#and color starts taking care of him after

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

The JJK men want YOU to wear their jersey

Tags: JJK men x fem!Reader, college au, sports au, mostly fluff and/or crack, suggestive only on Toji’s (nasty bitch), itafushi makes an appearance

An: This has been heavy on my brain recently 🙂‍↕️ Also, I don’t know if this concept is only in like my area, but basically, the concept is that on game days, a common thing for highschool/college players to do is to wear their jersey to class, and their sweetheart wears their home/away jersey. it’s just a cute thing to show support. Another thing, I know Kamo is not Choso’s last name, and I know Sukuna is not Sukuna’s last name. Sukuna might not even be Sukuna’s name at all. idk and idc. this is a no curse au anyways so who cares! let me know if i should do more sports au :)

Incl - Satoru, Suguru, Nanami, Choso, Toji, Sukuna

SATORU

Girls will literally hunt Satoru down to get his jersey from him, and if you were the lucky girl who got to wear the jersey of the star quarterback… you either became instantly popular, or every girl in the university wanted to kill you.

“I’m sorry, ladies. I already have someone in mind.” Satoru flashed a grin towards the crowd of girls surrounding his seat. Disappointed sighs and whines emitted from the group as they slowly dissipated from his desk.

Satoru couldn’t care less. They could be mad at him if they wanted to. They were no where near as special as the girl he had his eyes set on.

Class had yet to start, and Satoru was growing tired of just staring at the back of your head. He finally got up, and he slumped down in the chair next to you.

“Is this seat taken?” He asked with a bright smile. He hadn’t interacted with you much, but he always had his eye on you. You were the one of the few girls who didn’t dumb down their intelligence for him to make themselves more appealing.

“It’s not.” You replied shortly. You weren’t rude, just incredibly matter-of-fact.

“Wanna make a bet with me?” Satoru asked as he tried to catch your eyes from your book. He was really pining for your attention, and you wouldn’t pass him a second glance.

“Not really.” You replied, not looking up from your book.

“I bet the professor will be twenty minutes late.” Satoru went on anyways, not taking your rejection to heart.

“Hmm. Doubtful. He’s normally prompt.” You say finally looking up at Satoru, which causes him to flash an easy smile. He’s happy to have your attention — now he wants to keep it.

“If he isn’t here within the next twenty minutes, you have to wear my jersey today and every game day for the rest of the season. If he makes it here before twenty minutes is up, I’ll buy you as many books as you can carry.” Satoru proposes as he taps on your book with a cheeky grin.

You think for a moment… all the books you can carry?? “Deal.” You say with a smile, offering your hand to him to shake on it — thinking you just easily won yourself a free shopping spree. Satoru takes your hand, and he gently shakes it before bringing it to his lips and pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

He’s already won.

Satoru knows that you’ll be wearing his jersey today, and you’ll wear his colors for the rest of the season. He’ll make more bets… win you over slowly with false bets. Oh, he’ll buy you all those books you want too just because he can.

He’s already set Geto in motion to go run into your professor with large cups of coffees in his hand. Your professor ended up cancelling class after being 25 minutes late.

When the group of girls sees you with “GOJO” written on the back of your jersey, their faces contort in utter disdain, but Satoru looks at it with a shit-eating grin on his face. He won.

SUGURU

Suguru really didn’t get the thing about giving a girl his jersey on game days. Basketball season is pretty ruthless. While football teams only have 12 games in a season, basketball teams play over 30. That’s 30 days in one season that he’d have to find a girl that he gave enough of a shit about to give his jersey to? No thanks.

Of course, if he had a girlfriend it wouldn’t be too big of a deal, but the whole attitude around giving a girl your jersey was just something Suguru didn’t subscribe to.

Well, he didn’t think he subscribed to it until he saw one of his teammates offering you their jersey.

Maybe on a more psychological level, this was territory marking, and Suguru would be damned if he sat back and let another man mark you as their territory.

Even though he’s not proud of it, Suguru immediately marched straight up to you and his teammate with his away jersey thrown over his shoulder. He placed his hand firmly on the small of your back, and he gave his teammate a piercing look with his violet eyes. His lips curled into an easy smirk.

“Sorry man, she’s already agreed to wear my jersey today, isn’t that right angel?” He asked in such a condescending tone, and his fingertips dig into your skin with just enough pressure to make your face flush.

Luckily for Suguru, you were into it — and not his teammate. “Yeah, sorry. I almost forgot.” You agree, giving his teammate an empathetic smile.

So no, Suguru doesn’t get the idea of giving his jersey to a girl on game days, but he does get the idea of giving you his jersey. He loves how he towers behind you in the halls, seeing the name “GETO” written on your back with his number. He loves remembering the way you easily went along with his plan. You just fit him.

NANAMI

Nanami doesn’t need antics to get you to wear his baseball jersey.

Plenty of girls pine for Kento. Who wouldn’t? He was the leading star of the baseball team… who’s ass just so happened to look so good in those white tight-fitting pants.

Your college certainly played into it, giving Nanami the big screen when he takes off his helmet and shakes out his messy blonde hair that a bit damp from sweat. His cheeks are smeared with his eye black smeared on his cheeks (the charcoal black lines that athletes sometimes have).

They knew what they were doing when the yearbook crew took professional level pictures of Nanami looking absolutely jaw-dropping while delivering the nastiest pitch.

He was like eye candy that enticed a bunch of girls to buy tickets to the baseball games, and dammit, it worked.

Despite his celebrity status at the school, Kento didn’t act above anyone else. He didn’t flaunt money or act posh and sophisticated like a lot of the wannabes did at your university.

He was down to earth, smart, caring, and humorous to the right group of people (the dry humor enjoyers). Kento was the type of man to be able to reject someone without them even feeling rejected, which he did a lot when girls would ask for his jersey.

You often came to baseball games to watch (to watch nanami lets bffr), but you weren’t bold enough to ask Kento for his jersey on game days. You had witness girls before you, pilgriming the way to Nanami before they turn back empty handed. You couldn’t risk the heartache.

It wasn’t until one day after class you and Kento were the only two still packing up after a lecture, he casually strolled to your desk. “Will you be at the game tonight?” He asked with a genuine air of curiosity to him. This wasn’t awkward forced conversation because you two were the only two people in a room together.

You hadn’t even known that Nanami noticed you, much less noticed your attendance at games. You could feel your heart start to thud obscenely loud in your chest as you came to terms that you’re not invisible in Kento’s life.

“Yeah, I think I’ll show up…” You try your hardest to sound casual, but you just sound terribly nervous.

“I’ll look forward to seeing you.” He said politely before he reached into his bag and pulled out his spare jersey. “Hopefully wearing this..?”

Your eyes widen as you realize he was offering his jersey to you. “That- are you sure? Me?”

“Yes, I’m sure.” He gives an honest laugh. His multimillion dollar smile makes you swoon, and he hands his jersey out again. “You should put it on now. That’s the tradition, right?”

You slowly slip the jersey on over your long-sleeved white top, and it definitely hangs loosely on you, but with a few tucks and adjustments, it finally sits on your body appropriately.

“It looks good on you. I’ll see you tonight.” Kento smiles before leaving the classroom.

You had never gotten more shocked stares than when girls saw you with “NANAMI” printed across your back.

CHOSO

“Hey Yuji, why does Megumi wear your jersey on game days?” Choso asked his teammate as he sat down on the bench in the locker room.

He had seen quite a few people - guys and girls who weren’t on the basketball team wearing the jerseys of his teammates, but he didn’t understand it. He figured he’d ask the one teammate who he considered to be more of a brother to explain.

“Because I make him.” Yuji laughed as he dried his pink hair off from the shower. It was a pretty brutal practice, even Choso’s raven hair was down, messy from sweat.

Choso furrowed his eyebrows. “Why would you do that-? I thought you liked him.”

Yuji laughed even harder as Choso clearly didn’t understand the dynamic he had with Megumi. He also clearly didn’t understand the concept behind giving someone his jersey.

“I do like him, so I like seeing him wearing my jersey on game days. I think he looks good in it too, even if he pretends to hate it. I know he likes showing his support.” Yuji explained, but he went on, “People give their jerseys to someone they like. It’s like a courting gift, and it lets everyone know your intentions with that person.”

Choso nodded as he began to understand. He should give his jersey to someone he liked - to someone he wanted to court, and his intentions would be made known.

That’s how shy, timid Choso ended up at your dorm door late one evening. After much encouragement and convincing from Yuji, he finally gave your door a soft knock, and Yuji ran around the corner to hide.

When you opened the door, looking at Choso with those big pretty eyes, he completely clammed up and forgot the mental script he had prepared about how he really liked you, and it’d mean a lot to him if you wore his jersey.

Instead, “I want my intentions known.” He nearly shouted as he gestured his jersey to you.

Yuji facepalmed around the corner.

You blinked a few times, looking down at the jersey then back up to him. He was lucky that you’re very good at filling in the blanks. “You want me to wear your jersey, Cho?” You asked with a small laugh before taking the jersey from his hands.

His cheeks were flushed, and he gave you an awkward smile before nodding his head vigorously. “And uh.. I want to court you.” He finally added all in one breath.

To Choso’s delight, you agreed, and now, he finally understands the real reasoning behind giving his jersey to someone he likes because seeing “KAMO” on your back makes him feel all dizzy with love and adoration.

TOJI

It started off as a small prank amongst girls. A prank that really pissed Toji off. A group of girls decided it would be cute to steal Toji’s spare hockey jersey and wear it without his knowledge.

When Toji saw one of the girls wearing his stolen jersey with his appalling last name printed on the back, he was livid.

Needless to say, he got his jersey back, and the girl couldn’t even look him in the eye after that whole experience.

He hated his jersey. He hated how his last name was on the back, and he hated how anyone else would want to wear it.

He couldn’t just get rid of his spare jersey. Then, he’d owe the school even more than what he already owes them. He couldn’t trust to keep it in his dorm because he didn’t put it past those bitches to try to sneak into his dorm to get their filthy hands on it. That was when he had a genius idea.

“Wear my jersey.” His gruff voice demanded as he dropped the fabric on the table in front of you, his too responsible friend.

“No, it probably stinks.” You pushed the jersey aside, trying to focus on the homework in front of you.

“Nah. It smells like the last bitch who stole it.” He remarked as he plopped down in a chair in front of your desk.

“Even worse.” You respond back unamused, still not giving Toji the time of day.

“Do you remember who hunted down the fuck who stole your headphones?”

You sighed, finally looking up at Toji to show that you were paying attention. “Why do you think me wearing your jersey will deter them?”

“Maybe they’ll think you’re my girl and piss off for a while. I don’t know, but if I see another preppy bitch wearing it without my knowledge, I’m going to burn it.” Toji’s voice sounded stressed as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“And you don’t mind them thinking that?” You inquire, raising your eyebrow.

“Doll, you know I’ve spent the last three years trying to get you to hop on my-“

“Eughhh, give it.” You interrupt Toji before he can go into any further detail, snatching his jersey up and putting it on over your clothes. “There. Happy?”

Toji didn’t expect to have such a reaction to seeing you in his jersey. He knew he was serious about liking you, no matter how much you liked to believe that he didn’t actually like you, but seeing you in his jersey — the way it swallowed you whole. He figured he’d still hate seeing his last name on you, but there was something satiating those deep primal urges when he caught a glimpse of “ZENIN” across your back.

SUKUNA

Sukuna is much comparable to a dragon. He sees something pretty and shiny (you): he wants it all for himself. He wants to hoard treasure (you) to keep, and he definitely does not like the idea of anyone else looking or touching his treasure.

So, how does he keep wandering eyes off his treasure? He cloaks her in his favor, making her brandish his last name on her back along with his number. Yes, Sukuna demanded for you to wear his football jersey.

There was just enough satisfaction of seeing you walk around campus with “SUKUNA” written on your back that kept him from trying to hoard you in his room.

Oh, he’s also like a dragon in the sense that he’s absolutely devastating out on the field.

[seungfl0wer]

*𝑻𝒘𝒐 𝑰𝒔 𝑩𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝑶𝒏𝒆*

Pairing: Snake!Hybrid Hyunjin x Reader (Fem)

Genre: Smut

Warnings: Snakes! Mentions of Blood/Stitches, Fork/Split tongue, Oral(F), Unprotected Sex, Creampie, Biting, Two Dicks (kinda double P), Sorry for any mistakes or Missing warnings!

A/N: My animal knowledge really shows here😂

Series Master List

-🖤

It was rare to see snake hybrids. A lot of them hid in fear of how others treated them. Humans were mean creatures, especially to things they fear. They knew that all too well, so seeing a snake hybrid brought into your adoption center was strange. His scales were flakey, eyes stuck with shed. You could tell whoever had him didn’t treat him well.

No one wanted to be near him most of your colleagues staying away some even squealing. However you weren’t scared, did you like snakes? Not particularly, but you knew he needed help. When you approached him in the little container he was in he hissed. You quickly shushed him picking him up to take him to the sink area. You had run him a small bath, just some water for him to soak in. “I can’t believe you’re touching that thing” someone streaked at your side.

“It deserves the same amount of love and compassion as any others here” you retort looking down at him. You cleaned him up helping the stuck shed off before putting him back with a heating lamp.

“Y/n will you take it home?” Your manager had asked.

“Why don’t you want it here?” You glared.

“Listen, most of us don’t like them. He’s probably not gonna get adopted and we also aren’t equipped to take care of him properly. You at least seem to know what you’re doing.” They rambled.

You looked back down at the snake who was now curled up by your hand. “Fine, I’ll take it home, however.” You said with a small pause. “He’s mine as soon as we leave and I want the next few days off to take care of him and help him settle.” You stated.

“Of course-“ your manager started to say before you interrupted him.

“Paid” you said sternly.

With a sigh knowing he wasn’t gonna win he agreed just wanting that thing out of the building.

You put him in your spare room, getting the necessary stuff for his set up. You watched as he explored smiling to yourself. “Listen, I know you understand me. So whenever if ever you wanna become human. This room is yours. You have free roam where ever. You’ll be safe here, and taken care of” you kept talking.

He laid under the heating lamp listening carefully. If he could laugh he would. He’s heard that before. Knowing damn well his last owner started off with “love” but quickly forgot about him. He never got comfortable enough to turn so what made you think he would here he wondered.

As days went on you grew fonder of him, seeing some of his goofy personality shine through. His scales looked a lot healthier, a beautiful dark shade with glints of goldish color in them. They matched his beautiful piercing gold eyes. He hissed at you a lot however never making any attempt at striking. After shifts at work you’d pick him up out of his tank, laying him on the couch as you watched tv. It was one of these nights that it changed.

You had done your normal taking him out laying him on the couch with a heating pad beside if he got to cold. He stayed there as you cooked dinner only to be startled from his sleep by a crashing sound. He could smell blood in the air his fork tongue flickering at the scent. “Fuck!” He heard you yell from the kitchen with a bit of rustling. He was scared something had happened that someone broke in. In his panic turning ‘human’. He ran into the kitchen only to see you on the floor holding your hand that was gushing blood.

“What the hell happened?” He said making you jump. He looked at you realizing he was ‘human’.

“You turned?” You said almost excitedly.

He couldn’t help but let out a nervous laugh “that shouldn’t be the focus right now, you’re literally bleeding” he said before grabbing a clean towel to wrap it around your hand.

You watched him looking over his features. He had a sharp jawline, slim but muscular physique, those gold eyes even prettier. When he started talking your eyes found themselves on his pillowy lips. You could see the small peak of fangs and to your surprise his tongue was split. You were just in awe taking him in not even realizing he was talking to you. Not until he lifted your head with his warm hand. “Hello? Are you listening? You probably need stitches” he said looking at you were furrowed brows.

You only nodded eyes still scanning over him. You grabbed your phone off the counter with your other hand calling your neighbor. He came over taking you to the hospital and you did in deed need stitches.

Your snake hybrid cleaned up the mess. He finished making the dinner you were working on before it happened and sat there. Waiting. Agonizingly waiting. When you came through the door he smiled sighing in relief. “Hey! Thanks for cleaning and- wait you finished dinner?” You said surprised.

“Yeah, how’s the hands?” He said.

“Ah well it’s not bleeding anymore” you said with a laugh.

“I can’t believe you cut yourself that deep, what were you doing? Dancing with the knife?” He teased.

“No this was all just a scheme to see if you’d come to my rescue” you teased back making him roll his eyes. “Since I can properly ask you now though, what’s your name?” You asked siting down at the counter.

“Hyunjin.” He said.

“Good now I can stop calling you snakey” you said laughing.

After that moment Hyunjin didn’t turn back for the most part. Sometimes you’d fined him curled up under his heating lamp, other times he’d be curled up on the couch under lots of blankets. Your routine continued coming home, cooking, sitting on the couch with him just watching tv. Now though, he talked back. He got into the habit of curling up against you when you came home. Your body’s heat always feeling so nice to him.

You came home today more exhausted than normal though. A fight braking out between some hybrids at work. You being in the middle of it when it happened. Today honestly wasn’t as normal as you thought. All the hybrids were acting weird around you. A lot more possessive and clingy. When you walked through the door thinking about it more you realized hyunjin hadn’t came out from his tank.

“Hyune, are you ok?” You asked leaning down over the tank. When he didn’t budge you picked him up like normal his skin scales feeling warm. He hissed at you baring his fangs. “Are you mad at me?” You said softly, making him stop. He slithered up your arm before slithering down your leg. He made his way to the bed before turning back to his human like form.

There was a moment of silence before he spoke. “I’m not mad at you. Ugh” he groaned. “Do you realize you’re ovulating?” He said with a loud groan.

“Am I? Is that why everyone’s been so weird today?” You questioned.

“Probably- god I don’t know how you went to work with all of them. You’re supposed to be mine” he said the end of his sentence trialing off.

“I am yours” you said quickly with out realizing your own words impact.

“Yeah?” He said looking up at you. Those gold eyes had a hint of something in them. “Then let me make you mine.” He said before grabbing your arm pulling you to him.

He didn’t give you anytime to protest before kissing you, his lips warm softer than you’d imagine. His kiss was hungry tongue quickly making its way into your mouth. His hands came down pulling your bottoms down quickly in one swift motion. He was moving so fast, his motions only driven by need. The need to have you all his, a primal need. His sharp fangs grazed your bottom lip as he moved down your neck. It was almost like he was a little vampire with those fangs. He kissed down your body, pulling your thighs up to him.

He licked his lips looking at your dripping cunt “she’s calling me” he said with a smirk before diving into your core. His fork tongue feeling way different from anything you’d ever had before. Both the muscles moving on their own as they lapped at your folds. His fingers came up to graze against your slick before pushing them into you. He curled them hitting a sensitive spot. The moan you let out only drove him to keep doing it. To hear it again and again. Your hands found their way to his long soft locks.

“Fuck Hyune” you moaned out.

“Feel good? Gonna cum on my tongue?” He said with a devilish smile.

You nodded making that smile only grow. He picked up his speed fingers finding another even more sensitive spot. With his pace and tongue lapping at your clit your high crashed quickly over you. Walls tightening around his fingers. He licked a long strip up eyes staining into yours. He wanted to keep going, wanted to keep tasting you all over him but he needed to be inside you. Fuck your smell alone was gonna make him nut in his pants.

He stood up pulling down his pants revealing his two curvy cocks. With shock, eyes widen you blurted out “you have two?!”

He couldn’t help but laugh “yeah, you didn’t know? Thought you read up on me” he said. He took your hand wrapping it around the bigger one “this one’s the main one, and th- this one” he stuttered as your hand grazed the smaller one “this one is super sensitive like your clit” he said.

You nodded staring intently at his cocks. He leaned you back pressing his body against your kissing you deeply. He slowly pushed himself into you, the smaller cock rubbing against your clit. He let out a hiss of pleasure before his mind went. He started pounding into you mercilessly. His smacking against yours. The sounds of moans and skin smacking filling the air with the scent of sex. He had his head buried in the crook of your neck his long fangs grazing so gently at it. “I shouldn’t even let you leave smelling this good, all of them got their gross scent on you.” He hissed. “I’m gonna make sure they know you’re taken.”

His thrusts continued fast before he gripped at your legs pressing them against your chest before drilling into you. The new angel letting him hit at your cervix. “Hyunjin!” You screamed hands coming up to touch his chest. He pulled out fully before pushing hard back into you however he felt bigger. You felt more pressure in your core like somehow his cock grew a size. The pornagraphic sound he let out made your eyes snap open looking down you realized why he felt bigger. His smaller cock has slipped in, your cunt sucking both of them so greedily.

“Sh-shit I- I- fuck!” His head rolled back not being able to even speak at the pleasure. The warmth overtaking his smaller cock making it twitch in over stimulation. He snapped his hips back one more time both cocks pushing deep inside of you before you were Cumming. Cumming harder than you have ever before. His body shook at the feeling. Your walls tightening more and more around him. He gripped at your hips harshly digging his nails into you. He cried out as his release finally spilled out painting your walls white.

When you stared to squirm a bit trying to adjust yourself, the movement pushing him deeper into you making him whimper. “D-don’t move” he pleaded. You realized his smaller cock was still hard. You smirked up at him before moving away only to push back on him. He gasped almost like the wind was knocked out of him. His hands tried to stop your movement but one more push back his smaller cock was cumming.

He had the most intense orgasm, his body shook body falling to the side of you. He tried regaining his breath “I’ve- I’ve never- with my smaller” his words coming out choppy but you knew what he meant.

You pushed some of his hair back kissing him softly. “M’sorry for- I should have asked” he said still out of breath.

“It’s ok hyune honestly after today kinda needed it” you said with a smile.

“Gl-glad I could help.” He said nuzzling his head into your neck. His breathing was still heavy as you stroked his back.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

💙 If you’d like to read more of my stuff you can find it Here: Master List . Thank you for reading and if requests are open or you just wanna talk feel free to send me something🩵

Taglist: @satosugu4l @do-you-remember-summer-127 @xines16 @minh0scat @troublemaker02 @tr-mha-fan @lunearta @velvetmoonlght @minghaosimp @ldysmfrst @felixleftchickennugget @jehhskz @babigriin @kkamismom12 @jeonginsleftcheek

[housederiva]

Here's every version of the letter the Inquisitor gets from their LI plus Varric (which didn't make me cry at all)

If your Inky didn't romance anyone:

Inquisitor, Greetings from miserable, rainy Minrathous! (Don't tell Dorian I called it that.) The rotten weather here is making me nostalgic for Skyhold. The mountains were freezing, but at least the air didn't smell like wet garbage. We'll have to get in another game of Wicked Grace, soon. Harding picked up the trail again. I'd tell you not to worry, but I know how useless that is. Instead, I'll just say: I've got a great team on this. Neve could stare down the Maker, and wait until you meet Rook. He's/She's/They're a natural: Smart, resourceful, completely unpredictable. You'd like him/her/them, as long as you don't try to beat him/her/them at cards. Chuckles'll never know what hit him. I'll write again once we have something solid for you. Drinks at the Hanged Man are on me when this is over. Take care of yourself. Varric

Blackwall:

My love, You have summoned me to Minrathous, and I will answer your call, as soon as responsibilities here in the South allow. I have missed being by your side. Will these troubles be the last we face? The world seems always to conspire, through duty or disaster, to pull you away from me. I do not resent it. You are dedicated to purposes far larger and more significant than myself. I hope you do not think me a fool for hoping that one day, your only concern will be the color you wish our walls to be painted, or the flowers we will plant beside our gate. I'm partial to carnations. Yours always, Thom

Cassandra:

My love, We are no strangers to duty, or the separation it demands of us. You head for Tevinter, and though I want to go with you, there is work we both must do. I will not falter in the tasks that wait before me and I pray my actions, in whatever measure they can, will keep you safe. The others see only confidence in my resolve, but you have always known more than mere appearance. I confess to you, and you alone, that I am afraid. I'm afraid of what may happen, that Thedas will face such turmoil as it did before. I know not what awaits us. Yet even in the face of uncertainty, there are two things I cannot doubt and never will. The first is that our paths are never separated long. That I will find you at my side when I need you, as you will find me at yours. I will play my part in this and follow as soon as I can. The second thing I never doubt is you. Whatever lies before you, trust yourself. Trust your heart as I trust it. It will not lead you astray. Yours, Cassandra

Cullen:

The top of the letter has been punctured by small, sharp teeth, leaving most of a beloved name and a few sentences chewed to read. I fear the puppy started on this letter shortly after I did. I'd start over, but I must send this tonight if it's to reach you. Matters are settled here and I make for Tevinter as soon as possible. I almost believed chaos might spare us this time. I can't say I wished to see Minrathous before now, but I am eager to see you. I long to see your face and know that you are all right. You are I've There's I wish I was better at putting into writing all that's in my mind. For now, simply know that I love you. It is the most cherished constant of my life. The days ahead will not be easy. I know there's much you carry, more than many realize. But whatever you must face, you will not meet it alone. You have my sword, my counsel, my - I could write this list forever when all I mean to say is this - Whatever you need of me, I am yours. Cullen

Dorian:

Amatus, I'm writing. Again. Yes, the sending crystals still work and yes, you'll be in Minrathous in a few short weeks. But a letter, written in blind longing, is real. It can be touched, and it can be held, when ink and paper must substitute for your skin on mine and my breath in your ear. I used to scoff at frequent declarations of affection. Trite, I thought. Save them for rare and precious moments. But time and love are no longer things I care to squander, especially not as we race again toward calamity. And so, in each of these fleeting, ephemeral seconds, I will tell you that I love you. Whether penned or spoken, or conveyed by glance or action, I love you. In this moment, and in all the moments to come, for as long as they do, I love you. I will find you soon. Yours, Dorian

Iron Bull

Hey, Kadan, Not the first time we've marched toward different battles. I know you're keeping the crap from catching fire up in Tevinter. Wish I could be there, but I'll make sure there's a world for you to come back to when you're done dealing with crazy vints and stupid Antaam and whatever other crap Solas kicked up. (Shit, the Antaam. Remember when I was worried what would happen if I went tal-vashoth? That right there!) I know you're gonna be careful, and you've got Morrigan there. Just take care of yourself. If anything happens to you, I'm going to have to take Krem and the Chargers and stomp across all of Tevinter to come get you. It'll be a whole thing, and you know it'll upset Dorian. Being apart from you made me realize something else. I spent so long being whatever the Ben-Hassrath wanted me to be. An investigator. An agent. A mercenary sending reports. These past years, since the Inquisition ended, I've been able to just be what I want to be. And what I really want to be is yours. I like the person I am when I'm with you. So come back safe. Love, The signature appears to be a stylized rendering of the Iron Bull's head.

Josephine:

My Dearest Lord/Lady, I have spoken to friends in Minrathous. They offer us their hospitality, not to mention shelter from the worst intrigues of the Archon's Palace. While you're well acquainted with the roving eyes of grand courts, please take care. Tevinter's regard can be the oldest and cruelest of them all. The family writes the weather back home is beautiful. I do miss our quiet times together. There is a question I've wanted to ask you for so long. I would like to pretend I have been busy, or it was not the proper time. But, if I am being honest, I only waited because I have been afraid of choosing a poor moment. Please, let me make a promise to you here. When we return to Antiva, I will ask you, on the steps of the estate, if you will do me a great honor. And I dream you will say yes. Always yours, Josephine Postscript: I cannot believe it nearly slipped my mind. Yvette and Lord Otranto send their best wishes, and hope to see us back home in time to welcome their third child.

Sera:

(An artistically doodled journal page presumably from the Inquisitor's partner, Sera.) Keep this as close as I need you. (A drawing of a pile of flowers, with lines like it's moving, an arrow pointing to it labeled "us.") - North again, Mini-wrathus still stuck up its own pucker. - Magiturds are scared of us. They don't even know. - We work with Maevaris, right? She's wow. - So many Friends! Jennies in all the walls! - We kill him this time. He took from us twice! (A drawing of a cracked egg scribbled out, with "can't even joke" in letters that tore the page.) - Still thinking of you sideways. - Never mind the Dalish, here's the Veil Jumpers! Tempest-kin! (A drawing of a tall, shorthaired elf (Sera?) and Irelin brandishing two fingers, backflipping as a tree explodes in runes.) - The memory thing makes my head spin. If that Rook doesn't take it, throw it out. - Tell Morrigan ppbbth! for me. - I'll also tell her ppbbth! She knows why. - Tell them to Stripe. Him. Up. I wanted more books. (More heavy scribbles that tear.) - You meet; I'll keep you safe. Then I'm your time off, and you're my time on. (The last section has different colored inks, like Sera has returned to it several times.) New naked names: -Sweet-tits (scribbled out) -Bestest (scribbled out) -Loverly (scribbled out) -Lovey (scribbled out) -My-for-always-and-ever - name's not too long, time's too short. -But "Sweet-tits," though (scribbled out)

Solas:

Vhenan, I do not know if you will see these words. My ritual is ready and will soon be set in motion. Perhaps when you read this the world will be as it once was, and you will see why all I did was necessary. I cannot ask your forgiveness, but I hope you come to understand. That night in Crestwood, when I shared the truth about your vallaslin... you do not know how close I came to breaking. I could have shared the truth, or even put my plans aside and simply stayed with you as Solas... as I wanted. I regret the pain I caused you. What I feel for you will never change. The note is unsigned, but the handwriting is Solas'.

[emmyrosee]

His foot taps anxiously against the floor of the flower shop, eyes glazing over the beautiful bouquets and vibrant colors that splash under the fluorescent lights that crackle above his head. The smell of so many flowers is getting into his head, powdery and sweet, but the nausea brewing inside of him is not budging.

He messed up. He knows that.

He also knows he relies on the bet that you’ll accept flowers every time he messes up, which while seldom, happens more than he still would like.

You deserve the utmost love and respect. And he can’t stand that sometimes, he feels like he can’t give it to you and has to hope flowers will be enough for your trust again, like a bandaid on a scraped knee.

After this, he’ll run to the bakery for a pastry, wrapped in a little box, waiting for you to enjoy it-

What is he thinking, countless gifts won’t make up for it, for all he’s done. You’ll never forgive him, each bouquet and each slice of cake when he messes up surely is only driving you away, and he cards a hand through his blonde hair as he has a small, teeny freak out in front of the display.

He looks to the old man next to him who easily picks out a bouquet of assorted flowers with a predominantly purple color story. The old man sniffs them, and smiles, before sighing happily. He turns to Atsumu with small nod, “think she’ll like ‘em?”

Atsumu tenses up before offering the old man a small chuckle, “sure is one of the prettiest bouquets in here,” he encourages, and the man hums as he looks around the boquete for any imperfections in the petals. “She’ll be lucky to have them from ya, yessir.”

The man smiles, “no, son; I’m lucky to have her.” He sighs dreamily, “there isn’t enough bouquets in the world to show her how much she means to me.”

Atsumu freezes. For some reason, unbeknownst to him, a lump forms into his throat at the man’s words. He tries to swallow it thickly, keep his emotions at bay before he wails to this strange man about all the ways he’s hurt you over the years and how always, he’s never been able to fully forgive himself despite you assuring that you do.

This argument would be no different.

Atsumu nods his head in understanding, “I think you might be in the same boat as me,” he says, wondering if this man too, is making up for a mistake he made. If this man is trying to repent, and the first way to do it is to bring her flowers, a symbol of a love he’s determined to keep blooming, keep alive, keep beautiful.

But maybe, just maybe, he’s not relying on the fact that flowers are an apology, perhaps they’re being purchased just because, just to make you smile.

Perhaps Atsumu should start doing that for you. Just something nice.

Something to look forward to.

The man chuckles once more; it’s raspy, like perchance he’s one to indulge in a cigarette when the craving arises, but it’s comforting, and for the first time in hours, Atsumu feels a little more at ease.

“At least we’re in the boat, my friend,” the man says. Atsumu swallows thickly once more, but he flashes the man a comforted smile.

“You’re right. We sure are, sir.”

The man bows at the blonde, “you take care of yourself,” he says simply, before coolly turning to make his way to the registers. Atsumu looks back at the boquetes and grabs one that reminds him of you; bright and pristine, like bubbles on a warm day, a warm blanket at night. Like the movie you can repeat by heart by now, but he’ll still watch with you like it’s the first time.

He smiles, sniffles and blinks the sting in his waterline, thrilled to be in the boat with you.

[wheneverfeasible]

Wiggly Wednesday?

The brain worms are here again.

I honestly hate Christmas and avoid doing too much for it. However, an idea came to me suddenly and I can’t stop thinking about…

Secret Santa Steddie AU.

In one of Steve’s high school classes senior year, they’re assigned a Secret Santa project. They all put their names in a Santa hat and have to draw one out (returning it for another if it’s their own) and that’s the person they have to secretly give a gift to, either homemade or purchased, but there’s a cap of like…whatever the equivalent of $20 today is back then. Idk.

This is supposed to be a team building type of exercise, something to foster camaraderie, after say maybe a huge argument/fight broke out between Tommy and his group and the Freak, Eddie Munson, as well as some other nerds. Steve is exhausted and doesn’t care for Tommy’s bullshittery anymore, so he didn’t really get involved, though Eddie did throw a few digs his way. Which was hurtful but probably deserved.

Anyways, Steve draws out Eddie’s name.

For the next week or so the last fifteen minutes of class are devoted to questionnaires and such where the students answer questions about themselves directly or they fill in answers to widely asked questions, all used to let the Secret Santas learn about their recipients. Some people take it more seriously than others.

Steve gets to know more about Eddie, who is more blasé about it all, obviously not expecting anyone to give him something good (if they give him anything at all) since he has no friends in the class and most people don’t like him. So Steve, who has never paid Eddie any amount of attention before in the past but has been now and finds himself intrigued, starts observing Eddie outside of class.

Steve knows he could buy Eddie something music related. An easy cop-out gift. But the more he observes Eddie, the more he gets to see the tiny cracks in the Freak persona whenever he spies on him, sees the nerdy but also kind person beneath the leather jacket. And…okay…maybe he starts to develop a sort of crush without realizing that’s what happens.

Maybe he bribes other nerds about Hellfire Club and Eddie and makes certain they don’t squeal about him asking (he doesn’t realize he comes off as threatening, he just thinks he’s being urging), maybe he hears Eddie mention things and then he goes and asks Dustin what they mean, learning it’s from a book series about midgets and some jewelry or whatever, and so an idea forms.

While shuttling the kids about after school, Steve asks Will if he’d be willing to draw something for him, which Steve would pay him for. Will, obviously excited because it’s his first commission job and Steve pays him fairly, agrees.

(Steve may also purchase a patch at the record store they stop at—Will’s request as he wants to buy something for Jonathan—because it reminds him of Eddie, but that doesn’t matter.)

Yadda yadda ya, it’s time to exchange gifts. The teacher has allowed them to drop them off leading up to the Friday before winter vacation to keep the mystery alive.

When Eddie gets his, he’s expecting something more like a prank gift. Instead, he’s gifted a colored drawing (sadly not enough time for a painting) of Eddie dressed as someone named something like Spider or Arrow Gone or whatever, Steve doesn’t really know, but it’s him fighting off a horde of monster things with a flaming eyeball in the background and further back is an erupting volcano.

Steve doesn’t know what the hell is going on, not really able to absorb the massive info dump Dustin gave him, but Will assured Steve that the dude was cool and the battle depicted was awesome and important when he dropped off his old yearbook for model reference. Will’s opinion was enough for Steve of course. He just hoped Eddie liked it, and the patch that he rolled up with the picture.

Eddie is, of course, gobsmacked and trying his hardest not to show it. He scans the classroom to try to figure out who could have given him such an amazing gift, but no one even looks at him. There’s no way he would ever suspect the truth.

Steve ended up getting a can of Farrah Fawcett spray, which everyone laughed at and assumed was a joke gift for a jock, but Steve noticed a small twitch of a smile on Tommy’s face, the only one besides Dustin now who knows his secret.

Later, Eddie’s battle vest is adorned with the patch he received in his gift, a red and black Leviathan cross, but Steve doesn’t know what happened to the drawing. He hopes it didn’t get trashed.

It’s not until later, after everything with Vecna and recovering what was salvageable from the trailer, that he found the picture safely secured behind a glass frame hidden in Eddie’s room. It’s only then that Steve realizes that he might have been a little bit in love with Eddie “the Freak” Munson all this time.

~

Aaaaaaaah sorry this is a little bit of a nebulous ending here. Does this story follow canon and Eddie is dead, never knowing who his Secret Santa is? Or is Eddie recovering from his injuries, fated to recognize Will’s art style and thus learning the truth behind one of his most prized possessions? Who’s to say 🤷

I’m just gonna tag my perma list because I’m lazy. Anyone can be happy to consider this a tag for their own future brain worms tho!

Hostage Hotties:

@derythcorvinus @katyawriteswhump @honeii-puff @scoops-aboy86 @dotdot-wierdlife

@everywherenothere @bumblebeecuttlefishes

[metallicames]

New fic with 2000's James! Hope you like it 🥰

@nausicaamusiclover20 you for the perfect translation❣️

I missed you

Description: You and James had a baby two months ago, you're slowly getting back into your routine and you feel the need to start making love with James again and it seems almost like the first time.

WARNINGS: smut, explicit content, sex, oral sex, dirty talking.

Two months have passed since Elijah was born—two difficult, but at the same time, beautiful and intense months. James has proven to be an amazing father. Since he got sober, he feels like a different person—caring, attentive, present, and reliable. I find myself falling even more in love with him. Slowly, I'm getting back into my routine. It feels good to focus on myself again, but part of me still aches every time I leave Elijah. I never thought I'd be the kind of mom who struggles with being apart from her baby, but every time I head to the gym or prepare for my upcoming runway show, there's a knot in my stomach. I’m so proud of what I do, but I can't help but feel torn.

In three months, I have a big runway show, and I've started going to the gym again. Today is one of those days, and I’m heading home after my workout, eager to see Elijah and James again.

I push the door open, the familiar scent of home welcoming me. I can already hear the soft hum of James's guitar drifting down the hallway. My heart skips a beat, and I find myself walking toward Elijah’s room almost instinctively.

When I step inside, I pause, watching them. James is sitting in the armchair by the crib, guitar in hand, his strong fingers gently strumming a slow, peaceful melody. Elijah is peacefully asleep in his crib, his tiny chest rising and falling in rhythm with the song. I can’t help but smile, my chest swelling with love.

James’s presence is such a contrast to the serene room around Elijah. His broad shoulders and tattooed arms look so out of place here, surrounded by the soft colors and delicate decor, but somehow, it makes everything feel even more right. He looks so relaxed, so at peace. It’s as if the world outside doesn’t exist in these moments, and all that matters is the tiny soul asleep in the crib and the man playing music to him.

I stay still, watching them, my heart full. It’s been months since we’ve had time alone, and I can feel the distance between us melting away, the desire for him creeping back in. But there's also something else—a sense of longing for the connection we've both been craving. It’s been so long since we've had time to ourselves, just the two of us.

I bite my lip, torn between my love for Elijah and the pull of James. I’m not sure I’m ready for everything to change, but seeing him like this, so attentive, so gentle—it stirs something deep inside me.

Finally, I take a step closer, my footsteps soft on the carpet, and I lean in to kiss the top of Elijah's head before turning my attention to James.

“You’re always full of surprises,” I whisper, my voice soft, teasing.

“I thought I’d try something different today,” he says with a grin, putting the guitar down gently. “Elijah seemed to like it.”

I smile, my heart melting. I lean in, letting my fingers brush against his, a small touch that sends warmth through me. “He did. I think he’s just as in love with you as I am.”

James’s hand tightens around mine, pulling me in closer. For a moment, it’s just us, standing there in the quiet of the nursery, the world outside forgotten.

A shiver runs down my spine. It’s been months since we’ve touched, and I can feel the longing desire  inside me. The distance between us has become unbearable, and I know it’s finally time to reconnect, to feel his touch again, to make love.

I watch Elijah sleeping peacefully in his crib, careful not to disturb him. I don’t dare touch him, not wanting to wake him up. My heart is racing as I turn toward James, and I can’t help but move toward him. I reach up and run my fingers through his short, tousled hair, the touch soft and gentle, before pressing my lips to his in a slow kiss. I pull away slowly, my gaze locking with his, and then kiss him again, this time deepening it, my tongue slipping past his lips with a careful, lingering motion.

His hand moves to my face, cupping my jaw and the side of my neck. His grip is firm, but there’s tenderness in the way he holds me, his fingers pressing slightly against my skin. He tightens his hold just a little, sending a shiver through my body.

"I want you..." I whisper, my voice breathless as my lips hover close to his ear.

I feel him stiffen slightly, his gaze lighting up with a fire that matches my own. He had promised to wait for me, to wait until I was ready. I know he’s been patient, but I can see in his eyes the same longing that’s been growing inside me. The months of silence, of distance—it’s been agony for both of us.

"Are you ready?" he asks, his voice low and full of concern, but there's a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. His eyes search mine, making sure I’m comfortable, that this is what I really want. "Do you feel okay?"

I meet his gaze, nodding softly. "I’m ready," I whisper. "I feel… right with you."

His smirk deepens, and he nods, his eyes darkening with approval. Then, as if to answer my unspoken invitation, he leans in and kisses me again, this time with more urgency. The kiss starts slow, sweet, but quickly becomes more passionate, his lips moving against mine with a deep hunger. His hands roam to my back, pulling me closer, the heat between us building as we kiss.

After a few moments, I pull back just enough to breathe, my chest rising and falling rapidly. My fingers trail down his chest, and I look up at him with a small smile. "Let’s go to the bedroom, "I suggest, my voice thick with desire.

He gives me a slight nod, but I hesitate, glancing back toward Elijah. "Wait" I say, stepping back for a moment. I grab the walkie-talkie from the shelf by the door and hand it to him. "Just in case he wakes up…"

James takes the walkie-talkie with a smirk still playing on his lips, his eyes locked on mine. "We’ll be quick" he says, the teasing tone in his voice making it clear he's eager, but patient.

I feel strangely nervous, almost as if it’s the first time. Maybe it’s the fear that something has changed, that it won’t be the same as before. If that’s the case, it would hit me hard because making love with James has always been one of the things I love most in the world. I try to hide the anxiety by kissing him hungrily, my hands finding their way to his chest, slipping under his shirt. The warmth of his toned chest makes me crave him even more.

As we move toward the bedroom, my heart is pounding in my chest. I try to push away the doubts creeping in—wondering if everything will be as it once was. What if things have changed? What if the passion we shared is gone, lost in the months of silence and distance? The thought makes me uneasy, but I try to shove it aside, focusing instead on the feel of his lips on mine, the warmth of his body against mine. I don’t want to think about anything else right now—just him.

James pushes me gently toward the bed, and I sit down, looking up at him. I can see the hunger in his eyes, the same fire that’s burning in me. Without breaking eye contact, I reach down to undo his belt, biting my lower lip as I pull at the buckle, feeling the tension build with every second.

"How badly do you want it?" he asks, his voice teasing, but laced with desire.

"Too much..." I answer, my hands pulling down the zipper of his jeans, my breath quickening with anticipation.

I pull down his pants and boxers, my gaze lingering on him for a moment. I can feel the weight of his eyes on me, and the air between us feels thick with desire. I can’t resist reaching out, my hands trembling slightly as I take his dick, slowly stroking it while I licked it, waching him intensely. His hand comes to the back of my head, gently guiding me closer. His breath quickens, and I can hear the low sounds of his pleasure. I take my time, moving deliberately, savoring the moment, savoring him.

"Stop…" he whispers, his voice rough. "I’m already close..."

I slow down, feeling the change in the air between us. I pull back just a little, giving him space to breathe, to collect himself. My fingers brush my lips, and I look at him, my chest rising and falling with each breath.  His eyes are dark, deep, full of desire. He pulls off my shirt, and for a moment, I feel exposed and vulnerable. My body has changed—my breasts are fuller from breastfeeding—and although I’ve almost regained my shape, I still don’t feel completely at ease. But when I see the way he looks at me, I feel a shiver run through me. His gaze moves slowly over every inch of my body, as if he’s memorizing me, in awe of the way I’ve changed.

He unhooked my bra while kissing me with slow, passionate intensity. The bra falls to the floor, and with one hand, he gently touches my breast. He knows I’m sensitive, so he’s careful, making sure his touch is soft, almost reverent. His fingers leave a trail of warmth that makes my head spin. I want him so much, more than I can put into words. I could throw myself at him in an instant, but he holds back, wanting to take his time, wanting to be gentle with me. His care only makes me want him more.

I lie back, pulling him down toward me, kissing him with a hunger I can’t suppress. I bite his lips softly, savoring every moment, intoxicated by his scent, his warmth. It’s like everything around us fades away, and I’m lost in him.

James pulls back just slightly, his eyes searching mine before he carefully pulls off my jeans and panties, his touch never rushing, always slow and deliberate. 

"You're beautiful... like a goddess," he says, his voice almost breathless. His compliment makes me blush, and I look at him, pleased, as I whisper, "Come here."

He quickly pulls off his shirt, his eyes never leaving mine. The intensity between us grows, and I feel a spark of anticipation.

His hand moves slowly toward my body,  touching my clit, sending a wave of pleasure through me. I arch my back instinctively, the pleasure building with every soft, deliberate touch. He kisses my chest, taking his time, pressing his face into me as if savoring every moment. His movements are slow, thoughtful, as though he’s memorizing each of my reactions.

I can feel myself becoming restless, my body craving more. It’s like a fire burning in me, one I can’t control.

"James, please... I need you," I say, my voice tinged with desperation, my body responding to his touch, moving beneath him.

He looks at me with a smile, positioning himself between us, his gaze full of longing. As he kisses me, he slowly pushes himself into me and I feel a rush of warmth and closeness. My breath catches in my throat, and I can’t make a sound, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. I open my mouth slightly, a deep sigh escaping as I hold him closer, feeling his arms enveloping me.

“God... I’ve missed you so much,” he murmurs against my lips, his voice thick with emotion. I feel the weight of his body above me, the pressure grounding me, but there’s something comforting in it—like we’re both exactly where we’re meant to be. But it becomes more passionate as I feel his lower abdomen rubbing in my clit at every thrust.  and I can’t help but respond to him, my hands gripping his back, my body aching to feel every part of him.

I know he’s holding back, trying not to rush, making sure I’m okay, and it makes me crave him more. I whisper his name, urging him on, knowing that right now, we both need this—need each other.

“Harder… James… give it to me harder,” I urge, my voice trembling with desire.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you,” he asks, concerned in his voice.

Without saying a word, I place my hand on his butt, guiding him closer to me, urging him deeper. He understands the message  and his arms move around me, pulling me in, his hands gently supporting the back of my head. He begins to thrust harder, with a new intensity, each motion slow but deep, bringing a wave of pleasure with every thrust. I let myself fully surrender to the sensation, each movement leaving me breathless. 

James is completely immersed in the moment now. His lips leave mine, his forehead resting softly against my shoulder as he continues thrusting, as though nothing else matters but the connection between us. I can feel him shaking, his breath quickening, and the way his body reacts tells me everything I need to know.

“Keep going,” I whisper, lost in the feeling of him, feeling the intensity building between us.

He reaches the peak, pulling away and leaning over me, his breath shallow as he cums all over my body, his expression of pleasure sending a rush of excitement through me. The warmth of him leaves me breathless, and his uneven breaths only heighten the intensity of the moment, sending me into a daze of sensation.

"I love you..." I whisper softly.

"I love you too, Y/N..." he responds, his breath heavy.

I look down at my abdomen and burst into laughter.

"Oops..." he says, laughing as he runs a hand through his hair.

He gets up and heads to the bathroom. When he returns, he has a damp towel, and he gently wipes it over my body, the sensation soothing. As he reaches my lower abdomen, I realize I still crave him. I want to feel more. As he moves the towel down, he pauses at my lower abdomen, almost as if he can read my thoughts. He starts kissing me, moving lower, and suddenly a wave of anxiety hits me. I’m afraid my body isn’t the same, that he won’t find me attractive anymore. Instinctively, I close my legs.

He looks at me, confusion in his eyes. "Hey... it’s me."

"I know, but..." I trail off, unsure of how to explain.

"You're perfect... relax," he says, his tone soft and reassuring as he continues to kiss me gently.

I take a deep breath, closing my eyes, feeling him gently part my legs, kissing my clit. Slowly, I start to relax, and I realize my fears were unfounded. He loves my body just as much, if not more, than before. From this moment, his mouth and tongue move with perfect rhythm, knowing exactly how to stimulate every right spot. I know he loves giving me pleasure, and I can tell he would never stop. As he picks up the pace, a wave of shivers runs through my body, almost like an electric shock with every touch.

"Oh my God, James... you’re going to make me c..." I gasp, my hand tangled in his hair as I start trembling beneath him.

From time to time, he lets out a low, almost primal groan, sending another jolt of pleasure through me, making the sensation even more intense. At one point, he takes my ankle and places my foot on his shoulder, and I raise the other one to mirror the position, giving him more room to move. He kisses deeper, the sensation of his touch making me dizzy. His intensity drives me wild, and I can feel how deeply he desires me, how every action, every movement reminds me that I belong to him.

I can no longer control my moans, my body trembling with each wave of sensation. I arch my back, turning my head back as the pleasure builds. Just before reaching the edge, I glance down, seeing James, his skin glistening with sweat, completely naked between my legs. The sight of him, the way he moves against the mattress, only intensifies the feeling.

"J-Jamie... oh my God... I’m... I’m coming," I gasp, my body contorting as I grip the pillow with one hand. He wraps his arm around my leg, and with the final movements, he brings me to a powerful, overwhelming release. It’s intense, freeing, and everything I’ve been craving.

The sensation is so overwhelming and prolonged that I can barely catch my breath. I loosen my grip on his hair, and I notice that he’s still grinding against the mattress, his face so close to me. His soft groans soon give way to his own exhaustion, and he finally stills, breathing heavily. 

"Jesus Christ!" he exclaims, almost breathless.

"What happened?" you ask, amused, as you run your fingers through his hair and pull your feet off his shoulders.

"It’s that I... I came while I was eating you out . This is the effect you have on me," he says, his head resting on your lower abdomen, his breathing heavy and irregular. You smile, gently stroking his temple. He slowly sits up and lies next to you. You turn onto your side to watch him, admiring him quietly.

"Never doubt your body again, understood?" His voice is firm, his gaze intense, almost as if he's trying to make me believe in myself just as much as he believes in me.

I nod, my heart racing, and lean in to kiss him. The moment our lips touch, I feel a tear escape, rolling down my cheek.

He pulls away just enough to look at me, his expression filled with concern. "Why are you crying now?"

I try to steady my breath, the emotions swirling within me. "I don’t know... it's just... I’ve missed you so much, and with everything... my hormones are all over the place. There’s just so much I feel... I can’t even explain it all," I confess, my voice trembling with vulnerability.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Instead, he gently pulls me closer, wrapping his arms tightly around me, as if trying to protect me from all the worries I’ve been carrying. His warmth grounds me, and I can’t help but close my eyes and bury my face in the crook of his neck.

He presses a soft kiss to my forehead, and I feel his chest rise and fall as he inhales deeply. “I love you,” he whispers, the words coming so naturally, like they’re the most important thing he’s ever said.

I melt into his embrace, feeling his arms around me, holding me in a way that tells me I’m safe. The steady beat of his heart beneath my ear calms the storm inside me, and for a moment, everything feels right.

[bunni-v1]

Hello! Can I request full nsfw alphabet with jade? Afab and fem reader too please. Thank you!

🍓Jade is done as well (YAYYY!!!!) You're one of like six people to ask for him, but you were the first so I chose you. You're welcome. Anyway this isn't edited, and I feel like this doesn't need to be said, but Jade is like nineteen here in accordance to my rules. Anyway have a good day love you all <3

Jade NSFW Alphabet!

A = Aftercare: Jade is, and there is no easy way to put this, very fucking strange. I’m not sure if it’s because he’s not from land (this hardly seems like an excuse, because Azul is fantastic with aftercare), but he is very weird about aftercare. Not in the fact that he doesn’t do it, nor that he doesn’t want to do it, he’s just… ritualistic about it. He has a routine set for it: First, he ensures any marks will be very visible on you – if they are not he will fix that. Don’t worry. Second, after you are nice and claimed, he will take you to his bathroom and make sure the two of you are nice and clean. He insists that you use his shampoo and body wash, and if you don’t he pouts in that creepy way he does until you give in. Finally, he grabs you a set of matching pajamas he bought specifically for when you stay over at his, and you two cuddle and talk before falling asleep. You have to talk though, he won’t have it if you don’t converse a little. It has to be just like that, or else he gets irritated and he will give you the silent treatment. He’s petty.

B = Body Part: Starting with himself, I imagine Jade finds his hands to be his best asset. His fingers are long and slim, and he takes very good care of them. Nails are trimmed short and usually painted a pretty teal, but all around, they are rather pretty. They are a little calloused on the tips from his hikes, but it’s hardly noticeable unless they're scraping over your sides. With you, though, Jade has a very hard time choosing. There’s just so much to like! It’s your ass, Jade likes your ass. It’s just a lovely little thing to him, soft and round and perfect for grabbing, especially around others. Copping a feel in front of Azul and hearing that little squeak is such a satisfying sensation.

C = Cum: I have a feeling a lot of my Jade takes may be controversial, and this may be one of them. I think a lot of people imagine he’s a clean freak, which he is, but like… he’s not a germaphobe or anything. He lives with Floyd. With that being said, uhm, Jade likes it messy <3 Like dripping down the legs, staining the sheets, drawing on your skin kinda messy. His cum is also really unique, because of his origins. It’s tinted like a blueish color, and it’s very thick. He doesn’t make you swallow it usually because it’s hard to get down and there’s a lot, always a lot. It’s also salty because he has a high salt content in his blood. (Yes. It glows.)

D = Dirty Secret: You’re not gonna like this one, I can tell you that now. Jade is an exhibitionist and does not care where he has sex, he just wants to have it when he wants it. (He’s spoiled rotten). He’d never fuck you in the busy rush hour at the monstro lounge, of course. The average customer shouldn’t even think about seeing you in such a vulnerable state. However, he wouldn’t mind if Floyd or Azul or some random person happened to stumble upon you in a storage closet. He doesn’t want them to join, because he’d 100% cut their hands off if they touched you, he just wants to… assert to them his relationship with you. Yeah, that’s all.

E = Experience: He doesn’t strike me as very experienced, or like the type to even seek out sex outside of a dedicated relationship. So you are most likely his first sexual and romantic partner, not that you can tell. He’s very attentive and exceptionally good at his job of pleasuring you. Even if he is bad, he’s a very quick learner, so he picks things up easily and fast for you.

F = Favorite Position: Jade likes control, so any position where he has full control over you and your body is heaven to him. He also likes to look at you, just to study your face and make you squirm under his gaze. So something like the valedictorian, where your legs are pinned out in a V, or pretty much anything where your legs are over his shoulder so you can’t squirm as much. Big fan of the prone bone for the same reasons, though he doesn’t like not seeing you.

G = Goofy: Jade isn’t… goofy, per se… but he doesn’t take sex super seriously. He finds sex to be amusing, especially human sex. Mer sex is different, less physical or intimate, so it's all new and exciting to him. He will absolutely chuckle and joke, but it’s always to tease you and make you all flustered. So yes? Kinda? Not really though.

H = Hair: We know Jade is well-groomed. He keeps it nice and short and shaved, just a little tuft of teal, mostly for asthetics. 

I = Intimacy: He’s not typically all that romantic during. Like I said before, sex is mostly a fun, interesting thing for him. Sure he likes you close and loves to watch your reactions but that's less of a romantic thing and more of a he’s a predator and you’re his prey thing. Still, he has his moments. Like when he’s about to cum he’ll press his forehead to yours (or to your back) and whisper out that he loves you so very much and that you’re so amazing for him.

J = Jack Off: Like… never. 1) He doesn’t have much of a sex drive to start. 2) He’s only ever turned on by something you do, maybe just the thought of you. 3) If he’s ever in a situation where he is turned on and you’re not around or you’re busy… well you won’t be separated for long! He just doesn’t like the act, unlike his brother, and especially doesn’t like wasting his ahem seed when it would do much better inside of you.

K = Kink: Okay so I’ve already established he’s a bit of an exhibitionist, but he’s also a voyeur. Like, please get yourself off while he watches you struggle and whine for him, it’s one of his favorite hobbies. He’s a sadist (obviously) and loves to see you squirm and uncomfortable (to the extent that you’re comfortable with, of course). He is also big into marking, no shit, he’s so possessive it would be insane if he wasn’t into marking you up. I’m gonna be honest, and again people may hate me for this, but he’s probably into Consensual Non-Consent so long as the two of you set up firm boundaries and safe words beforehand. (He’s a sadist, but he’d never fucking hurt his partner. His mama taught him better than that.)

L = Location: His favorite place is obviously his bedroom. Seeing you on his sheets is just a sight that cannot be beat. But other than that… anywhere with a little risk. Storage closets, the bathrooms, hell he’s even fucked you on Azul’s office couch. Pretty much down with any place so long as he can keep you nice and hidden if you do get caught. (Lord help the guy who gets a peek at you naked).

N = No: There’s not really anything Jade hasn’t thought of trying. One thing he ruled out very quickly, though, was sharing. He’s not a fan of sharing things, especially not things as cute and precious to him as you. So if you ever suggest it, he’ll probably kill the person you were considering bringing in.

O = Oral: He is big on receiving, sorry gang, he’s not big on giving. The sight of your lips wrapped around him, drool and cum dripping down your chin, it’s like a dream to our little freak. When he does give though, he’s pretty damn good. I mean, all it takes is one or two times and he’s got you down like a book. Be careful, though, he’s known to nip if you squirm too much.

P = Pace: Jade is pretty slow all things considered. While sex is fun for him, he loves making things slow and incredibly excruciating for you. Do you want to cum? Too bad, Jade’s adamant about slowly pulling out inch by inch just to slowly slide in the same. Sometimes, though, he’ll randomly swap to a bruising pace just to see how you react.

Q = Quickie: If it isn’t obvious by now, yes he’s into quickies. They’re not his favorite, okay, he likes to take his time… but if he wants sex he’s gonna get it, even if it has to be fast. Besides, the thrill of nearly being caught is enough to make the experience all worth it for him.

R = Risk: Duh. Yes, Jade loves risk-taking, and he’s willing to do anything (except share) once to see how you both like it. All you have to do is ask, talk it over, and then you’ll try and implement it. 

S = Stamina: Jade can go for a really long time, but once he cums he’s pretty much out of commission. He’s so good at self-control, but keeping himself from cumming takes a lot out of him, so once he does he can’t go again. Usually, the two of you have one really long round, then it’s all tending to each other and sweet words until you knock out.

T = Toys: He does! I don’t think he’s the biggest fan of them, but if he really wants to stretch things out he’s 100% bringing out his toys. They’re all designed to aid in pleasure, but not allow you to cum, and they’re all remote-controlled. He likes to stuff you with one and send you on your way so he can mess with you throughout the day.

U = Unfair: I don’t need to answer this. (See all of the above lol)

V = Volume: Jade is quiet, he doesn’t make much noise if any at all. He’d rather hear your voice, so he keeps himself to a minimum. You’ll hear a few sighs and purrs of pleasure, but that’s all you’ll get other than his comments about how cute you are under him.

W = Wild Card: He likes being marked up too, but he won’t tell anyone that. He doesn’t want anyone else to see the marks, because to him they’re his own little trophies of being a good partner, but he loves them.

X = X-Ray: Jade is average, about 5.8 inches flaccid and 6 inches hard. It’s really pretty though, pale like him and his tip is flushed a baby pink that could make you jealous. He’s thinner than most, and it doesn’t have many veins. 

Y = Yearning: His sex drive is actually rather low, there isn’t much that turns him on outside of you, and it’s rare that he gets turned on in the first place. Usually when you’re being particularly argumentative or cute, he starts feeling a little hot and bothered. Z = Zzz: He’s usually tired afterward, but like I said he needs his little chat. So he doesn’t fall asleep fast at all, usually able to keep himself up to take care of you and himself.

[astrobuggy]

I really want Lunar to find stuff about himself now that he is living alone

For example(s):

□ They start to actually express themselves willingly now that they know nobody's in their vicinity that they could accidentally harm

■ Lunar starts to actually enjoy living by himself. Finding that there are benefits to it (he can finally have a whole room to nutella without being judged 😤🙌)

□ He finds a job he actually enjoys and is excited to go into whenever the hour comes

- Like an organization that helps teens (I saw this in a post, and I love that idea heavy!) with problems like emotions or family problems. And he's actually so happy to be there since now he can freely express himself since they aren't kids (exactly kids)

- Or Lunar opens up a small business that becomes a local store that the community he's built it around knows him and his store immediately whenever it's mentioned. Like a flower shop! Lunar does have nature powers at this point. Plus, it'd be such a great way to practice his powers

- Combined idea >:D! Lunar opens up a flower shop as a side hussle while his main job is the organization. And during his working hours at the shop, the teens he looks after come around his shop and just hang out with him there. Assisting him with the workload the shop provides. Lunar teaches them how to plant and take care of plants. Lunar does actually pay them a decent amount for the work they help him out with (I kinda see the business booming since Lunar can literally create flowers and change its colors willingly, only if the plant wants to). They come around so often that Lunar made them a hangout area at the back of the store. They appreciate it heavily (they try not to give Lunar such a hard time as payment)

■ Lunar finds a group of friends outside of the pizzaplex (FINALLY 😭🙏)

□ He starts to actually have a hygiene cycle. Lunar finds out he enjoys baths over showers. He finds bubble baths and bath bombs very enjoyable and fun to play with. And now he smells like vanilla with a mix of blueberries

■ They find hobbies other than gaming and watching shows (or nutella commercials 😐) Like gardening or even baking (shit, maybe even drawing, like how he used to during 2022)

I just need Lunar to be happy during this arc. PLEASE 😭🙏🙏 Ik I ain't getting that with the shit he's dealing (the astrals)

[waiting-for-motivation]

inside out

summary: Carlos is there for his girlfriend when her darkest insecurities take ahold of her.

pairing: Carlos Sainz x Reader

warnings: insecurities, angst, fluff

words: 1129

a/n: thanks to tumblr for being my unpaid therapist, I guess <33

MASTERLIST REQUEST RULES

Having some time off feels relieving as well as overwhelming at the same time. Carlos fears not valuing his free time enough, although he does everything in his power to experience a lot. With his girlfriend, he visits museums, aquariums, exciting cities and breathtaking landscapes.

Other times, they share some quality time, cuddled up on the couch, watching a movie or cooking together. When Carlos is gaming, (Y/n) is always in the same room reading. They exist in silence, still savoring the shared moments with their partner.

Today is no different, relaxing after yesterdays hiking tour, Carlos plays a new game he had been yearning to have a look at. His girl sits next to him on the couch, so close their thighs touch, scrolling through social media. From time to time, she shares some memes, also calming him whenever the game is getting too rough.

“Car?“, (Y/n) breathes, discarding her phone on the side table. Not knowing if Carlos even heard her over the sound of his gaming, she throws a cautious glance towards him. His brown eyes are already on her, concerned about the serious tone. Carlos even places his controller aside.

“Do you think I‘m pretty?“, (Y/n) asks with an unsteady voice, avoiding her boyfriend's eyes. Her heart feels like it might break her rips apart, and her breathing keeps getting tougher. Right away, (Y/n) regrets expressing her insecure mind.

Subconsciously, she starts fumbling around with her fingers, pressing her nails into the palm of her hand. It might be a bad habit, but the pain is what distracts her from her depressing thoughts. What even works better is Carlos taking care of her. He grabs her hands, warm touch halting her nervous fiddling.

“Of course, mi corazón“, Carlos answers, almost at a loss of words. Her question caught him of guard. Watching (Y/n) shrink in front of him, her insecurities heavy on her shoulders cause him to feel rather guilty. Maybe he did not show her his appreciation enough. Maybe he tells her how much he adores her too seldom.

If (Y/n) could see herself through the eyes of Carlos, she would have no doubts about her appearance. The word perfection is not enough to describe the way Carlos perceives her. He might not be an artist nor a writer, but he would use only the brightest colors for her portrait and could write an entire trilogy about everything he loves about (Y/n).

“You are my gorgeous girl“, Carlos adds and places a hand on her cheek, forcing her eyes on him. Pressing her lips to a tight line, (Y/n) regrets exposing her thoughts at the sight of her concerned boyfriend. “Where is this coming from?“

“Forget about it“, (Y/n) says in a rush, already jumping to her feet and leaving Carlos alone on the couch. But she can't escape her boyfriend, who quickly follows her and wraps his strong arms around her from behind, lifting her up.

“I‘m going to show you how much I actually admire you“, Carlos announces as he throws (Y/n) onto the couch. Her screaming turns to soft giggles because of Carlos decorating her face in kisses. His lips wander from her forehead over the frown between her eyebrows to her nose and lead eventually to her neck. Over and over again, he whispers how much he loves her, how pretty she is.

“You are all I need, mi corazón, all I want. Without you, I feel like I can't breathe“, Carlos declares his deep-rooted love to his girlfriend, kissing a trail down her arms. What causes him to halt his fondling is a quiet sob leaving (Y/n)s throat. Quickly, she places both her hands on top of her mouth, but the tears streaming over her cheeks reveal enough.

“No, please don’t cry“, Carlos whimpers in shock, watching his girl sit up with a shaking body. Out of instinct, (Y/n) turns away from her boyfriend, not wanting him to see her so vulnerable, though Carlos won't simply accept that. He hugs her tightly to his chest. Her tears quickly dampen his shirt, but he couldn't care less at the moment. “Tell me what darkens your mind.“

“I feel like I will never be enough, not for anyone, not for you in particular. Comparing myself to the other girlfriends on the paddock, I realize how plain I must be. They are naturally so magnificent, know how to handle all this attention, and treat their partners perfectly. I will never be like that. I‘m not good enough“, (Y/n) manages to say between her sobs, now wearing her heart on the sleeve, revealing her worst thoughts.

“You are enough, mi corazón. Those other girls are nothing compared to you. I would not want you any other way because I see you as you are: wholeheartedly kind and breathtakingly beautiful. You are all I want and having you here with me makes me so happy“, Carlos tries to encourage his girlfriend, caressing her back and placing soft kisses on the top of her head. Bit by bit, (Y/n) seems to calm down, though she keeps her arms wrapped around her boyfriend.

“I just believe that neither my appearance nor my personality are what you deserve“, she whispers against his chest. Having heard enough, Carlos forces (Y/n) to face him, placing both his hands on her cheeks. Their eyes meet, both glinting with tears.

“Stop right there! If I have to say it over and over again, then I will: You are what I want. I love everything you might hate about yourself. I love seeing the brightness in your eyes whenever you see a dog. I love your passion for things you appreciate. I love the little scrunch on your face when you are reading. I love the way you hide behind me when a camera is near. I love you, (Y/n), and nothing you will do or say will ever change that because my affection is unconditional.“

At a loss for words, (Y/n) just stares at Carlos with wide eyes. This sweet monolog was the deepest profession of love she ever witnessed. Her heart felt like it was falling apart moments ago, but with every word that came over his lips, the pieces found shape again.

“Thank you“, she says with a rough voice, all that crying took a toll on her throat. After wiping all the tears from her face, Carlos leans down and captures her lips in a short yet tender kiss. His smile is bright, lightening her mood greatly.

“Don‘t worry, I will always be there when you are too deep in your own head, mi vida.“

[the-lonelybarricade]

Queen of Thieves - Chapter 8

Summary: A fulfillment of this kinkmeme prompt. Or; A Canon AU where half fae, con-artist Feyre makes an ill placed bet.

Happy birthday to our darling Rhys!! I got him everything he wanted 😏

CW: Smut, Mild dubcon/CNC elements, mind control, and other dubious, wicked things

Read on AO3・QoT Masterlist ・Previous Chapter

-

Feyre was eleven years old the first time she was desperate enough to steal.

Like any ordinary child, she'd been taught that stealing under any circumstance was wrong. Her father was a merchant, which meant that thieves posed a direct threat to his livelihood, particularly when piracy was so common along the trade routes to the continent.

He'd built his legacy, the Prince of Merchants, on his willingness to sail those trade routes, navigating pirate-ridden seas because the higher risk equated to higher reward.

But a name wasn't won through gambling alone. Any merchant with a rookie crew could luck their way to the continent and back. What made him the best—the Prince—was his expertise in the art of bargaining. He was renowned for having deals so detailed, so craftily constructed, they needed to be written and signed in advance of each journey.

Feyre had been present for a few of those meetings, watching as ink bled from paper to skin. Sometimes, she'd even been present for the aftermath, listening to crewmen grumble about underhanded terms.

I am a man of my word, Father once said, rolling a contract over his desk and stabbing a finger to its contents. And my word was stated plainly. Do not impute your failure to read the terms on my good name. I am no liar, and I am certainly no thief.

He always used that word like it was filthy.

Feyre once mirrored that belief.

As a child, she would delight in sitting atop storage crates on the docks, monitoring the gangways as her father's crew unloaded cargo from his ship. If there were any wayward thieves, she was determined to catch them.

After all, Father didn't trust the folk along the docks. He barely trusted his own crew.

They don't have any passion for the exploration or the trade, he once grumbled. All they want is a bed and a meal.

Feyre remembered being shocked to hear that some people didn't have those things. Until that point, she'd always relied on having her basic needs met, and then some.

What's so bad about that?

When all a person cares about is surviving, it means they're willing to blur lines. They'll cheat, lie, and steal if it helps them get ahead.

Father shook his head like those three things were truly abominable. Little did he know that one day, Feyre would become a master of all three.

But she started with mastering one.

Two years after her father's vessel sank on the route to Bharat, Feyre's mother had fallen ill. Humans had weak constitutions, and grief could take a heavy toll. So could debt—of which, they'd learned the famed Prince of Merchants had many.

So Mother sold the house, then the jewels, then, eventually, her own body.

It was barely enough.

By the time she was too ill to work, there was nothing left to get by. No silver candlesticks or golden rings they could pawn at the market for medicine.

When Feyre wandered into the apothecary's shop, her intentions had been pure. If she knew the price of the medicine, then perhaps she and her sisters could find a way to scratch together the amount needed. They could scrub floors, or pull weeds in someone's garden, or maybe Elain could use her big brown eyes to draw sympathy begging in the streets.

The shop was lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves on every wall, filled to the brim with glass vials of varying colors and consistencies. Each sported a white label Feyre couldn't discern, though she was happy to pick out the colors that she found most interesting: a flask of swirling violet flecked with silver granules, another of bright, bubbling pink, and one which she swore housed a slithering creature.

"Can I help you?" The apothecary asked.

She sounded concerned, which any adult rightly would be at the sight of Feyre's tattered clothes.

It sparked hope that Feyre could appeal to the elderly female's empathy. That was all she'd been trying to do when she stared into the apothecary's eyes. Please help me, she thought. I know you want to help me.

The female's concern was so potent that Feyre could feel it, a rope tethering two strangers, built on kindness, on compassion. Her mind was as wide open as her heart.

Feyre didn't know she was digging into it until she felt something give. Like fingers clawing into wet sand.

I need a cure for a human fever, Feyre said.

She thought she said it out loud. She must have, because the apothecary started moving toward the shelf on the back wall.

Acting troupes occasionally put on puppet shows in the market squares near The Rainbow. Feyre felt like she was watching one of those shows as the female jerked open a drawer, her movements erratic. Unnatural. Like she was being controlled by an inexperienced puppeteer.

But the oddity was forgotten the second the woman produced a vial of shimmering liquid and handed it to Feyre without a word of the price. Her eyes were unnervingly vacant as Feyre took the vial, thanked the apothecary, and fled back to her mother.

She didn't realize until years later what happened; she didn't realize that was the moment she'd become a thief.

-

Daemati magic came in many different forms.

Suspended in the space between the High Lord of the Night Court's foyer and study, it took the shape of madness and indulgence.

Over the years, Feyre had progressed from accidentally breaking into people's minds into doing so with intention. It was a gradual process, one she likened to painting. A child used their fingers, but an artist used a brush.

And she was learning her mental bowstring was as rudimentary as finger painting to Rhysand.

Last time, he'd shown her brutal talons that allowed him to play ventriloquist, and she'd thought that was the extent of it. Pure, unyielding power.

But of course, it could be soft, too. Gentle, like a feather's touch ghosting over her mind. Almost… ticklish. Playful.

Like the fingers landing on her bare stomach. He splayed them out carefully, the way one might handle ruptured glass. They might have both been holding their breath as the challenge became real.

Their eyes met, waiting for the other to fracture. This was a ridiculous, dangerous game; they both knew it.

He was lowering himself to his knees before her, for Cauldron's sake. The most powerful male in Prythian bowing like a supplicant. It all seemed so backward to her.

But those strong, capable hands spread wider, undeterred by the constraints of social hierarchy. What did a High Lord care, when he could simply rewrite the rules with his fingertips? He stretched them until his palms landed flat, scalding her on either side of her abdomen. She tried not to focus on how long his fingers were, spanning over the curve of her waist while the tips of his forefingers skimmed her ribs.

"This," Rhys breathed, tracing one of his thumbs along the golden chain adorning her midriff, "was an excellent wardrobe choice."

"You can thank one of the mountain nymphs in the Palace of Thread and Jewels," Feyre said. As if this were a perfectly normal conversation. "She sold it to me."

"I'll make note of that," Rhys murmured, still toying with that gods-damned chain. Feyre fought the urge to squirm. "I owe her my heartfelt gratitude."

"I bought it with your money," she added.

Rhys shut his eyes. She watched him take a deep breath, and she couldn't tell if that knowledge irritated or excited him. When those violet eyes flashed open, bright and burning with hunger, Feyre thought she had her answer.

"Then it was arguably the best money I've ever spent."

"Arguably?"

It was meant to come off as teasing, but with his fingers drifting up her stomach, everything was coming out a little bit strained. And maybe… a little hurt. Not that it mattered if the High Lord regretted spending his money on her.

When Rhysand laughed, his breath danced over her skin, as light a caress as his presence at her mental shields.

"I would claim it with more conviction, but you weren't here for the ass-chewing I received from my second."

"Your—" she broke off with a little gasp as Rhysand's hands slid upwards, dipping beneath the golden band that cinched her top over her breasts. She adjusted her grip on the rope, holding tighter. "Your second in command?"

"Amren," he supplied. "She's a vicious firedrake trapped in a tiny female's body."

"Amren," Feyre echoed, squeezing her eyes tight as those curious fingers began running along the beads hanging beneath her breasts. They made a soft, metallic tink as they swung and collided with each other. "Amren like… like from the children's stories?

Nesta used to tease her with cautionary tales of the bloodthirsty Amren, who lurked in the shadows and sucked on the bones of naughty children. It wasn't the first she'd heard of Rhysand being in cohorts with Amren, but she'd always assumed it was figurative. The way a Priestess was associated with the Mother.

"She doesn't devour misbehaving children, if that's what you're wondering." Rhysand paused, drawing back for a moment with a horrifyingly considerate expression. "Anymore," he clarified.

"Anymore?" Feyre squeaked.

"There's no need to be afraid, Feyre." He grinned, leaning in closer. "Unless, of course, you've been misbehaving. Is there something you'd like to confess?"

Cauldron boil her. Feyre couldn't tell if he was being serious.

"Last I checked, stealing and gambling aren't exactly the traits of a priestess."

"It's a good thing Amren isn't the Mother, then. I think she would find those things amusing," Rhys said, a curious warmth to his voice. One she might even dare to label as affection. "In fact, I think she'd be quite impressed with you."

Feyre repeated, incredulous, "With me?"

"I certainly am."

And before she could digest that statement, Rhys circled a hand to the small of her back, untying the golden band that kept the fabric over her breast secured. It dropped to the floor in a clatter of beading, marking the descent of Feyre's resolve.

Her arms were starting to tremble, and she was grateful she could blame it on the exertion of holding them up. She shifted uncomfortably, trying to focus on the stinging in her palms from how tightly she gripped the rope. It was far better to focus on her chafing skin than the kiss of cool air against the underside of her breasts.

There was nothing preventing Rhys from slipping his hands beneath the newly loosened fabric and discovering her hardened nipples—not that they weren't already visible, peeking through the thin layer of fabric.

Rhys drew back to observe her, holding his advance for the moment.

"Are you getting nervous, Feyre?" The lapping presence at her mind became a little pushier, more of a prod than a stroke. "Your shield's still holding up nicely."

"Because I'm not nervous," she insisted.

"No?" Rhys leaned in, pressing the tip of his regal nose just beneath her navel. "Is that something else I smell, then?"

"Is it the stench of your own ego?"

"So sharp with me," he chided, momentarily abandoning his conquest near the top of her ribs to guide his nose lower, down to her hip bone, then across the low dip of her skirt. "What will it take to make you soft? Is it just a matter of finding the right spot to stroke?"

Feyre snorted. "I don't think soft is what appeals to you, High Lord."

"Oh?" His eyes flickered up to hers, only briefly, before he resumed his slow exploration. "What is it you think appeals to me?"

Feyre didn't answer. She didn't know how—not once he found the knot that kept her skirt in place. He bit into it, tugging with his teeth despite having two perfectly good hands placed just below her breasts.

Feyre nearly let go. She considered it, at least, as she watched Rhys unravel the knot with his mouth. She had time to stop it from plummeting to the ground in a waterfall of blue cloth. But she didn't.

As it pooled at her feet, Rhys drew away again, taking her in with riveted interest. With her hands occupied, there was nothing she could use to hide from his stare, though she twitched with the urge. She felt like a creature trapped in a frame, laid bare under his assessment.

It wasn't the clothes, or lack thereof. Though, he looked delighted to discover the pair of lacy underthings she'd selected that morning. It wasn't the lust, either. Not when she felt it in equal measure, and had walked into this house fully intending to slate their shared desire.

No, what caught her off guard. What stripped her raw, worse than the rope squeezed between her fingers, was the way that smug smile faded into something… something Feyre didn't know how to name.

His eyes captivated her. Blazing and intent, no different from the moment they met. She couldn't look away from them—and she wanted to, if only to glance over her shoulder and ensure the Mother hadn't materialized behind her back. That was the only way Feyre could have explained the awe creeping over his expression.

His fingers flexed at their place over her ribs, as though restraining the urge to drag them lower.

"You," he said, answering the question she couldn't. On his knees, in that voice… It sounded oddly like a prayer. "I want you however you come, Feyre. Soft or sharp, you're equally exquisite."

Her heart was beating in her throat. "What if I only know sharp?"

"Then be as sharp as you want with me." He was leaning towards her again, less as if driven by hunger and more as if he simply couldn't resist. Like she was the puppeteer, pulling him forward. "Cut me, make me bleed. Just—don't make me stop."

Feyre didn't plan on it. That rope was her lifeline, and she held tight as Rhys dived back against her stomach, his mouth open this time, tasting and nipping at her skin. There would be marks there tomorrow. A trail of love bites across her hips, just beneath the golden chain he seemed so obsessed with.

When she tried to wriggle away, growing impatient, Rhys slid his hands to her hips, locking her in place.

"Stay still for me." She found his orders lost some of their impact when muffled into her stomach. "I told you I intend to taste every inch."

It was a shame she couldn't dive her hands into his hair. If she could, she would have taken hold and pushed his mouth where she actually wanted him—needed him.

"Rhys."

His name was half gasp, half complaint.

"You know." He slid his tongue around the curve of her navel, before mouthing his way to the valley of her breasts. His hands followed in a slow, scraping caress. "I don't think I've ever heard you call me that before."

"Would you—" Feyre's breath hitched as he brushed the back of his knuckles against one of her nipples. "Prefer to be called High Lord?"

That seemed to amuse him. "My bedmates aren't usually so formal."

"What do you prefer then? Master? Milord? Your Great Exaltedness?"

Rhys hummed dismissively. "If you can say that many words, then I'm not doing my job right."

"Well, I've been speaking this whole time. So what does that tell you about how you're doing?"

Feyre knew she was in trouble when Rhys stilled. She didn't know why she always felt the need to provoke him. Maybe it was because she still couldn't figure out why he tolerated it.

This was the same male who threatened to cut off someone's tongue for speaking too casually in his presence. The same male who slaughtered one of his captains without blinking. He had a reputation for ruthlessness, and she'd witnessed firsthand how he'd earned it.

And yet, he always seemed to hold back the breadth of his cruelty around her.

Even now, as he thumbed at her nipple through the loose fabric over her chest, he exuded patience. Musing, "Have you ever tried Illyian tea?"

Tea? Not following where he was going with the question, Feyre answered with a hesitant, "No?"

"It's cold in the Illyrian Mountains," Rhys said, emphasizing his point by ducking to blow a gust of cold breath over her collarbone. Feyre shivered. "The tea keeps us warm, and doubles as treatment for the wounded. It's strong stuff. The kind that burns down your throat and will land you on your ass after too many cups."

"What's your point?"

"You don't savor Illyrian tea. You down it as quickly as possible and wait for the warming to start."

"Okay?"

"I spent most of my youth in the Illyrian Mountains," Rhys went on. "And the first time I attended a High Lord's summit with my father, he smacked me upside the head when I tried to down a thimble of Day Court Mead. He told me I looked barbaric. Day Court Mead is one of the finest wines in Prythian, you see. You're meant to sip it, holding the flavors on your tongue."

"So I'm the mead, then," Feyre said, guessing where he was going with the analogy. "Am I supposed to be flattered that you're comparing me to a drink?"

Rhys didn't answer immediately. He only grinned to himself, before pulling away and rising from his knees. An unsettling response—almost as unsettling as his cryptic, "Stay here."

Then he headed back into the dining room. Feyre leaned through the doorway as best she could to follow what he was up to, but from her vantage point, all she could see was the end of the dining table and the abandoned chairs. She didn't dare let go of the rope to inspect any further.

It could be a trick, after all.

"I swear to the Cauldron, Rhysand, if you intend to leave me hanging from the doorway for the rest of the bargain—"

"You'll what, exactly?" He asked, sauntering back into view with a bottle in his hands, his face the picture of smug amusement.

"You'll owe me anything by the end of this," Feyre reminded him. "If you decide to be cruel, I'll endure it. And then I'll ensure it's repaid in full."

"Such a feisty creature you are." The words sounded gratingly affectionate, the way one would speak to a kitten batting at their leg. "And, pray tell, how will I be repaid if I decide to be kind? Might I expect more warmth from you?"

Feyre narrowed her eyes at the bottle in his hand. "What's that?"

He displayed it proudly before her. "Day Court mead, of course."

That was where he lost her. And it made Feyre nervous, seeing his large hands braced around the bottle, watching as he drew his thumb suggestively around the rim of the cork…

Her voice wobbled a bit as she asked, "W-what are you planning to do with it?"

All it needed was a small push of his thumb and then—pop.

"I want you to try it," Rhysand said, closing the distance between them.

His fingers lodged under her chin, burning where they touched. She was burning in so many places, now. Her hands, raw from the rope. Her chin, warm from his touch. Her cunt, aching with need. And her cheeks, embarrassed from it all.

"Be good for me." Rhys tilted her chin up, until her eyes were level with the sight of her trembling arms, growing white and numb, but still holding fast.

When he raised the bottle, he dragged his thumb across her lower lip, prompting with a single, firm, "Open."

Feyre parted her lips, allowing him to pour the mead into her mouth.

The first drop was like sunlight. Honeycomb drenched sunlight. Sweet, but not like sugar. Sugar was sharp, quick, and over too soon. This was slow, like a sun-warmed nap in a swaying field, rich and indulgent. The longer she tasted, the more depth she discovered, luring her in, somersaulting her towards a golden abyss.

"Don't swallow," Rhys whispered, his voice wending around her, coupled by strokes of dark tendrils that forced her awareness to return to her other senses. On her tongue, a drop had become a flood, filling her mouth until it pooled, then overflowed, streaming down her chin, her neck, her breasts.

She could already feel the sugar sticking to her, but her focus was on remembering to breathe through her nose, trying desperately not to choke while Rhys continued pouring, his other hand cradling her skull as he murmured, "That's it, Feyre. Good girl."

Eventually, the bottle ran dry.

"Not yet," Rhysand said. "You're meant to hold it on your tongue, remember?"

Feyre's throat bobbed uncomfortably. That was another place she was beginning to burn.

"Stay still," he coaxed, leaning in. Their eyes met as his lips fell over hers. Those damn, discerning eyes that saw everything, including the desire she was trying so hard to fight.

He saw it, and smiled, all wicked and taunting. His tongue flicked across her lower lip, tasting the wine. But he didn't stop there.

His fingers curled in her hair, urging her head upright so the mead could flow from her open mouth to his. It wasn't clean by any means. Honeyed wine spilled from the seam of their lips, dripping onto her skin and his clothes, making a mess of them both. She swallowed what was left—it was the only way she could kiss him back, and Rhys didn't seem to have any complaints.

With a groan, he dashed the empty bottle to the floor, bearing no mind to the resulting crash and scattering fragments. He seemed to have much more pressing concerns, which involved scooping Feyre against him to deepen the kiss. His tongue traced her lower lip again, and she opened her mouth, inviting him to taste at the source.

His tongue swept in, tasting of honey, and she wanted so badly to let go of the rope so she could hold him there, to suck at his tongue and bite at his lips. Rhys was in full control, positioning her just as he wanted so he could taste.

Feyre hissed when he pulled away to lick a trail of mead from her chin.

A rasping chuckle was her response. "I've made a mess, Feyre. It's my duty to clean it up."

A hand fisted in her hair and tugged, angling her neck back so he had full license to lick the column of her throat.

Feyre was panting, squirming against his hold and furious that he would stop kissing her. "Rhys—"

"What happened to Your Great Exaltedness?"

He kept her arrested in that position, taking his time to suck and nip at her skin, then pull away with an audible pop. Over and over, he ignored her groans of frustration, creating a path of red welts that were soon interrupted by her sullied top.

"Oh dear, this has been ruined, hasn't it?" He didn't sound the least bit concerned as he ripped at it, casting the garment away as if it were mere cobwebs. "Don't worry, I'll get you a replacement."

And then the heat of his mouth surrounded one of her breasts, his tongue circling her nipple. Feyre gasped, bucking into the air. This was going to be impossible if she didn't have something to ground her, something to—

Rhys, as if sensing what she needed, wedged his thigh between her legs. The pressure against her clit relieved some of the ache, but introduced the new, humiliating urge to drive her hips forward.

She bit her lip, determined to resist.

"Is this what you needed, Feyre?" Rhys coaxed, palming her hip to create the movement for her. She fought a whimper as her clit ground against his hard muscle. "Does that feel better?"

She refused to answer him. But she also didn't stop moving her hips when he let go.

"That's it," he murmured, returning his attention to her breasts. One was cradled in his palm, while the other endured the countless lashes from his tongue, teasing her so mercilessly that she thought she might die if she didn't touch him.

When his teeth clamped down, Feyre screamed, driving her hips against his thigh harder. Her head was beginning to spin, a mixture of exhaustion and pleasure and pain.

As she writhed against him, Feyre started plotting all the ways she would get her revenge once her hands were free. Maybe she'd fish another bottle of mead from his cellar and sip it from his abs. Maybe she'd tie him up and ride his face until he couldn't breathe.

Maybe she'd—

My, don't you have the most delicious thoughts about me.

Feyre froze. Rhysand's mouth was still latched to her breast. Those words hadn't come from his mouth. Which meant that voice…

It was in her mind.

You should pay more attention to your mental shields, Feyre. A lesser male could walk right in and decide to take you up on those filthy thoughts of yours.

Feyre's fingers flexed with the urge to lash out in front of her, as if she could physically push him out. What are you doing?

Did you forget? This was a daemati exercise. And it looks like your shield dropped as soon as you started enjoying yourself.

A familiar sensation crept over her—awareness, like a cold breath cascading down her spine, that her body was yielding to a foreign presence. Her veins became a latticework of strings, and she felt his talons pluck at them, transforming her into a marionette of his will.

Now, now, he tutted. Don't stop on my account, Feyre.

Captive in her own mind, Feyre could do nothing to prevent her hips from rolling forward. Her head tipped back, and without restraint over her body, there was nothing to smother the moan rising in her throat.

There you are, Feyre. Give in to it.

He was everywhere, physical and otherwise. His magic swarmed through the crack in her mental shields, blanketing her mind in a fog of endless starlight. She treaded through it the same way she'd learned how to swim, thrashing and kicking blindly in an attempt to reach the surface. But that assumed there was a surface, an ending to the vastness of power that twined and twisted around her.

Rhys clicked his tongue. Must you always fight me?

Outside their minds, she felt cool air sting her puckered nipple, exacerbated by the saliva glinting there, and the trail of it that led to Rhysand's cat-like grin. She watched him lick his lips as he admired his work: From her flushed skin, covered in love bites and rivulets of golden wine, to her trembling arms, waning in strength. Finally, his attention dipped to his thigh, where the fabric of his trousers had become damp from each consecutive pass of Feyre's hips.

He took a deep, pointed inhale. You can admit you want this. There's no sense hiding what we both already know.

I want—even her mental voice sounded shaky—the money and the favor. Not you.

Immune to her lies, her body continued helplessly rubbing against him. Her breathing quickened as that pressure began to build, winding hot and tight.

Why not me, Feyre? Rhys pushed, almost taunting. He could feel she was close to the edge. Is it because it frightens you?

Because it's not real!

That's not the game we're playing right now.

His tongue snaked along her throat, licking away more of the mead.

Inside, she was grappling against his hold. They thrashed and rolled through the darkness, her claws scraping his, pushing and pulling, ebbing and flowing until they were a tangled mass of magic, so deeply intertwined that Feyre lost all sense of where she ended and he began.

Meanwhile, Rhysand held her, enveloped her, worshiped her with his mouth and hands and talons, and she thought it wouldn't be the worst thing to surrender to this.

Why was she holding herself back?

This is all just a distraction, she reasoned. It doesn't mean anything

Do you want it to mean something, Feyre?

Feyre wanted to scream. Though, from frustration or pleasure she wasn't certain. Everything was becoming muddled, colors bleeding together like water over paint. There wasn't room in her mind to think, and outside her body was being driven to a pinnacle that she couldn't hold back.

Get out of my head!

Rhysand's voice was full of faux sympathy. If it's too much for you, darling, then let go of the rope.

Fuck you.

Oh, I intend to. His voice was starting to sound a little breathless, too. A large hand palmed her backside, moving her faster against him. She watched through half-lidded eyes as his head tipped back with a low, guttural sound. Fuck. Feyre—

The world fractured. Erupted, like dropping into the ocean and feeling the water rush past. She delved deep into that darkness, feeling her own magic rupture and scatter into stars, washing her soul against the shore of his, their very essence seeping through the cracks of the other, becoming a tapestry of magic threaded so tightly she could feel it pulling in her chest.

Feyre let go of the rope.

She didn't know she still had enough control over her body to do so, not until she was already moving, threading her arms behind his neck to crash her mouth to his. It wasn't gentle. He didn't deserve gentle.

Bed, she demanded.

Rhys obeyed without question, not breaking their kiss as darkness folded and unspooled around them, depositing Rhys on his back atop his bed. Feyre straddled him, clawing at his clothes with shaking, rope-burned hands.

Until Rhys caught both wrists, bringing them to his lips one at a time to kiss away the raw flesh.

There's no rush, he soothed, running his thumb across her newly healed palms. We'll have an extra six hours together, after all.

For that comment alone, Feyre tore straight through his jacket and undershirt, coming away with strips of cloth. The High Lord didn't seem to mourn his clothes in the least. She would have taken more time to admire him, to admire the tattoos that she discovered on his chest and shoulders, so strikingly similar to her own.

Except, he was staring up at her, raw delight on his face. So feral—

Shut up.

I'll need to subtract that from your—

I said. Feyre crawled up his body, tearing off her soaked underthings. Shut. Up.

Unfortunately, sitting on a male's face was only an effective silencing technique when that male wasn't a daemati.

What a pretty view, Rhys purred, craning his neck before she'd even finished lowering herself down. The second she was steady, her hands balanced on the headboard, he hooked his arms around her thighs to bring her closer. Here I thought you planned to punish me.

Congratulations, you've proved you can run your mouth. Do you actually know how to use it?

Rhys arched a brow. Even Feyre couldn't believe her own boldness. One of these days, she was going to overstep and find herself on the receiving end of that boundless power, and it wouldn't be teasing and caressing her the way it was doing now.

Don't be so certain. I like that you're not afraid of me.

The purr in his voice heated her blood, nearly as much as that first, filthy kiss he pressed against her cunt. He went slow, using the broad flat of his tongue to part her folds in a long path ending at her clit. That was where he focused his attention, sucking and lashing while he kept her hostage in his grip.

But if you're going to mouth off, he continued without faltering in his expert torture. Be prepared for the consequences.

This, Feyre gasped, doesn't feel like a consequence.

Yet, he said smugly. I have all night with you. And I intend to 'put my mouth to use' until I've had my fill.

She knew he was bluffing. Feyre could count on her hand the number of males who had put their heads between her thighs, and all of them disengaged after a few minutes into the act.

With a growl, Rhys redoubled his efforts. A word to the wise when fucking a daemati: try not to think of other males unless you want them dead.

Jealous?

Insufferably. He nuzzled his face lower, dragging his tongue to her entrance. Do you still remember their names?

No. Even if she did, she wouldn't have told him. On the chance that he wasn't joking when he said they'd end up dead.

Good.

His tongue slid inside her, and the headboard creaked from how tightly Feyre clutched to it, convinced she would topple over when his fingers slid between her legs to supplement his tongue, rubbing tight, delicious circles. Her hips bucked, her climax shattering through her at incredible speed, causing light to dot her vision.

Rhys didn't slow his movements, continuing to lick and stroke her as he crooned, There's only one name you need to remember.

They were still mind-to-mind, completely entangled. Paired with her mind-numbing pleasure, it made the task of searching through her memory rather tedious. It was like trying to navigate a familiar place in the dark, she knew the information was somewhere around here…

Cassian? She said, recalling the name she'd heard from the rumor mill with a great deal of effort.

Rhys growled. Very funny.

Her thighs, clamped tightly around his head, were beginning to twitch as he worked her towards another rapidly approaching edge. Feyre didn't think she could survive this all night.

Wh-what was it you said? If I can say this many words, then you must not be doing a very good—

Those hands at her thighs grabbed her roughly, pushing her off his face and flipping her onto her back in a single, fluid movement. Feyre yelped as one of those hands grabbed her throat, pinning her to the mattress.

You can't help yourself, can you, Feyre?

Not any more than you!

An exasperated laugh rasped out of him, making her think she had just proved his point.

What happened to having your mouth on me all night? She challenged.

I'm thinking I need to tire you out first. Get you a little more… subdued.

He withdrew his hand, then his body entirely. Feyre's mouth went dry as she watched him unbutton his trousers, finally freeing his erection. He had no right to be as big as he was. To be as beautiful and powerful and arrogant as he was and to still have a cock like that…

Feyre hated him a little bit for it. Hated how difficult it would be to walk away from him by the end of this.

Rhys sauntered forward, expression as satisfied as it ought to be with a cock like that swinging between his legs and unfiltered access to each of the filthy thoughts she was having about it.

There'll be time for more play later, he said, pressing a knee into the bed.

He crawled over to her, and she watched his eyes fall over her naked body, parted in invitation for his. The hunger on his face curbed into something softer, something she didn't know what to do with.

You're beautiful, he murmured, seconds before his mouth found hers in a deep, open kiss. He tasted of honey wine and her own arousal, an unexpectedly pleasant combination. The most beautiful thing I've ever seen. It struck me the moment I first saw you.

His bare skin was so warm against her own, each contact point jolting her with a feeling of rightness. They slotted so perfectly together, his cock nudging at her entrance as she wrapped her legs around his waist, their tongues moving together and their fingers locking so that there wasn't a single part of their bodies and souls that wasn't entwined as Rhys pushed himself in.

Then paused.

Feyre fought a snarl.

Tell me you want this, he said. Forget about the bargain. Tell me this is about more than the money.

I want this. Feyre pulled at him, clashing their noses together from how fiercely she clutched at his face. She pushed her heels into his muscular backside, trying to urge his hips deeper. I want you, Rhys.

He groaned, pushing his hips forward.

The stretch of him was exquisite. Feyre had never felt anything quite like it—the decadent pleasure made sharper by the slight burn as he pushed in further, slowly, ensuring she felt every inch, every delicious place they were joined.

But that was just one layer of the overlapping sensations. There was also the cradle of his body, surrounding her in warmth. The soft lips against her neck, panting sweet, reverent breaths of, Feyre—oh, Feyre.

And then their minds. One seamless, blended entity of magic, of starlight. She could feel him everywhere, no piece of her soul untouched, but she could see all of him, too. Like gazing upon the very fabric of his life, woven from the moment he was born—maybe even before then.

If she plucked at one of the threads, she wondered what she'd find. A memory? A vital fragment of his being?

She wouldn't dare, not when she could feel him staring back so… openly. Like he wouldn't stop her if she tried. It was vulnerable in a way she didn't know how to honor. In a way that made her wary.

You are… Feyre trailed off, failing to find a word that articulated what she saw, what she felt.

Perfect.

That snapped Feyre out of her awe. She blinked, refocusing on her physical body, where he was shaking as he held himself still, letting her adjust and…

And just staring at her. His lips parted open, mouthing a word she couldn't make out as his wild eyes darted over her, studying every detail.

Adequate, Feyre said, narrowing her eyes at him. I was going to go with 'adequate'.

For a moment, Rhys said nothing, his brows pinching together in confusion. And then he seemed to snap out of it, barking a laugh that echoed through the starry cavern of their minds.

I was talking about you, smartass. He leaned down, licking a stripe up her throat that sent ripples of pleasure down her spine. But allow me to demonstrate just how 'adequate' I can be.

He withdrew his hips, just slightly, then plunged them forward, grinding deep as Feyre clawed at his back, panting.

Rhys let out a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through his chest. In their minds, it became a clap of thunder, his magic roiling, surrounding her in zapping, crackling power. Her hair stood on end, her pulse quickening from the thrill, like standing at sea during a storm.

She dug her nails harder, certain she was peeling back skin, and he snarled in encouragement, withdrawing and snapping his hips. Again.

I've thought about this, he rasped, punctuating his words with another hard thrust. Every damn day since our last bargain, Feyre.

He drove into her harder, relentless. Grunting, I haven't been able to get your scent out of my nose.

I haven't been able to get you out of my gods damned mind.

Those words rippled through the space between their minds, echoing his confession. Feyre rolled her hips up, begging him to go harder, faster. Trying to say, in her own way, that she couldn't stop thinking about him, either.

I thought—

His teeth grazed over her pulse, making it jump. Her breath hitched.

Go on, he said, voice molten velvet.

I thought I was supposed to be the one practicing my shields. But it's your mind that can't keep me out.

His laugh was rich, warming her bones. If you think I'm the one with all the power here, Feyre, you are mistaken.

Then, as if to disprove that very statement, he let go. Every restraint, every glamour, every attempt he made to act the average fae—it all disappeared in that moment.

Great, membranous wings unfurled behind his back, blanketing them in the scent of citrus and sea salt. With a splintering crack, his magic untethered, spilling darkness into the room.

Without her sight, it became impossible to differentiate between the mental and physical worlds. As if they existed in a liminal space between, where slapping skin became the thunderous collision of souls, crashing and merging together.

Feyre was certain she was screaming. She thought, distantly, he might have been too. Somewhere, her mortal body clenched around him, hot and fever-bright.

She heard her name, over and over, Feyre, Feyre, Feyre—

And then he shattered, too, shooting every star out of orbit, his magic flooding over her in wave upon wave. She should have been frightened, surrounded by so much unyielding power, but it felt oddly peaceful. Like diving into the sea from her dreams.

She floated through that presence, Rhys buried inside her, both of them panting.

When he withdrew, so did the magic.

It was too bright. Feyre cringed, burying her face into his heaving chest, not caring the least that he was covered in sweat and shaking. They both were.

When she finally pulled away, blinking into the light, she found a pair of stunned violet eyes blinking back. For the first time since meeting him, he looked dumbstruck, mouth opening and closing like he was floundering for words. Like maybe all daemati sex didn't feel that… world ending.

For a long moment, they only stared, catching their breath.

Feyre took the time to reconstruct her mental walls, finding it oddly empty inside her mind without his presence.

Meanwhile, Rhys rubbed a hand down his face, then his chest, feeling absently at his ribs. She wondered if she'd accidentally hit him there when everything went dark.

She felt a bit battered herself. Sticky and sweaty and sore in far too many places. Tomorrow he'd probably take pleasure in laying her out to count each of his bite marks.

"Was that adequate enough for you?" Rhys asked, finally breaking the silence.

Smug bastard.

Feyre shrugged. "You're the High Lord who's supposedly so difficult to please. You tell me."

He smirked. "Lay back, Feyre."

Her mouth popped open. Surely he wasn't serious.

"Already?"

Rhys crawled toward her, wedging his massive body between her thighs. "I told you I wouldn't stop until I've had my fill." He flashed her a wicked smile as he lowered his mouth to her cunt, licking at their shared spend like it was a delicacy.

And I'm not nearly close to finished with you.

-

At some point, they did stop fucking long enough to eat and bathe—just barely.

Rhysand was ravenous. And Feyre didn't know what had gotten into her, but she was, too. They couldn't stop. Even long after they were exhausted, they kept touching and kissing until they collapsed completely tangled in each other.

Feyre had gotten maybe an hour of sleep, if that, when she woke up to pee.

She took her time on the way back to bed, marveling first at the sleeping form of the most powerful High Lord. He didn't look nearly so intimidating when he was naked and snoring, the blankets strewn haphazardly over his muscular legs.

If she had the time, she would have liked to draw him like this. No one else in the world got to see this version of him.

Except the other females he bedded.

That… was a sobering thought. The reminder that this wasn't some sacred, meaningful tryst. He was paying to fuck her, no different from any other whore in the upscale pleasure house she heard he frequented often.

With burning cheeks, Feyre turned away from his sleeping form, refocusing on why she was here to begin with.

His personal bedroom was larger than the one she'd stayed in last time, though only slightly. He had a worktable, scattered with paperwork and curious trinkets. Star charts and models of planets and books upon books of topics she couldn't discern.

That was another scalding reminder of how far apart their worlds were.

She was really only good at one thing.

Feyre tiptoed to his bedside table, silently pulling the drawer open to inspect its contents. More books, a pair of reading glasses, a velvet box, and a dark crown that she assumed had wound up in here after a late night at some formal gathering.

She imagined Rhys winnowing directly to his bedroom, flinging the crown into the bedside drawer, and collapsing atop the mattress.

It couldn't be easy, this life.

Feyre lifted the crown, measuring its weight in her hands, before she indulged the childlike impulse to place it on her head.

It couldn't be hard, either. Better than starving. Better than whoring yourself to survive.

She rose from his bedside table, searching for a mirror to admire how she looked in a crown, but a hand at her wrist stopped her.

Rhys was reclined across his bed, wings splayed beneath him, a lazy smile stretched across his lips.

"Find something you like?"

Panic seized her chest, squeezing like a fist as she scrambled to think of an excuse. "I—"

His eyes darkened. "Come back to bed."

"Rhys, I'm—"

"Keep the crown on," he said, tugging at her wrist with urgency.

She followed his pull, uncharacteristically pliant as he positioned her thighs over his face, groaning, "Gods, look at you," as he dived his mouth between her legs.

-

The final six hours of their bargain passed much the same.

There wasn't any noticeable shift to the way Rhys touched her, still slow and indolent, like he had all the time in the world.

It was nearly dusk and they were still in bed, still kissing though too exhausted to do much else. Even so, his kiss was gentle and thorough and maddening.

Feyre missed it when he pulled away.

"Your bargain's fulfilled," he said, breathing heavy. "I can take you home now."

It was a bad sign that it was dread coursing through her instead of relief.

Rather than untangle her alarming mix of feelings, Feyre fisted her hands in his hair, urging his mouth back to hers. Just one more kiss. To remember him by.

Rhys made a low, pleased sound in the back of his throat. He returned the kiss open-mouthed, cradling the back of her head to bring her closer. When she felt him harden against her thigh, they both groaned.

Rhys withdrew again, something achingly hopeful in his expression. "There's nothing preventing you from staying," he added. "If you want to."

That was what scared her—that fact that she wanted to.

Feyre kissed him again. Kissing him was easier than answering. Only, Rhys seemed to take kissing as an answer. He shifted closer, wrapping his wing around them so that she was cocooned in his heat, his scent, his touch.

And as the kissing grew more fervid, she didn't stop him from flipping her onto her stomach. He used his knees to wedge her thighs apart, spreading her open as those strong hands found her hips, urging them up, up, up.

She buried her face in the mattress, already clutching tightly to the sheets in anticipation of that first, perfect thrust.

They were interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Rhysand." The voice was female—crisp and edged, entirely undaunted by the High Lord's responding snarl. "You're late."

"Leave us."

It was a direct, uncompromising order, and yet the knocking came again. Louder.

"We are not rescheduling this meeting again. I'm sure your playmate can survive without your cock for an hour."

Feyre was still pressed into the mattress, gaping at him over her shoulder at the way the female was speaking to him. At the way Rhysand was letting her speak to him.

And more so that he listened, turning to Feyre with an apologetic wince. "I need to go. But you can stay here." He paused, hesitating for a moment before adding, "I'd like for you to stay. I'll be back within the hour."

A cough on the other side caused him to blow out a long breath.

"Maybe two hours."

Feyre nodded, slumping into the mattress. Rhys pressed an apologetic kiss into a notch at the top of her spine, then the next. The next. He nearly made it to her ass before the door rattled with an irritated thump.

With a long-suffering sigh, Rhys lifted himself from Feyre's body. It was no easier than trying to lift a boat from the sea; they both felt heavier once they were separated.

"Rest," Rhysand said. "You'll need it when I'm back."

After less than an hour of sleep, the stack of pillows at the headboard was practically calling her name. Feyre made a show of nuzzling into them, wrapping the blankets around her as a surrogate for Rhysand's warmth.

She felt him staring at her. Heard the soft little hmph he made in the back of his throat. A pleased sound, like he enjoyed the sight of her nestled in his bed.

Then, with a wave of his hands, he was dressed, closing the door behind him. She heard him speak to the female on the other side, their voices too muffled to discern, but she could tell he was grumbling about something.

Feyre listened intently as those voices faded down the hall. She waited until she was certain they were gone.

Quietly, she crawled to the edge of the mattress and opened the bedside drawer. The crown had been tossed to the floor some time in the night, but the rest of the objects were still there.

Including that velvet box.

Feyre reached for it, parting it open with her fingers to confirm its contents.

From there, it took all of five minutes to slip on her clothes and bolt out of the town house without looking back.

[rocketeer0501]

IDW Starscream X Reader

Rendezvous Part 3

Rating 18+ (TW blood, mentions of death, Starscream is silly doesn’t know anything about humans)

Starscream unclenches his fist where he had slammed it on the desk next to you. His optics dart to the tiny hand reaching out for him. Desperation and pain etched in your features. It was like his servos started moving on their own towards your hunched figure. He slowly, carefully wrapped his hand around behind you letting you rest against it. His optics widen in surprise as you lean your little fragile body into him. He can feel your tiny heartbeat, weak at the moment, against his palm.

Everything is just noise and color. The throbbing in your head is the only thing keeping you conscious. It was warm and dark but now it feels as if you’ve been placed on a freezing cold glass surface. Reaching towards the heat once more, you try to speak but only a pained groan slips from your chest. Your head swam as you tried to sit up and look around. Clearly you weren’t at a hospital yet and that alarmed you. Half broken thoughts spilled into your brain as you reached out for something. Anything to grasp to keep you in this reality. In your half conscious state you feel something warm and gentle press against your back grounding you in your panic. Leaning gratefully into it you lose consciousness once more, the color draining from your face.

Gently, Starscream lifts you to rest against his chassis alongside his canopy. After you reached for him he figured out what you were searching for was warmth. But there was still a huge problem. The human is still leaking that awful deep red liquid from the gash on its processor. Impatient, he paced the length of the room, just holding you to him as he tried to figure out what to do with you. He couldn’t fix it. He knew nothing about humans and it was clear that his first interaction with one had ended as all things do with him. Whatever he touches ends up dead or suffering. He vents trying not to think about how many things he’s tried to keep and lost. Stopping to examine you leaned against his chest plate, he makes up his mind. Alarm ringing through his frame as he examines your lifeless and slowly greying form. He’ll take you to your own kind. They can fix this. He opens his canopy and places you gently inside. Once more trying his best not to jostle you as moves down the hallway for a third time that night. He transforms and takes off as fast as he can towards the town.

~3 weeks later~

Your alarm wakes you early on a Saturday morning. It had been awhile since your accident and still no one was able to tell you exactly what happened to you. Fire fighters had discovered you outside of a remote fire station at the base of the mountain. That station was located about twenty miles from the lake. The lake was the last place you remember being conscious. You became the talk of the town. People everywhere wanted to know what exactly had happened on that night. You keep hearing over and over that you are lucky to be alive at all. After a moment, you run a cautious hand over the place on your forehead where you received nine stitches, grimacing as the pain still lingered. So many unanswered questions roll through your mind as you get ready. Today was the day you’d go back to that lake. You needed answers and the only way to get them was to go yourself.

After dropping you off, Starscream hovered in the air above the station. He needed to make absolute sure the humans inside took you in. If only to keep the pathetic thing off of his conscience. He kept telling himself that he didn’t really care about the pitiful little creature. But his thoughts kept straying to the way you reached out for him. That utter dependence on him and his complete lack of knowledge took him off guard. He can’t help himself. Every single night since then he keeps coming back to that lake. If only to be away from it all. But a small part of him hopes he’ll see you alive and well. He didn’t want to admit how desperately he wanted to feel needed again.

[nyx-knacks-writes]

Be More Careful, Okay?

Based off of @princeloww's idea of Alec and Campbell being uncle and nephew. I think Alec is a tad out of character here, but I saw this prompt by @prompt-dealer and had an image of Campbell being chased by an angry Alec, and I couldn't resist. No spoilers for either Broadchurch or Takin' Over the Asylum, and none for princeloww's The Never-Ending Sky, either. This is just my little idea of something that could occur if Campbell were to end up in Alec's care. I take zero credit for the idea of Campbell and Alec living together and zero credit for the prompt.

“I’m too young to die!”

“Young ain’t got nothin’ to do with it!”

Alec chased Campbell around the house, literally around the outside of the house, yelling obscenities and threatening—well, Campbell didn’t exactly know what he was threatening, but chances were high that it wasn’t good. Nature of a threat, after all.

Truth be told, Alec also didn’t know what he was threatening. He’d figure that out later. However, he did know that Campbell was in deep trouble. Trouble so deep that he wasn’t exactly sure how to punish the boy. Especially given that Campbell wasn’t even his son. So round and round they went, both yelling and trying not to slip on wet grass that would surely yank their feet out from under them at the first opportunity, causing an impromptu meeting with the cold, wet, muddy ground. 

The first offense had been the shirts. Campbell had had good intentions, really. He’d come home early from school on Monday, seen that the bathroom laundry hamper was full, and decided he’d do a load of washing to help his uncle. What a lovely nephew he was, right? Right? Wrong. Despite his best efforts to sort the colored clothing from the whites and the darks, he’d missed a pair of socks. A pair of red socks. A pair of brand-new red socks the exact color of a freshly washed fire engine gleaming in the summer sun. The shirts had come out pink. Oops. When Alec finally got to see the result of his nephew’s good intentions, he’d simply sighed and shaken his head. No sense in getting mad. He could probably do with some new shirts anyway. He’d donate the pink ones to a charity shop in town. Yeah, yeah, “real men wear pink” and all that, but what was he supposed to do? Like it or not, pink was still very much thought of as a feminine color. He could only imagine the abuse he’d suffer at the hands of his coworkers if he came in wearing a pink shirt. Big, bad DI Hardy in pink? Unthinkable. So he’d donated the old shirts, added a shopping trip to his weekend plans, and obtained the new white shirts that he preferred. A little hit to the wallet, but ultimately, no lasting harm done.

The second offense had been the soup. After the Sandbrook case had finally been solved and closed, Miller had insisted Alec start taking better care of himself and get a hobby. So what did he choose but learning to cook, which would satisfy both her demands? Ever the efficient one, wasn’t he? However, some dishes required a couple of extra hands for the sake of timing, so he would recruit Daisy and/or Campbell, depending on the day and on who was around, to help him out in the kitchen. On Tuesday, he’d needed both of them. It was going to be pumpkin soup for dinner that night, since it had been so cold and rainy, and Alec had asked Campbell to add the cream, nutmeg, salt, and pepper to the pot while he began pureeing vegetables a few cups at a time and Daisy helped him to avoid overloading the food processor. Four teaspoons of nutmeg would do it. However, when Alec caught sight of the little container of nutmeg on the counter after putting the soup back onto the stove to simmer, there was no teaspoon in sight. Instead, there was a tablespoon with a suspicious coating of brown powder sitting only an inch or so away.

“Campbell,” he’d asked slowly, “how much nutmeg did ye put in the soup?”

“Four tablespoons,” Campbell answered, looking up from the knife he was washing. “Why?”

Alec cursed, cut the gas, and put the soup pot on the stove’s back burner.

“Nutmeg is poisonous in high quantities,” he said. “The recipe called for four teaspoons, not tablespoons. If we eat that, we’ll end up in hospital.” He sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair, debating on chastising Campbell versus just letting it go. ‘Try to read it a bit more carefully next time, aye?” he eventually said as Campbell made a point to look anywhere else but at his uncle’s eyes. “Anyone have suggestions for dinner tonight? Looks like we’ll be doing takeaway.”

The next day, Campbell really did wind up in the hospital. Not for ignoring his uncle’s warning about the soup, but instead for a skateboard accident. It had been something of an impulse buy on Campbell’s part, and while he was getting to be rather good when it was dry, he’d not yet practiced when it was wet. He’d missed the bus to school in the morning, pondered what to do, and instead of calling a friend or his uncle or even Ellie Miller, he’d decided that the best possible way to rectify this problem was to attempt to skateboard to school and ask to leave the board in the office until the end of the day. He’d load up his backpack, throw on a rain jacket, hop on the board, and sail off into the morning light, perfectly balanced and confident that as long as he was careful, nothing would go wrong. 

What actually happened was that he rolled out with all his things, made it about halfway to the building, hydroplaned on a small hill, and ate dirt. Great. One ambulance ride, a thorough wound-washing, a chunk of chin and six stitches later, he was sitting in a hospital bed as Alec chewed him out for being irresponsible and not just calling for help or walking to school instead of getting on a set of wheels that had not been properly tested for mildly inclement weather. Not that he could be too hard on the boy. His intentions (get to school without inconveniencing anyone) had been good, and the fall, given its consequences, had really been punishment enough for poor Campbell. He looked like he’d expected a bowl of cherries and gotten a cherry bomb instead: a little confused and a lot regretful. Like he was contemplating the choices in his life that had brought him to this moment. 

Thursday had been blessedly normal. No blood, no pink shirts, no ruined meals. Normal ride to school, normal day, normal ride home. He didn’t even have homework for once in his school career! Maybe he was in the clear! Maybe his little bad-luck streak was over!

And then on Friday he inadvertently dyed his uncle’s hair a bright teal. What he wanted to do was put a teal streak in his own hair. It had been something he’d been thinking about for a while, and after having such a rough week, he figured that it wouldn’t hurt to try. He’d spent the afternoon in and out of the bathroom, making sure he was doing it right and not dying the whole house at the same time, and it had come out beautifully! Not a drop anywhere but in his hair, nice clean stripe, absolutely gorgeous. His one mistake? Leaving the bottle in the shower. When he’d gone to rinse out the excess dye, he’d taken the bottle into the shower with him to check the instructions for how to properly care for the freshly dyed hair. When he was all set, he’d left it there. And what did his poor, unsuspecting uncle do when he went to wash his hair later that night? He grabbed the dye bottle instead of the shampoo. And what did he see when his hair finally dried? Bright teal. Everywhere. All over his head. No missing it. Thus leading to the lovely game of ring-around-the-house. It was a little childish, yeah, but Campbell hadn’t been sure what his uncle was going to do with him when the newly teal-headed man had stormed into the living room with murder in his eyes. The options had been limited, so Campbell chose to run. 

Uncle and nephew made the oval at least four times over, pushing Alec’s pacemaker to the limit, before Alec finally stopped seeing red and had the bright idea to simply wait for Campbell to come back around again. He snagged at his nephew’s hood when the opportunity presented itself and pulled the boy against his chest. 

“Campbell, I . . . why?” Alec asked helplessly, wind going out of his sails. “I know ye’ve had a tough time adjusting here, but why?”

“I didnae mean to!” Campbell squawked. “I left the dye in the shower by accident, I swear!”

“I know ye didnae mean to, I’m asking ye why ye haven’t been more careful! Two out of the last five days ye’ve injured or nearly killed yerself, an’ I just want to know why!”

Alec stopped for a moment, released a breath, and let it go. 

“Look, I know ye’re not happy to be here. I know nothing’s the same and ye’re not even with yer mum and da anymore. I’m worried about ye. Please, just . . . I need ye to be more careful. That’s all. That’s why I’m upset. Now please, let’s stop these Looney Tunes shenanigans an’ go back inside. It’s too cold an’ wet to be out at this time of night.”

Campbell stopped to consider that for a moment, and Alec realized what he’d said. However, the apology wasn’t halfway out of his mouth before Campbell cracked a grin.

“But I am a looney.” 

“Campbell—”

“How can ye expect me no’ to engage in Looney Tunes shenanigans when I am, in fact, a looney?”

“Campbell—”

“In fact, you ought to be thankful that I don’t engage in more Looney Tunes shenanigans just to spite ye! In fact—!”

“Campbell!”

The boy in question stopped talking, but his grin didn’t fade even a little.

“Yes?”

“Inside. Please.”

And so, the pair trooped to the door in silence, neither sure what to say to the other until Campbell paused with his hand on the doorknob.

“I’ll be more careful,” he promised. “I didnae mean to worry ye, really. I’ve just had an unlucky couple of days. I’m fine.”

“Really fine?”

“Aye, really fine.”

“And ye know ye can ask fer help any time?”

“Aye.”

“And—”

“Yes, yes, come on, let’s go inside! I haven’t eaten since lunch, an’ dinner won’t cook itself. What are we makin’ tonight?”

[hailtothepumpkinqueen]

Headcanons for the Shane Stardew Valley that lives in my Switch because I wanted to put them down somewhere lol 💙🐔

•He's 35 years old. When Farmer tells him that's not old he replies "Old for a gridball player" and shrugs. (basing this on mid-30's apparently being old for a lot of sports lol)

•Definitely not as "weak" as he thinks he is either. The man helps Marnie around the farm, including hucking around heavy bags of animal feed and hay. And probably hauling heavy boxes around JojaMart. So great upper body strength, just gets tired and out of breath more easily than he used to.

•Strong arms and soft tummy 👍

•5'7" but wishes he was at least 6'1". A little insecure about it, especially since Farmer is taller than him.(she's 5'10")

•Favorite color is blue 💙

•His last name is Cooper. (Purely because I find it funny for him to have "coop" in his name. Like chicken coop lmao)

•Ears are pierced. I imagine 10mm gauges and two other piercings. Doesn't wear them super often, but enough so the holes don't close up.

•I think he'd be a Taurus. Stubborn but also down to earth.

•Started showing signs of depression as a teenager, but got dismissed as being "moody" and "lazy".

•Both parents had issues with alcohol and were distant/absent. His dad physically distant, as he was gone a lot and often came home drunk. His mom emotionally distant due to untreated depression.

•Leaving Shane to care for himself a majority of the time. So lots of microwaved pizza rolls and frozen dinners.

•Started drinking before the legal age because there was always alcohol in the house.

•Has not spoken to either parent since he moved out.

•Gridball was initially a good distraction for all the shit going on in his life and a way to get out of the house. Discovered he had a genuine love for the game and was really good at it. Good enough to play for the varsity team in college.

•Definitely a bit of a hot shot in college. Pretty popular for his goofy and easygoing personality and had a lot of friends(including Jas's parents). A few flings and serious relationships too.

•Ended up tearing his ACL, which put an end to his dream of going pro with his gridball career.

•Which exacerbated his depression and worsened his dependency on alcohol as a coping mechanism...which lead to a pretty bad breakup with his partner at the time. (This literally came to me in a dream lol)

•Light sleeper, particularly sensitive to noise. On top of having trouble sleeping a lot of nights because his brain won't shut off. Hence why he'll have a beer or two before bed, it helps him sleep.

•When that doesn't work he goes on walks. Nighttime is a preferable time to walk anyway because less chance to run into someone and have to make annoying small talk.

•Has dark circles under his eyes pretty much all the time due to lack of good sleep.

•Runs hot, basically a walking space heater. Which is great in the winter but MISERABLE in the summer.

•Was the best man at Jas's parents' wedding.

•And one of the first people to hold Jas after she was born. He was afraid he'd drop her or something and in awe of how tiny she was.

•Loves that little girl SO much, but when her parents died...he was in no position to be taking care of her. Not with his worsening depression and even worse alcohol dependency. So he signed over custody of her to Marnie, who was more of a mother figure to him than his own mom ever was(In my head, Marnie is Shane's mom's older sister).

•Used to spend summers on Marnie's farm as a kid. It was a nice break from his home life and gave him things to do.

•Was living with Marnie and Jas for about 6 months when Farmer moved to Pelican Town.

•It was his idea to pay rent, because he'd rather eat his shoe than feel like more of a burden than he already does.

•Listens to predominantly rock, but secretly knows the words to a lot of pop songs thanks to Jas.

•Lets Jas paint his nails or put makeup on him. Will wear the nail polish until it flakes off, no matter the color or glitter content.

•Has an armband tattoo of fairy roses around his bicep. For Jas, obviously.

•Definitely friends with Emily (they swap bird facts and just vibe) and and considers Sam a work friend(absolutely talk shit about Morris when not talking about music). He just seems to attract bright, friendly people lol

•Not a people pleaser by any stretch of the imagination (there's a reason he stocks shelves instead of being behind the counter at JojaMart), but loves making the people he cares about happy.

•Him being standoffish and prickly is definitely a defense mechanism. Can't get hurt again by losing someone if you never get close to them in the first place, right?

•Can tell when it's gonna rain because his bad knee starts hurting. When Emily teasingly calls him clairvoyant, he goes into a spiel about the scientific evidence that the drop in barometric pressure affects joints and it's not magic. It's basically an inside joke between them.

•Swears like a sailor but tries to censor himself around the children. So "sugar" and "fudge" and "son of a biscuit". Lot of food words lol

•Walks quietly. Accidentally scares people all the time because he just "appears out of nowhere".

[brightlight-dazzlingeyes]

out of my league | pedri gonzalez [part iv]

🎓 synopsis: Lately, you and Pedri have been more honest about what you want from each other, going on actual dates. You realize you’re ready for something more, and even though you’re nervous, you invite him over. tags: nerd and jock trope, mutual pining, first time together, suggestive but nothing explicit. (written in 2nd person but no mention of yn) | (around 2.9k words)

you can read the first part here, or go to the masterlist.

part 1

You and Pedri start spending more time together, like actual time. You don’t even know when it happened, when things shifted. One second you’re just two people hanging out, and the next, you don’t hesitate to call it a “date” anymore. You make time for each other, even when your schedules barely align. 

But now, there’s this stirring inside you. You’ve been thinking about it a lot, maybe too much. You can’t stop imagining what it might be like to take the next step with him. The way he makes you feel, the way he treats you, the way he’s always there with that easy smile and kind eyes. It’s almost like you owe it to him, to show him how much you care, how much he’s made you happy in such a short time. You want to give him something back – something that says, I trust you, something that shows him just how much he means to you.

That’s when you decide.

You buy lingerie. You pick up a few pieces, holding each one up to your body in the mirror, but when it comes to choosing a color, it throws you. White? Red? Too cliché. Maybe purple? But then, that might be too… bold. You settle on black. It seems safer. Bold, but not too bold. Plus, you like the idea of him seeing you in it.

You make sure your roommate has plans to be out, giving you the perfect window of time. You know Pedri’s schedule; he’s always busy, but you think you’ve finally figured out a way to squeeze this in.

You don’t want to outright say anything, but you’re not sure how to get the message across without it sounding... weird. So you settle for just inviting him over, casually. The night before, you’re sitting in his car after a date, he’s dropping you off, and you decide to just say it.

“Hey, so, um, I was thinking...” you start, twisting your hands together, feeling more nervous than you expected.

He looks at you, brow furrowed slightly, trying to read your face. “Yeah? What’s up?”

You bite your lip, then take a breath. You should just say, “Come over tomorrow. I want to show you something.” Instead, you ramble, the words tumbling out of your mouth faster than you can even think about them.

“So, uh, tomorrow, like, I was thinking maybe you could, um, come over? But like, not for the usual... y’know, the... just to, uh, hang out? But also, like... maybe more?”

You see him blink, his face going from confused to more confused, and you almost want to slap yourself. Of course, it’s awkward. You’re practically doing backflips around saying anything direct. This is why you don’t do these things.

Pedri shifts in his seat, scratching the back of his neck. “Wait, uh... so, you want me to come over, but like, not just for... hanging out? More like, what exactly?”

You cringe at how he’s repeating your words. Why is this so hard?

“Yeah, well, I just... um... I got something,” you gesture vaguely, “and I want you to see it? But not in like a ‘come over for a surprise’ kinda way. More like a, uh, a ‘come see me’ kind of way?”

He looks at you for a long second, and then, it clicks. His eyes widen just a little, and you can see him swallow. You’ve never seen him this nervous. His lips part as if he wants to say something, but nothing comes out.

“Oh...” he says, his voice low. “You mean... like, you want to... y’know...”

You nod, your cheeks burning. It’s definitely not the smoothest conversation you’ve had. “Yeah. I mean, I want to be with you.” You can’t even look him in the eye as you say it.

Pedri is silent for a beat, his hand frozen on the wheel. Then he slowly exhales, and finally, he nods. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll come over. Tomorrow. I... I think I got it.”

He sounds so unsure, but also, there’s something in the way he says it that makes you feel a little better about the whole thing. The awkwardness doesn’t feel so bad. Just... funny.

You smile, your heart doing this weird fluttering thing. “Thanks,” you murmur, and you both just sit there for a second, looking at each other, both of you grinning shyly like teenagers.

“Yeah. Tomorrow,” he repeats softly, “Can’t wait.”

part 2

You can barely focus as you sit in the library with the group, your textbook open in front of you, the words on the page blurring together. It’s hard to concentrate with the knot in your stomach, and you keep looking at the clock, wishing the hours would hurry up. You're doing your best to hide it, but it’s obvious, your foot bouncing under the table.

Alexia’s the first to notice, her sharp eyes scanning you as she looks between you and your notes. She leans in, nudging Ana, who has her head buried in a textbook, and both of them turn to look at you.

“Are you okay?” Ana asks, but her expression is full of concern.

You try to smile, but it feels like you’re forcing it. “Yeah, just... stressed,” you mutter, avoiding their gaze. “I don’t understand any of this stuff.”

You’re not lying, in a way. You don’t even know if it’s excitement or anxiety, but it’s hard to focus on anything right now.

One of the boys, Arthur, looks up from his notes and notices the way you’re fidgeting. “You sure that’s all?”

“I’m fine,” you insist quickly.

“Don’t stress,” Arthur says, a reassuring smile on his face. “You’ll get it. By the end of this session, you’ll be an expert on this stuff.”

You smile back at him, but your mind is already elsewhere. Ana and Alexia, however, don’t let it go. As soon as the study session wraps up, they stay behind, catching you before you can slip out the door. 

“Okay, spill,” Alexia says with a sly smile. “We know something’s up.”

Your cheeks turn pink as you fidget with your notes, but it’s too hard to keep pretending everything is fine. “I don’t know,” you mumble, “It’s just... I feel like I’m the topic of every conversation lately. Everyone keeps asking me if I’m okay.”

Alexia leans back in her chair, arms crossed, “It’s because I grounded Ana for the rest of the week,” she says nonchalantly, “and now she can’t talk about her life anymore.”

Ana’s eyes widen, and she slaps Alexia lightly on the shoulder. “Hey, not cool!” she protests.

Alexia just laughs, clearly enjoying the fact she’s getting under Ana’s skin. “Sorry, but your last ‘adventure’ traumatized me for life, thank you very much.”

You can’t help but laugh at their banter. Ana crosses her arms over her chest, pretending to pout, and Alexia nudges you with her elbow, her tone softening. “So, really, what’s going on? We can tell something’s bothering you.”

You’ve been holding this in for hours, but you can’t hold it anymore. You swallow, trying not to let your heart pound too loudly in your chest. “Yeah...” you look down at your shoes, suddenly very aware of how everyone around you is moving. “I... um, I invited Pedri over tonight.”

Alexia’s eyes widen, and Ana immediately smirks, her eyebrows lifting. “Ooooh, really?” she teases, not hiding the excitement in her voice.

You bite your lip, not sure whether to be relieved or more embarrassed. “Yeah, well, and I... I kind of bought some lingerie.” You wince as the words come out of your mouth, almost like you’re speaking in a foreign language. “And, I don’t know... I’m freaking out because it’s like... a big step, right?”

Both of their eyes practically light up, and you immediately regret saying anything. Ana looks like she’s about to burst into laughter, while Alexia just gives you this knowing, almost proud, look.

“Wait, wait,” Ana says, her grin wide. “You invited him over? And you bought lingerie?” She clasps her hands dramatically. “I’m excited for you! Just don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, okay?”

You can feel your face go red as you squirm in your spot, “I – what does that even mean?!”, you protest.

Alexia shakes her head, her lips curling into a smile. “No, no. Don’t do anything she would do.” She raises an eyebrow, “Trust me, you don’t want to go down that road.”

Ana’s mouth falls open in mock offense. “Excuse me?!”

You look at them, wide-eyed and a little mortified, but also kind of relieved that they’re being this chill about it. You let out a nervous laugh. “I don’t even know what that means, either! I just...”

Alexia shrugs, her tone softening. “Hey, it’s fine. You’ll figure it out.”

You’re still blushing, but the whole thing feels way less scary now that you’ve said it out loud to your friends.

part 3

You try to make sure everything is perfect, lighting some candles and putting on nice music in the background. You don’t know why you’re so focused on little details like that, but it feels like it matters. 

You’ve spent hours getting ready. Your hands were shaking while you tried on the lingerie, the black fabric clinging to your skin. You almost couldn’t bring yourself to wear it, but then you remembered why you wanted this. You wanted to show him that you’re ready, that you want this. 

You’re standing by the door, checking yourself in the mirror one last time, smoothing your hair and adjusting the straps on your shoulders. When you hear his knock, your heart skips, then you force yourself to take a deep breath before you open the door. There he is, looking just as good as you remember, standing there with his hands in his pockets.

“Hi,” he says, and his voice is so sure, so steady, it makes your own greeting catch in your throat for a second.

“Hi,” you manage, a little softer, your voice nowhere near as confident as his. You step aside, letting him in.

When the door shuts behind him, he finally takes a good look at you – really looks. His eyes slide over your figure, you watch as his confidence wavers just slightly, his mouth parting in surprise. His eyes lifting back to yours, his cheeks just a little flushed, like he wasn’t expecting the sight of you in a silky robe, the black lingerie just peeking through. He blinks, and then the corner of his mouth twitches upward.

“Wow... hi,” he says again, his tone different this time – lower, breathless, like he’s processing.

Seeing him so taken back gives you just the tiniest boost of confidence. You’re still standing there, a little unsure of yourself, but something in his reaction makes you feel bolder. You slip the robe off your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. You let yourself breathe for the first time since he arrived.

His eyes widen, and he swallows, “You – wow,” he says again, but this time, it’s with a softer awe, like he’s trying to catch his breath.

You take a step closer, “You’ve been so patient with me,” you say, heart racing in your chest. “I... I wanted to give you a gift.”

The way he looks at you when you say that – you feel this rush of warmth in your cheeks, with him looking at you with so much adoration.

“I like being patient with you,” he says, his words so careful and deliberate. “Because you deserve it.”

His fingers gently curl around yours and it’s not just the words; it’s the way he says them, like he means every single one.

"Come here," he murmurs, his voice low and warm, as his hands find your waist and guide you closer. There’s a natural ease in the way he does it, like he’s done this before, like he knows exactly what he’s doing, but also, like he’s spent enough time with you to know exactly how to make you feel safe, wanted.

Your body presses against his, his hand slides up to the small of your back, holding you steady, while the other trails to your hair, fingers tangling gently but firmly, anchoring you.

And then he kisses you.

It’s not like your other kisses, sweet and tentative, this is something else entirely. This is passion, raw and consuming, like he’s been holding this back for far too long. His lips move against yours with a heat that goes down your spine, a rhythm that you try to instinctively match, even though you’re a little out of your depth.

You melt into him, your knees threatening to give out, but he’s there, holding you. His arm around your waist tightens, pulling you impossibly closer, while the hand in your hair tilts your head just enough to deepen the kiss. He takes control so effortlessly, steady, protective, and so perfectly him.

You hadn’t known kisses could feel like this. Like fire and sweetness. He pulls back, just enough to rest his forehead against yours, you’re both breathless, your chest heaving as you try to steady yourself. His thumb brushes lightly against your hip, his eyes soft but still burning with the same intensity from moments before.

"You okay?" he asks softly, his voice husky and low, and the way he’s looking at you makes you feel like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

You nod, your lips tingling, your heart racing. "Yeah," you whisper. Your fingers clutch at his shirt, instinctive, desperate for something to hold in the moment. He notices, of course.

"You want to help me take it off?" he asks, his tone gentle, but there’s playfulness in his eyes. Before you can even think of a response, he adds, "I’m sorry, though – I’m not wearing a matching set."

The joke catches you completely off guard, and you burst into laughter, the sound bubbling out of you before you can stop it. It’s exactly what you needed to break the tension, and his own laugh follows yours, warm and easy.

Between the two of you, and with a bit of fumbling – your hands brushing against his, fingers slightly trembling from nerves – you manage to tug the shirt over his head. It’s ridiculous how much effort it takes with four hands involved, but you don't care.

And then the shirt is gone, and suddenly, it’s just him – his athletic torso bared to you. The way his skin catches the soft light, the defined lines of his chest and shoulders, the way he looks at you with a mix of shyness and pride – it’s all too much and not nearly enough at the same time. Your eyes widen, and you drink in the sight of him. 

"You say that," you murmur, "but this also feels like a gift."

He leans in again, brushing his lips over yours, his hands sliding back to your waist.

"Guess we’re both lucky, then," he whispers against your mouth, his words make your stomach flip, and before you can think of anything clever to say back, his lips are on yours again. 

It’s more intense now, unrestrained in a way that surprises you – makes you dizzy, even – but it never feels rushed. It feels like he’s been waiting for this moment just as much as you have, and now that it’s here, he’s going to make it count. You melt into him, letting him take the lead, letting yourself just feel.

When you finally break apart to catch your breath, you can’t help but press a kiss to his jaw, your fingers tracing the line of his collarbone. "I want this so much," you say softly, letting him know you’re ready, that you trust him completely.

He nods, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek. "I know," he says, his voice steady, reassuring. "I’ve got you."

Before you even notice how it happens, the two of you are on your bed. It feels too small now, not enough space for everything you’re feeling, everything you want. But somehow, you make room for each other, shifting and adjusting until it feels like you fit perfectly.

Your lingerie set and his clothes become just another part of the decor of the room – scattered over the chair, the floor, tangled in the sheets. The candles flicker softly, making everything feel softer, more intimate. You’re grateful for it, it makes you feel less exposed, less vulnerable.

But you feel safe with Pedri and it's not just the way he holds you, though that helps – it’s the way he looks at you, like you’re something precious to him. The way his voice softens when he says your name, the way he waits, checks in with you every step of the way, as if he’s making sure you’re still right here with him.

And you are.

Every nervous thought you had before this moment, every doubt, every fear – it all melts away when he kisses you again, slow and deliberate, savoring the taste of you. His hands move over you gently, as if you might break, but there’s a heat in his touch too, a quiet urgency that matches the way your body reacts to him.

You pull him closer, your fingers tracing the curve of his back, the muscles shifting under your touch. He shivers slightly, and it makes you smile, knowing you have that effect on him.

The bed creaks softly beneath you, but it’s barely a sound in the background. All you hear is the soft rustle of sheets, the faint hum of your breathing mixing with his. It’s just you and him.

And it’s perfect.

[kharrisdawndancer]

DWC Nove '24 - Day 4 - Surrender/Tranquil - Tinnaire

Dornogal was an interesting city. Nahilvi had said she hadn’t liked it at the start--too blocky and hard for her. Tinnaire had liked it from the start, but could appreciate Nahi’s viewpoint. It was hard. It was straight lines and stone. But there were so many charming butterfly gardens. And they watered the sheep in one of the courtyards. Tinnaire couldn’t help but be charmed by that. There were flowers and moss and natural hot springs! And a large forge that rang out at all hours, similar to Ironforge. There was magma visible in places. And there were crystalline art structures and sentimental memorials.

Tinnaire sat on a fence, watching the tenders spray down the rocky sheep and their mossy wool. Butterflies ambled aimlessly between brightly colored flowers that dripped from bushes even druidic gardeners would envy. There was the hum of conversations just out of ear shot that added to the tranquil feeling around her. She tried to settle into it and let it affect her.

It wasn’t working. 

The others had told her it was all right, even normal, to be angry. And Tinnaire  was angry. But she didn’t want to be angry. She wanted to be aloof. Removed from it. Logical. She wanted to be elegant and mature. She wanted to be her usual optimistic, confident self. She wanted to be fine.

After all, who wanted to be heartsick?

Perhaps the anger was better. There was a large, fiery part of her that just wanted to surrender and scream at the top of her lungs. Or collapse into a heap and wilt like something melodramatic out of theatrical production. 

Or set something on fire.

Childish though it was, she _had_ done that last bit. So many origami rabbits had been sacrificed to the pyre of what felt like adolescent dramatics. But for a moment, there was small satisfaction.

He said he hadn’t realized how she’d felt. She could still hardly believe that. He’d said she was his _best_ friend. He couldn’t bear to lose the close relationship they’d shared. He’d been scared to try for fear of their possible failure. Rejection and embarrassment kept her shifting all the things she had wanted to say that summer day before she’d left with the mercenary crew. It had shifted everything else she’d wanted to say. Asking him to look in on her place had simply been a soothing favor to ask. To let him know she wasn’t abandoning him. She was looking out for his feelings again, when she should have been looking out for her own.

Yet, in all the months, he hadn’t reached out. Hadn’t had the kindness to warn her, even knowing how things had been left between them. It stung. His best friend that he cared so much about.

Tinnaire loosened her shoulders. Ash fell from her fingertips, singed from the edges of his most recent letter. No, that train of thinking wasn’t fair. Her eyes fell to the paper and the line that said he wanted to talk. What was there to talk about? He hadn’t done anything wrong. Hadn’t besmirched his or anyone else’s honor. She knew she wasn’t always responding logically--gods, it took her a shamefully long time to write the notes she’d sent. She didn’t want to make things worse than they were. But she also wasn’t going out of her way to make it any easier for him. Not again. They’d each take their lumps for the situation. At least he had some happiness in all of it. She was glad that they seemed smitten. He deserved that.

Anger was one of the stages, Fiorenze had said.

Maybe she could talk Talon into letting her off leave early. Work would be distracting. Tinnaire exhaled long and through her mouth before speaking to no one. “Okay. What’s after anger?”

@daily-writing-challenge

Mentions: @andaerosdawnflare

soft mentions: @nahisummerhold @lilyofporcelain @fio-renze

[nightsdreamgates]

NiGHTS HCs————————————

Since I wrote one for Reala, it is time for NiGHTS' turn; These headcanons are mostly based of NiD version along with NiDG, my AU interpretations. So let's get into it.

[•] General Headcanons :.

NiGHTS rebellion is a symbolism of finding the truth. The reasons for his choices in rejecting his "nightmare nature" are much more than simply having an affection for nightopia or the unknown, but recognizing that his nature was being exploited;

His relaxed, laid-back behavior and not caring about his surroundings also serves as a defense mechanism so that NiGHTS does not easily become attached to the people around him, perhaps out of fear that his influence and constant persecution could affect them;

After rebelling, NiGHTS had lost a good portion of his nightmaren power. This half was recovered as NiGHTS learned to connect his essence with the Ideyas of the visitors, or the visitors themselves. Creating an indirect link with nightopia;

With this, strengthening his dualization, something that, although he uses it in moments of desperation to escape from the Ideya prisons, in the beginning he only used it to free himself or strengthen himself (the loss of this half of his power made it easier for him to imprison himself), only for later on, he starts to help visitors to overcome and learn to use their own Ideya magic, to overcome their own fears;

NiGHTS does not consider himself a hero, but rather a being who simply chose to follow what he believes is right. Without being commanded or brainwashed over;

Many who meet him for the first time see him as someone very lively, cheerful and talkative, but the truth is that this is not his true personality, but a persona he uses to hide his true intentions or feelings. One of his other defense mechanisms. Ex: from the image below:

The first appearance, which shows more of his native nightmaren features, is his real face. Where he only shows this appearance to those he trusts and feels comfortable around, demonstrating that he is actually very quiet and less observant or attentive, because when he is super attentive, he tends to have his pupils dilated and eyes more open, while infiltrating the environment, just like in the second figure;

Despite it being his shapeshifting ability to "trick" visitors, it is also a common behavior of his to disguise himself and not look too out of the box while browsing through nightopia;

NiGHTS' eyes can change color depending on the environment. When it's very dark, his eyes become a vibrant violet color, now when there's a lot of light, they become a dark blue, something like indigo;

He was supposed to be the commander and emperor of Nightmera, but after his rebellion, now the one who has that title is Reala. Nowadays he is just a runaway prince;

His teeth are serrated and sharp, but he has some small fangs that stand out more;

His joints have the ability to dislocate and even disconnect from each other, which is why his hands are sometimes unconnected to his arms under his sleeves. He finds it more comfortable to disconnect his wrists from his arms as it gives him more freedom of movement and lightness;

His favorite pastime is literally wandering around, like sleeping in mid-air or giving little flute lessons by himself.

[•] Romance Headcanons :.

NiGHTS is not a traditional romantic, with over-the-top surprise dates, super extravagant gifts like roses and other very cheesy things like that;

He is more of a "Robin Hood" romantic, he likes to steal or take small things for you. And the gifts he prefers to give you are those that he can "mark you", such as accessories, perfumes and even him sharing his clothes, just so he can smell his scent on you. Something common in Nightmaren behavior;

As laid-back as he is, he likes to seduce his partner in a relaxed but skittish way, captivating his partner with small disturbances and flirtations that go outside the box, just to get his beloved off his rocker and see the cute reactions you make;

Because of his passion for flying, he would like to be able to fly alongside his partner, sharing his element, pride and tastes with you;

What he looks for in a partner is someone who understands his need for freedom and enjoyment of life. Someone who is too clingy, emotional or even dependent on him would suffocate him too much. Someone who knows how to respect his space and moments of solitude, but who can balance a cunning and a skittish attitude, or even have a calmer, more open and gentle base, to balance with his somewhat closed, observant and bold nature;

Their ways of showing love are through actions, gifts and quality time;

NiGHTS loves a competition over power in a relationship. This gives him more excitement and adrenaline (something he adores too) in bonding with their partner. But seeing their partner taking the lead by most, is captivating;

Often times, whenever NiGHTS feel affectionate, he would slide his arm around your shoulder or gently brush your cheek, hair or skin while admiring you, in a very genuine and passionate way.

This is what I got so far, hope you guys like my observations and interpretations for em'! Feel free to send asks for more headcanons like this 💜💜