onward, eyes half-lidding as they aimed their thrusts. Lance felt the maestro’s bruising grasp loosen, the body tightening from the exertion. He looked as if he was going to lose his mind again; assuming he had ever found it after the first few times. 

“Look at this.... look at you,” Lance growled, hands leaving Balan’s waist to drag the other further down, “This is what I have been wishing for. I’ve have been waiting for you and this! Gods, now that I have you, I’m not letting you go.” The negati enunciated a portion of their words with alternating thrusts that caused Balan to spasm around them erratically, the maestro’s head swaying, more mooring, like a boat on torrential waters. 

Balan tried to stutter something in response. There could not be any words he could be able to use in a circumstance like this. The euphoria blanketing his headspace, only the want for this to never end on Balan’s mind. He wished he could stay like this forever; being loved in between his legs the way that Lance was loving him. Tears welled up but were blinked back. That familiar entrapment, that build was upon him now. A spring ready for release as Balan angled himself to meet a harsher thrust from Lance. He didn’t know what to do with his hands so he tugged on the negati for some leverage. And he tugged at him desperately. 

“I-I-I can’t-- hold it back much! Lance, I need this! I can’t hold back! Oh my gods!” Balan’s pleasured whimpers were music to the other, the noise causing Lance to pulsate inside those divine walls. He was about to let it all go. Neither of them capable of denying their animalistic need for a blissful finish. 

“Do not hold back my lune-light! I want us to be in climax together. I’m ready, just like you are. Lock me inside your heaven!” Lance yelled, throwing their head back unabashedly for the final few thrusts. 

Something in the gravelly tone caused Balan to relent all self control at that moment, the high octane pressure rushing from his pelvis, seeping into his blood in a body rattling orgasm. He screamed, more belted out his release, muscles contracting and constricting in a severe, mind-numbing vice. He could no longer keep his eyes open, passion scalding his insides making his body heat unbearable. 

He kept spasming, helpless as Lance roared one last time, pinning Balan’s softened frame to theirs in a rough, possessing manner. They dove off the  pinnacle with as much fury and need as Balan did. Their fingers dug into the tender skin, maw wide with a roar that shook the room. The negati’s own form convulsing and seizing as Balan’s cunt squeezed their cock to the point where it ached. They shuddered with the intensity and rush of seed; feeling way too hot inside of the maestro, shooting deep inside, not stopping even as Lance humped Balan through their own climax. 

When they were sure they had nothing left to give Lance let Balan go, the other’s spent body flopping atop the bedspread. The negati pushed back their inky dreads back from the sweat drenched face, eyes slightly glazed. They shook with the inglorious feeling of satisfaction before pulling out of Balan’s thoroughly ruined cunt, their cum drooling out in delectable, erotic ribbons. The scent of the intermingling sex made the cock twitch. Without a thought given, Lance’s pointer finger went past the swollen, beat-up lips of the maestro’s pussy; swiping the oversensitive folds for just a taste of the cream. 

Balan yelled, overstimulated and a touch annoyed, kicking at Lance.

“Fucking stop! You’re going to kill me!” Balan cursed, his chest heaving. He was the perfect picture of the word ‘ruined’; mint-colored coils askew all over his face, sublime form thrumming with the residual orgasm. 

“Would this have not been the best death to have?” Lance giggled sweetly, tongue slipping out to lap at the mixed cream of their sex. The taste was of it was so divine, it couldn’t be described. When their legs regained function Lance dipped into the conjoined bathroom. Balan barely registered the sound of water coming from a faucet. Though he wasn’t going to register anything for a while. His eyes slipped closed, breathing becoming more steady as the high simmered out of his frame. He didn’t hear Lance’s footfalls when the other returned into the room yet the feeling of the cold, damp cloth felt exquisite on his hypersensitive skin. He smiled happily as the cloth went over his face, chest, arms and even his back, swiping away as much sweat that wasn’t collected by the sullied bedsheets. 

He winced as the cloth went between his legs, touches kept tender and dainty while the negati cleaned his clit. The movements were apologetic in the sense of the rough handling. With the remnants of their sex thoroughly cleaned, Lance threw the dirty cloth into a hamper nearby and crawled into bed. They felt the need to say something to Balan, yet was not prepared to see the other fully asleep. The smile remained on his face as he dreamt soundly. Safely. 

The maestro rarely slept so seeing him do so, even in the other’s bed, was recherché. The moment a surprise to see with their own eyes. It warmed their heart in so many ways. Lance wondered inwardly if their heart could get any fuller. Carefully, as to not wake him, they slid Balan’s frame underneath the heavy blankets, keeping his head low to rest it against the larger puffy pillows.

As much as Lance tried, they couldn’t lie to themselves about how adorable and desirable this being was. Is... and still will be. They could make up some spun tale about how Balan lusted for the feeling of this sex. And yet, they wouldn’t. They weren’t going to deny the affirmations and litanies of love, passion and reverence he bestowed. In this way, Lance loved Balan. Balan had loved them too. This new feeling blossomed and flowed within them. It was all Lance cared about and would gift this love in kind to Balan tenfold. It was definitely what they both deserved. 

For now, Lance snuggled into the maestro, a happy little smile playing on their cheeks whilst pressing their face into the other’s neck. The mint-colored coils of the other’s hair fell in a tangle on Lance’s face, making them wrinkle their nose. 

“I...love you, lune-light...”, Lance whispered pressing a singular reverent kiss to the glowing heart on Balan’s forehead, the mark shimmering against the darkness. The negati nuzzled the sleeping being, arms crossing Balan’s chest to swaddle him close to their body, “I don’t know if you had heard me, but I just hope you know.”

Unknown to Lance, Balan had heard him. His own smile was genial and kind, taking the affirmation as it was. There was no need for Lance to explain themselves. Such things like this rarely, if ever, happened. So Balan accepted this. He had openly accepted that Lance is, and will remain, worthy of love. 

“I love you.” The enamored statement was simple, sweet and soft-sounding. So such so that Balan wasn’t sure Lance heard him, the negati was already snoring before he could say anymore. With an exhale, Balan’s eyes slipped shut once more. His own hands went around to hold Lance’s closer to his body. Their combined warmth radiating soothingly as they slept throughout the rest of the night.

[ariella884]

Voyager Book Club - February Favorite Fics

So I put forth a challenge of sorts to our Voyager Book Club. I asked everyone to pick ONE Voyager fic that they consider to be their favorite. Now, you can imagine, this is pretty freaking hard! There are so many incredible fics out there. I didn’t say it had to be the best written, or the most in character. I gave examples such as: the one you read over and over or your go-to fic, however you want to phrase it. It was pointed out that a favorite fic can change every hour based on your frame of mind and what you are in the mood to read at any one moment. I get it. Even so....I challenged everyone to only pick ONE. And they did it! Or most of them! I got around 20 different favorites picked! So here is the list of our Favorite Voyager Fics, why they were chosen and by whom. Happy Reading!!

Note: Click on the name of the fic for a link to it! Also, this list is in no particular order.

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@curator-on-ao3: ‘Fragile Things’ by @mia-cooper

“Fanfic is about exploring possibilities. That’s what put this fic over the top to be my favorite. In Fragile Things, MiaCooper examines multiple versions of one relationship, pulling different threads to see how things unravel or knit together. It’s thoughtful, it’s meta, it’s realistic as hell, it’s damn good writing — it’s MiaCooper and it’s excellent.”

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@ariella884(yep, that’s me!): ‘2013′ by PCBW (@pcbw)

“I had a hard time choosing my favorite (like most people here), mostly because as i was gathering them all from everyone else I kept seeing ones and going, ‘Oh! I love that one!’.  I also didn’t want to have any duplicates so I had to change mine a couple times, that being said, 2013 is easily one of my top three (which of themselves is almost impossible to pick just one. I’m lucky that my other two were chosen already and I didn’t have to!). I love 2013 because it is a modern AU, without being a completely modern AU. No, that doesn’t make sense. But you get our Janeway and Chakotay, Starfleet officers and all, and you get them in the modern world. It’s incredible! We see the challenges they go through of being taken from everything they know and put into a world that is pretty much unknown to them. Add to that the personal differences they have to work out together. Splash in the normal challenges that we all go through when trying to live a life in this day and age (jobs, house, money, love, family, etc). This is just an incredibly beautiful story that I have read many times and will continue to read over and over. It’s also a long fic and those are my favorite because I like to get completely involved in stories!”

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@mia-cooper: ‘Deceiving’ by QuantumSilver

“Because it starts with a canon event that is absolutely devastating and shows just how devastated Janeway and Chakotay are by it (and Tuvok and Ayala as well, though they only make a brief appearance). It shows Janeway at her absolute best - every last inch the captain, going above and beyond for her crew not just physically but emotionally in spite of the absolutely gut-wrenching cost to her - and it really kicks off with one of my absolute favourite tropes: mutual pining to the Nth Fucking Degree.

It has Chakotay being every bit the commander, backing her up even though he's dying inside, and REFUSING to let her shut herself away even though he KNOWS she's going to want to murder him for pushing and pushing and pushing at her.

And then OH MY GOD, he's deliberately getting on her every last nerve just so he can wrench honesty from her because he knows if she doesn't tell him how badly he's hurt her, how she's absolutely bottomed out because of him, she will never open up to him or anyone else again.

AND THEY DRINK WHISKEY OMG GIVE ME KJ AND C UTTERLY MISERABLE AND DRINKING WHISKEY LIKE IT'S WATER AND PINING LIKE FUCK AND NOT SAYING A WORD BUT BLEEDING TO DEATH FROM THE HEART AND I WILL DIE HAPPY FOREVERRRRRRR

I'm sorry for yelling but this fic makes me want to rip off my clothes and run up and down the street screeching how everybody should read it and they are just BRUTAL with each other and they STILL do not understand, refuse to, CANNOT understand, that the other would not just die for them but MURDER WHOLE FUCKING ARMIES FOR THEM and it's tragic and devastating but then oH MY GOoOoOODDDDD

So that is my favourite fic and the one i read approximately every two months or more if i really hate my writing that day and want to torture myself with How It Should Be Done.”

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@bizships: ‘Fealty’ by MsDisdain

“My favorite story. I honestly don’t have to think about it. It’s one I always go back to.

I love the way the crew pledges their loyalty to her and the way subtle way they tell her that it’s okay that she’s happy too in that they effectively give her Chakotay for her birthday, by way of him “fighting” Tuvok(Starfleet)  for her hand.”

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@arcadia1995: ‘The Space Between’ by lauawill ( @joyful-voyager)

“The Space Between is a story I return to time and time again when I'm feeling down.  I like that it realistically portrays what might have happened between Janeway and Chakotay right after the returned home in Endgame.  I like that no one in the J/C/7 triangle ends up being a bad guy.  I like the hopeful ending and imaging what might have happened after the fade to black (lots of sex!!!)“

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@wishful-thinker-87 : ‘if you came this way’ by tree

“It’s always a go to for me, even though I don’t usually like AUs. The sex is intense and emotional. The characterization is pot on. And we get Phoebe being an awesome sister and some Chakotay/Molly bonding too. What’s not to love?!”

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BlackVelvet: ‘Bluffing the Crowd’ by @ralkana

“Even after years since i read this, just thinking about this story brings a warm fuzzy feeling to my heart and a huge silly grin to my face. I simply love it.”

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@purpledog47: ‘The Future is Ours’ by Dawn

“My favorite is most definitely Dawn’s ‘The Future is Ours. This is my one fic. It’s super long and it tells us what happened after Endgame and it has a little bit of everything in it: angst, romance, hurt/comfort, Q, babyfic, romance.” 

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@amoderngirl: ‘Time and Distance’ by northernexposure

“If I am ever loosing the thread with J/C, I can always read this and I am immediately in love again.”

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@coffeeblack75: ‘Soft Light’ by northernexposure

“There are so many reasons why I love it that I can't even, haha. I'll start with: it was the first piece of fanfic smut I read, so I love it for that reason - my first time haha. More importantly, it is just beautifully, beautifully written - it's plotted beautifully, it flows beautifully and the pacing is spot on. The author has complete control over all of that & over the language, which is just used masterfully. There's so much subtley going on in this story too - the author doesn't spell everything out for us and instead draws us to the details that reveal what is important - the beginnings of these two getting to know each other. Gosh, it's so hard to articulate haha! But lines like this just make me shiver in delight for their beauty and what they reveal: "he was kissing her, with a lot more sweetness than was wise. Ah god, I could go on and on but perhaps I'll finish with my favourite bit, which is when C feels that first stab of lust & realises she might too & tests his theory by blowing softly on the back of her neck. This moment, omg, the moment is just so beautiful, so quiet, so pointed and private and intimate. You really feel that moment as if you are there. Ahhhhh :)

Also….there are two sequels to it that are equally as wonderful ;)  

Oh and one more thing I adore about this story is the way that the C thinks he is lusting after KJ but it is quite obvious he loves her - even before they come together - but he hasn’t realized it yet. The way the author does this is just incredible - so deft! Everything for C is about taking care of KJ … it’s just beautiful.”

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@caladeniablue: ‘Lifeline’ by helenagray ( @picking-daisies-in-the-outfield)

“Why do I like that fic? An unfinished WIP at that (Started in 2013; last update in Jan 2019. No indication how many chapters to go.) The perfect serial story and that's part of the attraction for me.

The first chapter sets the scene: raw Janeway, alone, without the backup of her ship, her crew or Chakotay. Bare of essentials and with only her courage and intelligence and sheer determination to help her survive, and even she wonders how long those will last her.

And while we learn about Chakotay and how he seeks her while the crew has to move on, I am drawn to Janeway most of all.

The fic jumps back and forth across locations and in time from that first chapter to catch up with it again some 20 chapters later, but there is no jarring. The reader knows immediately what KJ is experiencing , but the past events that led to that situation are as important, and that's one of the many attractions of this story. No overlong flashbacks, no tedious info dump. It's all layered, making one wait for the next chapter and the next one, while knowing all the time where KJ has ended up.

The writing is gorgeous, which is a bonus. And it is pure J/C, distilled to its purest by separation.  Perfect.”

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@keiraniels: ‘Bad Ensign’ (Series) by @curator-on-ao3

“Ok so I chose Curator’s ‘Bad Ensign’ because I come back to it often - - it’s such a freaking brilliant idea that I can 100% imagine being canon, and it inspired so many Voyager Bookclubbers to write Bad Ensign stories”

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@cnrothtrek: ‘War Torn’ by @curator-on-ao3

“Why? I had the pleasure of beta reading this story, and I am so glad that I did. It has a great plot, is well-written and perfectly paced, and is hard to put down. The way it pulls together two pieces of canon backstories for Miles O’Brien and Kathryn Janeway is genius. The characters feel so real and their voices can be clearly heard in the text. And the supporting characters of Captain Benjamin Maxwell, Will “Stompie” Kayden, and Molly Walsh are incredible. The story is intense, absorbing, and emotional. I just can’t say enough good things about it.”

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@theshortywrites: ‘The Dragonfly Oath’ by Koneia

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@emmikamikatze: ‘All the Good Things We Never Did’ by northernexposure

“This story brings me to tears, makes me smile and shiver and fear and worry. It's given me phrases that won't leave me, that keep repeating itself in my head even months (years) after first reading it. There's just the right amount of show trivia to make it a fanfiction, but little enough to make it a unique and original story. ne makes me fall in love with these characters all over again as if I didn't know them beforehand.

This story is special and precious and it speaks to me on so many levels I can hardly comprehend how genius it is. It's a literary masterpiece of fanfic if there ever was one.”

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@missmil: ‘Here I Stand’ by lauawill

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@manalyzer13: ‘Gravitation’ by northernexposure

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@grace-among-the-stars: ‘Filling the Void’ by Spiletta42

“Filling the Void is the one fic I always return to. It has my fave ships, JC, PT and D7. Minor characters play major parts and it is just funny. It makes me laugh every time. 

JC’s relationship is really explored from all angles, this is not just your average, ‘the crew get them together fics’, it is so much more. It has sexual tension, smut, humour, sadness and is pure JC BLISS. It always cheers me up and I was so happy when Spiletta42 added it to Ao3 because this meant so many more people would find it.”

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Anonymous: ‘Bent, Not Broken’ by @killermanatee

“This is an incredible hurt/comfort Janeway/Chakotay fic. The story is painfully written from both characters' perspectives, showing how each is suffering in a different way from the traumatic event that has occurred. In the end, their love for each other will help them come together and they will both be able to heal with time, comfort, and support from one another. This is a beautifully told, emotionally heavy story of one couple's love overcoming tragedy. It is my favorite Janeway/Chakotay fic, and I recommend it to anyone who wants to read a heartbreaking yet fulfilling story.”

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@minakotenjou: ‘Mysterious and Curious’ by @h4t08 

“It was so hard to choose - there are a lot of incredible fanfics out there. This was one of the first...shall we say spicier J/C fics I read and for some reason I still think of it often. It's great smut for sure, but I think it stuck with me because of how it all gets tied together at the end.”

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@leisylaura: ‘The Bitter End’ by @mia-cooper

“We have post endgame books but not one about the original timeline, I remember reading “The bitter end” and thinking “this is it, this is what happened”.  I cried from beginning to end.”

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@killermanatee: ‘The Dying of the Light’ by @cnrothtrek

"This fic is such a gorgeous piece of art. I hadn't seen the TNG episode before reading it and when I did watch it I was very disappointed because this fic is just on such a completely different level. The storytelling is so delicate and intriguing, that combined with the poignant and elegant writing style, so that it was impossible to put my phone down. I can't recommend this fic highly enough."

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@cheile: ‘Marooned’ by Soliquilii9 (aka Running Horse)

“I love how she makes the story unfold in slow steady measures.  Also, she filled in the gaps left by the writers in regards to his heritage by using information from her own Cherokee background and it is done naturally (not in an info dump type manner). “

__________

What do you think of our list of Voyager favorites? Do you have a favorite that isn’t on this list? Reply to this post with your favorite!! And if you haven’t read ALL of these fics yet, I strongly suggest you get started!! Have fun and enjoy!!

[ourownsideimagines]

Daily Doodles (Aziraphale x Reader x Crowley Soulmate AU)

Characters: Aziraphale, Crowley, Reader

Requested: Yes

Requested by: @ellenatyler

Point of View: Second Person, Crowley

Warnings: None

Words: 877

A/N: The Soulmate AU I chose for this one is the one where whatever you draw on your skin appears on the skin of your soulmate. Also, this is a fem!reader, but again, gendered terms aren’t easy to use when doing second person POV

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A neon pink heart, right on his wrist.

God, Crowley could just kill you sometimes. Not that he didn’t enjoy getting your little drawings and messages while you were in class, but sometimes it absolutely ruined his aesthetic. Like that one time you decided to use a purple glitter pen to draw little snails on your hands. Though, truth be told, he still wasn’t sure if that was actually you, or if it was Aziraphale.

The only reason he knew this was you, was because of the messy handwriting beneath it that reminded him to take the new Velvet Underground CD out of the Bentley, followed by a few more hearts.

Crowley could remember the first time any kind of note or drawing appeared on his skin. It had been a couple thousand years ago, when Aziraphale was penning a document of some sort when he spilled ink all over his hand, subsequently staining Crowley's skin as well. The two spent years trying to deny it. In fact, they avoided each other for two centuries before they would admit it. And for the last few thousand years they had happily been together in secret.

The two of them never imagined they would have a second soulmate.

The first sign was when they would get little squiggles they would get all over their arms. Then, the little happy faces and half-legible letters and numbers.

The first note they ever got from you said ‘Hullo, i am (name) an i don no who u r but i luv u anyway’. The older you got, the more clear messages became. The boys avoided writing back, unsure what they would even tell you. Crowley would never admit it out loud, but he fell in love when you went into your poetry phase. Sometimes, he would wake up with multiple stanzas covering his legs, or simple little lines on his forearm.

Crowley could remember the last line you wrote them before they eventually sought you out.

I will follow you to pluto and back, I feel your hearts, I see you in my dreams, my angel and demon, I wait for thee.

It was very rare for someone to see their soulmates in their dreams - rare, but not impossible. Less than 1 percent of the population, Crowley assumed. Then again, not everyone had two soul mates either, let alone an Angel and a demon. You were bound to be lucky - you were bound to be special.

The sound of his name being called snapped him out of his thoughts.

“Crowley.” the barista called out again. “Mr. Anthony Crowley.” She placed the drink tray on the counter. Crowley gave her a small nod before taking the drinks and walking out. He got into the Bentley, drinks balanced magically onto the seat beside him, because lord knew if they spilled not only would he be furious, but his soul mates would be rather upset. He grabbed a pen from the glove compartment, hidden among his sunglasses, and quickly scribbled down that he’d be at the book shop in five minutes.

There was an almost instant reply in the same pink color saying that you’d just arrived and would be awaiting his arrival. There were a few added hearts, in black pen, that he assumed to be from Aziraphale. He smiled.

When he entered the bookshop, he set down the drinks and opened his arms. He let out a small grunt from the impact of your hug, but gladly wrapped his arms around you. Aziraphale approached much more calm, a smile on his  perfect, angelic face. Crowley leaned over, giving the angel a small kiss before pressing another to the top of your head.

“I got the usual,” Crowley said as you let go of him. He handed you your drink, and he handed Aziraphale his tea. 

“Thank you, my dear.” Aziraphale smiled. He placed a kiss on Crowley’s cheek, then another on your temple before moving back to his desk.

“How was class today, darling?” Crowley asked you.

“Boring.” You sighed. “I knew pretty much everything the professor was telling us. I have a feeling the rest of this week is going to be a total drag because it’s all we’re gonna be talking about.”

“Better to know the content than to learn it at the last minute, my love.” Aziraphale reminded you. Crowley hummed gently in agreement before remembering your note.

“And pink pen? Really?” You grinned at him, taking a long sip of your drink.

“Maybe,” You said, dragging out the last syllable. “Why? Did you not like my hearts?”

“Doesn’t exactly match my style darling.” He said, taking off his sunglasses. He set them on the table before wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into a soft kiss. You giggled softly as he pulled away, eyes closed.

“Did you grab the CD?” You asked. His eyes snapped open, staring down at you intently before he removed an arm from around your waist, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the case.

“What would I do without you?” He joked.

“You’d have only the Best of Queen to listen to.” You laughed. Then, you gave him another soft kiss. “And you wouldn’t have any pink notes on your skin.”

[lnarizakis]

haikyuu: sparknoted | all about hinata shoyo

masterlist

all about hinata shoyo

foreword: Hi, everyone! I’m so glad you’re reading this. I’ve always wanted to do an analysis series of Haikyuu!!, and I think now that I have so much free time on my hands, this is the perfect time to start. I decided to start out with a character analysis on Hinata Shoyo, since he’s the protagonist of the series. The three topics I will cover are: his character, his character development, and the final arc. The topics about his development and the final arc contain spoilers, so beware! Please enjoy, and everything I say is left up for debate, addition, and correction!

HINATA’S CHARACTER

NOMENCLATURE | Since we are talking about a character, we should look at his, well, character. This kid’s name is Hinata Shoyo, and according to the Wiki, his name means “Place in the sun/Sunny place” (Hinata), and “Flying heaven” (Shoyo). Part of his last name, Hina, means a chick or a baby bird. We should know by now that the meaning of his last name is intentional - multiple times he is referred to as the sun in the manga and anime. He is often compared to Tsukishima, who is referred to as the moon. Like Hinata, he was given that name also with intention. I’m pretty sure the story mentions this, but the reason Hinata was given this name was because of how much he shines. Not just because of his personality, because of course, he is a very bright person, but his whole character shines. He radiates - the effects of his “sunshine,” per se, is found in the character development of multiple people - Yachi, Kenma, Hyakuzawa, Kageyama, and even Tsukishima.

MOON AND SUN | I’m going to side-track and talk about the relationship between Tsukishima and Hinata for a little bit - the story mentions this, but it’s worth noting and it leads into what I’m going to say next. Tsukishima and Hinata are like night and day, respectively. Hinata is bright like the day - he shines and radiates the sunshine off on other people. They bask in his light and become better people because of it. Tsukishima, on the other hand, is more lowkey; he prefers not to talk to people rather than to interact, and, initially, he has no interest in improvement. Plants don’t grow during the night (I will refer to this analogy later). The point is: one can only see the moon when sunlight reflects off of it (I think that’s how the moon’s brightness works; all I know is that the sun’s light is involved lol). Therefore, the effects of Hinata’s presence and his “shine” has affected Tsukishima so much that he is able to shine even “in the night”. So besides Kageyama and perhaps Kenma, Tsukishima is one of the people to be most affected by Hinata’s personality.

APPEARANCE | Okay, now I’m going to talk about Hinata’s appearance. He’s short, he has orange hair, and always has the brightest smile on his face. Except when he has to make a point like “We haven’t won yet,” where he’s got that awfully creepy and sinister smile on his face. But I’m going to get back to that. First- his height. When we first get to know Hinata, the very first note of his height is where he stands at 162.8 cm/5’4 ft. (April 2012). He’s as tall as I am! But he’s not tall enough for volleyball, and he is constantly looked down (literally and metaphorically) for that fact. His opponents, and even his teammates, don’t realize the hidden potential that hides within Hinata. So it becomes ironic when there are people who are taller than Hinata, and they “look up” to him. Notably, Hyakuzawa. During the first-year’s training camp in Season 4/To The Top (AKA Ball Boy Arc), there’s a scene in which Hyakuzawa is sitting on the ground while leaning against the wall. He’s looking up at Hinata, who stands in front of him. He tells Hinata that he should have been invited instead of him, which is very ironic because when Karasuno played against his school (I don’t remember which school oops), he was seen as this very intimidating guy despite his lack of experience. Anyways, the point is - despite Hinata’ s height, he makes up for it with ability and talent, to which others who are much taller than he is are just in awe, and perhaps jealous, that he could go past this misfortune of his and strengthen his other skills instead.

ELEMENTS OF HORROR | “We haven’t won yet,” Hinata says, with the most sinister smile on his face. No, man, it’s not sinister. He’s just in the moment. Of course, he doesn’t mean to pull off that kind of scary face, it’s not in him. Yet the face he makes, along with the tone of voice he uses when saying those four words, just gets people. It chills them right to the bone because it’s so unlike Hinata yet it is so like Hinata. He is the type of person to persist on and encourage himself and others just by saying “We haven’t won yet,” but he doesn’t make that type of face. So… why does he make that type of face? The reason is the author’s choice. Furudate loves horror and drew Hinata’s face with a sinister expression. That’s the simple reason, but I believe there is so much more to that. Furudate could have based his entire style on a horror-like manga, despite it being quite out-of-place as it is a manga about volleyball, but if that’s what he wants, that’s what he wants. However, he chose to draw that particular scene with a horror-type feel because that’s what the others see. That’s what everyone who watched Hinata say those four words saw. His expression, his eyes… everything about it chilled them to the bone and Furudate wanted it to make it clear to the reader that that’s how we are supposed to perceive his words. Because if he drew it any other way, it would have come off as Hinata jumping up and down exclaiming with a super-happy voice, “We haven’t won yet! Let’s keep going, guys!” But no- it’s supposed to be creepy because everyone else saw it as creepy.

CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT

SPOILER WARNING! | This section is very spoiler-heavy! Please don’t read this section if you do not want to be spoiled for the outcomes of the nationals!

THE BALL BOY ARC | I will be covering Hinata’s character development all throughout season 4 because I think that this is the most important development to Hinata’s character. I’ll begin with the Ball Boy Arc, where Hinata must swallow his pride after entering the first-year training camp uninvited. Of course, Hinata had good intentions when he arrived, but he did not realize the consequences of his actions. Before, when he heard that Kageyama and Tsukishima were invited to these training camps, the first thought that ran through Hinata’s mind was “Why wasn’t I invited?” Yes, Hinata realizes his strength and the growth he has made throughout the time he had been practicing volleyball, but it seemed to him that he just wasn’t good enough. Upon arriving at the training camp, Coach Washijo immediately denies him to practice with the rest and so Hinata swallows his pride and announces himself as only the ball boy, nothing more. This is important because he is actually telling everybody there that he really just is not good enough.

KAGEYAMA’S SUPPORT | Coach Washijo tells Hinata that he is no good without the support of Kageyama. This comes across as a slap to the face for the poor boy, but I believe the coach told him this for two reasons. One, Washijo does not want to admit to the fact that Hinata is definitely strong and is an amazing player, but, two, Hinata is not strong without Kageyama and so he therefore cannot participate in a camp where Kageyama is not there to support him. This opens up Hinata’s eyes and he realizes that he must not rely on Kageyama all the time; after all, Kageyama is his rival. I don’t know if I’m right on this, but this is one of the two times where Hinata trains and learns without Kageyama’s help. The other time was when he practiced with Coach Ukai, the senior. If I’m wrong, please let me know!

HINATA’S COLLAPSE | Progressively throughout Season 4 we see that Hinata gains lines under his eyes. I saw two twitter posts that mention these- the first about how they could be “crow’s feet,” and the second about how they are lines of exhaustion. I agree with the second post. Throughout the season we observe how hard Hinata works and that sometimes he pushes his limits. He calls his coach to ask him about what he should eat, but I don’t know if we ever see him eat what Ukai tells him to eat. If we do… then, okay then. Lol. Anyways, not only are his eating habits being rearranged, it is also assumed that Hinata bikes home very late at night every day during the training camp at Shiratorizawa. He goes home with his heart pumping so he probably goes to sleep at an even later time. So Hinata also has a bad sleep schedule, and you know how hard it is to try and revert a bad sleep schedule… Hinata is also shown at times during nationals to be wide awake at night. With this, we can tell that he is exhausted. He is tired and in need of a rest. But he doesn’t give himself a rest, because all he wants is to prove to others, and himself, that he is good. And this leads to his downfall- his collapse in the middle of the Kamomedai VS Karasuno game. Hinata catches a fever all because he couldn’t take good care of himself. It’s so unfortunate, but it’s another wake-up call for Hinata that tells him that good things take time to come. He can’t magically hone his skills overnight.

THE FINAL ARC

THIS IS IT. IT’S REALLY THE END. | Ah, the final arc. We are so close to the end of Haikyuu!! and it makes me so sad to think about it every time. The final arc is the last match of the game. It is no coincidence that it is the last time we see Hinata use the restroom before the game. It is also no coincidence that many things that happened during Hinata’s first game are happening as well - Hinata meets Kageyama again at the restroom, he breathes in the smell of icy-hot spray, and, of course, he is going against Kageyama. That’s just awesome. But… he is not only going against Kageyama, he’s also going against Ushijima Wakatoshi and Hoshiumi Korai. This is no mere coincidence. These three people are all Hinata’s rivals. He declared one way or another that he would beat each of them and become the greater person. Hinata told Kageyama that he would, one day, beat him in a game. Hinata told Ushijima that he would beat Shiratorizawa and move onto nationals. I don’t remember if Hinata ever told Hoshiumi if he would beat him in a game one day, but we know for a fact that Hoshiumi did, at least in his mind. Let’s not forget how Hoshiumi really thought, “I’ve waited years for this day, Hinata Shoyo!!” Before the final game.

TEAMMATES: PAST AND PRESENT | I also want to mention the “commentators” for this match as well as some of Hinata’s teammates. In every game that we read/watch in Haikyuu!!, there is at least one person outside of the game who commentates on their perspective of what is going on in the game. We are not only getting the action, but also the analysis. In the final match, we are getting the commentary from Hinata’s teammates. We are finally getting their perspective in the game and how they perceive everyone’s actions. I just thought that was really cool since they were Hinata’s teammates- we never got the chance to hear their opinions about the game as an outsider. We also have some of Hinata’s teammates, Bokuto Koutarou, Miya Atsumu, and Sakusa Kiyoomi. I specifically want to talk about Bokuto and Atsumu, since the only reason I believe Sakusa was placed in the MSBY Jackals was so we could see his own ability because we never got to see him play in high school. Besides the Little Giant, I don’t know if there was any other person that Hinata looked up to more than Bokuto. I think it was great for Furudate to place Bokuto on Hinata’s team because it’s sort of a teacher-student moment where the teacher has to play with his disciple. I also think Furudate made the smartest choice to place Miya on this team as well because it shows that Kageyama is not the only one to perform a quick attack with Hinata. Having Miya on this team provides two things- it becomes a “battle of the setters” between Miya and Kageyama, and we see that Hinata has grown to adapt to perform well with other setters. It’s great character development on Hinata’s part because we see that he has definitely moved past the “he’s no good without Kageyama” thing back in high school. Good for him!

RIVALRY | Anyways, with a little analysis on Hinata’s team, we move on to the opponents. The big three opponents are, of course, Kageyama, Ushijima, and Hoshiumi. It’s a really good thing that Furudate placed these three on a team together (Talking about Romero makes their team even more OP so we’re just gonna set him aside for right now, haha) because it’s a test of Hinata’s ability. We get to see the rematch of the century, since each of Hinata’s rivals have wished for a rematch against him. Hinata lost to Kageyama’s team back in middle school, so now we wonder if Hinata could beat Kageyama now. We know that Ushijima lost to Hinata, but since he declared that he would beat Hinata in the future, we also wonder if Hinata could win against him, this time without the help of his teammates back in Karasuno. Lastly, Hinata collapsed in the middle of the match against Kamomedai, so we do not know for sure if Hinata could have won against Hoshiumi. All of these questions that we have for these three rivals will be cleared in this match; we get to see if Hinata will win in the end. We will learn if Hinata has truly become stronger. This match will let Hinata examine his current self and if his skills now can finally win against Kageyama, Ushijima, and Hoshiumi. It’s sort of like the “final exam” for Hinata’s strength.

Alright, that’s all I have to say! If you read all of this... then wow. I am in awe. Thank you for reading! I really enjoyed writing something like this. I was writing like the end of the world was coming. If you liked this, please let me know! Disagreed with anything I said? That’s fine, let’s respectfully discuss! Thanks!

[isakblu]

The Takeaway from The Plague by Camus

2020 has hit people with a myriad of dreadful events, and COVID-19 is one of them. The pandemic first was announced in January and started from Wuhan, China, and then the virus spread later on around the world and became a massive crisis from March till now. COVID-19 not only purloined thousands of lives of people, taken away their ordinary day and replaced it with lots of requirements such as mask out on the street, and quarantine with social distancing lifestyle. It also questions people based on their actions and thought with multiple themes that have to deal with their status where they still try to figure things out from physically to mentally and emotionally their existence in this pandemic. However, the idea that most connect people together is the acceptance and revolt in the face of absurdity. It’s phenomenal in what manner the novel The Plague by Camus sketched a magnificent deep volume of the epidemic raging the characters in the books and the obstacles they have to face. I believe Dr. Rieux, one of the essential roles from the book, has been expressing his perception of absurd in these chapters of the book. Through this novel, people are going to find themselves being aware of humanity, and both The Plague and COVID-19 remind them that in the universe they are living in, death can be the last stop, but it can’t deny the fact that the dedication and enthusiasm people have for this life  .  

The idea of absurdity reflects the perspective of how people looking through the rumination on the parallel view between the side of living and dying. The Plague by Camus took place in Oran, Algeria, along a coastal town in North Africa, somewhere in the 90s. The author starts the novel before the bubonic plague even happening and becomes a critical event in the story where following by lots of narratives and character involved like the doctor, Rieux, the journalist, Rambert, the wanderer, Tarrou, and many more that show their characteristics and define the absurd and revolt in their term. From my perspective, Camus and the character Rieux both retain a strong relationship in their descriptions of the absurdity, and the readers can find out that Rieux has represented some part of Camus's thoughts all over the novel, even showing the opposite. Keith Nelson has distinguished the face of absurdity through Camus's point of view by the following quote: “Human beings are absurd because they have neither metaphysical justification nor essential connection to the universe. They are not part of any divine scheme and, being mortal, all of their actions, individual and collective, eventually, come to nothing.” Camus finds the meaning of life is bound to the words death, and worthless where he describes why people have to work so hard with all the blood, sweat, and tears they pour out while in the end, all left is grass, ground, and grave. Humans must lose and sooner or later die in nothingness behind their loved one's grief or no one, but some say difference. The rebellion, the people with hopes and dreams carry the actions, thoughts which make life more meaningful, revolting against the face of absurdity. People who believe that their darkest hour comes before their dawn, the one who enjoys the yellow come from life and the red they receive even if it turns blue, and nobody can symbolize both the acceptance and revolt of absurdity than Rieux, the luminary.  

No one is perfect, and they can be fallible, but learning to change and fight for what right and wrong make the mortals human. In the town full of negativity, the soulless people, and the sorrow sky, Rieux seems to be the only one who sees as the days pass with the views as another painting and sound as another orchestra when he draws out his canvas “ The doctor was still looking out of the window. Beyond it lay the tranquil radiance of a cool spring sky; inside the room, a word was echoing still, the word "plague." A word that conjured up in the doctor's mind not only what science chose to put into it, but a whole series of fantastic possibilities utterly out of keeping with that gray and yellow town under his eyes, from which were rising the sounds of mild activity characteristic of the hour; a drone rather than a bustling, the noises of a happy town, in short, if it's possible to be at once so dull and happy.”(Camus 124) The meticulous details he gives showing how he is amused by the being, the existence of life, and acknowledging it. It's fascinating by the virtue of Rieux seeing things as it speaks to him, although the calamities have not come yet, came, and gone, he still finds the beauty and delight in each event as his vivid description passes on. The readers can figure out the point where Rieux shows the revolt in most of the parts in the novel, which explains how he loves to be pleased by seeing the world. He is also the first man in the frontline when the plague starts to hit Oran and spread all over the town. Announcing the news, organizing groups of sanitary, experiment vaccines, influencing others, treating and helping the patients, Rieux doing his best to be the cure against this deadly epidemic where it took so many lives from this place. He is the doctor where he can think that the death of people is a must thing and what moral is, but the facts that he tries to battling this disease exhibit that Rieux is a rebellion against what absurdity all about and a faith denier.

The acceptance is not always easy especially death, but before the eyes start to close and the heart stops to beat, the flashback of every moment and memory oozing back letting the person who listens to the last sound seeing how all the splendid things they do or give as happiness lies down with them. For the few left pages, before the final period place the last dot, Rieux has altered and become more aware of the reality where he accepts the absurdity as the suffering, the sadness he went through as the quote illustrates “But there was at least one of our townsfolk for whom Dr. Rieux could not speak, the man of whom Tarrou said one day to Rieux: "His only real crime is that of having in his heart approved of something that killed off men, women, and children. I can understand the rest, but for that, I am obliged to pardon him." It is fitting that this chronicle should end with some reference to that man, who had an ignorance, that is to say lonely, heart.” (Camus 302) Imagine after Rieux loses his best friend, Tarrou, he then receives news that his wife has also passed away, the ultraviolence he got is hard to compare. It’s unpredictable and how ironic is through this bubonic plague gave him the hero definition since the myriad of lives he had saved, but, at the same time, when calamity dies down, he left nothing but just a person with blackbirds on both his shoulders. The reality when he sees that all the stamina he works so hard for his people, friends, and beloved one, all vanish in the last breath. He accepts it, but the readers can’t contradict how Rieux knows that people will have to take an eternity sleep, he still hauls his body and mind to face the pandemic until it is all gone. I think that is the lesson I learn from this novel about how people should never giving up and put effort into their life. COVID-19 is a horrendous mess, but so many people have been doing the best to make the worst seem better, such as all the nurse and doctor wrestling their life to help patients. I think no matter how small the action is like just wearing a mask, it still contributes to my community and my family health as revolting against the face of absurdity rather than waiting for the death to come.  

COVID-19 seems to be an unreal event, as shown in the pandemic from The Plague by Camus portrait. People tend to have hope in the pitch-black time of how many times it strikes them just to make the actions stronger where the victory they celebrate lies among the falls of the dead one. All things will have the last stop, and it's the same rule with humans and the plague in which the cure is going to found, where life describes the moment people have, and death is the proof of people's existence. The takeaway I found in the novel through the character Rieux is always battling for my life even though it short, I can make it meaningful.  Absurdity is something someday I have to accept, but before that, I will keep seeking purpose, meaning, and happiness in this universe.

Work Cited

Camus, Albert. The plague. Vintage, 1948.

Website:

https://books.google.com/books?hl=en&lr=&id=a8LBjVImeO4C&oi=fnd&pg=PA2&dq=the+plague+camus&ots=DZh_dqjcDA&sig=JXM5oavWf83xNB9Sgjis6sVoJfc#v=onepage&q=the%20plague%20camus&f=false  

Neilson, Keith. "The Plague." Masterplots, Fourth Edition, edited by Laurence W. Mazzeno, Salem, 2010. Salem Online.

Website:  

https://online.salempress.com

Thank you for reading <3333333

Khang V Sun 

[writeinspiration]

How Long Should Your Novel Be? (The Definitive Answer)

Text of the article pasted below!

Many aspiring novelists ask themselves, “How long should my novel be?” The answer to this question is surprisingly complex. There are multiple issues that need to be to addressed… and I’m going to cover ALL of them in this article.So let’s get it!

My Journey

It took me eight years to craft my debut novel, The Page Turners.

Eight years is far too long to spend writing a first book. Looking back, I cringe at the thought of what I could have created in the time I wasted drafting and redrafting that novel.

One of the many reasons it took me so long to write my first book was that, like many rookie authors, I wanted my debut to be an epic story. I had twenty-five years worth of life experiences, thoughts, emotions, and stories to draw from, and I was determined to cram all of it into a novel that would dazzle readers and immediately launch my literary career into the stratosphere of superstardom!

At one point, the manuscript for The Page Turners was up to 130,000 words, but the published version is a little over 55,000; hardly an epic.

But you know what? Stephen King’s first novel wasn’t The Stand. It was a tight-packed little masterpiece called Carrie.

Once I followed King’s lead by focusing on intimacy and letting go of my aspirations of a sweeping and grand narrative, the project finally become manageable. After years spent struggling with this beast of a story, I was suddenly dealing with a focused and fast-paced narrative that had a clear theme and a nice sense of rhythm and harmony.

Before long, finally publishing the book was no longer a distant pipe dream; it had actually become an attainable goal. In shortening the length of my novel, I made my life as a writer much easier.

The Benefits of Short

It’s easier to redraft and review a shorter novel.

It’s easier to convince beta readers to give it a look, and you get their feedback much quicker.

As an indie author, it’s significantly cheaper to pay for copy-editing of a shorter novel, and the production costs of printing the final books are also more affordable.

Across the board, virtually everything becomes easier and more do-able once you commit to shortening your novel.

A shorter book also forces an author to focus with laser-like accuracy on the story’s most important elements: the plot and lead characters. Tangents, supporting characters, and non-relevant aspects of the narrative are kept to a bare minimum because there simply isn’t room for them in a short book.

Tell an enthusiastic young writer you need them to write a 2,000-word article, and there’s a good chance they’ll return with 4,000 words of mostly unusable material. On the other hand, tell them you need 500 words and not a single word more… and they might just come up with something great!

I’m quite fond of the Orson Well’s quote, “The enemy of art is the absence of limitations,” and I think it can be applied wonderfully to word count. Keep the book short, and you’re much more likely to create good art. At the very least, you’ll reduce the chances of creating bad art. (The only thing worse than a bad novel is a bad novel of epic length!)

With all of this in mind, I tell my writing students to aim for a 55,000 word novel for their debut book. A total of 55,000 words is the perfect length for a rookie author. It’s short and sweet, and it forces the writer to stick to the point, something young writers often struggle with. And, of course, as mentioned earlier, it makes the entire project more manageable.

Is a 55,000 Word Manuscript Novel Length?

In his article, “Word Count: How Long Should a Book Be?”, Glen C Strathy turns to The Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America’s (SFFWA) criteria for the Nebula Awards to determine his word count criteria.

Here’s how the SFFWA defines the stories they review for the award:

Short story – under 7,500 words

Novelette – 7,500 to 17,500 words

Novella – 17,500 to 40,000 words

Novel – anything over 40,000 words

National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) (an annual event that challenges writers to craft a novel within the month of November) identifies 50,000 words as the minimum target for their definition of a novel.

As such, by either the SFFWA or the NaNoWriMo’s definition, a 55,000-word book is certainly novel-length.

That said, if you would prefer to turn to general opinion and/or critical regard to determine the minimum length of a novel, consider The Great Gatsby. F. Scott Fitzgerald’s masterpiece is only 55,000 words long, and it’s considered by many – myself included – to be one of the greatest novels ever written.

In fact, a number of my favourite novels of all time are around this length: The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton, Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury, The Turn of the Screw by Henry James, The Old Man and the Sea by Earnest Hemingway, Lord of the Flies by William Golding, The Catcher in the Ryeby J.D. Salinger, To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf, The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka, Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad, The Picture of Dorian Grey by Oscar Wilde, Notes from Underground by Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll, Slaughterhouse Five by Kurt Vonnegut, and The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams, to name but a few!

As this list clearly demonstrates, despite what many young authors mistakenly believe, more words are not always better. From Kafka to Carroll, some of the greatest prose writers ever to live chose to produce shorter novels.

In Praise of Long

Despite my recommendation that aspiring authors focus their efforts on producing a shorter book as their initial publication, I would be remiss to ignore the variety of well-loved long novels out there.

In her Salon.com article, “Why we love loooong novels”, Laura Miller provides a convincing argument in praise of the epic. She also references the New York Times report that author Garth Risk Hallberg received a $2 million advance for his 900-page debut, City on Fire – a clear indication a shorter debut novel is not always the best route to critical acclaim and financial riches!

Riffing on Miller’s article, Maddie Crum’s Huffington Post article, “An Ode to Unaccelerated Reading” lists ten excellent novels well worth their page count, and I’m sure we all have a beloved epic tome or two weighing down our bookshelves.

In fact, it was likely my love of Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings and Stephen’s King’s The Stand that got me into trouble with The Page Turners word count in the first place.

I’m not arguing that a novel must be short to be great; I’m simply suggesting that if you want to make the transition from aspiring author to published author in as smooth a manner as possible, you may want to save your epic for your sophomore release.

Industry Standards by Genre

Of course, only a few of the short novels I mentioned earlier were debut releases, and today’s modern writers, especially those looking to break into the mainstream publishing industry, would be wise to take into account industry standards when it comes to determining world count for their work in progress.

In a helpful article written for Writer’s Digest in 2012, Chuck Sambuchino outlines recommended word counts for various different genres of books. His recommended word counts are as follows:

Commercial and literary novels for adults – 80K to 90K

Sci-fi and Fantasy – 100K to 115K

Young Adult – 55K to 70K

In another article on word count and book length, “How Long is a Book? Determine Your Novel’s Genre, Subgenre, and Best Word Count”, Ronnie Smith expands on Sambuchino’s list by adding some additional genres to the mix:

Romance – 80K to 100K

Mystery – 75K to 100K

Thriller – 90K to 100K

Western – 45K – 75K

These recommendations are extremely helpful to keep in mind while working on your book, particularly if you intend to secure an agent and a traditional publisher for your work.

Keep in mind, however, that Sambuchino and Smith’s recommendations are based on the long-entrenched requirements of the traditional book publishing industry. As such, the recommended word counts are largely the result of industrial standards and therefore have more to do with the production requirements of paperback books than they do anything related to storytelling technique, artistic aspirations, or the preferences of readers.

New Standards

In recent years, the rise of ebooks, along with the ever-increasing ease with which independent authors can self-publish their work via web and print-on-demand has completely changed book industry standards in terms of word counts requirements.

With storytelling becoming increasingly digitalized, the very meaning of terms like “books” and “novels” are being consistently destabilized.

Ebooks come in a variety of forms and lengths, and print-on-demand can turn a project of any reasonable word count into a paperback publication. Authors are now free to craft books and novels with word counts that are bound only by the author’s imagination and creativity, and the audience’s receptivity.

Hugh Howey’s hit self-published “novel” Wool was originally released as a series of e-novellas. Authors Johnny B. Truant and Sean Platt are releasing serial fiction that is then collected together into “seasons”, thereby combining 19th century Charles Dickens-like publishing model with that of modern television. Erotic authors, riding the surging 50 Shades of Grey wave, are consistently finding new and innovative ways to get their work into reader’s hands, including bundling books from several authors together to create what is, essentially, an anthology of novellas.

Where to From Here?

If it was difficult to determine exactly how long a novel should be in the past, it’s only going to become increasingly more difficult in the future. As independent authors continue to push the boundaries and test what digital publishing and print-on-demand have to offer, and as the traditional publishing industry attempts to keep up with technological innovations reshaping the publishing landscape, there’s no telling what a “book” might look like in the years to come.

If you’re looking for a career in traditional publishing, educate yourself on the word counts the publishers and agents you’re targeting are looking for. If you are embracing independent publishing, get creative! There’s an exciting world of storytelling possibilities out there, and whether your book is a short jaunt or an epic journey is totally up to you. Remain true to your vision, give your audience the read of a lifetime, and the last thing they will be thinking about is word count.

[modern-oedipus]

Update: I’ve been super sick ever since the morning. I think the stress piled up because I was super nauseous (and I... don’t even get nausea? Maybe I’ve thrown up once or twice within last 10 years and that’s it? So it’s extremely rare for me to get this bad?) and I had to skip my morning classes, then I dragged my ass to campus miserably on a terrible cold rain because I had to join biochemistry lab (labs are mandatory and if you miss one lab session you fail the lab), then I came back to home righf after, read a lil Falling for Your Voice and then just slept like the dead.

It’s around 9.30 pm now but I feel as if I was hit by a truck. On the bright side, maybe this was the decharge I needed, because I slept a lot and while my stomach still hurts I feel very rested, mentally and emotionally, which means I’m ready for the weekend in which we are going to study hard because we have three midterms ahead! I’m planning to reward myself with pizza and dessert tomorrow (definitely not today, I feel like my will to eat is back but I don’t want to risk it) and... get it done? Really.

There was an interesting encounter between me and my friends today. You know, college is college— it’s normal for people to have suicidal tendencies or make dark humor jokes at this point. By no means I think less of anyone, but one of my not-so-high-scoring friend jokingly said during the lab like, “I think I’m gonna kill myself on tuesday, there is so much going on.” and another friend of mine joined jokingly like, “Well, call me if you do, not to stop you but to die with you.” and I honestly thought of Dazai Osamu but anyway that’s not the point—

Another friend of mine, whom I briefly had a crush on in fact, approached from behind and joined halfway through the conversation asking what we are up to. Now this guy is a high scoring one and he’s kinda sweet and he multitasks many stuff and he usually does it well. So my other friend complained about how she was going to die (jokingly), and he just put his hands on my shoulder reassuringly, grinned at her, and said, “Well darlings, it means we are going to work a lot, get lil sleep, but also get this done!” and in that moment I noticed what a big difference the mindset can make.

Because that girl doesn’t believe in herself. She will just pass through but she will spend most of her time feeling sad instead of getting the work done (how do I know? Haha. Maybe I was like that too.) while he will just, get the work done, regardless. Both will suffer but in the end he will at least get a payback for his suffering? And the fact that he can say this smiling, with a non-sarcastic smile as well? So cute. I mean coUGHS that seriously gave me some motivation! I didn’t talk in that conversation I think, I was so blown by my realization of how important mindset is and also how he touched my shoulders but wow good shit.

I think I’m getting back. I won’t be too slow getting back to you all and getting back to my life but I won’t jump right away either because I still feel mildly in pain, which is a huge indication that it is me overworking myself.

Me and my friend had talked what we’d go out partying no matter what tonight but since I’m sick I cancelled that as well.

Also, I don’t know whether the authors of the fanfics will read this completely random diary-based post of mine until the end but honestly? Reading Falling for your voice calmed me down, like, I did try to write some of my fanfics but I was having extreme writer’s block and I couldn’t think of anything better than reading that cozy story (and also the author handles hurt/comfort so well? Unlike me who downright breaks the characters. I feel like I’m safe when I read the stories, which is so odd, but comforting), and also there is this nsfw-ish request of mine that was written sjfkvkdn and I kept thinking about Ray Grace smacking Norman’s fine butt and it is so hot and I’m so pleased and like. I also got COMMENTS like multiple COMMENTS on my fics aND alSO aaAaAAAaAAAAAaA Ari sent me?? Pics of?? Ray the perfection???? Of the perfect art?( and his ice cream???? AND THE FLOUR ON HIS CHEEKS?????? AND HIS SHY, UNCOMFORTABLE LOOK???? I JUST LOVE?? So much?????

As I said I’ll take things a lil slowly so I’m just making one big post about all updates today and getting individual replies back tomorrow. For now I need to eat (would u believe me, ME, the girl who lives for food hasn’t eaten anything except half a banana entire day) a bit, and then do biochemistry revision. It is cold outside, but somehow my heart feels so warm after my encounters with my friends and also from everything that happens on Tumblr.

Okay, this post doesn’t have a conclusion, but like... I really wanted to draw fanart for falling for your voive except I’m not an artist and I don’t know how to make Normie and Ray look nice. I know that’s not an excuse, I can just learn, but honestly, with this workload I can’t afford that yet. I don’t know. As I said, I am hesitant to go all way as I get myself back to life because I’m worried of another collapse, so this is enough for today. I apologize from everyone whose replies I delayed. Honestly, it is same on my irl messages too. I tend to not find the energy to reply back sometimes and these last two weeks were really some tough college life. Don’t ever take it personal! Anyway, complaining about past has a limit, I’m looking forward to revise my favorite class now! (Yes, biochemistry, haha. Though I only love it because I love the professor and the theory. Biochemistry labs are always so time consuming and I’d rather do something like bioinformatics if I chose a career. But still, biochemistry is all about understanding the life... it always mesmerizes me. I’m amazed.)

So stay safe and please don’t hesitate to message me even if I reply late! I really get this warm safe feeling when I am here, and, not detached. ❤️

Ah, enough talk, I feel like I’m talking to void since this isn’t a private message but I’ve written so far so I might as well post it.

Oh— one last thing! I seem to have a writer’s block! It is okay, I know it is temporary, but since I’m both short on time and not inspired, it is likely that there will be no updates this week! But after that I get two weeks free before finals so I may post! Maybe I update The Promised Wonderland, I like soft boi Norman having his innocent crushes, he is so cute, and pure, and I love these babies.

[thebeethathums]

Observers - 11

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of past abuse. 

You calmly shut the door to your flat behind you but inside you wanted to scream and throw the mug at the wall. Nothing good could come of that, you were aware of that fact, and if you did you would likely regret it almost instantaneously. So instead you carefully set the mug down on your kitchen counter and stared at it for a moment. None of the dishes in your cabinets matched, save for a few teacup and saucer sets, and that was the way you had always liked it. It had even been an advantage over the past few years because it was far easier to replace a dish that went sailing into the wall when you didn’t have to worry about a pattern. You sank to the floor, still looking up at the mug. Every piece of dishware you had was relatively new, having been replaced multiple times over the past two years. All of them except this one. By some small miracle that mug had survived time and time again. It was like a beacon, a small blue reminder that you could get through it all because if something as fragile as that could make it through then, you could too. 

You had wanted them to have it. John had always sought it out when he visited so you knew he wouldn’t let it go to waste and you were so grateful to Sherlock for everything he’d done for you since you’d been here. You knew that it wasn’t something easy for him and it was completely outside of his character which made those instances, no matter how trivial and small they seemed, all the more important. 

Why couldn’t he just take the stupid mug? You slowly stood and went to the living room to flop down on your small gothic style red velvet couch, throwing your heels onto its arm so you would fit across it. He was such a twat. A handsome and seriously interesting twat, but a twat all the same. You couldn’t even draw to take your mind off of it because every time you picked up a pencil, it eventually chose to draw him. You pulled both of your hands down your face in an aggravated groan before rolling off the couch and onto the floor, letting the cool wood panels press against your skin. Your heart hurt and you cursed it, it had been numb for so long and this is what it finally chose to feel? This hurt over a stupid mug? You could feel tears welling up in your eyes and you scolded yourself harshly. You’d been through much worse without your lip even quivering, you weren’t about to let this stupid mug and that twat change that. You were supposed to be enjoying life damn it. You tried to remind yourself of this, fingers going to the long scar hidden beneath the hair just behind your right ear. You stroked it lightly, taking a couple of deep breaths, and soon you felt better, at least to the point where you were no longer in danger of crying. Deciding that you needed to get out to get your mind off everything- hiding things from John, your memories, the genius twat, everything- you pulled yourself off the ground and went to find some appropriate clothes for a night out. John was just coming down to check on you when you stepped out of your apartment and went to lock the door. You had on a pair of electric blue metallic leather pants that looked like they’d been painted on, a white short sleeve crop top and sleeveless black vest combo that showed of your midriff and hugged every curve, all over a pair of black platform stilettos. Your hair was in a loose braid that arched down the side of your neck and your make up was striking, with heavy winged black eyeliner, full lashes, and a bright shade of lipstick that made your lips pop. You looked gorgeous, the perfect amount of sexy with the slightest dash of trashy for a night out. For John though, you were his little sister and the standards changed slightly, making this the outfit from hell. He frowned at you as you twisted the key in the lock, “You are not going out like that.” You snorted, “Like hell, I’m not. What are you going to do? Stop me?” John’s jaw clenched as he tried not to get angry with you, “Alright then. Where are you going?” You rolled your eyes, “Out.” He inhaled slowly, “Out where?” “Just out! What does it matter?” you snapped. He lost it, angrily bellowing, “It matters, (F/n), because I want you to be safe. You don’t even know where you’re going and you're dressed like that, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. What has gotten into you lately? I know you! You don’t get up early, you don’t flinch when people mess around with you, and you certainly don’t go out to god knows where dressed like that.” The words tumbled out of your mouth before you could stop them, “You don’t know anything about me!” You regretted it almost instantaneously, seeing the hurt flicker across John’s face, but you were too angry to try and patch things up, so you spun to storm out of the flat. It was just another thing to add to the list of things you were going to drink to forget. John let out a frustrated yell as Mrs. Hudson popped her head out just in time to see you leave and Sherlock emerged from the flat, finally deciding that whatever was going on might be worth his time. John spun to point a finger at him, “This is your fault. If you had just taken the bloody mug, she wouldn’t be upset and feel like she has to go out dressed like some harlot.” Sherlock merely quirked an eyebrow at him and John sunk down to sit on the steps with his head in his hands, Mrs. Hudson coming over to wrap a comforting arm around him. He inhaled slowly, calming his anger, and lifted his head, “What if she’s right? What if I don’t know anything about her? She’s my sister for god’s sake… and she’s been acting so strange…” Mrs. Hudson soothed him, “I’m sure it’s not like that, dear. Even a blind man could see how close you two are.” He buried his face in his hands again, “Then what is it? How can she be so different and still the same?” “It’s learned behavior,” rang out Sherlock’s voice from the top of the stairs. John’s eyes snapped up, “You know something don’t you?” The man was silent, slipping back into the flat before John could question him any further. He was going to have to tell him now, you’d likely be mad but you were mad at him already so what did it matter. John quickly climbed the stairs leaving Mrs. Hudson at the bottom. He burst through the door, “Tell me.” Sherlock didn’t move a muscle and John demanded through clenched teeth, “You tell me what you know right this second or I won’t ever go on a case with you again.” Only Sherlock's lips moved, “She came here to escape an abusive relationship. It’s fairly obvious if you’d been paying attention.” John slowly sank down into his chair in shock, shaking his head, “No. That’s not right… She wouldn’t-“ Sherlock sighed, he was going to have to spell it out for him, “Think about it, John. The uneasiness over meeting new people, knowing how long it would take her bruise to heal and how to cover it, her hesitation to tell you she was hurt, her guilt over the mug and over embarrassing us when she fell at the Yard, her ability to use her opposite hand just as well as her dominant one, the fact that she sleeps lightly and gets up early and when she didn’t she assumed you’d be angry, the fact that she took care of her hand when she normally wouldn’t, and her reaction to your play fighting. It all points to her having been abused both physically and emotionally. Likely by someone in law enforcement, given her reaction to Anderson’s advances. She got out of it six months ago if her sketchbook is anything to go by, and, from how deeply the behavior is ingrained into her, I’d say she was with him for over a year.” John had his hands covering his face by the end, “How did I not notice? Why didn’t she tell me?” Sherlock didn’t say anything more, what else could he say? The questions John had weren’t for him; they were for you.