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kusakabesimp · 7 days ago

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KusaHigu Headcanons A-Z : Flowers

Nine moments in Kusakabe and Higuruma's life that capture the quiet growth of their relationship, each one blooming like a flower in its own time.

Lilies - Love in Bloom When they finally moved in together, the house already felt cozy, its rooms filled with boxes, the air humming with the promise of their new life. The next few weeks were an intricate dance, two lives intertwining, adjusting to each other's rhythms.

Kusakabe tackled the kitchen first, setting up the cupboards with his usual attention to detail. Tea jars lined the top shelf to catch the light, spices were arranged alphabetically, and cookware was placed just where his hands would instinctively reach. Every movement was deliberate, a quiet choreography that reflected his love for order. Yet, among the neatly stacked items was a charming mix of mismatched dishes, a small collection of bowls and plates they’d each brought along, perfectly imperfect together.

Setting up Higuruma’s study was a process, long nights spent sorting through stacks of files he'd accumulated over the years. Balancing his work as a sorcerer with overhauling the jujutsu legal system was no small task, leading to even more chaos among the scattered paperwork. One evening, as he sifted through legal texts and notes, Kusakabe stepped in, cradling a small arrangement of lilies. The vase’s cracks were lovingly mended with kintsugi, the gold seams glinting softly in the dim study light. He set it on the corner of the desk, the vibrant flowers striking against the dark wood. 'A little bit of me to keep you company,' he said, offering a warm smile.

There were some minor adjustments that came with learning each other’s routines. Kusakabe had always been an early riser, starting his day with practice in the dojo and a moment of meditation before anything else. Higuruma, used to slower mornings, was surprised to find that by the time he finally made it out of bed, Kusakabe had already set the table, made breakfast, and started a fresh pot of coffee. He would sit casually on the couch, reading the newspaper and waiting patiently so they could eat together before heading to work.

As February slipped by, the house started to feel more like theirs. Each room, once just a place to put their things, slowly became a canvas for the life they were building together. New rituals unfolded like petals, each one a step in the early bloom of their life together.

Pine - New Beginnings Higuruma stirred awake to the comforting weight of Kusakabe’s arm wrapped around him, a presence that still felt a little new. He leaned over for a kiss, feeling the light stubble on the samurai's chin brush against his lips. "Good morning."

"Morning," Kusakabe murmured, eyes still closed but a smile on his face.

They huddled together under the blanket, sheltering against the cool morning air, their legs tangled beneath the soft fabric. Kusakabe snugged the lawyer close, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his head. Higuruma was still growing accustomed to these quiet gestures of affection, yet it was something he found himself craving without even realizing it.

“Let’s visit the shrine,” Kusakabe said softly as he spoke into Hiromi's curls, pulling him closer. “It’s a nice way to start our year — make a wish, look forward to what’s ahead.”

Higuruma nodded, keeping his expression calm, though a flicker of excitement stirred inside him. Being invited to share this experience felt special, knowing how much the samurai valued his solitude.

Bundled up against the January chill, they set off toward the mountain shrine, fingers laced together as they walked beneath the towering pines. The soft crunch of needles underfoot and the fresh scent of the forest made for a peaceful backdrop, their breaths forming little puffs in the cold air. The trail wasn’t steep, but each step felt purposeful, as if they were moving toward something meaningful together. Higuruma found himself glancing over at Kusakabe more than once, taking in the gentle smile that seemed permanently etched on his face this afternoon.

The world felt suspended when they reached the summit, hushed under the vast, open sky. Kusakabe released Higuruma's hand as they approached the offering box to draw an omikuji fortune, respecting the personal space needed for this quiet ritual.

With his eyes closed, Higuruma made a wish: that this feeling, this quiet, steady love, would remain and grow stronger with time.

Kusakabe smiled when Higuruma's omikuji revealed 'great fortune.' The samurai held up his own slip, reading 'average.' "Well, I’ll need to stick closer to you this year," he grinned. "My luck is always better when you’re around."

As they made their way back, Kusakabe paused beneath one of the larger pines, a soft smile forming on his face. He broke off a tiny sprig, inspecting it with reverence before handing it to Higuruma, who took it with a smile of his own. This pine would soon nestle in the ikebana arrangement that Kusakabe had placed at the bedside — a reminder of new love taking root between them, evergreen and enduring.

Plum Blossoms - A Happy Home The rain started early, pattering softly against the windows and wrapping the house in a calming gray. It was the kind of day that asked for nothing more than simply being home. Kusakabe was the first to rise, naturally drawn into the kitchen. Before diving into the usual Saturday breakfast prep, he paused, picking up a small vase filled with the plum blossoms he'd gathered the day before.

With a mindful touch, he arranged the branches, letting their curves guide his hands. Each blossom found its place, creating a gentle balance that mirrored the harmony of their shared lives. Setting the vase on the table, he took a moment to admire his work. The soft sounds of the house stirring, faint rustles and sleepy murmurs, brought a smile to his face, quiet reminders of the warmth and love that filled their home.

Higuruma wandered in, sleep still softening his features, wrapped in a blanket as he plopped on the couch. Miwa sat at the kitchen table, absorbed in a book (courtesy of Kusakabe), and Yuji soon joined, rubbing his eyes but already grinning at the smell of food. The four of them shared a lazy breakfast, their conversations punctuated by gentle tones and laughter.

Afterward, they remained close, each caught up in their own activities while sharing the same space. Kusakabe, typically busy with weekend chores, allowed himself a rare moment of stillness, sinking into his chair with a book of poetry. Sensing her dad’s calmness, Miwa settled on the floor at his feet, lying on her back with her book held above her, a dreamy smile on her face. Yuji bounced around the house with his usual boundless energy, eventually flopping down beside Miwa to flip through a manga. Higuruma lazed on the couch, content to listen to the soft sound of the rain.

Before long, Kusakabe shifted to the couch and, with a tender touch, wrapped his arm around Higuruma, drawing him in. Leaning into the embrace, Higuruma let himself rest against Kusakabe's shoulder, the gentle rise and fall of his lover's breath creating a familiar rhythm that calmed his mind.

Kusakabe glanced around the room, smiling to himself, realizing they weren’t just individuals coexisting anymore; they were becoming a family.

Sakura: A Moment in Time The morning of Miwa’s birthday dawned clear and bright, as if even the sky had decided to celebrate. They arrived at the festival just as the sakura petals began to fall, drifting down in a gentle pink haze over the pathways. Kusakabe led them carefully through the busy crowd, winding his way to a quiet spot beneath a large tree whose branches were heavy with blossoms.

They spread out on a blanket, their small group nestled amidst the gentle hum of other families and festival-goers enjoying the day. The light filtered through the branches and danced across their spread, casting a delicate pattern of shadows that made everything feel dreamlike and suspended in time.

Kusakabe had packed everyone a bento, filling each section with Miwa’s favorite foods. The two teenagers, both swept up in the festive spirit, darted from one food stand to another, coming back with candy and treats, which they insisted on sharing with everyone.

Between bites and sips of tea, conversation flowed easily. Yuji, ever the storyteller, recounted a recent training mishap "with his grumpy sensei," drawing laughter from Miwa and a soft chuckle from the sensei himself.

After they’d finished eating, Miwa’s eyes sparkled with a playful brightness. “Dad, Higuruma-san! Take a picture together!" she said, grabbing Kusakabe's phone and holding it up, flashing her best pouty smile. "For me, pleeeeease!"

Yuji immediately chimed in with an enthusiastic nod, and soon, both Kusakabe and Higuruma found themselves ushered under the branches for an impromptu photo session. They posed reluctantly at first, but Miwa’s delighted encouragement and Yuji’s good-natured teasing soon eased their hesitation. One picture became ten, then twenty, and soon they’d lost track as the two teenagers fussed over their poses, insisting on just one more.

“Perfect,” Miwa finally declared, giving Kusakabe his phone back with a satisfied smile.

Later, as they strolled back to the car, Kusakabe scrolled through the photos. He stopped on one, a candid shot capturing the two of them leaning into each other and laughing as petals floated softly around them.

Without a word, he set it as his lock screen, and just a few moments later, Higuruma glanced over, his lips curling into a soft, knowing smile.

Wisteria - Love Poem Kusakabe sat at the kitchen table in the early morning light, his pen hovering over a blank page. He’d written countless verses over the years, but somehow, the words he needed now seemed heavy and elusive. Expressing the depth of his feelings for Higuruma had always been a challenge. It was like trying to catch a butterfly with bare hands, beautiful but just out of reach.

He picked up the pen, put it down, and reached for it again, hoping the lines might appear if he just waited long enough. Leaning back, he ran a hand through his hair and let his gaze wander around the home they now shared.

Closing his eyes, he let memories of the previous night drift back to him: the quiet walk they'd shared through the wisteria arches, their steps naturally in sync. There had been no need for words then; in the soft silence, everything he felt was somehow understood. But here, alone, he found himself wrestling with the words he hoped could show Higuruma even a fraction of his love.

It had been five months since they’d begun sharing their lives, weaving their routines together like delicate vines of wisteria wrapping around one another. How could he capture the way they’d grown, the quiet comfort of waking up to each other, or the warmth that filled even the most ordinary days?

Finally, he lifted the pen and began to write. This time, he poured his heart onto the page, each line a piece of his heart laid bare.

In wisteria's shade moonlight stitched between our steps I felt time slow every step a heartbeat's pause each breath wrapped in you, us

He set the pen down and looked over the tanka. It wasn’t perfect, but it was his. It was simple and honest, just like the life they were building together. Rising from the table, he gathered a few wisteria blossoms, their delicate lavender petals still fresh and soft with dew.

He arranged them in a small jar and entered the bedroom. Higuruma was still asleep, his breathing soft and measured. After setting the arrangement by the bathroom mirror, Kusakabe held the poem for a moment, a smile crossing his lips as he pressed a gentle kiss to its corner before tucking it into the heart of the blooms.

Before leaving the room, he stepped softly to the bedside, his heart swelling with affection. He leaned down, placing a soft kiss on Higuruma's cheek. “I love you,” he whispered, knowing Hiromi would hear it in his dreams.

Iris - To Love and to Cherish Kusakabe paused in the doorway of Higuruma's study, a steaming mug of tea in hand, watching the lawyer's expression as he focused intently on the papers scattered across the desk. Kusakabe cherished this look: the subtle crease in Hiromi's brow, the way his lips pressed together when he was deep in thought. He lingered for a moment before stepping into the room, tiptoeing across the floorboards to avoid breaking Higuruma’s concentration too soon.

Crossing the room quietly, he came to Higuruma’s side, feeling the warmth of the teacup in his hands as he held it just above the desk. But before he could set it down, Higuruma’s voice broke the silence.

“I’ve been thinking about something,” the lawyer said, his tone calm and steady as if he’d only just noticed Kusakabe standing there. He continued, scribbling a few notes on the page in front of him. “About us getting married.”

Kusakabe froze, the mug hovering in midair as his mind tried to catch up with the words.

Without looking up, Higuruma continued. “It would be good for the kids, give them a stable family structure. It would help with a lot of things, logistically speaking." He spoke carefully, though a faint blush began to color his cheeks, barely noticeable in the low light of the study. “But there are…other reasons too, of course.”

“You’re," Higuruma’s voice wavered, and he cleared his throat. “You’re good for me, Atsuya." He tapped the pen lightly against the edge of the desk, trailing off as if he wasn't sure what else to say.

Finally, he looked up and met Kusakabe’s eyes, only to find him standing perfectly still, eyes wide and mouth slightly open in surprise. A flicker of uncertainty crossed Higuruma’s face as he took in the samurai's unreadable expression.

“Atsuya?” he asked, voice soft, almost hesitant. “Is… that a yes?”

For a moment, there was silence. Then, as if snapping out of a dream, Kusakabe blinked, and a smile began to spread slowly across his face, filling his eyes with unmistakable warmth. Slowly, he set the tea down and reached for the small vase of fresh irises on Higuruma's desk. He plucked a single stem, then lowered himself to one knee, holding the flower between them.

Kusakabe held his gaze, his voice soft but sure. “Yes,” he whispered, the word carrying a depth that left no room for doubt. “A thousand times, yes.”

Rose: A Bouquet for Tomorrow Kusakabe stood at Shoko's door, lingering awkwardly as he glanced at Yuji and Miwa, who were standing together in the hallway. “No dates while we're gone, please,” Kusakabe said softly to his girl, gently brushing her bangs to the side as he gave her a warm smile. His gaze flicked to his phone, running through a list of reminders. “And both of you, remember to practice your kata twice a day.”

Shoko rolled her eyes, setting down their bags and lighting a cigarette. “I’m sure they’ll survive,” she said dryly. “Go relax for once. We’ll make sure they don’t burn the place down.”

Before Kusakabe could say anything else, Utahime walked over, shoving a bouquet of roses into his hands as she gave him a firm but affectionate shove out the door. “Seriously, you worry too much. Now, go. Enjoy your honeymoon.”

It wasn't a grand trip. A honeymoon didn’t need extravagance or planning, not when every day of their lives was rushed and chaotic. The past several months had been a blur of work, exhaustion, and fleeting moments together. But now, with the world on pause, they had three days, and that was enough.

He glanced over at Higuruma, who had buried himself under six layers of sunscreen and a wide-brimmed bucket hat. The sight made Kusakabe chuckle, but it was also endearing. The lawyer had only been fishing with him once before, a disaster of a day with a sunburn so severe he ended up in Shoko's clinic.

“You look like you’re preparing for battle,” Kusakabe teased lightly, casting his line into the water. “But this time, it's the sun instead of a curse.”

Higuruma huffed softly, adjusting his hat with a faint smile. “After last time, I think it’s warranted."

A quiet warmth spread through Kusakabe, the kind that came from knowing Higuruma trusted him enough to drop his usual reservations, even if only for a moment. They fished in companionable silence, the only sounds the occasional plunk of Kusakabe’s line and the soothing wash of the waves.

As the sun began to set, they left their spot by the water and wandered along the shoreline, shoes in hand, feeling the cool sand shift beneath their feet. The lights from town glimmered faintly in the distance, but right now, it felt as if the world was theirs alone, softened in the glow of the fading sunset.

They had never had time like this before — time to simply be, without the noise of their usual lives. Here, they weren’t sorcerers or teachers or anything but themselves. Just two people, choosing each other with every step.

Sunflowers - Until I Come Home The house felt emptier these days, the spaces between the walls stretching further each time Kusakabe left for a mission. The days they shared, mornings with coffee and evenings on the couch, were all interrupted by the weight of Atsuya's new responsibilities.

Higuruma found himself reaching for the jar on the kitchen counter more times than he could count. A simple glass jar with a hand-painted sunflower on the lid that carried something special. Each slip of paper inside held a piece of Kusakabe’s heart.

Kusakabe would often tuck a note into the jar while Higuruma was absorbed in something else, the faint scratch of pen on paper that the lawyer heard a sound that had come to symbolize his husband's love. It always seemed to happen at just the right moment: when Higuruma was nestled in a blanket with a book and a cup of tea or deep in study at his desk.

On quiet nights, after their long phone calls, when Kusakabe’s voice was still fresh in his ears but the house felt too large without him, Higuruma would wander into the kitchen.

He'd take the lid off the jar, reach in for a note, and almost hear Kusakabe’s voice in his mind as he unfolded the paper. "Remember the first time we saw fireflies in the garden?" one note said. Another read, "I’m counting down the days until I can hold you again."

Kusakabe’s love never felt distant, even when he was far away. It lived in the words he left behind. Higuruma smiled as he read them over and over, certain that Kusakabe, wherever he was, could feel the warmth of his smile.

Chrysanthemums - A Year of Memories It had been a year since the world had changed forever. A year since their lives had been irrevocably altered by the battle that claimed so many. But this month was also their anniversary, their own quiet celebration of survival, love, and the family they had become.

Kusakabe stood by the window, looking out over the city, the quiet peace a stark contrast to the chaos of that December. A vase of chrysanthemums sat on the windowsill, their delicate petals a soft reminder of the lives they’d lost but also a symbol of resilience and renewal. Higuruma joined him, and the two of them silently acknowledged the weight of the day but didn't let it overshadow the warmth between them.

“We didn’t know where we’d be a year ago,” Higuruma murmured, his voice soft, thoughtful.

Kusakabe leaned into his side, his presence grounding. “No. But we’re here. And we’re together.”

They thought of the children, the ones they cared for, those they had promised to protect. Yuji, Miwa, and the others — each of them still carrying the scars of the past but growing, living, and learning under their guidance. It wasn’t easy, but they carried forward the memory of the fallen with every act of kindness and every lesson they passed on.

Today was the time for a quiet dinner, a simple moment spent in their shared space, no words necessary. It was about the love that had grown between them, deepened by the trials they’d faced, and the comfort they found in knowing that they didn’t have to navigate this world alone.

"To honor them," Kusakabe said softly, raising a glass, "we live. We carry forward, for them and for us."

Higuruma lifted his glass in return. "For our family, and the love that keeps us whole."

This is a gift for @jadedjane, thank you for being one of my first supporters, and a very dear friend. Thank you for always cheering me on!

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boundinparchment · 1 year ago

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Dream a Little Dream of Me - XLIX

Celestia had a cruel sense of humor. He knew this, even before his days as a student. But to be given a soulmate? Now, when he openly blasphemed against the cursed island in the sky? He would outlive you and the dreadful fated bond that haunted your shared dreams. There was little point in this. He could at least put a Vision to good use. People were nothing but disappointments. He had no use for you. Until you pulled the bow across your instrument and awoke a part of him long buried by self-hatred and arrogance. Soulmate AU; Il Dottore/Female reader w/ established personality and backstory. Slow burn. Lore and world speculation and interpretation within; follows canon story where possible. Rated Explicit; MDNI. Mind the tags. Chapter also posted on AO3; accessible to registered users only.

Rare were the moments when your hand reached out beneath the sheets and comforters and found not only warmth but the source of it. Sunlight began to bleed through the cracks in the drapes, dawn grazing the mountainside like a forlorn lover. You rolled over and, in the dim light, found dilated crimson eyes already watching you.

You slipped your hand out of the sanctuary of the covers and traced the lines of Zandik’s jaw and neck. He shifted slightly under your touch and, as if on instinct, your feet and legs tangled with his. Half-awake, your breath hitched when you moved even closer, acutely aware of the precarious position of his thigh between yours and how little your nightwear did when your breasts pressed against his chest.

“Usually you’re up by now,” you murmured.

Zandik’s voice was laced with sleep, his chuckle more like a low rumble in his chest as his hand found your hair and played idly with a stray lock.

“I am discovering these moments are not to be taken for granted,” he replied.

“Perfect for observation, you mean.”

He turned his head and pressed his lips to the inside of your wrist as your fingers grazed the hairline of his temple. You felt the twitch of the corner of his mouth and soft breath against your skin.

“Observation implies a lack of practical application. One of which happens to be that, for once, my thoughts are sharper, full of clarity when I’m around you. They were loud before, intrusive; the Segments and Omega muddled everything and for so long, I could not understand how or even if you were meant to find a place with me.”

The revelation was not entirely new. You were already aware of the deep-rooted sentiments and bias he held against the very fabric that kept you two together. Nonetheless, to hear it spoken tugged at your essence and warmth flooded through your chest. Your fingers reached and grazed at teal curls, as if you could hold this moment in your hands, keep it safe.

"This is different for you," you said softly. "Borderline romantic."

"I've been known to be charming from time to time."

You gave a skeptical hum, answered only by the careful graze of lips against yours and an arm ensnaring your waist. Heat flooded through you, running from your cheeks to your stomach, curling lower as your heart skipped. One kiss gave way to another, and then another, a hunger long buried awakening as you brushed your tongue against Zandik’s, deepening the kiss and unwilling to part.

This was so much better than the exploratory fragments of dreams before you saw his eyes. Better than the languid brushes of fingers and mingled breaths, long discussions that made you dizzy and left an ache behind when you woke.

An ache that accompanied a growing eagerness you wished wasn’t accompanied by a pang of shame and mingled with so many other memories impossible to tell apart.

More, more, more. You craved more. You craved him. Agency was yours, all you had to do was—

Leveraging your heel behind Zandik’s calf, you closed the remaining distance, pressing yourself against his thigh. You shuddered at the pressure against the clothed apex of your thighs, your wet heat searing despite the layers between you; his pants were tight and it was impossible to ignore that he too was eager. For a moment Zandik tensed, one of his hands beneath you on your waist as the other splayed across your lower back.

“I have been exceedingly curious about how else we fit together,” he whispered before he kissed you again, sucking slightly on your lower lip. “I have not found accurate accounts that do not devolve into poetic nonsense.”

It was your turn to smirk when you shifted your hips and pressed yourself further against him, friction sending a jolt through your aching core. The hand on your back exerted pressure and you bucked at the sweet jolt that ran through you. His member twitched.

You would be lying if you said you, too, were not intrigued. The mechanics were well-known, understood. But the sensations that arose in his presence, at his touch, were unconventional and akin to nothing describable except a grounding bliss. To experience what laid beyond that, to reclaim it, sang like a siren’s song.

Lips captured yours again, the kiss full of fervor, before they traveled along your jaw and the column of your neck. You gasped and bucked as he found the sensitive spot beneath your ear and in the curve near your shoulder.

“But I am not so eager that I would overlook the notion that patience is well-rewarded. For both of us.”

You swallowed a moan and pushed it to the back of your throat as the hand on your waist ghosted over your stomach and the curve of your breast, stopping to trace a circle around your nipple. His hand hovered, cupping the soft flesh only once before continuing up to dip beneath the neckline of your sleepwear. Your skin tingled as Zandik grazed the other side of your neck and collarbone, the area sensitive, untouched by most. Instinctively, you arched your back as you rolled your hips against his thigh; you were rewarded with the beginnings of a familiar low heat curling, tightening, and a soft cry escaped your lips in recognition.

No, no, you couldn’t...not without…

Reaching between you, your hand searched and found his hardness, his pants tight. You angled your hand to touch him through the fabric, palm against his length, but your muscles twitched with hesitation. Zandik’s hand left your collarbone and covered yours as he guided your hand down his member and back up through his pants.

“I don’t want to...not if you don’t…” you gasped. “Not fair…”

“You and your sense of fairness, rooh 'albi,” Zandik teased. He smirked before he kissed you again. “Not everything is so direct. Try again. Consider this akin to sight-reading.”

You nodded and Zandik let go of your hand. Slowly your fingers danced along his waistband and traced the hard planes of his abdomen. Further up, his chest, just as solid. Neither were incredibly defined but instead were the kind of muscle that came from use, not vanity exercises. In the dreams, when either of you attempted this, you never truly touched one another; you were only left with the vague sensation of being touched, like an echo of a shout in a cavern.

The goal of sight-reading was to feel the notes, get a sense of the rhythm and how one movement flowed into the next. You tried to sense the slight muscle twitch when your touch delved too far to the side or the sharp intake of breath when you grazed Zandik’s tricep, tracing the lines of muscle and earning a soft groan. He fought back a shudder when you went lower, brushing what you could reach of his forearm.

He was quiet as you continued your exploration, save the occasional change in his breathing that told you to try to recreate both the sound and the sensation.

Your fingers found their way across the expanse of his shoulders and upper back, feather-light as they ran up the back of his neck and traced his hairline. He shifted, rolling his head slightly, almost like a cat. Curious, you ran your fingers through his hair and he inhaled stiffly before he gave a soft exhale through his nose, as if working to keep himself quiet. You tried again, fingers seeking and this time keeping a slightly firmer hold as you gently tugged.

Zandik’s lips parted in a breathy gasp as the hand on your back pressed you back against his thigh, your desirous ache returning full force. Your knee, the one tucked between his legs, was precariously pressed against his member, his hips rolling twice in search of friction.

The sun had long since slipped through the seam in the drapes in full-force, bathing the room in a muted sea of golden light. It was well past when either of you usually awoke. Your head snapped towards the bedroom rooms closing the space off from the rest of the suite. Just beyond, you could hear breakfast being arranged by the dedicated staff member who always brought the food straight from the kitchen.

“To be continued another time,” Zandik whispered against your lips.

You untangled yourselves slowly, against either of your wishes, the chill in the room doing nothing for your burning desire. As you attempted to smooth your hair and wrapped yourself in a dressing gown, you couldn’t help but wonder what might have occurred had your morning routine not continued on its usual schedule.

Would your mind have cooperated? Or would your body have reacted on instinct, vision glazing over as you recognized the ceiling, knew the number of tiny motifs carved into the plaster high above? Would you have struggled to breathe as you willed your mind to separate Zandik from Omega from…

Something warm touched you and you flinched, coming to your senses as you recognized Zandik, half-dressed in front of you. Amusement as your still-recovering form barely masked the concern creasing his brow.

“ ...are you truly that dazed, my dear?”

“What if we can never...?”

The words left your lips before you fully formed the thought, the fear gripping you as you gestured to your head. What if you could never give neither of you that experience, that closure, that bliss? If you took the false memories out of the equation, who was to say you would fare any differently?

You tried, once or twice, although never with fellow musicians; it was never successful, never satisfying. Never like the teasing licks of fire that you felt with Zandik.

He stepped closer and tilted his head. His hand fixed the strand of hair tickling your face before resting against your cheek. You hardly ever felt his touch without his gloves and this would be the last time, at least for today.

“Omega pursued what he wanted regardless of boundaries. I have my faults but even I’m not capable of such acts,” he said. “We don’t have to until you’re ready, if you ever are. There are plenty of alternatives and I am never without the means nor drive to find more.”

“Thank you,” you said , the words caught in your throat.

You closed your eyes as a beat passed. Zandik wavered for a moment and then leaned forward to press a parting kiss to your forehead.

“As I said before, patience is something I have in abundance. It is never conducive to be fatalistic.”

Warmth blossomed between the syllables and sat in your chest to replace his lingering touch before the morning chill could snatch it away again.

#dottore #il dottore #il dottore x reader #dottore x reader #dottore/female reader #il dottore/female reader #dottore x female reader #il dottore x female reader #genshin impact reader insert #soulmate au #mdni #minors dni #minors look away #this is the chapter that jumps the rating to cover my bases later on #Idk how to tag this tbh #Heavy petting?????#thigh riding?????#they want to but don’t???#There’s nothing in here that’s actually The Act but damn do they want to

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hmspogueobx · 1 year ago

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Everything to me (Paul Lahote)

Chapter Fourteen: Everything to him...

The dead air on the phone is making me antsy. My dad hasn't said anything in a while and I'm starting to worry he's fainted or something.

"Dad? Are you still there?" I ask.

"Yeah honey. I'm here. Just... processing." His reply doesn't make me feel better. I've just filled him in on everything that's happened, and when I got to the part about mom, that's when the silence started.

"She's been alive all this time?" He sounds hopeful and I don't know what the right thing to say is.

"It would appear that way. But dad... I don't think she's really the same person we knew. I mean, she works as a professional hypnotist for the vampire king." I blurt out. Paul lets out a guffaw from my bed behind me but quickly covers it with a cough, mouthing an apology.

"Is that Paul there? What does he think about all this?" My dad asks. He'd taken to Paul immediately, knowing full well the details of imprinting. He knew I was in good hands.

"I don't know, we haven't had a chance to talk about it. I called you right away, I wanted you to know." I say.

"Well, I don't really know how to process this honey. I think I need some time with this."

"Ok dad. Call me when you can?" I say almost pleadingly.

"Of course. Bye for now." He says and the line goes dead.

Putting down my phone, I crawl onto the bed and curl into Paul's side. I'm completely drained.

"Did you want to talk about it?" Paul says softly.

"I wouldn't know what to say... How do you feel about this?" I mumble into his chest.

Paul shuffles down the bed so we're both lying down. "I've never been more scared in my life. You looked, gone. My instincts took over completely and I did everything I could to try and pull you back to me." I can feel the rising of his chest has picked up speed. Lifting my head up to look him in the eye, the look in his eye slowly changes. "We're going to figure this out together baby. I promise you."

"Thank you for pulling me back." I whisper, moving forward to connect our lips in a sweet kiss.

I've never felt so grateful for another person before. This man was my everything. We make each other stronger, happier, goofier, deeper, whole. I pour everything I'm feeling into this kiss, and it starts to get really desperate. I pull myself into Paul's lap and he lets out a moan.

I pull back slightly and rest my forehead on his.

"I love you." I breathe out. Paul closes his eyes and takes a shaky breath, as if he's just feeling too much all at once. When his eyes open again, they're filled with a fire I've never seen before. He flips me onto my back and I let out a shriek at the sudden action. Now he's got me pinned and, damn, if looks could kill.

"I love you too baby. So much." He says vehemently. And his mouth is on my neck, sucking and licking and kissing his way down to my chest and back up again. I hook my fingers around the hem of his shirt and yank it over his head. He seems unhappy to be disconnected for a brief second and our lips meet again in a needy kiss. Refusing to pull away, he grabs the edge of my shirt and rips it in two, pulling it from my body. It might have been the hottest thing I've ever had happen to me and I almost combust right there. My hips grind up into his on instinct and he lets out a growl, grinding back down into me. I can't take it anymore and I flip him over again so I'm straddling him. Shuffling down his body, I kiss my way down his chest as my fingers start to make work of his pants. He stops me.

"Hey, are you sure about this?" He asks, pulling my chin to make me look him in the eye.

"More than sure." I reply. And we spend the rest of the night getting completely lost in each other, forgetting the events of this exhausting day.

When I awake the next morning, I'm tangled in Paul's arms. It's the most comforting feeling in the world. Despite the events of the previous day, I have never felt more safe than I do in this moment. This is where I belong, with Paul. We are two halves to one whole. I am everything to him, and he is everything to me. Forever.

#paul lahote #paul lahote x oc #paul lahote fluff #paul #twilight #werewolves

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rebelfell · 11 months ago

Text

Surrender II

eddie munson x fem!reader x lesbian!chrissy cunningham

You find out the full story of Eddie and Chrissy's past, and surprise yourself a little with just how interested you are.

Part One┃Part Two┃Part Three

cw: established relationship, platonic!hc (eddie and chrissy are college besties), questioning/bi reader, phone sex (w/Chrissy), oral sex (fem receiving).

18+, MDNI 6.5k

Does excessive backstory need a warning? Cos that's what you're getting, bby. Also, this post by @pollenallergie is more or less how Chrissy came out to Eddie in my head 🥲

A little smirk breaks through Chrissy’s stoic facade and you feel yourself starting to laugh, half from shock and half from relief.

“Wait, so you…you’re…”

“Yep,” Chrissy nods. “Gay as the day is long.”

She smiles proudly at the admission, seeming pleased she can state it so plainly without any hemming or hesitation. You on the other hand, are long lost in your tangled thoughts, feeling almost as though you have whiplash trying to think of something to say.

Eddie clears his throat and you look up at him instinctively, finding an expression you’ve never seen before. It’s like he’s…worried. Did he need to be? The sharing girls thing was quite a revelation, but given everything you knew about his past, it kind of made sense.

“S-sorry,” you say, realizing how long you’ve been silent. “I’m just…trying to play catch up.”

“Well, Eddie should have told you,” Chrissy says, a little pointedly. “Sounds like someone is still a tad overprotective.” Her glance darts across the table at your boyfriend, who mumbles under his breath something like, jus’ trying to look out for you.

His typically boisterous face has grown sullen as he stares at his beer and swirls the last swallow of it that sits in the bottom of the tall glass. Chewing nervously on the corner of your lip, you turned back towards Chrissy.

“Do you think you could, uh…would you mind walking me through it?”

“Of course,” she says. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

“Okay,” you sigh. “How, um…how did it start? Like, how did you guys…when did you…”

The question snags in your throat, face getting hot as you search for exactly what you’re trying to ask only to come up empty. Chrissy’s head tips to the side and she smiles at you reassuringly.

“Should I go back to the beginning?”

She glances between you and Eddie, gauging your reactions, and you look back at him as you reach over to take his hand in yours.

“Is that okay with you?” you ask quietly.

He nods as your fingers lace together. “Yeah,” he says. “I want you to know.”

He holds your gaze for a moment and you squeeze his fingers quickly three times in a row. Your secret communication. An invisible note you pass back and forth whenever you think the other needs the reminder. I. Love. You. It finally brings a small smile back to his face. He lifts his gaze to meet Chrissy’s and gives her an affirming nod.

“Okay, then. Here we go!”

She titters excitedly and spreads her fingers wide as she prepares dramatically to lay her scene. You shoot Eddie a glance, noting his storytelling influence as she begins.

“So: high-school. Super fun if you fit in, but of course set one toe out of line and you’re all but burned at the stake. And I was this total goody two-shoes. Genuinely, the wildest thing I ever did was buy a tiny baggie of weed from this one.” She jerks her thumb at Eddie. “And my boyfriend was this super uptight Christian—like, I’m pretty sure he thought if he fingered me, he’d have to chop off his own hand. Which was fine, because he wasn’t what I wanted at all as it turns out.”

That must be the glass of spoiled milk. You nod thoughtfully as Chrissy goes on.

“We broke up right before graduation because I refused to follow him to his first choice school and instead I went away to be a counselor at summer camp…where I met Evelyn.”

She smiles wistfully again with that harlequin romance face of hers.

“We were truly, madly, deeply in love for all of about six weeks. And then our summer bubble popped and it all came to a crashing halt. She went back to Minnesota, and I went home to try and figure out what I was gonna do with my life. And, as it turned out, Eddie was too.”

You knew this part—how Eddie had just barely scraped by on his third attempt at a senior year; how he was more shocked than anyone when the college he applied to on a whim actually admitted him. It was cheaper than every other school in the area, and they had a reputation of accepting just about everyone. But Eddie had been convinced “everyone” wouldn’t include him.

“So, we both wound up at the same school and I was feeling really lost. The whole Jason debacle caused a big rift with my parents and my friends had gone away for college. I was already lonely and I’d just discovered this massive, totally life-altering thing about myself, but I had absolutely no one I could talk to about it.”

Chrissy looks down at her drink somberly and you tried to imagine her back then—the beautiful girl from his yearbook, the literal queen of his high-school, seemingly losing everything that made her, her and it makes your heart ache a little bit.

“I was stressed out and not sleeping well, so I went looking for Eddie to see if I could buy from him again. And he wasn’t selling anymore, but he asked if I wanted to hang out instead. He invited me to sit in on a D&D campaign and introduced me to a lot of really great people.”

At this, Eddie and Chrissy smiled, remembering how poorly her fairy character had fared in that first campaign.

“He was actually the first person I came out to,” she says, eyes softening as she cast a fond gaze in Eddie’s direction. “I wasn’t sure how, but I just knew he wouldn’t judge me. Would never make me feel bad for…being who I was.”

You can’t help but look up at Eddie at Chrissy’s words. You knew all too well the depths of his kindness and his unfailing decency. You knew exactly how at ease he must have made Chrissy feel because he’d been doing the same for you as long as you’d known him.

“So, now I knew I liked girls, but still it was, like, terrifying because I had zero idea how to go about it. And not having any experience kinda made it tough to get experience y’know? Plus…it was still Indiana. Hawkins wasn’t that far away. I knew if anybody found out it would 100% get back to my parents, and I was afraid they’d drag me out of school and send me to a conversion camp or something. I really wouldn’t put it past them to do just that. And back then I…I really didn’t know how to fight back yet.”

Chrissy frowns a little, something like regret or shame ghosting across her face. It’s quickly chased away, though, gone almost as soon as it appears.

“Anyway, Eddie became like my…” She pauses, glossy lips pursed as she thought. “What’s the lesbian equivalent of a beard?”

“A merkin?” Eddie offered, earning a mutual eye roll from you and Chrissy.

“Well, whatever you call it, getting together with people with him felt way safer than going up to someone and hitting on them in a bar. Plus…Eddie has excellent taste in girls.”

Chrissy’s eyes dart sideways and flicker over you again. They linger on your face and drift down briefly to your chest before returning to your eyes. In spite of everything, it makes your cheeks tingle and your core pulse, and you have to forcibly bring yourself back to the moment.

“So, what happened with Never Have I Ever?”

“That was how it got started. I was having a party and Eddie brought this girl he was kind of seeing. We were all sitting around playing and we started talking about threesomes. And she’s like, oh, I’ve never had one, but I always wanted to try. And starts getting all touchy and affectionate with me. And, I guess, I knew she was trying to get Eddie to like her more? Like she was for sure using me, but I was kind of using her too? I don’t know, that’s for me and my therapist to unpack.”

She waves her hands, dismissing the thought before she gets too wrapped up in it.

“Anyway—we all go back to my room and she and I start making out like, ooh, yeah, we’re just kissing trying to turn Eddie on. Meanwhile I’m, like, basically forgetting Eddie is even there!”

Your brows raise as you turn to look at your boyfriend, who simply shrugs his shoulders with an it is what it is, kind of smile on his lips.

“Wow…that’s…quite the visual,” you say.

It really was.

You knew Eddie was no saint. He’d had quite a roster in his heyday and he’d always been up front with you about that. He wasn’t Hugh Heffner or anything, but he had that boyish ease and a roguish charm about him that girls (and a couple guys) flocked to. It wasn’t difficult to imagine him and Chrissy tearing through their college like the Williams sisters playing doubles.

“It wasn’t, like, a routine or anything,” Chrissy assures. “But it did end up happening pretty regularly. I got my sea legs, so to speak, and Eddie totally became my wing man. We’d, like, confer about what girls I was interested in and he would lay the groundwork to see if she’d be down. I mean, it was college, so of course a lot of girls were trying to experiment.”

Her dainty fingers made exaggerated air quotes.

“By junior year, I’d found some actual queer girls instead of straight girls trying to get attention. And if I’m ever looking to really date someone, I try to stick to people who are out.”

Eddie snorts as he takes a sip of his beer.

“Hey!” Chrissy squeaks indignantly. “I said try.”

She plucks a peanut from the bowl of mixed snacks sitting in the center of the table and flicked it at him. As if predicting the move, he opens his mouth to catch the nut and crunches it loudly in his teeth as he grins back at her smugly.

You half expect him to stick out his tongue.

“Anyway, all that is way behind us now,” Chrissy says. “We’re much older and wiser.”

Eddie nods in agreement as he reaches for the bowl of snack mix.

“Well…older, at least,” she adds, murmuring to you under her breath as Eddie coughs and sputters slightly on the handful of snacks he shoved so unceremoniously in his mouth.

You snicker again as you two share another conspiring look.

“So, yeah. That’s pretty much it,” she says.

“Wow,” you sigh softly, lost in thought.

It’s surprising how quickly you start to imagine them together. Soft, reddish blonde curls falling across a smooth back; mixed up with pale, inked skin and his dark, wild shag. Eddie’s rough and guttural moans layering over the high, feminine whines you imagined falling from Chrissy’s lips. And maybe even more surprising…the only one you actually felt some jealousy of was whatever girl that got to be between them.

“Yeah, we had quite a time. And we could get kind of competitive…which added a fun layer.”

Chrissy’s voice drops as she lifts her cocktail to take a sip, her eyes meeting yours over the rim, and a little of her drink dribbles on her bowed lips. Her tongue flicks out between them to collect it and you feel a sudden warmth on your leg. Her hand finds your knee under the table and she gently starts to gently glide it up your thigh.

You look down, hypnotized by the sight of her fingers drawing figure eights that slipped briefly beneath the hemline of your dress, leaving your skin buzzing wherever she touched it. Almost on instinct, you look over at Eddie, who was already smirking as he followed the movements of Chrissy’s hand on your leg with his eyes.

His gaze lifts to meet hers and her lips twitch with a smirk of her own, clearly offering a challenge. There’s more buzzing as Eddie reaches for your other thigh, gripping it tight in his wide palm as he hauls himself closer to you in the booth. Chrissy responds in kind, nudging up next to you until your nose is filled again with the crisp, light scent of her perfume. It mixes with Eddie’s headier musk to create something totally unique, much like their distinct touches and the varied pressures of their hands on your thighs and differing weights of those hands.

Heavy and light. Rough and soft. Leather and lace.

Chrissy’s sea glass eyes flicker with intention as you meet her gaze. Her fingers wander higher still, disappearing beneath your skirt and flirting with the crease of your thigh. And you’re certain she must be able to feel the heat radiating at the apex of your legs. Eddie’s hand moves up in kind and he leans in close to kiss the sensitive spot behind your ear he knows so well.

It’s just a game, you think. They must be doing a bit.

The heat of their combined gazes causes an excited fluttering in your chest and a warm rush of blood to your face, among other places. Your pulse throbs, head spinning until Chrissy pulls her hand back and you finally exhale a shaky breath. Eddie chuckles darkly and he presses his lips to your burning cheek, his eyes flickering one last time to Chrissy’s as he does.

You can practically hear his childish taunt of Ha-ha, I win.

At the end of the night, you and Eddie wait outside with Chrissy until her Uber arrives. She was house-sitting for Robin and Nancy while they were in Barbados for a babymoon before Nancy was due to pop in the next four or five months. When her car arrives, you all start to say your goodbyes and both of you open your arms and envelop one another while Eddie looks on.

Chrissy hops in the backseat, reminding you again to let her know if you want to get together again before she heads back to Chicago in a few weeks. You smile and assure her you will, holding up your phone that now has her number saved in your contacts.

On the ride back home, Eddie seems more fidgety than normal. He’s mostly quiet, not even humming along with the radio when you switch it to his preferred station. And when you get home, he’s extra doting from the moment he pulls into the driveway, rushing to tell you to hold on as you reach for the handle so he can come around to your side and open it for you.

Inside, he stops you at the door so he can kneel and help pull off your shoes.

“Thank you, baby,” you whisper, running your hands through his hair and gently scratching his scalp. He sets your boots to the side and stands, wrapping you up in him.

You breathe his scent deeply and start to step away, but he’s not done with you yet.

“Hey,” Eddie starts, gently tugging you back into his arms. He tilts his head down and touches his forehead to yours. “You’re okay, right? With everything you heard?”

“Yeah,” you say, nodding slowly. “I do wish you had told me. I was really getting up in my head about you two.”

“I should have,” he murmured. “And I wanted to, really, but…I guess I was a little afraid of what you might think. Like Chrissy said, I know it sounds kind of scandalous.”

You licked your lips, deep in thought. It was a little weird to think about, sure. You’d never asked for a lot of details about his past relationships, afraid of the specter of jealousy that loomed. You’d figured in most cases, the less you knew, the better. But it was difficult (impossible, actually) for you not to wonder about this.

“So, you’ve had like…a lot of threesomes, then?”

“Technically?” Eddie shrugs. “I don’t know, I never considered it that because I never got with Chrissy. I think she liked watching me fuck girls, but we were like ships passing in the night. The most we would do was like a stage kiss.”

Eddie demonstrates by pulling you into him like he’s going in for the kill, but angling his head in such a way it only seems like you’re touching. Unless someone was laying down beneath you, it would look like you were kissing from almost any direction. He wiggles his head around wildly and makes a series of slurping and smacking noises that cause you to erupt in giggles.

“And none of the girls ever noticed?” you ask, breathless from laughing.

“I think they were a little distracted,” he tells you, his voice getting all low and rumbly. “Kinda hard to keep track of what’s going on with two people trying to make you come.”

The words ignite the fire in your cheeks as does the way he keeps his hold on you, hugging you flush against his body. His excitement is evident pressed up against your hip and you wonder if he can tell you’ve been soaking since he and Chrissy touched your thighs under the table.

“That tracks,” you breathe heavily, shivering as he runs his fingertips up and down your arms. “I can see how the two of you together would be difficult to resist…”

“I definitely didn’t have to push,” Eddie chuckles. “The girls were super down all on their own.”

“No, I get it. Chrissy’s…really pretty,” you say softly. Eddie notes the shift in your tone when you say it this time, no longer threatened. Purely appreciative. Genuine.

“You know, she thought the same thing about you,” he says with an impish smile.

“What do you mean?”

To answer, Eddie takes out his phone and holds it out for you to take. The screen is open to his text thread with Chrissy and you scroll through the messages they’ve been sending leading up to your meeting. It’s all fairly innocuous, not dissimilar to the texts you’d exchanged with him about what nights you were free and where you should go while Chrissy was here.

One of the messages, though, is a picture of you he sent to Chrissy captioned with a heart eyes emoji. The shot is one you’ve never even seen before, from a day not long ago when you and Eddie went for ice cream. You’re sitting across a table from him, looking totally relaxed and comfortable—the polar opposite of how you normally feel in front of a camera.

In your hand is a vanilla cone, a little dab of it on the tip of your nose. Your sunglasses rest on top of your head and your face is luminous as you look off to the side at something—a little dog wearing a bowtie, if memory serves. It might be the most flattering photo you’ve ever seen of yourself, and even more flattering are Chrissy’s proceeding reactions.

Chrissy: wowowowow 😛 she’s stunning! jeez, I might need a minute…

Eddie: hands where I can see ‘em, cunningham.

Chrissy: I kid, I kid! I wouldn’t dare steal your girl

Chrissy: at least not the *first* time we meet.

Excitement warms your chest and the feeling of it radiates down to your center like when Chrissy’s eyes flickered over you at the bar. Eddie’s eyes glint with excitement of his own as he slips his hands down to palm your ass, lifting the skirt of your dress so it skims the tops of your thighs.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you more explicitly,” he says. “I wasn’t sure if Chrissy wanted it to be broadcasted. This is still Hawkins, you know?”

“It’s alright, I get it,” you say.

“And you…you’re sure you’re okay?”

Eddie’s eyes shimmer as he stares at you, revealing the briefest hint of fear. He doesn’t like lying to you, ever. And you know he wouldn’t have done it under many circumstances.

“Yeah, definitely.” You smile, giving his arm a reassuring squeeze. “It's just surprising, I guess.”

“Surprising how?”

“I don’t know, how…hot it is?” You squirm slightly in his arms. “The thought of you guys sharing a girl…both of you making it all about her…”

Eddie’s brow lifts with interest. He knows what a turn-on that is for you—the thought of being the center of your lover’s attention; having them lavish you with affections; prioritizing your pleasure over anything and everything else. He also knew how hard it was for you to voice such a desire because of how selfish it made you feel. And then he had to grit his teeth as he listened to you recount seemingly endless tales of past boyfriends who took advantage of your giving nature and didn’t return even a fraction of what they received.

For a whole month afterward, he’d enacted a strict two-for-one policy on himself just to see if he could pull it off. Obviously, he could—even pushing it to three and four if he remembered to stretch first.

Still, he was always looking for new ways to indulge your fantasies. And it sure sounded like this was shaping up to be one of them.

It’s a couple days later when you come home after work, practically singing to yourself as you kick off your shoes and head into the kitchen to start prepping things for dinner. Fridays normally put you in a good mood anyway, but they’re especially sweet when Eddie had a weekend off.

You had beat him home. He typically left the garage around 3:00 to compensate for having to be back so early Saturday morning, but the shop was closed through Monday because the owner’s daughter was getting married. To make up for it, their hours had been extended today to squeeze in a few extra customers. Eddie volunteered to stay on, knowing how his boss appreciated it and how he showed that appreciation on payday. Hopper probably could have kept regular hours just by asking Eddie to run things in his stead, but he liked giving his employees a free weekend now and again, especially when he had something to celebrate.

You busy yourself chopping vegetables and browning some ground beef with onions and garlic, a row of cans containing the rest of your ingredients for chili lined up on the counter. Just as you’ve thrown everything in the crock pot and set it to cook on low, a picture of Chrissy’s sweet smiling face fills your phone screen as it buzzes on the countertop. You reach for it with shaking hands, trying to contain yourself and sound as normal as you can as you slide onto a barstool.

“Hi, honey,” she coos in a dulcet tone. “How are you?”

“I-I’m good,” you say, doing your best to pretend you aren’t trembling with excitement just at the sound of her voice. “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing, really,” she sighs, sounding a little bit like a pout. “I’m so bored. Eddie said he would call when he got off work so we could all do something, but I haven’t heard anything yet.”

“Ohh, he had to stay late at the garage. He should be home soon, though.”

“Ah, I see. What about you, angel? When did you get off?”

You draw a shuddering breath at her question, feeling certain the entendre is intentional, and hoping she can’t hear you gulp as you answer. “Umm, just…just a little while ago.”

“Mmhmm…and what are you doing now?”

You hear a soft brushing sound over the line and could swear it sounds like she’s laying down on something soft. Maybe a couch, maybe a bed.

“I’ve, um…I’ve been thinking a lot about what you guys told me at the bar.” Another gulp. “About you and him and…sharing girls?”

“Me too,” she sighs. It’s languid and gently strained as though she’s stretching as she says it, exhaling softly into the release of her muscles relaxing. “Made me kinda miss those days…part of me wonders if I’ve still got enough charm to woo a straight girl.”

“I think you’ve got enough charm to do anything you want,” you chuckle.

Chrissy’s laugh is like peals of jingle bells tinkling in your ear. “You big flirt,” she teases.

Your heart is pounding now, the rhythm of it pulsing in your ears and between your legs. Is this for real? Maybe she’s just messing around. Maybe she just likes attention. Maybe—

“Have you ever been with a girl?”

You inhale sharply and chew on your bottom lip. “No, never. My, uh…my friends and I kiss sometimes, but it’s just out of affection. Nothing serious. Nothing real.”

You wonder if she’s able to glean your own disappointment. You’ve never had feelings for a woman, per se, but there had been moments here or there where you noticed certain ones and it caused your mind to wander. There was something so enticing about them. Something so bewitching it made your head spin. Boys were attractive, sure, but women were like works of art come to life.

They seemed more like masterpieces in museums hanging behind glass barriers and velvet ropes you would never dream of touching for fear of tarnishing their beauty.

You’d always suspected there was some part of you that was interested in women and that it might have blossomed if given the opportunity. But then you met Eddie and it didn’t seem to matter so much anymore. Bi or otherwise, he was the one you wanted.

Still, that curiosity lingered.

“Have you ever wanted to try?”

Chrissy asks her question plainly. There’s no judgment in her voice, no sense that she’s trying to shame you for your sheltered existence or even pressure you into answering in the affirmative. It feels like talking to an old friend, except your panties didn’t get this wet talking to your friends.

“I did. Or, I guess, I do. I don’t know, it’s hard to say. I love Eddie and he’s who I want to be with, but…” You can’t help trailing off because the truth is you don’t know the end of that sentence.

This was a common failing with you.

Not a failing, Eddie would scold you gently. It’s just a space for improvement. You weren’t great at expressing your desires and had a bad habit of just accepting whatever was offered, and making your own wants an afterthought. And Eddie was everything you ever wanted, so how could you possibly be so selfish as to ask for more?

“No, I get it,” Chrissy says. “He really loves you and you two are so sweet together. But…” Your heart leaps into your throat. “I’m sure he would like the idea of you finding something new that brings you pleasure.”

You pressed your lips together, deep in thought. She definitely had a point there.

Eddie was great about exploring new things and doing whatever he could to help you figure out what you might like in bed. So far, you’d had fairly limited experiences, partly due to being shy and also just a lack of opportunity. Again, see ex-boyfriends who were perfectly content having you pleasure them, but rarely made the leap to think outside the box (pun intended).

He’d read up on soft dominance when you mentioned once in passing you liked the idea of someone being in control over you, but figured you couldn’t be a submissive because you didn’t think you’d enjoy impact play or being punished or humiliated. And another time when you saw a short video on proper hair pulling technique and asked if you could try it out on him, he started doing it back to you and excitedly realized it was very much more your thing.

“I mean…we could try something?” Chrissy says. “With Eddie there?”

“I think I’d be too scared,” you say, wincing at your own diminutive voice.

“Oh, honey,” she mewls sweetly. “Why’s that?”

“B-because I…I wouldn’t know what I was doing and I…” You pinch your eyes shut and dredge up every speck of confidence you have to finish the thought. “I would wanna make you come.”

There’s a soft gasp over the line, so faint you thought you must have imagined it at first. And when Chrissy takes a few seconds to respond, you swear your heart stops until her smooth, sultry voice returns.

“You would, huh?”

“Yeah, of course,” you say. “I’d, um…I’d want to know you were enjoying yourself.”

“Trust me, I would definitely be enjoying myself,” she says with another lilting sigh.

There’s some more rustling on the line. Was she taking off her shirt? What did her bra look like? Is she even wearing a bra or are her breasts exposed now, pretty pert nipples hardening as she skates her free hand over them and down her abdomen and belly?

“Why don’t you tell me how you’d do it? What would you do to me if I was there?”

Okay, that is definitely the sound of her unzipping her jeans. Your heart races at the thought of one of the prettiest girls you’d ever seen touching herself to the idea of what you would do to her and you think you might combust on the spot.

“I’d…I’d wanna touch you all over…feel how soft you are…I’d wanna grab you by that ponytail and yank your head back so I could kiss your neck…”

“Oo-ooh! That’s right, baby. Show me who’s in charge.”

You chuckle bashfully, trying to keep your cool hearing the slick sounds of Chrissy’s fingers playing with herself. Your mind is still scrambling for what to say next when the sound of the front door opening catches your ear and your head jerks up to see Eddie returning home from work.

“Hey, baby,” he says, smiling brightly as he comes through the door and you practically gush all over the barstool just at the sight of him.

He’s still got his hair pulled back in a low bun, little curly tendrils framing his handsome face. He hasn’t changed out of his coveralls, but has the top unzipped and tugged down with the sleeves knotted around his waist to reveal the white tee he wears underneath. The material is smudged all over, stretched tight across his chest and around his biceps that flex as he plops down his bag and leans on the counter across from you. He smells like sweat and motor oil and the sex you had this morning that made him have to skip his shower so the smell of you clung to him all day long.

It takes him all of about five seconds to deduce what is going on. His eyes flit first to your face, biting down on your lip with your expression pained from how turned on you are. And then down to your thighs that press together as you squirm in your seat, desperate for some friction.

“Who ya talkin’ to?” he asks, his casual smile descending into one of pure filth.

“Ch-Chrissy,” you gasp. “She, uh, wanted to do something tonight.”

Eddie’s eyes are positively wolfish and the sight sends another jolt between your legs. He nods and motions for you to hand the phone to him. He holds it to his ear and stands tall over you, getting as close as he can so you can still faintly hear Chrissy’s voice over the receiver.

“Cunningham, you dog,” he chuckles darkly. “You getting my girl all worked up?”

“She’s getting me worked up,” Chrissy retorts with a tinkling laugh.

“Oh, I know she is,” Eddie says, tongue flicking over his lips to wet them. “I bet you’re touching yourself while you talk to her too. Aren’t you, you bad girl?”

Even as Eddie speaks to Chrissy, his eyes lock onto yours and you can tell this show he’s putting on, the words he’s saying in that deep growl he knows you love, is all for your benefit. He places his hand on your knee and gently guides your legs apart to stroke your inner thighs. His fingers roam freely, but decidedly swerve away from where you need him most and you have to grip the seat beneath you to stop yourself from dragging his hand straight into your heat.

“Ma-a-ybe,” Chrissy’s voice lilts, half-moaning her answer. “Is she touching herself?

“No, not yet,” Eddie says, his fingers still inching their way up your thighs. “My sweet girl knows how to behave. Don’t you, baby?”

You whimper as you nod, even though part of you knows if Eddie had taken much longer to come home he might have found you in a much more compromising position. His fingers finally reach where you need him most and he sighs at the warmth and wetness he finds.

“Ohhhh…” he moans, the sound coming from deep in his chest as he swipes your panties to the side and nimbly begins to stroke and tease your entrance. “She’s dripping though.”

“You’re welcome,” Chrissy titters faintly.

Your back arches in response to his words and his touch, thrusting yourself towards him, wordlessly begging for more. His fingertips sink inside, but remain decidedly in the shallows as he watches them, enraptured by his own movements as well as the way your slick coats them.

“Talk to Chrissy for me, baby,” he grunts. “I need to taste you right fucking now.”

Eddie grins as he passes the phone back to you and drops to his knees, spreading your legs apart so he can bury his face between them. It’s not often he jumps straight to the point like this. Sometimes he gets so wrapped up in the teasing and toying, you think he enjoys the lead up as much as the main event, if not a little more. But right now, his fervor can’t be delayed for one second as he flattens his tongue and licks a fat stripe directly through your center.

You throw your head back and moan with abandon as his lips surround your clit and he sucks on the over-sensitized nerves. Your arm trembles from the effort of clutching your seat, one hand holding onto it for dear life as you press the phone against your cheek with the other.

Chrissy moans in response to your own that rang through over the line. You picture her laying on a plush bed piled high with blankets and pillows, her lithe body all twisted up in pleasure as she touches herself. For some reason, you imagine her under a gauzy canopy strung with fairy lights that cast her in their soft, radiant glow. The hot girls always had canopies over their beds when you were growing up. You wished you could smell her perfume and feel her lips on yours.

You bet she tastes like a piece of watermelon candy.

“I missed you, darling,” she says, breath stilted as her moan trails off. “Tell me how you feel. Is he touching you? Filling you up nice?”

“Y-yes, his…his tong—fuck…his tongue is…”

Words are already impossible when Eddie is going down on you so enthusiastically, and it’s made all the more difficult with Chrissy’s breathy voice in your ear, coaxing you towards your release.

“I wish I was there too, pretty girl. I wish I could lick you up like he is.”

Eddie jumps to his feet and you gasp at the movement and the loss of his mouth on you. Thankfully, you have just enough wherewithal to hold the phone away so you don’t squeal in Chrissy’s ear when he lifts you up and heads for the bedroom with you cradled in his arms. He doesn’t place you down so much as he throws you on the bed and you bounce slightly on the mattress before sinking into the extra thick down duvet he gave you for your last birthday.

His eyes are wild as they rake over you and he snatches the waistband of your panties to drag them fully down your legs. He flings them to the side and strips off his own shirt before frantically tugging down his coveralls, revealing his boxers that are stretched to their absolute limit.

You’ve had more than your fair share of energetic encounters with Eddie before, but there’s a fire lit within him this time pushing him to new heights. Part of you wonders if he likes having Chrissy as an audience—likes the thought of her listening to him draw every moan and whimper out of you; likes the thought of showing off his prowess, showing off you. Maybe you do too.

His mouth returns eagerly to your center and as he devours you like an animal, Chrissy hears your pleasure in pealing moans that fall from your lips.

“God, you sound so good,” she sighs. “I wanna hear more.”

Your mind is turning straight to mush from their combined efforts. You can’t even think about the noises you’re making, only the ones you hear coming through the phone or drifting up from between your legs. Eddie moans sinfully and you can feel the vibrations of it as well as the words he’s murmuring into your pussy about how hot you are. Distantly, you register a low buzzing on the other end of the line and when Chrissy speaks you can hear in her voice how close she is.

“Come for me, sweetness,” Chrissy moans. “Come for me and I’ll come for you.”

Eddie feels your reaction to her words as he fucks you with his tongue. He drags the tip back up to your clit and begins to flick it against the swollen bud. He fills you with his fingers, sliding them easily inside and curling them upwards in search of that sacred spot inside of you.

Blinding white light fills your vision as he presses on your g-spot and your orgasm overtakes you rapidly—your entire body quivering, exploding all over. In your ear, you can hear Chrissy as she reaches her peak, her breathy moans echoing your own. Eddie remains buried between your legs as you ride out your high, still murmuring his endless praise that’s muffled by your cunt.

“You’re doing so good for me, baby, so fucking good. Jesus fucking Christ…”

Slowly, reluctantly, you return to earth.

The softness of the bed beneath you cradles your body that has gone slack with exhaustion. Eddie sits back on his calves as he surveys the results of his toil with a triumphant smile. There’s a sheen of sweat on his bare chest and his chin is glistening with your spend. He pulls the phone from your limp grasp and holds it up to his ear to talk to Chrissy as he gazes lovingly down at you.

“You alive over there, Cummingham?”

He grins wide at his own joke, always his own best audience. You roll your eyes, but laugh too as you try to regain your breath. You’re too blissfully fucked out and he’s too far away for you to hear Chrissy’s response, but that fiery blaze returns to his eyes as he listens to whatever she is saying.

“Oh, I don’t think we’re even close to done yet,” Eddie chuckles.

You giggle softly and manage to shake your head to confirm his suspicions. He leans over you, dark curls falling forward as his bun comes loose and surrounding you in a curtain. And he speaks to her, his voice low and even, eyes burning into yours as he does.

“How about you get your ass over here and we see who can make my girl come the most?”

Part Three

#eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie stranger things #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #chrissy cunningham x reader #chrissy cunningham x female reader #chrissy cunningham x you

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shibaraki · 2 years ago

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SAVE POINT ┊ TODOROKI TOUYA

tags: GN reader, ambiguous romantic relationship, kissing, light angst, dabi smokes in this (he’s also a flaky weirdo that breaks into ur bedroom when he wants to see you)

wc: 1.1k

You’re roused by a sharp chill, still weighed by the lingering dregs of sleep. Instinctively curling into yourself to preserve the warmth of your body, your bleary eyes open above the bed sheet.

There is something familiar about this. Enough that a part of your mind itches, but too long since you’d last experienced it. Straddling your open window is a distinct silhouette, one booted foot flat on your bedroom carpet, the other swinging idly above the street.

The hard lines that make up his form expand and lift as he inhales deeply, a cigarette nestled in between two lithe fingers. He takes a long drag, the tip glowing through the dark. Limp wristed, he leans back against the window frame and exhales the smoke into the cold night.

Amidst the haze it is difficult to place the last time you'd seen him. Disappearances were routine with Dabi, but this time the period of absence felt like it wouldn’t end. You presumed you would never see him again—in a moment of grief you’d even imagined him dead.

You’ve missed him so much that it supersedes the anger of being abandoned. As his presence registers your body jolts up into sitting position, abruptly rustling the sheets where they’re tangled around your legs.

No acknowledgement. You exhale shakily, throwing off the blankets and hooking your legs over the edge of the bed, “…Dabi?”

Bare feet touch the floor. The air immediately engulfs you into a cool embrace. You shiver, the soft hair on your arms lifting where your skin pimples. You are afforded a low hum and a sidelong glance over his shoulder as you approach.

The moonlight pierces through his irises, illuminated in a way that is haunting. Dabi’s eyes have always been clear, not unlike a tropical ocean surface—no flecks of yellow or green, no varying shades of blue. They’re beautiful, and yet despite that clarity, have always been clouded with something you know not to touch.

You could look for hours, toeing through the sediment, and find nothing. You got whatever he gave, which was never much; but what little you held you knew the significance of.

“You’re here,” you mumble.

The shadow of his tongue swipes quickly across his bottom lip. Dabi takes another drag of his cigarette and holds the smoke in his lungs. An arm reaches for you, wrapping around your lower back when you step forward. You watch his lashes flutter, head tipping back to expose the column of his throat as he breathes it out nice and slow.

“I’m here,” he repeats. His voice is low and rasped, amused in a way you had been longing for. You lean into his side, sliding your hand along his jawline as his thumb strokes back and forth against your hip. His muscles slack into your warmth like the tension was all that held him together.

Sometimes Dabi would squirm if you handled him with care. Tonight there is no distant look of discomfort at your affections. You trace your fingers lightly over the swell of his cheek, touching the cold metal of his rings. Under the moonlight you can see that the scarring has progressed further, mottling above the sutures.

“What’s the frown for?” he murmurs, tapping the ash from the tip of his cigarette onto the street below. Then he pauses, contemplating it between his knuckles. “Are you mad I started smoking again?”

“Logically I should be mad that you ghosted me for nearly three months,” you reply dryly, applying pressure to the fresh burn and releasing at the sound of his soft hiss. “Your skin got worse again”.

It isn’t a question but it still begs for an answer. He kneads idly at your waist and takes a final puff of smoke, likely to stall for time. The end glows red, smouldering as the heat eats away at the rolled paper.

You wait, trailing your fingers into his hair to scratch his scalp. He shudders, palm reflexively heating up through your clothes. It’s obvious he doesn’t want to talk about it.

“You wanna come in?” you ask, setting the topic aside for now. “You must be cold”.

Dabi doesn’t care about the cold, he spends most of his days numb to it. The excuse is flimsy and terribly transparent and he knows it. He flicks away the cigarette butt, mouth curved into a knowing grin, pulling at the skin of his cheek.

You move to stand between his thighs when he hooks his leg over the window sill, both feet now on steady ground. Smoothing over the back of your thighs, he coaxes you in. Tilted to look at you, his chin rests against your chest. “You got a habit of letting strange guys into your apartment at night?”

“Just the one,” you murmur, cradling his face in your palms. “Though I probably shouldn’t”.

He nods sagely and regards you with heavy eyes, “You really shouldn’t”.

The atmosphere shifts imperceptibly. You swallow. It’s something you feel in your gut; a warm flame spreading to all the places his fingers touch. He must sense it, jaw tightening as he slowly slips his hands beneath your shirt to toy with the waistband of your shorts by the small of your back.

Dabi tastes like ash and smoke. His lips are always softer than they look, and he kisses you much in the same way. Gentle and unexpected. Blunt bitten nails sink into the fat of your hips and your arms slip loosely around his neck, mouth parting at the tentative lick of his tongue. He hums quietly, the sound of his satisfaction buzzing under your skin.

Your eyes flutter as he takes you between his teeth, pulling your lip and letting it snap back against your teeth. He kisses you again and again, uncharacteristically patient. There’s a sense of finality to his actions that you don’t like—as if he were savouring you.

“Dabi,” you whisper the name he gave you, drawing back to regain your bearings, connected by a thin line of spit that bends and breaks. Together, your panting breaths fill the anticipatory silence.

“Come to bed”.

He stares back at you, expression carefully blank. Anxiety rears in your chest when that gaze slides over his shoulder, looking out into the night. But then, “Alright”.

“You will?”

Dabi meets your eyes with a soft smirk. “Yeah. Since you missed me so much”.

He pulls the window shut and you guide him toward the bed. You’re sure he’ll give you the chance to miss him again in the morning—your heart will be tender like a bruise and you’ll berate yourself for ever having let him in.

But you’re certain you’ll regret it more if you don’t.

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #dabi x reader #todoroki touya x reader

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potter-imagines · 4 years ago

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Left Waiting at The Three Broomsticks (Fred Weasley x Read)

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Request: Hi! I was wondering if I could have a Fred Weasley imagine where he pisses off his gf somehow and so she gives him the silent treatment and only talks to literally everyone (including George) but him so he gets all jealous and pouty lol. Eventually he gets her to start talking to him again and then it’s all fluff etc. Hopefully this wasn’t a confusing request! Thank you!! :)

Warning: Tiny bit of sexual content towards the end, little bit of swearing, kinda angst at the beginning ?? and a lil towards the end ?? I think that's all, a lot of fluff scattered about

Word Count: 9.5k (I am so sorry I got carried away)

Two hours. Y/n had spent two hours waiting for him. Two stupid hours on a Saturday night that she could have spent elsewhere making something productive of her day but no. The last two hours Y/n had been seated in a small booth in the corner of The Three Broomsticks waiting patiently for her boyfriend, Fred Weasley.

The thing that infuriated her the most was that it was his idea in the first place! Originally, the couple had planned a stay-in date in her dorm room for the night before, Friday, but other plans came up. Fred got tangled up in a prank with George that had landed him in detention with Snape for the night. Yes, it annoyed her but what could she do? It wasn’t like Snape would excuse Fred because she tells him they have a date. If anything, Snape would hold him back longer.

When Fred and George were finally dismissed, it was nearly eleven at night and Fred was sprinting down through the dungeons to the common room. Their arrangement was for eight and he was praying to anyone listening above that she was still awake, but not furious at him.

Skipping up the transporting stairs, Fred basically shouted the secret password at the Fat Lady making her narrow her eyes at him. She swung open, not without muttering about how rude he was, and Fred jumped inside. Ten or so students were scattered around the common room, chatting amongst themselves. Hermione, Ron and Harry sat around the couch near the grand fireplace. They sent Fred a wave, which he frantically returned. The golden trio watched in curiosity as Fred darted up the stairs of the girl’s dormitory.

Hermione looked back to the group and asked,

“Wonder what that’s about- he seemed in a hurry.”

“Heard him and George got detention. They put stink-bombs in the Slytherin common room! Heard it stained some of the furniture maroon!” Ron chuckled at his brother’s antics then resumed his debate with Harry over their thoughts on the Quidditch World Cup happening every four years. Harry tried to explain the concept of the Olympics to Ron, but Ron was too focused on how amazing it would be for the World Cup to happen each year. Hermione went back to her studies, blocking out the mindless bickering of the boys.

Above the common room, Fred Weasley was scurrying to his girlfriend’s dorm room. He hoped Angelina and Alicia were out so he could be alone with her. Their time spent together had been oddly less than usual the last few weeks. Fred had no change of heart- actually, he found himself falling more in love with her every day, but their final year at Hogwarts was creeping up from the woods and he was working on a dream career behind the scenes with George that was eating up his time with her. He had shared this idea with her before- but it was just an idea then. Fred and George planned on putting their dreams to action once they finished up the next year. He wanted her to come- George did as well, but he didn’t want to mention it until it was a reality.

Reaching his destination Fred took a second to compose himself. A thin line of sweat was forming near his forehead. This was the first chance he had to take a breather since detention ended. Fixing his dark robes Fred knocked against the door, quiet enough not to startle her but loud enough to hear.

“Y/n… Y/n… love, are you awake? It’s Fred-“

Abruptly, the heavy wooden door cracked open and a weary looking girl poked her head out into the quietness.

“Darling, did I wake you up? I’m so sorry.” Fred stepped forward and wrapped the girl in a tight embrace. Y/n’s head fell against his chest out of instincts. His arms fastened around her waist as he invited himself in the room, slowly walking her back.

“Here, go back to bed, love. You look exhausted.” Fred led the sluggish girl to her familiar bed. Throwing back the covers, he readjusted her pillows so there would be room for him to fit as well. Fred then walked back to Y/n and took her hand softly. Kissing the back of her hand, Fred helped Y/n get into bed then slipped in beside her. His arms snaked around her body without thought. The naturalness of holding her in his arms made Fred feel confident in his dreams of starting a future with her. All the tension in his body collapsed when she leaned into his frame. Fred held her close and kissed the side of her cheek lovingly.

“I’m sorry about detention tonight but I promise I’ll take you out Saturday, alright? We can have a date at Hogsmeade and spend the night together, does that sound nice?”

The sleepy witch gave a tired mumble and nodded her head. She was cuddled under a stack of blankets, wearing Fred’s sweatshirt which made him smile. He’d usually crack a joke at this and tease her but, she was already asleep when he looked back to her. Fred couldn’t help but stare at her for a while. There was never a moment that went by where Fred didn’t think of Y/n as anything other than beautiful but in these moments, she looked ethereal.

Moonlight poured in from the open window and splashed across her s/c cheeks. Her hair was sprawled against the white pillowcase. Fred smiled at the sound of her light snores. Fred wouldn’t leave until he was sure she was deep asleep. It was their thing. She hated going to bed without him there.

“Okay, I love you, Y/n. Get some sleep, angel.” Fred whispered.

He pecked her forehead, then kissed her lips gently. Removing the covers, Fred tucked them back into Y/n so she could keep warm. He closed the open window then tip toed out of the room. Instead of rejoining his friends, Fred decided to head to his room. He felt too guilty for missing out on their plans to go have his own fun. Anyways he did have a Potions paper coming up and if he was going to spend the day with you Saturday, he surely wouldn’t be doing any homework.

So, the plan was confirmed the next morning, Friday. Y/n ran into Fred on her way to breakfast and they discussed where they’d meet and a time. They ate breakfast together, walked to class, then headed in different directions when six rolled around. Fred had a Quidditch match and she had a group project, so they didn’t cross paths for the rest of the night. Even though he refused to admit it, Fred absolutely hated when Y/n missed one of his games. His favorite thing to do was search for her in the stands during each game and it made him sad not to see her smiling face standing out in the crowd. Y/n entered the common room around midnight and went straight for her bed. Gryffindor had lost so there wasn’t a single housemate sitting in the common room. She could only imagine how upset Fred must be, she’d be hearing about it tomorrow. Y/n giggled to herself at the recollection of Fred’s angry rants about his teammates to you in private. She basically crawled to her bed, dreaming about the handsome, goofy, witty twin that had captured her heart.

Which would bring us to Saturday night. Fred and Y/n had made specific plans; they were to meet at The Three Broomsticks at seven then hangout for a while and spend the rest of their night sneaking around the castle with the help of The Marauder’s Map. Fred had practice at six so he was planning on meeting up with the girl at the pub. Y/n expected him to be running late- it wouldn’t be Fred if he didn’t show up a good twenty minutes late.

Only Fred never showed up at seven thirty, not at eight, and by the time nine neared, he was still nowhere in sight. The Three Broomsticks would stay open for a few more hours but the thought of sitting there alone for any longer, jumping at the sound of the door every time it opened, it made Y/n feel less than sane.

Throwing a handful of coins on the table, Y/n thanked her server then exited through the front doors. The walk back to the castle wasn’t long but being with Fred made it a lot more amusing. He’d pick her flowers, give her piggy back rides, play games, race, and hold her hand the whole walk back.

This time, Y/n walked alone hugging the material of her raincoat to her chest. A light drizzle had been pouring on and off for most of the day. Earlier, it was perfectly bearable- hardly noticeable. Although the weather had only worsened as the night grew darker. Hard rain drops crashed against Y/n coat, cascading down her covered arms and bouncing to the wet ground. Her black boots were soaked. She could feel the water rising to her socks, one of her biggest hatreds. Wet socks.

The hood of her jacket only helped so much before the pelting raindrops started to seep to her hair. Typically, Y/n loved the rain. If Fred was here, they’d be dancing right now. But he wasn’t, she had no clue where he was and that was exactly what Y/n was headed to find out.

By the time Y/n made it back to the castle and up to the Gryffindor common room, it was past ten.

Much as Y/n had expected, the common room was lively with energy and conversations. Katie, Alicia, and Angelina were all sitting in a circle with Fred, George, Lee Jordan, Seamus, and Dean. A dark bottle of Dragon Barrel brandy and Daisyroot Draught were being passed amongst them. Y/n watched as Fred leaned into his brother’s side, obviously tipsy and slurring his words while he practically shouted to their friends who were only sitting feet away.

His frame twitched with every small hiccup he let out. The whole group was smiling, they were happy. Y/n wondered to herself if Fred even noticed that she wasn’t there. She wondered if he liked it more when she wasn’t there, they were having fun and although the group was also her friends, no one was interested enough to invite her. Biting on the tender skin of her bottom lip, Y/n bundled her fist to her sides. The anger refused to simmer, only continued to boil. Her dripping clothes weren’t helpful to her sour mood.

It wasn’t the fault of her friends, no, but they were bound to get caught in the crossfires. Fred was the one who left her waiting for hours on end. Her chest was tight- livid yet sad all at once. It was an aggravating feel, unfamiliar. Y/n hated the suffocation entering her drying throat. More than anything she longed to handle situations like these in an aloof fashion. The last thing wanted was to wear her emotions on her sleeve, but she couldn’t help it. Her head screamed ‘just go to bed, ignore him’ but her heart wanted to scream at him and let him know just how bad he had hurt her. Her breathing quickened, each inhale received a choppy exhale.

For the first time, Y/n decided not to join her friends or to even say a word to Fred about how he stood her up. She was sick of it- completely exhausted and drained from his lack of care and presences in their relationship the last few weeks. If he wanted her as bad as he claimed, he’d find a way to show it. And leaving her sitting alone in a noisy pub while he partied and drank with their friends, showed her the exact opposite of his words.

Diverting her leer from the inebriated group and studied the rest of the room, hearing voices near the sitting area. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville were all staring at Y/n in mixed judgement. Harry, Ron and Neville looked concerned by the appearance of Y/n. Hermione on the other hand, she was absolutely flabbergasted, Y/n could see the pity written on her face. You had mentioned having a date night with Fred in Hogsmeade to the four the night before. Harry had invited Y/n to hangout with them and visit Hagrid, but she politely declined and informed them about the special night Fred had planned for them.

Harry and Hermione stood up at the same time ready to comfort the teary-eyed girl. They motioned her over but just as she started towards them, Angelina Johnson noticed her friend who had been absent for most of the night. Setting the bottle of brandy down, Angelina wobbled up to her feet and smiled giddily,

“Y/n! Come- come drink with us! I was wondering where you- why… why’re you all wet?”

As the words fell from her mouth, a crowd of eyes planted on Y/n. Her fists clenched, bone white knuckles visible, at her sides. Angelina scurried over to her friend and wrapped her in a tender hug. If the scenario had been different, she’d gladly join in the fun but there wasn’t an ounce in her body that desired a drink.

Y/n’s eyes found their way to the boy she had been longing for all night. Her lips quivered, the anger and sadness reaching it’s overpour. He looked so handsome, so happy, but it meant nothing to her.

Pulling back, Angelina squinted in confusion at Y/n. The lack of embrace given back had thrown her off. The group had been awaiting her arrival, no one was quite sure where she’d gone off to. Angelina scanned Y/n’s reddening face, noticing the emotions bubbling under the surface.

Moving away, the dark-skinned girl turned to her friends. No one else seemed to notice the offset of Y/n’s attitude.

“Angel, where have you been? I missed you!” Fred’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. Quickly standing up, he held his hand out to his girlfriend. Y/n shot a dangerous look to his outreach, then up to his face. Usually she’d find his toothy grin and childlike state loveable but for obvious reasons, it made her irate.

Stepping back, Y/n sternly scowled at Fred,

“Missed me? You’re the one who left me waiting all goddamn night, Fred Weasley.”

A part of Y/n felt guilty for forcing her friends to witness their unpleasant exchange. George was now to his feet standing behind Fred, just as lost as the group he had been sitting with. Despite the alcohol running in his veins, George could sense an argument budding by the second.

“Not like any of you really seemed to care where I was.” Y/n kicked herself for this cold statement.

Her friends weren’t at fault- not in the slightest. But everyone was at risk of becoming a victim to her fiery wrath. In actuality, it did hurt her a little that no one had gone searching for her. It had been hours! Tears welled in her eyes as she took in the reactions of the group. George took his arm off Alicia and nudged his twin.

“What- I don’t know what you’re talking ‘bout, love. I think you should have a drink and loosen up-“

Y/n couldn’t take it. She just couldn’t take it anymore. Scrunching her face, she used every bit of strength to force her salty tears to hide at bay. Although her emotions screamed to be heard and saw right through her façade. Sweeping her hand across her cheek, Y/n caught the stray tears that rolled down her rosy cheeks. Huffing all her emotions out at once, Y/n shook Fred away from her and hurried towards her room.

Fred stood appearing dumbfounded. He could only gawk in perplexity. Blame it on the alcohol, but Fred’s mind was drawing a blank when surveying her words. For most of the night, he was the one thinking she was leaving him waiting. No one else had a clue as to where she’d gone off to, so he assumed she was in the library or wanted some space.

“You’re an idiot, Fred.” Hermione’s sharp voice cut through the thick air. The happiness and drunken laughter was extinct. The girl’s shared an exchange, all confused as to what just happened. The glass bottles didn’t help clear their judgement. Dean and Seamus took small sips from the Daisyroot Draught. The tension was unbearable, it felt wrong for their friends to be a part of it.

George set a hand on Fred’s shoulder, pulling him back slightly. Leaning forward, George whispered to his twin,

“I reckon it’s best if we turn it in for the night.” Fred gave a tug of protest. His intoxicated fought against him though he knew he did something wrong and needed to find Y/n. In spite of his desire to chase after the girl, George couldn’t let him do that. It was obvious Fred had forgotten something and Y/n was more than upset. Sending his brother up to drunkenly apologize to his hurting girlfriend for a reason he can’t even recall, that was a recipe for disaster and would only cause a bigger mess.

“Fred, you’re going to bed. You’re too drunk to talk to Y/n right now, okay? We’re going up the boy’s stairs, not the girls, okay? You two can talk in the morning, maybe you’ll remember where you fucked up tonight by then.”

Suddenly, Fred stop moving and let out a low groan,

“Oh shit… merlin’s sake, I fucked up, George. Oh my god- Hogsmeade… shit! I told her we’d meet at Hogsmeade and I forgot-“Fred whipped around in his discombobulated state. Everything clicked at once. Fred had been so concentrated on Quidditch that once practice had wrapped up, his exhausted body dragged him back to the common room out of muscle memory. It was his typical routine; Quidditch practice, head back to his dorm, shower, change, eat, work on some possible products with George, then hangout with his friends. How could he be so neglectful?

George sent his brother a comforting look then grabbed him by the shoulders, helping aid him up the winding staircase. It came as a shock to him that Fred had forgotten about their date. All he spoke about was Y/n, it was a rare occurrence for the couple to

“So that’s where she’s been all night?” George pushed open the door to their room, looking to his twin sternly. Fred had most of his weight piled on George, trying his hardest to remain upright. Lee had decided to stay back, allowing the brothers a chance to talk.

George helped his frantic twin in the dark room, then gave him a light push towards his bed. Fred plopped down, burying his face in the fluffy pillow. Pulling off his jumper, George threw the large maroon comforter over Fred’s tall frame while he wailed,

“I’m a terrible boyfriend. I planned the bloody date too! I left her-“

“How ‘bout you get some rest? You can find her in the morning and apologize to her and… hope for the best. It’ll give you more time to think of a way to make it up to her. You’re just a rambling mess right now.” The alcohol was not wearing George down. He had been on an adrenaline high since his second shot. This was the first moment of the night where he had stepped back. His tiresome hands rubbed against his face as he made his way to his bed and collapsed on it.

Fred was still moaning on, the sound of his drunken voice making it harder for George to fight back the urge to sleep,

“She’s gonna dump my sorry ass-“

“Go to bed, Fred. It’ll be okay.”

George let out a sigh of exhaustion. The twins had been best friends with Y/n since they were just children, new to Hogwarts and unfamiliar with the power of magic. It pained him to see his brother hurt, but it also hurt to see Y/n upset. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Turning his head, George let out a breathy chuckle at the sight of his twin passed out cold. The worry that dripped from his voice was now gone as he eased into his dreamland.

George wanted to scold him, knock him upside the head for skipping out on Y/n again. He cared a lot about her, she was basically a sister, a triplet to him. If Fred was gonna win her back, it wasn’t going to be easy, George knew this. Y/n was stubborn, and the twins had witnessed this first hand for years, it was a trait they loved, when not directed towards either of them.

As George’s head hit the pillow, all he could do was pray to Godrick that the morning would bring good news.

Sunday morning arrived much faster than Y/n had hoped. A bright, loud, light interrupted her sleep as the gears in her head started to turn. Her mind was groggy, the events of last night were foggy. Warm sunlight broke through the glass stained windows. Y/n wiped her eyes and slowly sat up. Her mouth was dry, screaming for a drink of water.

For a minute, she felt calm- happy almost. The room was half empty; Angelina’s bed was bare and Alicia laid in a star-fish position, a snore sounding from her mouth. The image made Y/n laugh.

Standing up, Y/n’s hands flew above her head as she stretched. She cracked her back, a morning ritual for the girl. Just as she reached for the knob of her dresser, a wave of recollection nearly knocked her off her feet.

Fred had stood her up, of course, how could she forget? The irritated skin under her eyes and nose suddenly made sense. Leaning against the wooden cabinet, Y/n huffed. It was times like these she wished she could crawl into bed and stay there for eternity. Nothing would get better though if she didn’t at least try to fix it.

As quick as the thought came, it had evaporated once more. Why did she have to be the one to put forth the effort to fix things? There was no use in fixing their relationship if Fred wasn’t willing to try too. More than try, Y/n thought. It took a piece of her when she came back to the castle just to see him drinking with their friends, not thinking a thought of her. She needed to see that he cared. His words held no value to her anymore, not until he could prove he meant what he said.

Y/n went through her morning routine like a snail, wanting to drag out her time. Eventually, she was fully dressed and ready for the day. She liked to take advantage of the days her school robes weren’t required. The cooling weather led her to a fuzzy black sweater, and light washed jeans. Sliding her delicate wand into her back pocket, Y/n exited the room and took the stairs down to the common room.

Approaching the bottom of the steps, Y/n could hear familiar voices exchanging hush words. She stepped into the room and was surprised to see the lack of students. The only ones present were sat one the long leather couch on the left half of the massive room. All of their gazes fell on Y/n.

Fred, George, Ron, Angelina, Harry and Hermione were all relaxing- well all of them except Fred. He on the other hand was frantic- disheveled. His knee bounced in anticipation. The clock was sneaking

“Oh, uh, hey Y/n!” Ron Weasley moved his hand side to side, waving to Y/n. The temptation to admire the handsome boy at his side leaped into her heart. Using every ounce of strength, Y/n trained her eyes on Ron, not allowing a single peek at Fred.

“Hey, Y/n/n!” The voice of Angelina brought a perk to Y/n’s head.

“Hi.” She greeted the younger Weasley and her close friend back, then headed for the portrait. Before she could make it half the distance, the tall figure of her boyfriend appeared.

“Angel, how did you sleep?” Fred was by her side in an instant. He was desperately trying to read her expression, testing the waters to see her mood. He had hardly slept, he spent most of the night thinking about this exact moment, when he’d have the chance to apologize and make it up to the girl he loved. “Can we please talk? I’m really sorry for last night, honestly, I am so so sorry, darling.”

Y/n stared at him, or rather, through him. It was like she didn’t see the tall wizard in front of her.

“I’m gonna go study, I’ll meet you with you guys later.”

“Y/n, love-“ His warm hand took hold of her of her own, an action she’d typically love. The familiar grasp sent a burst of comfort in her stomach, but she ignored it.

Wiggling out of his grip, the girl shot him a look of displeasure then rushed off. Hermione chased after her, no one else brave enough to step in. Besides, Hermione was one of her closest friends. Watching the younger girl follow after her roommate, Angelina walked after them. Fred stomped like a toddler having a tantrum as the portrait swung open then closed. He knew he had to do something- anything to get her to talk to him again, and that was his plan.

For a Sunday evening, the school library was relatively empty. A majority of the students occupying the tables were studying away for their O.W.L.S. The exams weren’t for another two months but hardly anyone dared to procrastinate until the last week before opening their books. The stress of the exams was enormous, but the students still had other classes to keep in mind.

Y/n Y/n/l and George Weasley were sitting across from on another at a study table. Three hefty textbooks were open as the two discussed their Potions paper. Y/n had been stuck on hers and George had yet to start so they decided to head to the library together and get it done.

Fred was usually right by their side, his hand wrapped around Y/n’s shoulders, but she neglected an invite for him. About an hour after their exchange in the common room, Y/n had apologized to each friend she had snapped on the night prior. They were understanding, clearly seeing where her frustrations had come for. They also felt bad as she was right, no one had even checked to see where she’d gone, and George especially felt terrible for not searching for his friend.

At least three hours had passed since the two Gryffindors started their study session. Y/n was sneaking up on her last two pages while George still had three left. They collaborated every few minutes, then returned to tranquil silence, scribbling away.

Y/n was in the middle of sharing her idea for the last section of her paper when George’s eyes brighten and he interrupted her,

“Fred, how nice of you to join us.”

Turning in her chair, Y/n found her boyfriend standing behind her with a nervous smile. She hated how perfect he looked, even in the poor lighting of the library. He still managed to make her breath hitch in the back of her throat.

“Hi, Y/n. You look beautiful as always.” Fred announced himself softly. George scoffed teasingly, muttering a ‘hello’ to himself to make up for his brother ignoring him. Freds words were genuine though didn’t make much of a difference. Y/n was still hurt and a compliment wasn’t going to mend that. She needed to feel it, to see him truly show that he cared- that she meant something to him. That she was deserving of his time. Sweet comments didn’t not add up to that feeling.

George closed his textbook, then glanced up at his twin,

“Should I leave?”

Before Fred could answer, Y/n slammed her hand on top of George’s Potions book. Wide eyed and frightened, the boy gaped in shock. Even Fred was taken aback by her unexpecting movement. Leering at her friend Y/n replied,

“No. I want you to stay, we were in the middle of a conversation.”

Fred’s heart dropped at her words. It was heartbreaking to have the girl of his dreams now shunning him- brushing him off with ease. It was driving him mad. All he wanted was for her to acknowledge him, give him a little hope that he can earn his way back in her heart. He loved her, every bit of him loved her.

All he wanted was to make it up to her for his mistakes the night before. He couldn’t stop thinking about the look on her face when she saw him sitting with their friends. She was miles exceeded hurt- more devastated at his negligence than hurt alone.

Maybe it was the fear of meeting the reality that losing Y/n was a possibility, but Fred experienced a new sort of emotion when his girlfriend asked for his brother to stay. Yes, they’re friends, all three of them are. Fred had to remind himself of this like a record on repeat. He couldn’t fight the envy off though.

It made his heart twist as she stared at George. Never did he think he’d be jealous of his own twin, but Fred was livid. The seething stream of covetousness overtook his veins. Fred wanted to be the one you ran to for comfort, not his brother. His entire life he had shared everything with George, Y/n was far too meaningful to Fred for her to be shared.

Now it does take two for a turn of events like that to happen. Fred knew, clear as day, that George had no romantic feelings for Y/n and she had none for George. This was true, but for some reason, it didn’t help tame Fred’s envy.

He knew causing a jealous scene would do no good for anyone, so Fred realigned his train of thought and asked,

“Could I steal you from that conversation, please love? I really need to apologize to you.”

Fred allowed his hands to reveal themselves from their previous position hiding behind his back. When he moved them, a full bouquet of colorful flowers and small green plants of different shapes and sizes. The flowers were a display of fuchsia, pink, orange, red, and yellow. They were beautiful, so beautiful, Y/n thought to herself. She couldn’t help the gasp that slipped past her lips.

Fred had gotten her flowers their first-year dating but since the last month or so, she hadn’t received many of his heartwarming gifts. It wasn’t the monocle value of a present but the thought and attention to care that captured Y/n’s heart. Fred had always been the best at creating meaningful gifts on a tight budget. Whether it was flowers he stole from school grounds, or necklaces he made out of stones she found around the Great Lake. He’d make her perfume- proving rather excellent in the Potions department. He also asked Molly to teach him how to knit in order to make Y/n a sweater. This of course delighted Molly over the moon.

George bit on the skin of his knuckles to keep for laughing at his brother. He recognized the flowers, as did Y/n. Fred had picked them from the garden outside the castle- something that had earned him a detention before. George decided not to comment on his observation, Fred was sure to murder him in his sleep if he put his apology in any jeopardy.

Fred extended the bouquet to his flustered girlfriend. He felt a sense of accomplishment while watching her reaction. It was small to most, but for as stubborn as she was, it was big in his eyes. The girl reached forward, accepting the gift with a tiny smile rising to her lips, one she didn’t force down.

For the first time since the night before, Y/n fully saw Fred. She peered directly at him silently. George glanced between the two, stuck between a dual. Without speaking, Fred took some steps forward and pulled the chair next to Y/n out. He slipped into the seat, the couple still staring at each other. Y/n studied his demeanor, he didn’t push her anymore, but he wouldn’t leave her side. Not that she would tell him but, she was happy he joined in. She didn’t want him to leave, she had missed being around him. Tearing herself away, Y/n focused herself back on the other twin.

“As I was saying, George…”

Fred drowned out the words but accepted the fact that Y/n didn’t reject him from sitting down. She also didn’t set the flowers down for the rest of their study session. The remained clutched in her hands, resting in her lap the whole time.

Monday night came in the blink of an eye. Classes had resumed and the castle was bustling in stress. When the end of the year neared, the time spent sitting through lectures was an eternity, while the weekends flew by. Fred had always hated summer break, actually, that’s not entirely true. His dismissive of break budded around the same time his relationship with Y/n became official.

Their first two years, she would spend the holiday back home in London with her family. She loved her family but once she experienced her first holiday at the Burrow, she never wanted to miss another. Her family was a bit distant, not the warm and welcoming pure-bloods like the Weasley’s, but not as cold as the Malfoy’s. Y/n’s family had no issues with her spending breaks at the Burrow, as long as she had Molly and Arthur Weasley’s approval. Molly insisted each time that there was no need for her to even ask to stay. They accepted her with open arms, ecstatic to see Fred had found such a lovely girl.

The end of the school term was coming up and Fred needed to fix things with Y/n before that happened. She planned to spend the break at his family’s home and he feared she’d take her agreement back if things weren’t improved between them. Spending almost two days stuck in the anger of his love was two days too many. Fred was going to fix this and he planned the best idea he could think of, good thing he had their friends happily available to help.

Unbeknownst to Y/n, while she was resting up from her illness Harry, Ron, Lee and George were helping Fred create his masterplan. Hermione helped in her own way by remaining near Y/n’s dorm, sitting in as the lookout. It gave her an excuse to get her school work done so she didn’t protest.

Alicia and Angelina stayed in the room. Once Y/n started to feel better, thanks to Madam Pomfrey, the girl’s altered Hermione who passed the news along to Harry as the chain continued until it reached Fred. At the confirmation, his plan was set into action. Ron was sent to retrieve the girl after Alicia and Angelina convinced her to get some food from the dining hall.

She walked through the common room then down the moving staircase, when her redheaded friend popped up. Ron scared the girl, making her stumble back, her hand placed over her chest.

“Y/n! I’m so glad I ran into you! No one has seen you all day- Angelina said you were feeling ill this morning.” Ron rambled at a fast pace. Y/n, still surprised by his sudden arrival, took a deep inhale, nodding to the boy,

“Yeah, I saw Madam Pomfrey this morning when classes started. I just had a stomach bug and she said I’d have to wait it out but the medicine she gave me seems to be doing the trick.” Y/n gave Ron a kind smile. Ron was two years younger than her but they had always been great friends. Y/n would travel to the Burrow as a guest of the twins during the holiday breaks, so Ron and her had spent a lot of time hanging out together. It was sweet of him to ask how she was doing, but he didn’t seem that her health was the reason for their conversation.

“That’s good to hear. You wouldn’t happen to be heading anywhere, are you?”

“Just to get some food. I’m starving-“ Ron nodded eagerly, cutting his friend off in the process.

“That’s great! I mean, not great, just… well… uh, follow me please!” Scrambling like a mess, Ron clasped his hand over Y/n’s wrist and abruptly dragged her down the stone corridor. She couldn’t find the words to question him and allowed Ron to lead the way. Her curiosity was far too big to ignore his odd request.

Ron carried on for another five minutes then took a sharp turn, heading for the courtyard. Two figures ran off around the side of the castle in the darkness. Y/n swore she recognized the pair as George and Lee. What were they up to? Snapping her head to the younger boy, Y/n waited for him to fill her in on why he had dragged her halfway across the castle to the freezing courtyard.

“Okay! We’re here- I’m just gonna… head out. See ya, Y/n!” Ron rushed his farewell then ran off towards the direction George and Lee had escaped to. What in the world is going on? Left by herself without any explanation, Y/n threw her hand up in annoyance.

“What?”

Alone in the cold, Y/n wrapped the opening of her fuzzy cardigan against her body, attempting to keep warm. Although warmth entered her vein as a pair of arms snaked around her waist, snatching her backwards into a firm surface. She gasped, thrown off by her attacker and tried to turn in retaliation, but their grasp was far too firm. The familiarity of the hold made her body ease up. As much time as the spent together, she could recognize his touch anywhere. Fred.

His touch released a swarm of butterflies through the girl. She could feel the anger washing away as she leaned her body into his chest, having pined for his arms for two too many days than she was accustomed to.

The tall Gryffindor held her tightly. Moving forward, Fred pressed his lips against the shell of Y/n’s ear. The heat of his breath causing her to shudder as he whispered,

“I’m so happy you came, darling.”

Y/n smirked, looking up at him. The concurrent willfulness of her nature could only carry on for so long until her headstrong demeanor crumbled. A pang of chagrin still grumbled in her stomach but the sight in front of her certainly was a runner in her change of heart.

Soaking in her surroundings, Y/n realized they were just a few hundred feet outside Hargid’s hut. This explained the garden full of massive orange pumpkins. In the middle of the path was a small gazebo decorated in fairy lights and sunflowers. A small table set for two was tucked inside. Small teacup white candles line the path, creating a runway of sorts. Another candle, larger and purple, sat flickering in the breeze in the center of the neat table.

Y/n stood motionless absorbing the creation her boyfriend made- all for her. Speechlessness was not common for Y/n so Fred undoubtably began to second guess if his efforts were good enough. His fears were stomped in a matter of moments when Y/n harshly yanked at the material of his collar and placed a brisk, short kiss to his lips. Fred was startled, losing the opportunity to kiss her back but Y/n didn’t want him to. It gave her a sense of control- they still had issues they needed to work out, but she loved him nonetheless. Besides, avoiding and staying mad at Fred forever? Impossible. In two days, Y/n had to stop herself a million different times from approaching Fred and sharing a laugh with him, or kissing him, or holding his hand and giving him a hug. She didn’t want to fight off the urge anymore- and Fred couldn’t handle the distance spaced between them. Thus, being the motivation for his grand, heartfelt, date.

“I’ll assume that means you like it. I won’t take all the credit- it was my idea, but our friends are the main reason I was able to pull this off. I feel really bad and… I need to do something special for you- I don’t do that enough lately. I forget sometimes to remind you how important you are in my life and how much I love you.” Fred sheepishly smiled, nervously awaiting her reaction.

The small table was set, a new bundle of crimson red roses placed on her seat. To the side of her plate was a small box with a beautifully wrapped ribbon tied to the top. Fred had a special way of showing his love and adoration for his girlfriend, but even this was new to her. Never before had he gone so over the top to prove his feelings to her.

Y/n lifted her hand and intertwined it with Fred’s, smiling up at him,

“It’s gorgeous, Freddie.” The bashful smile made Fred’s heart melt on sight. He had prepared himself for the repetitive rejection she had been sending, so when she whispered those sweet words, his chest tightened, and his pace stopped.

Fred almost fainted in shock at the sound of her voice. He squeezed her light hand and drew it back, forcing her body into his own. Y/n couldn’t help the laugh that fell from her lips. She missed his playful ways. With the foreheads pressed against each other, Fred grinned,

“I’ve missed your voice, love.”

Although his words made her heart take flight, the reality of her hurt was still roaming. Y/n detached herself from his grasp and rested her hand on the black metal table. Her fingertips fumbled with the white cloth, it served as a distraction only for a short period of time. Fred sent her a sorrowful look. Her shift in moods was confusing to him, he only wanted to make things better.

Y/n sighed and ran her hand through her h/c locks. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply then asked,

“Why don’t you have time for me anymore, Fred?” The question of the night- or rather month. His date was beautiful, absolutely stunning. As riveting as it was, it couldn’t erase the hurt she had been experiencing.

Fred shook his head frantically, dismissing the accusation. He knew why she would think that way, he understood. It wasn’t true, though. Actions speak louder than words and Fred despised the fact that recently, his feelings for Y/n weren’t lining up with his actions. His words could only do so much. But he also knew soon, things would be different. Missing the Hogsmeade date was his fault, and he paid for it. Two days might seem minute to most, but when you spend essentially everyday attached to someone’s hip, two days of them purposely ignoring you and speaking to every soul expect you, it can feel like a lifetime. He realized a few things in this time.

Fred remembered how fun it was to act as if he was still trying to win her over. Gifts, no matter their cost, always brought a gleam to her face which never failed to make Fred grin. However, it was much more entertaining when she wasn’t upset with him and would throw the flirtatious comments right back at him. He was also reminded of how lucky he was to be with Y/n. While she ignored him, Fred found himself envious of every living being Y/n spoke to, as they were not him. When he started engulfing himself in his plans for the joke shop, his effort in his relationship had decreased and this was something he vowed to never let happen again.

“I’ll always have time for you, darling. And if I don’t, I’ll make some. I truly am sorry about this weekend- you don’t deserve that.”

“It just seems like you’re distracted, like you don’t care anymore.” Y/n batted her reddening eyes, finally throwing her worries to the air.

“No, no, Y/n, not at all. I’m so sorry I made you feel that way, love. I’m a terrible excuse of a boyfriend, I never meant to create this mess. I love you so much.” Fred’s head bowed down. It tore him up to know the way his actions made her feel, the only girl he loved.

“I love you too, Freddie. I really do but I can’t feel alone in this relationship. I let our date Friday slide, even though I was annoyed, but Saturday night? I feel like it broke me. Just knowing you forgot about me-“ Y/n fought back the burning sensation in her eyes as the tears began to brim.

The anxiety blooming inside her was clear to Fred. Suppose that was the downside to dating your best friend, they can always tell when somethings wrong. Before a tear could hit the floor, he whisked her to the iron garden chair, then kneels before her, his hands holding her face as if it was a priceless, dainty piece of china.

“I didn’t forget about you, darling, that’s impossible to do. I’ve been… well I’ve been working on something with George for when we leave school next year. It’s real important to me and I wanted to share it with you but I was scared that it might not happen but… if I have your support and you with us, I know it’ll happen.”

“What’re you rambling on about, Fred?”

“Remember how I told you that George and I wanted to open a joke shop? Well, it’s happening… I think. We’re really close, we just gotta make it through next year then we’re free! We’ll have our own joke shop and get to sell our own products and start our future.”

A silence overtook the atmosphere. Y/n’s lips were stuck open in a small ‘o’ shape, eyes glued to the floor. Was he really going to leave her all alone next year? Would they have to break up? Surely, he wouldn’t want to be in a long-distance relationship.

She was snapped from her own mind when her skin registered the touch of Fred’s lips as they traced her knuckles, kissing each finger as he did. His eyes then peered up to meet her own. She could tell he was serious by the feeling of his stare. Then he continued, making Y/n perk up,

“But none of that can happen without you… Y/n I want you to come with me. Move in with George and I, start a future with me. We want you to be a part of the shop. I want you there. You’re the only girl I want, for the rest of my life.”

Her once open mouth clamped shut in a swift motion. Ever since she met the twins, Y/n wanted a future with Fred. Everyone saw it as a childhood crush, but she always knew it was more. She never stopped loving him- never could. Even when his pranks took a step too far over the line. They always found their way back to each other and would work through it. Fights such as the most recent were rare- but Fred’s admission filled in a lot of empty spaces that had left Y/n sleepless for days. Finally, the crushing weight was lifted from her chest as she choked out a shaky breath.

Leaping forward from the chair, Y/n threw her body into her boyfriend’s body and clamped him in a koloa like hold. Fred chuckled in amusement, falling onto the near ground at her jump.

“Why do you have to be so lovable? I hate it. I should be angry with you, but I just love you too much. Besides, I think you did enough suffering.” She giggled as she pinched his round cheeks in her hands. Fred poked his tongue out at her and grabbed at her sides. Y/n swatted his hands away, giving him a stern glare saying, ‘don’t push it’.

Slowly, she leaned down and brushed her lips against Fred’s, smirking down at him. It was a change in roles. In their more adult situations, Fred was typically the one on top with Y/n pinned below him, but that’s a story for another time.

A small, almost whimper, sound came from Fred. He hated being teased- that was his job. Dragging out the moment, Y/n tugged on the skin of his bottom lip with her teeth, earning a groan of approval from Fred. She grazed over his mouth one last time before dipping her head down to meet his and interlocking their lips, still straddling his waist. Fred’s hips pushed towards her core out of instinct. Not ready to give in quite yet, Y/n lifted her body and shifted forward, entrapping Fred even more so in the heated kiss.

They parted for seconds to sneak a bit of air, then continued their needed make out. It had been a while since they proved their love to each other in this way. For the last month, it had been small kisses here and there when the couple had a chance to see each other. Y/n needed his touch- she needed him. Fred longed to have under him, pleasuring her. He desperately wanted to sink his head between her legs and really show her just how much he loved her.

The coldness of his fingertips hit Y/n’s skin as his fingers dug into the sides of her waist. As much as she longed to keep the exchange going, the last thing either of them needed was a detention.

Y/n plucked herself away, a small pout lining Fred’s lips. His hands remained tied up in her own, lying them on his stomach. The weight of his question seeped in like molasses. Opportunities like this presented themselves once in a lifetime, there was no way Y/n was going to let it slip by.

Rolling off his lap, Y/n plopped down on the ground to the side of Fred. Their heads turned simultaneously towards each other, Fred winking to Y/n.

This is what she wanted. To see him care for her, show his love. His attention. It was the one thing she had been striving for but now that the cat, or rather joke shop, was out of the bag, Fred didn’t feel the need to hide anything from her anymore and keep his work to himself. He was over the moon with excitement to have her join George and himself. It was everything he could hope for.

Coyly averting her peer, Y/n asked,

“Do you really mean it, Fred? You really want me to come with you and George?”

Kindly, Fred swiped his thumb under her chin and raised her head up so their eyes were level.

“I wouldn’t want you anywhere else in the world then with me.” The serenity in his voice didn’t go unnoticed. Y/n propped herself up to her elbows and brought Fred in a bone crushing hug. Heavy chuckles croaked from Fred as she smothered him lovingly. He managed to sneak in a tiny peck to her check and she hugged him. Placing her head on his shoulder, Y/n poked the side of Fred’s cheek, commenting,

“You’re gonna be stuck with me forever, Fred, I love it!”

Throwing his arm around the elated girl, Fred just smirked.

“Duh, that’s kind the whole point of you moving in with me.” He replied in a matter-of-fact tone. The night was growing darker and the steady wind was escalating. In an hour, two if they were lucky, Filch would be surveying the grounds in search of students, mainly Fred and George, out past curfew. It was a sport to him, catching students breaking rules and getting to turn them in. It was part of his job, yes, but Y/n hated that he never took it easy on anything for the Gryffindors like he did the Slytherins. Fred looked at the scenery around them and remarked,

“Y’know, angel, as much as I’d love to spend the rest of the night laying with you in my arms, we can do that in my dorm room tonight… in an actual bed instead of dirt. I mean, we didn’t set up this whole thing for nothing! If I knew laying in the dirt would win you back, you should’ve told me!” His sarcastic words were received with a light slap.

“Smart ass.” Y/n rolled her eyes teasingly and started to sit up. Before she could get to her feet, a pair of hands planted themselves at her waist and lifted her. Fred had his moments, but he was always a gentleman to her. His teasing ways were comforting to Y/n, reminding her that they were good now, in comparison to the recent downfalls.

Fred helped Y/n to her seat, then jogged over to his own. He presented the girl with a cake he made for her. Hermione brought him to the kitchens and taught him how to make one. It took about three hours, he burnt the first, put too many eggs in the second, then forgot to add eggs to the third. Finally, on the fourth attempt, Fred created a passable cake. Hermione had no desire to spend any more time in the kitchen, so she quickly frosted it for him, not wanting him to ruin it this far in, then covered it and locked it in the fridge. Much to Y/n’s surprise, it was one of the best homemade cakes she’d ever had. Her teeth were practically chattering from the intense amount of sugar, but she had to keep in mind it was Fred who baked it.

After eating, Fred and Y/n took their sweet time strolling around the castle. Fred swung his hand back and forth, causing the same effect to Y/n’s. They laughed feverishly as Fred chased Y/n up the moving stairs as they raced to the common room. When they entered the room, they sprinted straight for Fred’s, still in a chase. Hermione, Ron, Harry, George, Angelina, and Lee all watched in amusement as the couple seemed to be reunited.

“Wonder if they’re back together. You guys think the date worked?”

Everyone shared glances at the obliviousness of Ron. There were times when social cues and context clues just didn’t exist to Ron. George scoffed at his little brother and shook his head. The rest of the group roared with laughter as Ron’s face scrunched in irritation.

“Not sure, Ron. Why don’t you go out to our room and ask them?” George smirked mischievously causing Ron to turn white as a ghost in realization. A faint ‘oh’, tumbled out of his lips and his eyes went wide.

Despite their assumption, up in the top room in the Gryffindor boy’s dormitory, Fred Weasley laid snoring in his large mattress, still in his school robes. Squished against his chest by his arms, Y/n was sound asleep, similarly dressed. The two didn’t care what they looked like or who came in, as long as they were together, that’s all that mattered.

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sukirichi · 4 years ago

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happy little accidents

— Life is a series of unfortunate events, but sometimes, there are happy little accidents.

REQUEST. (accidental pregnancy, fuck buddies au) + childhood friends to lovers + baby moments with father! megumi

CONTENT/WARNINGS. slight smut, slight exhibitionism (I think? there’s a CCTV lmao) just daddy megumi uwu

NOTES. hi anon, thank you for requesting and joining the event! I have to admit...I don’t really know how to write this and I just had to ask my mother about her experiences in pregnancy LMAO. I apologize in advance if this sucks, I’m pretty good at fluff but domestic and cute stuff with children isn’t my expertise asggkhl I’m awkward around babies and kids so anyways, I hope you like it! OH AND ALSO I HAVE A CAMEO LMAO

Megumi’s hands runs up under your shirt, bringing about a shiver forward when his cold fingers come into with your warm skin. You feel him smile onto the kiss, his grip nothing but teasing before he brushes the underside of your breast, prompting you to grip closer to his hoodie. You and him were childhood friends; having always liked one another until playing house was no longer a game a but dream, but his family was too strict and controlling – they’ve made it clear long ago this relationship could never and would never happen.

His Uncle Naoya made sure of it.

But that didn’t stop the both of you. All the way from highschool until now in your university days, you and Megumi are still stuck together by the hip, occasionally fucking whenever time allowed. Weekdays are spent staring longingly at each other in the hallways, the weekends flourishing into finally’s and hushed kisses under the sheets, completely unaware of the world you both trudged in.

Today was one of those days, and you’re nothing less of passionate as you swipe your tongue out to taste his lips, smiling when you realize he’s also grown used to wearing your mint flavoured lip balm. “Mhm, Megumi, I missed you,” you placed your legs beside his arms, a contented sigh entering his mouth as he closed his eyes.

“You miss me? I’m always around you,” he reminds you, pulling away momentarily to tug your shirt to the side where he leaves a soft patch of kisses. “Never gonna leave your side, baby.”

“You better not. I’m the best you’ll ever have.”

Megumi nods wholeheartedly in agreement, not wasting time before he pulls you closer to him. You’re almost weightless as you crash on top of him, hands tangled into the other’s hair and his large palm squeezing your breast. It produces a breathy moan from you, a thread of saliva connecting your lips when it comes again – that hellish bitter and sour bile that flows up to your throat. You push yourself off him and run to the bathroom, the content of your stomachs poured while your groans echo around the room.

He’s beside you in an instant, crouching beside you to pull your hair up and pat your back. Once you’ve finished throwing up, you clutch at the indistinguishable bloating of your stomach, leaning back into his touch while you slowly regain your composure.

Your head is throbbing uncomfortably again, one that wouldn’t go away no matter how much you press your thumbs against it.

“Wh-what’s wrong? Are you sick or something?”

You chuckle a bit from the way he frets over you, hands tilting your cheeks side to side while he pales, a sheen of worry visible on his hairline. He’s always been such a worrywart. You look behind him and see the box of condoms in your half-open medicine cabinet, the sight making your heart drop in your chest.

“Megs...when was the last time we had sex?”

“Well,” he scratches the back of his head, “We’ve both been busy from uni, so...last month, I guess? It’s been a long time.”

You swallowed audibly. You’ve recently gotten that box of condoms because if you remember correctly, last time you both skipped straight to the deed after realizing you ran out of it. Eyes flicking over his confused ones, your throat ran dry and itchy from the throw up session, your voice low as you say, “I’m three weeks late on my period, Megs.”

He looks just as shocked as you are, but he doesn’t give you the time to recover before he rushes out into your apartment. For a moment, you’re left heartbroken at the cold bathroom tiles, thinking that he left, but Megumi comes back a few minutes later, a pregnancy test kit and some chocolates inside a plastic bag. Your eyes widen when he gently ushers you to sit on the toilet, his feet tapping impatiently on the floor while you both wait for the result.

And there it is.

The timer on his phone goes off. Megumi rushes beside you, his chin resting on your shoulder as he blinks at the test kit. He turns to you and blinks in question, wondering what the hell it meant.

“’Gumi...it’s positive,” you cry out, sending him into a stagger backwards when you jump at him. Thankfully, he’s carried you too many times to count that he’s natural at hoisting you into his arms, still rendered speechless as you announce, “You’re going to be a dad!”

It’s been five whole months since you and Megumi turned into being stable fuck buddies, intent on hiding your relationship from both your families, into homeless and young parents whose fear over life and the future only increased tenfold now with the growing baby inside you.

You still remember that dreadful moment when both of you are kicked out into your family estate, Megumi’s Uncle Naoya especially enraged over the news. He doesn’t even give his nephew a chance to pack his bags before he signals the bodyguards to escort you out, then takes away all Megumi’s privileges and former luxury of being part of the Zenin Clan. You assume he’d want to strangle his pitiful Uncle for the never ending mistreatment, but your now boyfriend is nothing but happy, relieved that he’s been freed from the tight reins that always got in both your way.

Unbeknownst to the controlling Zenin Clan head, his wife is much more cunning than he is. He knows his wife always had some sorts of tricks hidden up in her sleeve, but even you were surprised when Megumi’s Aunt Suki shows up in your college dorm one day, throwing a set of keys your way with a wink before driving off back to become Naoya’s beloved trophy wife.

She lent you one of her high-estate apartments and even a humble car, silently wiring fees into your bank account since Megumi’s was already shut down.

Truly, if it wasn’t for her, you and Megumi wouldn’t be able to live this comfortably no matter how much both of you worked your ass off.

Now, none of you had to worry about not getting to make ends meet, no more worrying about putting your health at risk by working two jobs a day along with university – you and Megumi agreed to take advantage of her kindness just until the baby was born, opting to live quietly and comfortably in your shared home that would soon be filled with more memories. Well, as comfortably as you both could anyway, since pregnancy – although a beautiful experience – wasn’t always rainbows and unicorns.

Megumi comes home one day, the food you’ve always been craving from the Chinese restaurant from the other town present inside his bag. He’s tired from uni, even more so that he shares your burden of becoming new parents, but every time he comes home to you, all his exhaustion is wiped away, especially with the evident growth of your belly.

Your boyfriend runs up to you after placing the food on the counter, his arms wide open to get a hug – he’s gotten extremely touchy ever since the pregnancy – when you reel away from him, face turning green.

Your fingers come to pitch at your nose, eyes narrowed at his confused pout. “Ugh, Megumi, your deodorant stinks.”

“You were the one who got this for me, though,” his brows furrow as he lifts his sleeve up to sniff himself. He doesn’t smell bad... “You said you liked it on me,” he mumbles more to himself than you, staying still in his spot when he sees how colourless you’ve become. “Why are you looking at me like that? I showered today.”

“I can’t stand the smell of you, I can’t, gosh,” pushing past him, you rush to the toilets, the morning sickness well present all the way until sundown as you throw up. Megumi stands at the doorway, hands extended in front of him as he’s unsure whether he could help you or not. You firmly shake your head at him, lips turned into a sneer. “No, don’t get near me or I will honestly whack you with my purse, Megumi. Get rid of that deodorant and find a scent free one or something.”

Megumi is left with a slack jaw when you hop into bed afterwards, too tired and irritated to finish your papers. Seeing that he should probably do the same and pamper you instead, Megumi is silent as he crawls under the covers, only to be kicked out with a harsh kick to his thigh and a fiery, “Get out!”

“Nobara,” he whines into the phone, too fearful to even look at the bedroom at the thought that you’d feel his gaze and get even angrier. Your instincts and senses sharpens with each passing day; he won’t risk it. “My girlfriend hates me!”

“I could see why.”

Megumi groans at his friend’s flippant tone, the sound of a nail file grazing acrylics mixed with lo-fi music playing from the other line. “I’m serious – she doesn’t even want me a foot near her! When I tried to join her on the bed, she literally woke up just to hit me with a pillow. Right in the face!”

“Let me guess, you’re banned from the bedroom and staying on the couch?”

“Yeah, I am,” he sulks on the couch, “I don’t know why she hates me. I can’t imagine what I did wrong.”

“You don’t have to do anything wrong for a pregnant woman to hate you, Fushiguro. It’s not your fault your face is just really annoying,” Megumi makes a sound of protest before slapping a hand over his lips, nervous gaze darting at your door again. He relaxes into the seat; you’ve probably fallen asleep. “But on a more serious note, I think it’s the hormones. She’s erratic right now and you can’t blame her, she’s literally growing a child inside of her, dude, are you crying?”

“She might divorce me because of my deodorant.”

“Idiot, you two aren’t even married!” Nobara bellows loud enough that Megumi pulls the phone away from his ear, waiting until she’s calmed down and continues speaking like she didn’t just burst his ear drums. “Listen, just be extra sweet and careful around her, okay? Don’t open your mouth as well unless you want to die. Now get a notepad or something, we’re going to devise the best Baby Mama Seduction Plan that is guaranteed to win her heart.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Nobara!”

“Hmph, you owe me tickets to that fashion show though. Get your rich ass uncle to pull some connections or something.”

“Nobara, you know I can’t—”

“Oh shit, is that your girl about to kick you in the face?” Megumi yelps as his body flips at the direction of your room, both hands raised in surrender with his phone pressed between his ear and shoulder. He sighs – the door is still closed – he should be safe for now. Meanwhile, Nobara snickers cockily, almost as if she could see everything. As always, Nobara was triumphant. “That’s right, we both don’t want that to happen, so stick to your end of the deal man.”

Megumi stays up the whole night to execute Nobara’s plan. It’s tiring to run back and forth in the open convenience stores just to fill the fridge up with all your favourite food, but Megumi is determined to have you accept him again, even if he knows you’re not actually rejecting him.

By the time you’ve woken up, all beautiful and glowing as you pad out your room, Megumi stands up straight to conceal his body ridden with exhaustion. He just wants to make you happy.

“What’s all this?”

“You’ve been working hard,” he starts off unsurely, a hand scratching the back of his head as he gauges for your reaction. You plop down on the dining table and don’t scowl as you take a whiff of the food, blinking for a few seconds before you dig in. It’s enough for him to take as a go-signal, and he walks beside you carefully, his voice wavering and soft. “I just wanted to surprise you – show you how much I love and admire you...all that.”

“That’s suspicious,” you mouth through a mouthful of dumpling, but smile anyways with your arms extended. “Come here, give me a kiss.”

Megumi is beyond elated as he buries himself in the warmth of your arms again, sighing when you kiss his cheeks and jaw. “Are we good?”

“Did you replace your deodorant?”

“Yes...”

“Good boy,” you kiss him on the lips this time. Megumi has the audacity to blush as if he didn’t just fuck a baby into you, making you laugh before you slap his ass, last night’s irration now replaced with a reminder that this was Megumi – your first love and everything more. There was no way you wouldn’t be ‘good’ with him; you’d go to heavens and back for him, but maybe once you’re done birthing his child. “Yeah, we’re good. Get the mint choco ice cream pint for me?” Megumi sprints to perform your commands, and you reward him by pulling him in for a deeper kiss the time, his lips so sweet and minty. You can’t help but sigh, falling for him over and over again. “You’re such a sweetheart, Megs. This is why I’m head over heels for you.”

“You didn’t want me sleeping beside you for a week straight though.”

Your nose scrunches at the memory – that slight change in your expression making Megumi step back – as you wave a spoon at him, glaring at him in warning. “Like I said, you stank.”

But...pregnancy wasn’t all that bad for the both of you. There were times you’re unable to keep your hands off him. Although unexpected and mostly occurring in the most inconvenient situations, Megumi can’t say he’s complaining, especially not when you push him towards the wall just as the elevator doors closed.

“Daddy,” you moan, guiding his hands into your already soaking wet panties. Megumi breathes sharply as he cups your drenching core, wondering how you’ve gotten this aroused without him doing anything sexual in particular.

The nickname spilling past your lips is unforeseen though, as is his growing kink for it when he hardens immediately.

“Please, please, please, I need you so much – make me feel good, will you?”

Megumi has to pin your needy, trailing hands all over his chest down to your sides, his pupils blown wide as the elevator ascends from one floor to the other. His eyes dart to the blinking red light from the cameras, his Adam’s apple bobbing when you don’t stop in the slighthest, only leaning forward to tug and nip at the skin of his neck. Megumi groans at your ministrations; you know very well that was his sensitive spot. “Y/N, we’re literally in the elevator, just wait until we get back home—”

When Megumi tries to push you away to stop your hands from palming his boner, you growl, eyes fierce and heated as you turn to him. “Do you want me to chop your dick off and prevent you from having a second child?”

“N-no.”

“Then shut up and fuck me.”

“Fuck, okay, don’t blame me if I make you sore, though.”

You roll your eyes at him, your hands moving expertly as you bunch your skirt up to your waist to show him that your bud was already swollen just for him. “Megumi, my boobs are already are its most sore point, I don’t give a fuck anymore.”

Megumi makes quick work of shoving his pants down just to his knees, gentle yet needy as he pushes your chest flat on the walls, round and perky ass puckered for him to take you already. He could cum just from the sight of you bending over for him like this, your arousal already dripping down your thighs as you wiggle your hips at him, breathless in the desire to be taken once more.

There were still fifteen floors to go before you reached your destination. Megumi’s brows pinch together in anxiety that anyone could press for the lift, but you’re also submissively bent over for him, moaning and gasping his name even when it’s only the tip of his cock sliding into you.

He sees the way your fingers hover over the buttons, clearly more prepared to shut the doors and deny others entry than he was, and he thinks fuck it to himself before he buries himself deep into you, head thrown back at the heavenly and salacious feeling of fucking you raw. You’re somehow warmer and tighter, wetter with puffier lips during your second trimester. Just as he blanches at the thought he could hurt you, he remembers the doctor’s encouragement of more sex. Being the good boyfriend he is, Megumi fucks hard into you, groaning and panting when your walls clamp down on him.

He only wants to help you.

Days of rubbing your feet and singing to your belly were gone – now replaced with laughter pouring into your house and switching from listening to Mother Mother into actually enjoying nursery rhymes playing from the stereo.

It feels just like yesterday when he rushes you to the emergency room, your hand nearly crushing his during your contractions before you gave birth to his child.

Megumi has never really been much of an emotional person, preferring to be calm and stoic unless you’re around; the rare times he actually lets his walls down. Surrounded by a group of doctors, though, Megumi stops caring about saving face when they hand him his daughter. He isn’t the least bit embarrassed when he sobs upon seeing the tiny bundle of joy in his arms, so small and vulnerable that promised there and then – he’d do everything he can to protect his child and give them the best future.

Fushiguro Megumi is a hands-down helicopter dad. The moment you’re able to take your daughter back home, he’s already had the whole house baby proofed. Along with studying for his exams, he’s also switching back and forth to parenting guide books.

You can tell he’s taking his job as a dad very seriously. Megumi doesn’t hesitate to shoot out of the bed in the middle of the night whenever he hears his daughter cry, racing you to her crib while he rocks her back and forth and you prepare her milk. You’re both utterly tired and sleep deprived, your head resting on his shoulder as your baby calms down in his arms. Faintly, you feel him kiss the top of your head, encouraging you to go back to sleep with the assurance he can handle it.

But of course, you’re the stubborn parent, and you drag your boyfriend and daughter back to bed, making sure there was enough space to make her comfortable before falling asleep.

Being a parent – especially with the love of your life – has never felt any more magical.

Of course, it was hard and definitely not a walk in the park, but it was worth it. Every time you came home from school, Megumi would already be there, his daughter babbling nonsensically in his arms while he prepared her meals. At the sounds of the door opening, both of them would run to you, showering you with kisses while you did the same.

Both your families have still refused to accept you back – not that you both minded – but it was getting shameful to keep relying on his relative to provide for your family. Eventually, you and Megumi decided that the other stays to take care of your baby while you work after class.

You’re staggering inside your home like a zombie after a long day, muscles aching from too much work and brain barely functioning due to the lack of sleep. With a long, drawn out sigh, you plop on the couch next to your boyfriend who jolts back awake, still careful not to let his drooling daughter wake up in his arms. Upon seeing it’s just you, Megumi leans over to kiss you on the nose, smelling sweetly of floral detergent powder and baby cologne.

“Welcome home,” he murmurs at your skin, your eyes already fluttering close at the comfort and warmth of home. “Scarlet is fast asleep. She couldn’t wait for you to kiss her goodnight anymore.”

“Don’t be dramatic. Mommy will always come home to the two most precious people in the world,” Now, it’s your turn to kiss Megumi to remind him he’s also doing a great job. You know he’s working just as hard you are, and you honestly don’t think you could do this without him. “Megumi,” you begin, tracing soft circles into his wrist to feel his lulling heartbeat.

“Hmm?”

“Have I ever told you I loved you?”

“I think I know that already,” he smiles romantically at you – even after years, you’re still very much smitten with that smile, and the sight of him and your daughter alone has you relaxing back in your seat.

“Yes, but you need to hear it again,” you tell him, cupping his face into your palms. Megumi sighs as he leans closer into your warmth, his hands patting your daughter’s back to soothe her in her slumber. “You’re such a natural at this – being a father. I’m really lucky I had a family with you. It’s all I ever wanted,” Burying yourself closer into his arms and collecting the both of them into an embrace, you smile into his shoulder, feeling like you’re on cloud nine. “I don’t think life is gonna get better than this, Megs. I’m so happy right now I feel like I could die.”

“Don’t say the d-word around her,” he jokes, the two of you sharing tired and dry laughter. Once the amusement subsides, Megumi’s other hand shifts to squeeze your thigh to get your attention. “Y/N...do you ever think about...making us official?”

“What do you mean?” you mumble sleepily, “How else official could we get? We live together and we have a baby. Soon, we’re going to be employed too and then we can provide better for her and stop relying on Aunt Suki so much,” Megumi nods above you, but his lack of response is worrying that you look up to him, frowning as you see that his face is pulled deep into thought. “We’re already a family, Megs. What’s on your mind?”

“I want to marry you,” he blurts out, “I want to make you mine and mine only – I see a future and a forever with you,” Megumi looks you straight in the eye the whole time. “Marry me, Y/N. Please.”

You’re rendered speechless.

You love him so much, you really do, and nothing about that will change. After spending a lifetime with you, Megumi knows just by looking at your face that there’s a but coming afterward and he clenches his jaw, sadness swirling in his eyes that you have to stop him before his thoughts run off again. “I want that too, Megumi, believe me,” you reassure, brushing his hair back with your fingers; a gesture that always pulled him back to you. “I just don’t want to rush things, you know? We can still barely stand on our own and we have Scarlet to worry about. I think we should focus more on her future than ours.”

Megumi nods, albeit disappointed, though this doesn’t stop him from kissing you straight on the lips before he mutters, “I understand but...think about it, at least?”

“You already know my answer would be yes.”

“Scarlet! I wonder where my little princess is hiding,” Megumi announces from outside your room, your toddler giggling beside you as you both hide behind the closet hand-in-hand. Four years later, you and Megumi are married, and life’s gotten a lot easier – in addition to it being a whole lot more domestic since Megumi takes his husband title just as seriously as being a father. Right now, he’s crawling outside, his voice lowered in an attempt to be scary. “If I find her, she’s going to face the wrath of the tickle monster!”

“Tickle monster!” Scarlet gasps beside you, turning to you with wide eyes. “Mummy, I don’t want tickles!”

“Then we better be quiet so Daddy doesn’t find us!”

With your voice intentionally louder than a whisper, it doesn’t take long before Megumi opens the closet doors, carrying you both effortlessly before dropping you all down onto the bed. “I found you!” You all tickle each other and laugh, your daughter falling into panicked squeals while you chortle at the side. Megumi then hoists Scarlet up before the both of you kiss both sides of her cheeks, sending the giggling child into an utter ticklish mess.

While the two are busy tickling one another, you feign a gasp, clutching at your husband’s bicep. “Megumi!” your eyes widen, pointing deftly at the kitchen with trembling lips for effect. “Can you please check the oven – I think I left something in there and it might be burning!”

“I don’t smell anything,” is all he says, but runs there anyway. Megumi stands in front of in confusion, Scarlet safely bundled in his arms while her father opens the oven, frowning as he takes the object out and inspects it. “Mittens? But Scarlet is already—” Just then, Megumi’s jaw drops, his grin stretched wide while Scarlet keeps poking at the mittens, trying to make them fit into her slightly larger hands. “No way. Another one?”

“Another candy?”

You laugh at Megumi’s beaming face that matches his daughter’s – the two looking too much alike – but for completely opposite reasons. “We’ll get you all the candies you want, sweetheart,” you swipe a candy from the counter and hand it to your daughter’s grabby hands, pecking Megumi’s cheeks who is still beyond flustered at the announcement. “But yeah we have another one – and it’s a boy!”

#fushiguro megumi x reader #megumi x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #fusiguro megumi x reader imagines #megumi x reader imagines #fushiguro megumi x reader romance #megumi x reader romance #fushiguro megumi x reader fluff #megumi x reader fluff #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen x reader romance #megumi x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #ngl i dont think this is my best work LMAO i suck at this im so sorry im just not a fan of kids spspss but i tried my bestttt wee woo #excuse me if the fluff is cringe IM CRYING #suki: 500 milestone event

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thebennettdiaries · 2 years ago

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Bonnie’s Horror-ific October

↳ Day Twenty One: Kiss of the vampire

It has been a long time since someone kissed her like this.

Bonnie relaxes against him, her head tipping back, exposing her skin to him. His mouth tears from hers (she nearly growls in frustration) to trace along the lines of her neck. His hand is firm on her hip and hers is lost in his hair. They are tangled together after two full days of teasing one another.

(she is infinitely glad she accepted the invitation)

She is running purely on instinct, a part of her that has been dormant for years sparking to life and demanding full attention. She wants more, she wants him ---despite barely knowing him. Between the bolts of lust that shoot through her body, she thinks that she has never had a moment like this. One where she is wholly ready to give herself over to the physical (she has always needed that friendship, that push to act on her feelings instead of a simple chemical reaction). Her entire life has been jumping from one moment of peril to another. She has missed out on so many things along the way.

Feels like she is making up for lost time now.

He growls and slams his hips into her. She feels the scrape of his teeth against her flesh, bringing her back to the present.

Bonnie nearly sighs.

(it’s really too bad that this is what the night has to come to)

When he pulls back, his fangs are prominent and he is grinning. “They should have warned you about me,” he tells her, a taunt punctuated by a toothy grin.

She waits a beat and then leans in, her smile echoing his. “They did.”

Then she proves that of the two, she is much more prepared to win the battle.

#bonnie bennett #tvd #tvdu #bbhorrortober #( inspired by the invitation )

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i-am-the-ass-admiral · 3 years ago

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quiet worship

benny miller x gn!reader

tags: smut (18+ please), feelings, tenderness, morning sex, penetrative sex, no explicit descriptions of reader parts (when i saw gn i mean it lol), adoring benny, soft benny, switch benny if you squint, praise, established relationship, pretty much pwp but it’s so soft omfg, hand appreciation, touching, kissing,

notes: posted late, sorry for errors

length: ~2.9k

You wake slowly, warm and saccharine. Crisp morning light reflected off the snow outside spills over long limbs tangled with yours but you don’t see it yet. A dream leaves you wound tight, aching and wanting and almost ready to rut against the thick thigh between yours but you leave it off. At least for now. Eyes closed, you take a long, deep breath. Everything smells familiar. Like faint ozone as the space heater kicks on, like fresh cotton sheets. Salt and earthy masculine soap and sleep-warm skin. For a moment, you hold the scent in your lungs, content to exist with it for a while. When you let it out, your body relaxes. Somehow molds into the broad chest under your arm. You tuck in your cheek, a familiar steady heartbeat threading faintly to your ear. It’s almost enough to lull you back to sleep except the body under yours stiffens with a light gasp and you open your eyes.

When you look up at him, Benny’s face still seems impassive. Strands of hair stick up in places or fall over his eyes and just underneath you can make out the faintest line between his brows. Gently and without a thought, your fingers circle where they lay. Nonsensical patterns that slowly but surely draw Benny back to your world. Like you, like a mirror his first instinct as he wakes is to breathe deep. You smile to yourself and distantly wonder who learned it from whom. Then those eyes—oh, those eyes—blink open and catch the morning light and just like that, he smiles.

“Creeper,” he teases, and you huff. Nothing smart to say as his sleep-rough voice skates down your skin. “You watchin’ me sleep?”

He curls his arm around you and pulls you close even though you pinch his side.

“For like two seconds,” you smile back. “You’re not that pretty.”

Benny’s soft look breaks into a full grin and his chuckle makes you bounce.

“Liar. ‘M gorgeous.”

You rolls your eyes but kiss his chest. “Every day of the week and it makes you a huge pain in the ass.”

You can see some of that familiar fire sparking in Benny’s eye as his brain comes back online.

“Sounds like someone woke up ’n the wrong side of the bed. Those’re fightin’ words,” he drawls.

That drawl brings back your dream. The same tone that ended up muffled in your neck, taunting and teasing as he thrust into you and your fingers dug into his broad back. Just the vague memories are enough to make your thighs tighten involuntarily. Without fail, Benny can pick up what you want—usually without a clue otherwise but that was probably a dead giveaway. Or maybe it’s the black overtaking your eyes, the sharp edge to your smile, the growing heat at the crux of your hips—whatever it is, Benny sees it. And he’s never been one to shrug off a rousing morning round.

“Oh you do got a little fight this mornin’, don’t you?” he teases, pinching your leg where he can reach it. He tosses his chin in that familiar way that drives you crazy and says, “C’mon darlin’, you want in the ring?”

You snort, “You’re ridiculous,” but it’s the invitation you were hoping for so you untangle yourself and slide up over his hips as he pushes the blanket down. While he’s not wrong, sometimes you do like to fuck like Benny fights, this morning isn’t that morning. Something about it feels fragile and soft and you want Benny to feel that too. For all his hard edges, there’s a molten core to him—he just needs a little direction to find it.

In the beginning, it took a while for you to be comfortable on top but Benny—sweet man—built you up as far as you needed. It’s in the way his bright blue eyes widen and the sort of breathless smile that spills out of him—it’s all the encouragement you need. He’s half-hard behind you already, and his eyes flit avaricious over every inch of you. If you let him, he’d take you as hard and as fast as you want. Or, if he’s feeling particular, as hard and fast as he wants and christ do you see stars then. The trick is to get him to follow when you want something slow and sweet.

So, lead by example.

His hands lay wide and warm over your thighs, grip tight already, but you pry him loose and thread your fingers together. He doesn’t look confused like you thought he might, just pleased to be under you. Happy for contact. Then you flatten one of his hands back against your thigh and take the other higher. Bring him to your lips and kiss the pad of each finger. You watch him from under your lashes, wondering if he likes what he sees, catch as his lips parts and a soft needful sigh escapes him. The sound sparks warm embers in your stomach. He presses against your lips with his index finger, asking entry. You refuse. Not yet, anyway. Instead you flatten his palm against your face and nuzzle your cheek in his grip. God, the length of his hand spans from your chin to your ear and it makes you so warm. Unsteady. Almost formless save for the shape his hand gives you. Hot emotion rises in your throat and for a moment you close your eyes again and breathe—in and out, nice and slow, enjoying his quiet adoration until you feel solid again.

This is one of the only times Benny is quiet. You cover his hand with your own and drag him lower, so his fingers trace the column of your throat and the top of your chest. Normally Ben is full of stories. Vivacious. Filled to the brim with potent emotion both good and bad. You’ve gone with him through so many of those feelings it’s almost second-nature to you now to anticipate how he would react to something. But this…you never got used to. Like this, when you lead, he falls into a kind of quiet awe that leaves you trembling. How do you hold something like that in your grasp? How can you even begin to plumb the depths of hushed worship that stare back at you when you catch his eyes?

The answer is you can’t. Sometimes it’s even overwhelming—Benny will give all that you ask, all that he has—all you can do now is guide his hand lower. You pinch your nipple with his fingers and gasp softly and that calls his other hand to your waist without instruction. Answering your unspoken desire. Covering each of his hands with one of your own, you let him roam wherever he might and guide him in turn. Silently, your head falls back and your eyes close. Why look at anything now when you could feel it instead? Callouses catch in your skin, fingers grasp, tease, somewhere along the line you lose yourself in the feeling. Drunk on the texture of his hands and the timbre of his voice as he lays praise at your feet.

“So pretty like this,” he says. “Love how you feel, darlin’ can I have you?”

You can’t answer with words but you can nod. One of his hands leaves and you immediately miss the heat of it but the way he spreads the other and touches you from throat to groin is enough to keep you distracted. Long fingers avoid the place you want him most—part of you is thankful, part impatient. Between the two of you, there’s not much patience to be found at this point. There’s the drag of a drawer, a click and a shuffling of sheets but it’s not until Benny adjusts his legs and you feel his cock stiff and hot against your ass do your eyes open again.

He’s there—open and wanting as he always is. But there��s a hint of vulnerability, something doleful and tender in those blue eyes that leaves you breathless.

“Can I?” he pleads, and it’s only then you catch the slickness coating the fingers that left you.

“Please.”

It’s been so long together and still he asks (begs) like it’s the first time. You move at the same time—he reaches for you as you reach for him—but he finds you first. A tug; you fall forward. Plant your hands on his chest and lift your hips for him and long, thick fingers slide slick into place where you’re aching for him.

“Benny…” You draw his name out low and slow somewhere between a whisper and a moan. “Ah, god—”

“That’s it, baby—” He works you open by rote, all your pieces memorized; urges, “c’mon, you can take me, can’t you?”

It’s as close to begging as he’ll get for now—though if you wanted to hear it you know how to make him beg so prettily—but it’s more than enough for you. You scramble for the lube he found, slick him up just enough to ease the slide and sink down onto him as slow as you can.

Christ, he’s so much. You should’ve let him open you more. Should’ve let his hands do the work instead of falling for the wrecked sound of his voice, but a part of you likes the way it hurts at first. It’s tightness and pressure and it builds in your gut until you’re seated flush against his hips and he’s grit his teeth so hard you could almost hear it. His heart pounds under your hands and his thighs shake but he waits, oh he waits—

“Good boy,” you whisper, “thank you, baby. So good for me.” He whines in the back of his throat, hips twitch and you hiss. “Be patient for me.”

And he is. Patient, just like you asked. Until you give an experimental thrust and just that alone has him throwing his head back into the pillows. God, the line of his neck exposed and taut looks too good—you set your teeth and suck mark after mark into his skin. Wait long enough in-between to see how pretty the purple blooms; by the end you’ve bitten a garden and he’s trembling. You kiss him, finally, despite the morning breath and all—it’s worth it for the desperate way his tongue draws you in and only when you’ve tasted the way he needs you now do you move.

He moans your name like a poem. Soft and repetitious, sprinkled with praise and curses as you take him in and out over and over. The pace is maddeningly slow for both of you but you can feel his restraint in the way he quivers, how he grits his teeth and hisses, and you have to make it worth it for that. If you were to ask Benny, he would say it’s always worth it, no matter how he gets to have you. But oh, for his patience, he deserves something good. Aching, slow, you clench and squeeze and thrust until your legs begin to feel like jelly and you’re closer to the edge than you thought you’d be by now. But it’s the morning. It’s how he holds you in his eyes, how his hands grip your hips or tease or pinch that finally pulls you apart.

“Benny, baby,” you pant, “more, more please—”

You don’t even get to finish asking; he’s dying to fill you, take you, give you everything you want. He plants his feet behind you and the tension in him has wound so tight he almost dislodges you with his first thrust. You groan high and sharp and he does it again and suddenly that’s all you can feel, all you can think. More more more Ben please there—maybe you say it out loud, maybe you don’t. You’re not sure of anything except the heat and breadth of him inside you—the sound of sex and the nonsense coming out of your mouth and Benny’s worshipful silence. The edge is so close, it’s right there, you just need something to take you over but you don’t know what and you can’t think to ask; too cock-drunk and desperate for anything Ben will give you to give it a name.

But Benny—clever boy—he knows.

God even the look of him leaves you undone, and he knows it. His head tips back but body strains up toward you as if he wants nothing more than every inch of contact you’ll give him. Without a word, he pulls you down for another kiss. Bites at your bottom lip and savors the way you moan and slips a hand between your bodies to join his cock. Your hips stutter as he strokes you with perfect pressure, tearing you apart inside and out with sure hands and steady rhythm.

“Ohhh—” So much. “—just like that Benny baby please—” It’s exactly what you needed; smart clever sweet man he knew just what you needed. “—right there, don’t stop, Benny ahhn hah—”

“Fuck,” he growls, drags you down and into his mouth, his molten center finally melding with yours, “fuck, are you gonna come for me sweetheart? Let me make a mess a’ you?”

It’s that—god it’s exactly that and his tongue and hands and cock splitting you open and the desperate worship on his face that finally sends you reeling. You want him to make a mess of you; you don’t ever want to be clean again, not if it means you can keep him like this. Pleasure pulses through you in waves, shaking you to your core; toes curling, body dripping—you scream with it. Tears bite the corners of your eyes. You curse in tandem, a hoarse crescendo punctuated with each deep, perfect thrust.

You writhe, desperately, embarrassingly, but the way Benny moans and thrusts unerringly into your heat sets you alight with ecstasy. Pleasure knots tight in your core, zips out to every extremity, the tips of your toes and fingers and lips. So hot you’re sure your kisses must burn him. Your body bucks mindlessly, bows into him for all the contact he craves, a glorious pressure and heat—

His voice breaks over your name and you feel him empty inside you. He buries himself in one last-ditch thrust, crushing you tight to his body as you quiver and shake and clench in your aftershocks and god feeling him so deep and so hot is almost enough to send you over again. You’re on another plane, flying high above your joined bodies but it’s the beat of his heart and the sound of his breath and the touch of his hands that gentle you back down to find him waiting. As you slump into him, his arms curl around you and he holds you there. You’re not sure how long—you’re still reeling—but he cradles you with all the tenderness in the world. Presses your foreheads together and strokes your back as his hips (and yours) finally roll to a stop. Spent and exhausted.

When your eyes flutter open you find him waiting there. Big pretty blue depths waiting to swallow you whole. Without a second thought, you brush the hair from his forehead and fall in. Kiss him soft and long and slow. His fingers thread along the back of your neck and he seems content to stay buried inside you until you say otherwise. You’d let him, too. For as long as he wanted, if he asked. That’s somewhat frightening, the implications of it all, but it’s something you’re learning to accept. You love him—sometimes it’s just easier to show than to tell.

When at last you pull away from his kiss, you find you can’t meet those eyes again. Not yet. Something hot and tight chokes your throat and you bury your face in the crook of his neck instead. Silently begging for him to understand.

And—without fail—he does. You can feel some of his concern in the way his arms wrap around you again but he pets your hair and lets you feel for as long as you need. And from the way his heart still pounds against yours, you know he’s right there with you. Faithful to the end. At last you let out a long satisfied sigh and slide off his hips back to the spot at his side you’d left behind.

“Helluva wake up call,” he teases, voice light but careful.

“Couldn’t help myself,” you smile, tracing the line of his jaw. “You’re in my dreams then here in person all gorgeous like this—it’s all your fault.”

He laughs and kisses your fingertips when they stray too close to his mouth and you feel the last of the tension drain out of him.

“Yeah, guess I had that comin’.”

“Well…it’s not all your fault.” You pause, stuck in a moment of vulnerability, but you keep your smile. Benny deserves to hear it. “I do love you, I’m sure that has something to do with it.”

It sounds flippant—you don’t mean it that way—but Benny’s face breaks into the widest grin you’ve seen in days.

“Ass,” he chuckles. His soft melted center heats him all the way through, a pleased pink dusting his cheeks above his goofy smile as he murmurs, “I love you, too.”

#benny miller x GN!Reader #triple frontier #benny miller x reader

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bastardtetsu · 4 years ago

Text

—fine line .

𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙞𝙠𝙞 𝙢𝙤𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙬𝙝𝙤𝙧𝙚𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙄𝙉𝙏𝙊𝙓𝙄𝘾𝘼𝙏𝙀𝘿 𝙘𝙤𝙡𝙡𝙖𝙗

pairing: mattsun x f!reader x makki

genre: smut (18+), threesome (mmf), friends to fucking

wc: 4.7k

warnings: dubcon via sex under the influence, drug use (psychedelic mushrooms), oral (f and m receiving), brief mentions of nausea, one mention of w33d, the nickname "princess", a dash of finger sucking, overstimulation but it’s brief, creampie

the come-up is usually the worst of it—at least that’s what mattsun said.

some nausea is common as the shrooms start to kick in, so he suggested that you don’t eat anything immediately beforehand—and you’re glad you took his advice. makki, on the other hand, let his munchies get the best of him and ran off to the bathroom about 20 minutes ago, leaving you & mattsun by yourselves on the couch in your living room. hopefully he’s doing ok.

it’s approaching an hour since the three of you ate your shrooms together, and you’re beginning to feel the slight uneasiness in your stomach fade into a pleasant dizziness spreading throughout your body. you giggle a bit at the realization, drawing the attention of the tall brunet splayed out on the other side of the couch.

“yeah?” he smirks at you with a quirked brow.

“yeah,” you grin back at him, more giggles bubbling from your throat. you can already tell how silly you’re acting, and this observation only makes you laugh harder as your muscles begin to loosen and tingle with giddiness.

“nice,” mattsun responds simply, not moving from his place on the couch. it’s hard to tell where he’s at—being the more experienced one when it comes to shrooms, his tolerance is probably much stronger than yours—but the way he’s sinking into the cushions with glazed-over eyes tells you he’s likely on his way up too.

meanwhile, you already feel like you’ve arrived—any tension in your body seems to have evaporated, leaving you lithe and syrupy and pliant. you feel light as silk, like the slightest breeze could make you flutter away, and you can’t help but drape yourself over the arm of the couch as a stream of giggles continues to spill from your throat.

you hardly even notice the way mattsun looks on with an amused smirk on his face—not that you’d even care. you’ve been friends long enough, and between you, him, & makki, the three of you have embarrassed yourselves in front of each other more than enough to be well past the point of shame.

oh right—how is makki doing?

you abruptly hoist yourself off the couch—though you barely make it a couple steps before pausing to take in the brand new sensation called standing.

“you good?” mattsun asks with a light chuckle. the room feels like it’s floating—or maybe it’s you. either way, your legs feel steady enough to keep you upright, and any sickness you’d felt before is long forgotten.

“yeah, i—”

you don’t have time to finish your sentence before you’re suddenly being pulled into mattsun’s lap, falling against him with a small yelp, followed by even more laughter.

“issei,” you whine as you lean into him, your movements clumsy yet fluid, “whaddaya want??”

“hehe… nothin’,” he snickers in response. he’s definitely tripping now—mattsun’s not particularly physically affectionate most of the time, but now it seems like he can’t get enough of you, tracing his fingers idly up and down your arm while he nuzzles into you. the sensation sends pleasant tingles up your spine, and you can’t help but melt into his chest, the scent of his cologne and the remnants of the weed you were smoking earlier filling your nose as you sink into his warmth.

“wait—“ you sit up, suddenly remembering the reason you stood up in the first place, “you’re distracting me. ‘m gonna check on hiro,” you attempt to stand, but mattsun’s arms are still locked around you.

“don’t wanna get up, though,” he mumbles against your shoulder.

“then lemme go,” you whine playfully. as nice as it feels here in his embrace, your curiosity and urge to explore is more powerful.

“ughhhhh,” he relents with an exaggerated groan, finally freeing you from his grasp.

“stop pouting, i’ll be back,” you call over your shoulder as you scamper off to the bedroom. you don’t quite hear his response, but it definitely sounded like another incoherent grumble.

you check the bathroom first, only to find it empty. you peek your head through your bedroom door next, and sure enough, there’s makki—face down on your bed, the lights still dark despite the sun having gone down a while ago.

“hiro? how y’doin’?” you call out gently, leaning against the doorframe.

“y/nnnn,” you hear him drawl, “c’mere ‘n’check this out.”

you make your way over to the bed to find an entranced makki staring intently at his own hand as it toys with your blanket, captivated by the soft texture and the fluid motions of the fabric beneath his touch. your laughter chimes in the air as your hand drifts to join his, quickly becoming entranced as well.

“soft,” you hear takahiro mutter.

“yeah.”

your vision isn’t blurry or wavy, but it isn’t static either--you aren’t sure how to describe it, but you find yourself unable to look away from the movement of your blanket, its pattern warping under your touch.

“where’s issei?” makki’s voice interrupts your trance.

“still on the couch. didn’t wanna move.”

“lazy ass.”

you both go back to feeling the blanket. though your hands drift beside each other, they don’t quite meet until you brush against his on accident, the new sensation catching your attention and reminding you of makki’s presence at the same time.

of course, this realization makes you burst into laughter.

makki doesn’t seem fazed, though. he just giggles along with you as you flop the rest of your body down across his. soon enough, this turns into both of you rolling around in his bed, the captivating feeling of the soft fabric only rivaled by the sensation of your skin brushing against his. it’s like you’re an extension of the cotton sheets, something soft and pliable that billows in the breeze and tangles in your limbs with ease.

and before you even realize it, you’re all tangled up with him. makki’s warmth surrounds you now, limbs entangled & chests practically pressed against one another, so close you swear you can feel both of your hearts beating together.

a situation like this might’ve flustered a sober you, but by now, your inhibitions are out the window. besides, the two of you are close enough already that it doesn’t feel terribly strange being held by one of your friends like this—you’re already plenty flirtatious with each other anyway.

so you snuggle in closer.

even in stillness, the two of you find motion—your fingers dancing across his back, toying with the material of his shirt, nuzzling your forehead against him while he runs his fingers through your hair. it’s like you can’t stop moving, the restless buzzing in your veins urging you to get closer, to submerge yourself in makki’s warmth.

“okay... your hair?” he says, “is really doin’ it for me right now.”

“yeah?” a smile spreads on your lips.

“yeah,” he whispers, almost a sigh, just like he did when he was spellbound by your bedsheets.

you glance up to find him staring right at you, the expression in his glassy eyes unreadable, but you’re too high to get in your head about what it could be about. you just stare back, drinking each other in in comfortable silence.

makki really is cute—did he get cuter, or is it just the drugs?

“can i—” he finally breaks the silence, “can i make a wild suggestion?

“what?”

“you can say no if you want.”

“what is it?”

you swear you hear his breath catch for a second.

“…what if we made out?”

you pause for a moment to process his words.

“you don’t have to,” he blurts out quickly.

“no, i—“ you pause for another brief second, but arrive at your answer quicker than you expected. “yeah, let’s do it.”

“really?” makki’s eyes widen slightly, and you don’t miss the flicker of a grin across his lips.

“yeah, sure,” you answer, nonchalant but certain.

you’re plenty aware of the potential consequences of hooking up with one of your best friends while you’re both tripping on shrooms— but you’re actually shocked by how much clarity you have.

you know that you want this right now. you, makki, & mattsun have always walked that line between friendship and something more, and though none of you have been bold enough to cross it yet, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t find them both attractive. how can you not when two of your friends look like that?

you figure that’s a good enough reason as any to kiss your hot best friend. so you do.

and fuck, does it feels good. every sensation is heightened as your lips move against each other, parting for each other without hesitation to allow your restless tongues to slip past. in one fluid movement, makki rolls onto his back to bring you on top of him, and you smile into the kiss as you allow gravity to press your bodies even closer.

small whimpers and giggles slip unfiltered between your lips as makki’s hand traces patterns up and down your back. the drag of his fingers along your spine sends shivers throughout your body, like every nerve is buzzing with excitement. your body seems to be moving on its own, propelled by some unseen magic that runs through your veins and warms your skin as your hips roll mindlessly against makki’s—causing a familiar tingling ache to form between your legs.

“ahh, shit,” makki suddenly hisses, “y/n, you’re—“

he cuts himself off as another roll of your hips is met with something firm poking against your ass, causing makki’s breath to hitch in his throat. almost instinctively, you grind your clothed heat against it, eliciting a choked moan from the man underneath you.

your thoughts suddenly catch up to you, and you break away for a moment.

“is this okay?” you ask.

“i feel like i should be asking you that,” he responds breathlessly.

“yo, am i interrupting something?”

a third, deeper voice on the other side of the room grabs both your attention, and you turn to see mattsun standing in the doorway, looking all too casual for the situation, save for a slightly raised brow. to your own surprise, though, this doesn’t seem to faze you either—you know it’s the effects of the drugs, but you’re just happy to see him.

“hi, issei,” your face breaks into a dopey grin.

“‘sup dude,” makki chimes with reddened cheeks and an only slightly awkward smile.

“whatcha up to in here?” mattsun drawls teasingly.

“c’mere,” you whine, ignoring his question to beckon him over with outstretched hands.

“am i being invited to join the makeout pile right now?” he muses, smirk stretched wide across his face as he saunters over to the bed.

“yeah, man, get in here,” makki motions to him too as he shifts to make room on the bed. your collective nonchalance at the situation is enough to make you erupt into even more giggles as mattsun obliges you, sauntering over to the bed as makki shifts over to make room, sitting up from beneath you. a long arm wraps around you as he sits down on the bed.

“this ok?” mattsun utters just a breath away from your lips.

“yeah,” you breathe, smiling into his lips as they press together clumsily. mattsun kisses you leisurely, relishing in the taste of your warmth as his broad hands begin to trace your silhouette, gradually pulling your body closer to his.

your head angles slightly, and soon enough it’s makki’s lips on yours again, biting at your lower lip while issei’s mouth continues its way across your jawline, then down your neck in slow, wet kisses. you can still feel the press of makki’s cock through your clothes, rocking your hips against it and eliciting a deep groan from the man below you.

“shit, princess,” mattsun rasps against your skin, feeling his own pants beginning to tighten, “how far you planning on taking this?”

you’re so lost in the sensation of both of them you can hardly think, but you know one thing for certain: you want more.

“as far as you’ll let me,” you whisper, eyes darting between the two men as your lips curl into a flushed smile.

you swear you feel both of their cocks twitch as they register your words, a single shared look between them sealing the deal before they turn their full attention back to you.

“whatever you say, beautiful,” mattsun’s voice sends a shiver straight to your pussy as he repositions himself on the bed, kneeling beside you so he can lean in closer. his kisses are hungrier now, tongue gliding against yours in broad strokes while makki’s hands grip at your hips as he rocks your dampening core against his hard-on.

hungry for more contact, you reach down to palm the stiffening bulge in issei’s pants, the vibrations of a groan rumble against your neck in response. a hand tangles in your hair while another greedily squeezes around your breast—you’re not sure whose hands are whose anymore, but you’re well past the point of caring. all you want right now is to lose yourself in the electrifying warmth of their caresses.

makki’s hands slip under your shirt to grip your bare waist, and suddenly you’re hyper-aware of your clothing—a thin, but excruciating barrier between your skin and theirs that you need to get rid of as soon as possible. your fingers fumble at the hems of both men’s shirts, too distracted by the surplus of sensations to do much else.

they both take the hint immediately, and before you know it your shirt is being lifted above your head while another pair of hands undoes your shorts. once your shirt is off, mattsun’s tongue is back in your mouth in an instant, while makki wastes no time taking one of your breasts in his mouth, sucking hungrily at the soft flesh and eliciting small, breathy moans from you.

you whimper against issei’s lips as he undoes his pants, tugging down his boxers to reveal his length, half hard but already an impressive size. you can’t help but stare at the veins beginning to protrude from his flushed shaft, tracing them with your fingers as you watch his cock twitch and stiffen under your touch.

“you want that?” his voice is low and breathy. your gaze flickers up to find his lust-darkened eyes staring hungrily at you.

before you can find the words to answer, you feel the body underneath you shift. you look down to find makki’s face between your legs, nipping at the meat of your inner thigh, infuriatingly close to your wet, tingling center.

you can’t help but groan contentedly at the sight as you grasp at his hair, strawberry blond locks tangling in your fingers with ease. he hums in approval at the slight tug, the vibrations tickling your sensitive skin.

“don’t forget about me, now,” issei’s deep voice gets your attention, two calloused fingers pulling your chin back towards him. you’re quick to close the gap between your lips as you wrap your fingers around his thick cock. you stroke him slowly, taking your time to enjoy the feeling of his hot skin against your palm and the buzz of his low groans against your lips.

meanwhile, you can feel makki push your panties to the side, leaving your bare, glistening cunt hovering inches away from his face. though you’re busy with mattsun, you can’t ignore the almost painful hum of anticipation emanating from between your legs as makki’s hot breath fans over it.

“fuck, you’re wet,” he utters breathily, more to himself than anything, but the words still cause your walls to clench around nothing. you can feel mattsun smirk against your lips when you moan into his mouth, your whole body buzzing with pleasure as makki finally begins to lap eagerly at your arousal, his fingertips digging into the giving flesh of your thighs.

you’re trying your best to focus on the movements of your hand around issei’s cock, but you can already feel yourself beginning to fall apart as makki’s tongue circles around your swollen clit, every sensation crystal clear and heightened, while mattsun’s tongue continues to glide against yours.

your pace falters, but a large hand soon wraps around yours, guiding its movements around issei’s cock as your hips begin to twitch with your impending high. makki seems to sense this, letting out a hungry groan that vibrates against your soaked pussy, resonating throughout your body and urging you to cum.

when mattsun leans down to suck on your tits, the wet sensation of his mouth latching onto your hardened nipples melts into the feeling of makki’s sucking desperately at your clit, and just like that you’re cumming, wave after wave of pleasure rolling through your body and making your head spin as you gush all over makki’s face, wanton moans and strings of curses falling from your lips uncontrollably.

even as you ride out the crest of your orgasm, you can still feel the echoes of your high reverberating through your body with every thump of your heart.

“fuck, that was hot,” makki sighs, out of breath and as he detaches himself from your cunt, face smeared with your juices. “how y’doin, y/n?”

“hahh—i… ah…” you struggle to form coherent words through your breathless panting, mattsun’s littering of wet kisses up your breast and collarbone doing nothing to help you collect your thoughts.

“aww, our sweet girl’s already cock drunk,” mattsun coos, almost menacingly sweet, “and we haven’t even put ‘em in yet.”

“mmm,” makki hums as you feel him shift beneath you again, “maybe we should change that.”

you let out a shuddered sigh at their words, your neglected hole fluttering with excitement at the prospect of being filled. your brain is buzzing with endless thoughts and sensations that tangle and fuse into one another, unable to separate the euphoria of the trip from the bliss of being pleasured by two men at once.

you feel someone’s thumb is brushing against your bottom lip, and without thinking you begin to suckle at it, earning a chuckle from the dark-haired man at your side. suddenly, the tip of his thumb is replaced by two thick fingers pressing past your lips. your tongue swirls around the digits without hesitation.

“need something in your mouth that bad, huh?” issei muses, his voice raspy and hot against the shell of your ear. suddenly, he’s licking a slow, wet stripe up your neck as you whine in response, overwhelmed by the multitude of sensations, soon joined by the tickle of makki’s laughter as he teasingly drags his lips across your chest and abdomen.

“i can help with that, sweetheart,” he utters into your skin, peering up at you with half-lidded eyes before leaning back on his elbows, the strain of his cock more than visible through his underwear. you’re not sure exactly when he stripped down, but you’re too high and ravenous to care.

issei removes his fingers from your mouth as he moves to situate himself behind you, rubbing the drool-slicked digits over one of your nipples in the process. you gasp as the cool air hits your hardened bud, the sharp contrast in temperature making your head spin.

your breath only deepens when you tug down the waistband of makki’s underwear to free his length, flushed and dripping with precum already. you find yourself mesmerized by the red, glistening tip, eyes swimming with lust as your gaze travels down the slightly curved shaft to his plump & round balls.

“gonna keep staring all night?” the light-haired man says with a sleazy grin. your eyes flicker up to his mischievously.

“you’re the one who got this worked up just from eating me out,” you tease back as you lean down, wrapping a hand around his shaft.

makki doesn’t even have time to retort before you take one of his balls into your mouth, cutting himself off with a stifled groan as you begin to stroke him at the same time. you suddenly feel a pair of large hands gripping your hips and pulling them upwards, your pliant body surrendering to his touch with ease.

your ass is in the air now, messy, throbbing cunt on full display while you lap at makki’s balls, and you can feel mattsun’s hands kneading at the flesh of your cheeks, spreading them apart to admire your wetness. you arch back into his touch, and you can hear a hungry growl from behind you as mattsun watches your hole flutter around nothing.

you let your tongue glide along the underside of makki’s shaft, his head lolling back with a groan as you reach the head. the sounds he makes when you finally take the tip into your mouth are like music to your ears, and you can hardly control yourself before pushing him further and further past your lips until the head of his cock bumps against the back of your throat. makki’s noises are unrestrained as you begin to bob your head up and down, moaning like crazy and spurring you on as you increase your pace.

you suddenly feel a glob of something warm and wet fall onto the lips of your exposed pussy, but you hardly even have time to process before mattsun’s cock is pressing past your folds, the tip alone already stretching you wide.

you keen around makki’s cock, the vibrations sending a surge of pleasure throughout his body that causes his hips to buck up into your mouth. a hand flies to your head as if to steady himself, breathing ragged as his fingers intertwine in your hair, the tug against your scalp only adding to the sensation of mattsun stretching you out on his cock as he pushes into you slowly, the ache of his thickness slightly painful, but so, so satisfying.

“that’s a good girl,” you hear his voice strain from behind you, “takin’ me so well, fuck.”

you can feel his words reverberate in your core as he keeps going, savoring every ridge and vein of his cock dragging along your walls and splitting you open. a guttural sound spills from your throat as he bottoms out, the delicious press of his cock against your cervix nearly mind-numbing. you feel makki’s fist tighten in your hair, another moan falling from his lips as you continue sucking him off.

mattsun pauses for a few seconds to let you adjust to his size, but when he finally moves, it’s with an abrupt snap of his hips. the sudden motion jolts you forwards and nearly causes you to gag on the cock that’s in your mouth, and you yelp at the sharp pang of pain mixed with pleasure. issei doesn’t let up, gradually increasing the pace of his pistoning cock while you struggle to take makki’s down your throat. your vision is going fuzzy, eyes watering as the pleasure and pain meld together into a confusing yet exhilarating ecstasy.

“mmm, look at you, princess,” mattsun hums, “you like choking on makki’s cock while i fuck you? yeah?”

you can barely even whimper in response with your mouth stuffed with cock, already feeling your next orgasm approaching. your head is spinning from the overwhelming range of sensations, drool beginning to leak down your chin while mattsun keeps pounding into you, the rhythmic sound of his hips skin slapping against yours underscoring the breathy whines coming from makki’s throat.

“oh fuck,” the light-haired man practically mewls, his breathing heavy and labored, “m’gonna cum soon. fuck.”

you glance up at him through your lashes, attempting to signal your consent through your gaze. the sight of you peering up at him with your lips stretched around his cock is all makki needs to fall over the edge, letting out a loud string of moans and curses as his cum spills down your throat.

you hardly even taste the bitterness as you swallow it all down, too high and dizzy and distracted by your own impending release as issei keeps railing into you, his heavy balls slapping against your clit with every plunge of his cock into your drooling hole. makki’s lewd cries only spur you on, your brain clouding with pleasure as mattsun’s pace increases, no doubt approaching his own high as well.

the angle of his thrusts changes ever-so-slightly, just enough to hit that perfect, spongy spot deep inside you and sending your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave of euphoria. makki’s spent cock falls from your mouth as you cry out in ecstasy, incoherent babbles spilling from your lips as mattsun fucks you through your climax, his pace unrelenting as he chases his own high.

you can feel tears spilling down your cheek, the overstimulation nearly too much for you as issei continues pounding into your abused cunt. soon enough, though, his grunts and shallow breaths get louder, his hips stuttering to a halt as he releases inside you with a long and breathy groan.

there is silence between the three of you for a moment, save for the sound of your heavy breaths as you each regain your composure. the sweat on your skin is still warm, minds buzzing blissfully with the high of both your climaxes and the drugs.

“fuck,” makki exhales, finally breaking the silence.

you start giggling uncontrollably again, still situated between the two men in a less-than-compromising position that you’re well aware of, but too fucked out to be embarrassed about. your breath hitches as mattsun slides himself out of you, a tiny whimper leaving your throat at the sudden emptiness.

“you seemed like you enjoyed yourself, princess,” he purrs as you collapse onto your back, body feeling more rubbery and slack than ever. a dreamy grin adorns your face as you hum affirmingly.

“yeah, i did,” you sigh. makki’s fingers affectionately toy with your hair as your head rests against his thigh, pushing aside the strands stuck to your sweat-sheened forehead, and you instinctively nuzzle into his touch. “why didn’t we do this sooner?”

the two boys pause to share a look.

“you never asked,” they answer in unison.

“pff—“ you nearly snort at their response, “wait, does that mean you—“

“we’ve wanted to fuck you for a while now, yeah,” makki states, straightforward and unfiltered, “never thought we’d get to do it together—but hey, i’m not mad about it,” he adds, glancing over to mattsun, who answers with a simple nod.

“oh my god,” you lament in disbelief, throwing an arm across your face as you devolve into quiet laughter.

it’s honestly pretty hilarious—all the “platonic” flirtation between you & your two hot best friends, the dirty comments and teasing and the pushing of boundaries, and it took a collective shrooms trip for you to finally cross that line. and now, on the other side of it, you wonder what the fuck took you all so long.

through your amusement, it takes you a moment to notice the way issei stares practically spellbound between your legs, splayed open carelessly while he watches his cum drip from your pussy in thick, pearly rivulets.

out of pure curiosity, you reach down to feel its consistency, swirling the creamy substance around before collecting it on your fingertips to stare at. you don’t even realize that you’ve pressed your fingers to your lips until you’ve smeared cum across your bottom lip, mattsun practically gawking at the sight.

“fuck, y/n, you’re gonna make me hard again,” he chuckles.

“shit, man,” makki gripes, “i’m already hard again from watching her cum on your cock.”

you turn your head to look, and sure enough, his dick is already twitching upwards as the blood rushes back into it. you find your mouth watering.

despite the workout you just had taking care of the two men, your find yourself remaining strangely energetic—still thrumming with a delighted sort of excitement, no doubt a result of the psychedelics coursing through your system—not to mention the dull ache of desire still emanating from your core.

“do you wanna keep going?” you ask.

this catches both of their attentions, eyes widening as their gazes snap to yours.

“you for real?” mattsun asks in disbelief.

“i mean, we already fucked,” you reply plainly, “and we’ve still got a while until the trip’s over. besides,” you add, taking hold of both their hands as your eyes flicker between the two criminally attractive men you get to call your friends, “we’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

#haikyuu smut #matsukawa issei smut #hanamaki takahiro smut #mattsun x reader #makki x reader #intoxicated collab #e writes #tw dubcon #tw drugs #tw spicy #mdni #not me submitting this an hour after the deadline has passed #whatever it’s still the 17th in mikis timezone #and that’s what matters #also ty to by sexy lil betas <3 y’all know who u r <33

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fictionfunshop · 4 years ago

Text

Whore Phase - One Shot (Spencer Reid)

Thanks @moderatelydelusional for the inspo - I hope I did your idea justice.

18+ - Filth and not for children's eyes.

MGG / Spencer Reid are killing my feels

........

*200 LIKES!!! You've all made me happy. Currently writing more filth for your eyes **

You weren’t expecting him to text.

He usually called you when he wanted to see you, purring down the line telling you all the filthy things he wanted to do to you, which always made your thighs clench. You decided to have a Friday night in; you already filled your belly with your favourite take-out, had a long hot bath with a new book you picked up earlier in the week. Now you were sitting here catching up on some trashy television you dare not tell anyone you watch, painting your toenails when your phone came alive, making you jump and smudging your baby toe in the process.

Can I come over? – Spencer

No hello, or how are you, which you knew meant he had a bad case and needed you to let off some frustration. You understood and didn’t mind him using you like this, your Friday night instantly looking up and thanking your earlier self for taking your time shaving. You immediately type back your reply.

Course. See you soon.– Y/N

You jumped up from the sofa and go to your bedroom to see what nice underwear you had clean, instantly slipping on a lavender chemise set you picked up a few weeks ago, immediately thinking of him. You were fully aware of the agreement you both had – he told you he didn’t want a girlfriend because of his job, and you were working through a bad breakup and wanted some no-strings fun, so when he was free, he would come over to yours, never his and you would both “chill out” AKA screw each other’s brains out.

You knew the absolute basics about each other. You knew he worked for the FBI, which you thought was an elaborate chat up line until one night he came to you straight from a case, his badge in his pocket, gun on his hip and stacks of paperwork pouring out of his bag. You knew he was an only child and that his mother lived in Vegas, his dad not to be seen. He enjoyed reading, teasing some of the titles on your shelf, and he was bisexual, something which didn’t surprise you in the slightest when he admitted he had been with men before you. Even though he knew next to nothing about you, he never made you feel like a whore, he never slipped out in the middle of the night, and if he was free the following day, breakfast was always his treat at the café around the corner or the near-by diner.

You wandered back into the sitting room, pulling a bottle of wine from the fridge and pouring yourself a glass. You sat back down on your couch, your mind now on high alert that he was coming to see you, thinking of all the ways tonight is going to go down.

He has fucked you senseless in every corner of this place.

From your location on the couch where you straddled him one lazy Sunday morning he was off work, the tiny kitchen table now being held together by prayers after you both came back here drunk from separate nights out, or the shower where two weeks previous he teased you until you were delirious before pinning you against the tiled wall. You didn’t have time to register anything else when your obnoxious buzzer rang throughout the apartment. You buzzed him up and left the front door open. You go to fix him a glass of wine and change the channel to a random news station. You’re still in the kitchen when you hear him drop his bags near the door and take his shoes off before you go to meet him in the sitting room.

He looks sexy but exhausted. The circles under his eyes evident, and you wonder why he came here instead of straight to his place. His hair is sticking in all directions in desperate need of a trim, and his shirt is creased from sitting on the plane. He’s attempting to take off his tie as he wanders over to you, interrupting the process by giving you a quick peck on the lips.

“Here, let me,” you hand him the glass of wine before you slide it from around his neck quickly; you fold it neatly and hand it back to him. He gives you a small smile before stuffing it into his pocket and downing the rest of the glass of wine. He places the glass down on the coffee table before gathering you into his arms and a tight hug.

“You look beautiful as always,” he mumbled in your ear. “This for me?” his fingers rub the strap of the fabric.

“Yeah, I got it a few weeks ago. You like?” he nods his head, his eyes trailing all over your body, his hands following their path. The flimsy material did little to hide anything from him.

“I love your body, “ his hands grip your hips, pushing them into his, feeling him get hard through his slacks, “knowing you were waiting for me, in this…” he gripped the back of your head before clashing your lips together.

His hands wandered around you, cupping your ass, making their way up the back of the thin vest, his fingers running down your spine as you get to work, unbuttoning his shirt, as soon as you could get your hands to feel the flesh underneath you did, your nails digging into his shoulders. He broke the kiss and took your hand in his, and lead you to your bedroom. He sat down on the edge of the bed, and by instinct, you knelt between his thighs, your lips meeting again. This time your hand was rubbing the bulge; his were tangled in your hair. You wasted no time in undoing his trousers and releasing him from his boxers. He sucked in his breath when he felt your lips on his hips and nipping at his thighs as you gripped him, squeezing his base with every fluid motion. His finger tangles back into your hair when he feels your tongue lick the head of his cock, your lips wrap around him, sliding him down your throat with ease. Although he was bigger than other guys you have been with, you had enough practice with him. You look up at him; he was staring back at you.

“Fuck, you’re good at this,” he encourages you, as he grips your hair tighter and you open your mouth wider, signalling him that he’s in control.

Looking at him above you, his hair even messier than before and his lip tucked behind his teeth, you could feel how wet you were getting. You were sure he could see how hard your nipples were through the flimsy material covering you. You couldn’t control yourself; the hand not working on him goes between your legs and dips into your centre to find yourself right before you circled your clit, moaning as you continued to suck him off.

He lifted your head off his cock, spit dripping down your chin.

“Are you touching yourself? Does sucking my cock get you off? “ You nod your head.

“ I want you to show me how you do it..”

This was a new idea from him.

You stand up and take off your chemise and underwear before you crawl onto the bed. As you settle down on the pillow, he stands up too and undresses before settling between your thighs on his knees. You pinch your nipples hard and let out a moan as you feel his fingers lightly trace the outside of your thighs. You move your hand down between your legs before you settle your fingers back into your centre, curling them to reach the spot he does with ease. You crane your head back and let out a sigh as you settle back into a rhythm, occasionally pulling out to circle the bundle of nerves that makes your leg twitch and your hips match your hands. You feel him pin you down to the mattress.

“Look at me, Y/N, “ Your eyes snap open as they meet his, now completely black, the hand not on your hip, slowly stroking himself. “This is better than I imagined. Is this what you do when no one is around to fuck you?”

You nod your head as you let his name sigh from your lips. You can feel how close you are; you’re now dripping between your thighs, a thin sheen of sweat now covering your body, and he knows it too. He bends his head down, his hair lightly tickling your chest, and his mouth finds your hard nipple, his teeth sinking into it lightly before he circles his tongue around it. That’s all you need from him to let go, his mouth moving to yours to capture your screams, and you rode out your orgasm. You open your eyes to see him staring at you, still hard. He lifts the hand between your thighs and licks your two fingers clean as he stares at you. His actions turned you on further as you felt yourself throb.

Nothing else needed to be said between you. He climbs on top of you and settles himself between your thighs. He nips at your neck before he slips in; you can feel yourself grip around his cock, still not used to his size. He pauses for a moment before he slams back into you, hissing in your ear. By instinct, you wrap your legs around his waist, letting him go deeper, hitting your cervix as he bottoms out; It should hurt but it feels like heaven. He settles into a quick rhythm, fucking whatever problems he had out on you, but you don’t care. The feeling is building up in the pit of your stomach quickly as moans slip from your mouth.

“You feel so fucking good,” he rasps, a smirk on his lips.

He knows that you’re in the same delirious state as him. His hair is matted around the base of his neck; you can feel it around your fingers, which have tangled themselves there.

“Come for me, Spence, I’m close…so close…” you beg him.

“Me too, won’t last long…”

One of his hands moves from above your head to the headboard to keep up the rhythm as one of your hand moves between your legs, and you rub your clit, he stares down at the show before kissing you again. You bite his lip and tighten even further around him as your orgasm washes over you, chanting his name as he continues to ram into you. A few more sloppy strokes, and he joins you, swear words fall from his mouth, and his eyes squeeze closed. He pecks your lips again before he collapses next to you. You both lay there for a few moments trying to catch your breath before you get up to clean yourself off in the bathroom. Staring in the mirror, you can see some red marks on your neck from him already appearing. You pop back into your kitchen to grab some water before you head back into your room. He’s put his boxers back on and is sitting up against the headboard.

“Here, I figured you’d want one” you hand over a bottle as he gives you a soft smile.

“Thanks for letting me come over.”

“Well, it wasn’t a hard decision, a hot FBI agent who wants to have sex with me…” he rolls his eyes at your playfulness as he takes a swig.

“Well, this FBI agent is tired now after no sleep for nearly 30 hours, so how about we finish this off in the morning and some pancakes?”

What girl can say no to that?

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader smut #mgg #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x yn

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duskandstarlight · 3 years ago

Text

Embers & Light (Chapter 39, NSFW Nessian)

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter 39 Cassian POV

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If she doesn’t change her mind.

“It has to be tomorrow, Cass.”

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

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

Mor grinned slyly. “A very beautiful housemate.”

Cassian was more than aware of that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not the patient sort.”

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She doesn’t want it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Understanding dawned like millions of unfurling petals.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then a knock rapped at the front door.

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

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

But then it righted itself.

Another sharp rap at the door cleared his head completely.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It gave him the courage to do the right thing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The sudden distance between them felt like miles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Go home, Cassian.

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

“And this is your way of torturing me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was desperate to touch her again. Desperate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck, Nesta.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.

The bond between them creaked and cracked as it expanded.

Nesta panted his name.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Still breathing, Nes.”

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

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

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

Then Nesta stopped. Glanced downwards—

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

“Don’t you dare,” Cassian choked out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Abruptly, Cassian moved his hand away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And what about you?”

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

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

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

That was answer enough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Both.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nesta, Nesta, Nesta.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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