#whit salad

[morethansalad]

WWII Whit Salad / Mock Egg Salad with Potatoes & Vegetables (Vegan-Adaptable)

opt for plant-based milk & cheese

[alittlegiraffe]

Title: "Just Enough"

You’d gotten good at pretending.

It wasn’t that you wanted to lie. It was just easier. Easier to nod when he asked if you ate, easier to push food around the plate while the kids talked about school, easier to say you were “just tired” when the exhaustion wrapped around your bones like a second skin. Easier to give him just enough — a smile, a kiss, a quip — so he wouldn't look too closely.

And for a long time, it worked.

Marshall was busy. Not too busy for you, never that — but studio sessions ran long, interviews, shoots, hours away writing in his office. He loved hard, but he trusted harder, and you’d used that like a safety net. You didn’t want him to see it. The way you’d flinch when a new female co-star was introduced. The way your stomach twisted up like a knot every time someone posted photos of him on set next to a woman — even just laughing. It wasn’t rational, you knew that. But the feeling didn’t care. It never did.

So you smiled. Ate just enough. Loved him just enough. Hid the rest.

Until Whitney.

Dinner was always a little chaotic — plates clinking, overlapping conversations, the occasional argument over who’s turn it was to load the dishwasher. Tonight it was spaghetti and garlic bread, Hailie had made the salad, and Marshall was playfully fighting with Whitney about finishing her broccoli.

“C’mon, Whit,” he said, nudging her plate closer. “Three more bites and you can have ice cream.”

“No.”

Marshall raised an eyebrow. “No?”

Whitney scowled, swinging her legs under the table. “Mommy never finishes her food.”

The words cracked the air like glass. Just a pouty kid’s protest, but they landed heavy.

Your fork froze halfway to your mouth.

Hailie looked down at her plate. Alaina blinked fast, swallowing hard.

Marshall’s brow furrowed. “What?”

Whitney crossed her arms. “She doesn’t. She just picks. You never say nothin’ to her.”

Your mouth went dry.

Marshall turned to look at you, slow, like he was seeing you for the first time in a long time.

You gave him a smile — too quick, too rehearsed — and reached for your glass of water like it might hide you. “She’s just being silly,” you said lightly. “I had a big lunch.”

But the air had changed. Whitney went back to stabbing her broccoli like it personally offended her. Hailie didn’t speak the rest of dinner. Alaina offered to do the dishes without being asked.

And Marshall… Marshall watched you.

That night, he didn’t say anything. Neither did the next day. But his eyes followed you differently. Not suspicious. Not angry. Just… aware. Like he was rewinding the last few years in his head and trying to find every moment that hadn’t made sense until now.

You caught him glancing at your plate at lunch. Noticed how he stood in the kitchen doorway when you came back from your run, his eyes lingering a little longer on how tightly your leggings clung to your legs, how you immediately disappeared into the bathroom. He didn’t bring up the movies you refused to watch, or the way you tensed up anytime another woman’s name trended with his.

But he saw it now.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt naked under his gaze.

---

You thought maybe he’d forget.

He’d said nothing the night Whitney made her quiet, pointed observation. Nothing the next morning either. But something in the house shifted. Like the air went still, holding its breath.

Marshall started watching you.

At first, it was subtle. Quiet eyes behind coffee mugs. A glance that lingered too long when you handed him your plate — mostly full. You joked that he was daydreaming. He smiled like it didn’t hurt to lie.

You didn’t think he’d noticed the morning you skipped breakfast. You poured cereal in a bowl and left it on the counter while you shuffled the girls out the door. When you came back in, it was still there — soggy, untouched. Marshall stood at the kitchen island, phone in hand, but you caught it. The quick glance. The shift in his jaw.

“Thought you were starving,” he said casually.

“I was, but I got distracted. You know mornings.” You kissed his cheek, but he didn’t lean into it.

Later that day, you found your protein bar wrapper in the trash — the one you threw away unopened.

He was checking.

Still, he didn’t say a word.

On Tuesday, you spent nearly two hours on the treadmill. You knew he heard it from the studio — the rhythmic thump-thump-thump of your feet pounding the belt. When you finally came upstairs, hair soaked, face pale, you found him in the hallway with that look again.

“You training for something?” he asked, half a smirk tugging at his mouth.

You forced a laugh. “Nope. Just needed to clear my head.”

He nodded, but his eyes dropped to your hands — shaking slightly. You curled them into fists.

Wednesday, you avoided dinner completely. Blamed a migraine. Hailie looked at you too long. Alaina asked if you wanted tea and you snapped, too harsh. The girls went quiet again.

Marshall brought you a plate to the bedroom anyway. You didn’t eat it.

When you came downstairs later to throw it away, he was sitting on the couch with the TV off. Just sitting. In the dark.

You paused, plate in hand. “Hey. You okay?”

“Yeah.” His voice was too even. “You?”

You nodded. “I’m fine.”

But he looked at the barely-touched food. Then at you. His silence wrapped around you like cold hands.

By Thursday, you felt hunted. Not by malice, not by anger — but by knowing. The kind of knowing that can’t be undone. He didn’t press. Didn’t push. But his eyes kept asking questions you weren’t ready to answer.

You wanted to crawl out of your own skin.

That night, you caught him talking quietly with Alaina on the porch. You couldn’t hear what was said. When you stepped outside, they went quiet. She patted his hand and went inside, avoiding your eyes.

Marshall didn’t say anything.

He just looked at you, and this time, he didn’t smile.

It was Friday night when he sat across from you on the couch after the girls had gone to bed, fingers laced together, staring at you like he was holding his heart in his hands.

You knew then.

He wasn’t going to wait anymore.

---

Friday night settled heavy around you both, quiet but tense. The girls were upstairs, bedroom doors closed, the hum of a sound machine coming faintly from Whitney’s room.

You were curled up in your corner of the couch, oversized hoodie swallowing your frame, legs tucked beneath you like you could disappear into the cushions. Marshall sat across from you, elbows on his knees, hands clasped, chewing on the inside of his cheek like he was biting down something too sharp to say out loud.

You felt it before he spoke — the shift in the air.

“I need to ask you something,” he said carefully.

You looked up. “Okay…”

He watched you for a long beat. “Are you… okay? Really?”

You smiled, soft but automatic. “Yeah. I’m fine, Marsh.”

He didn’t smile back.

“I mean it.”

“So do I.”

Silence settled between you like fog.

He leaned back a little, eyes scanning you in a way that made you squirm. “You didn’t eat your dinner last night. Or the night before. You skipped breakfast three times this week. Lunch — I don’t even know when you last had that.”

You scoffed. “Seriously? We’re doing this?”

“You think I’m not noticing now?” he asked, voice still calm, but firmer. “Whitney noticed. Hailie and Alaina saw it too. I’ve been watching, and—baby, I see it.”

Your spine stiffened. “I eat.”

“Barely.”

“But I do. Maybe not as much as you want, but—Jesus, Marshall, I eat. I’m not starving myself.”

He ran a hand over his mouth, frustrated but gentle. “It’s not just the food. It’s… all of it. The running. The way you look at yourself in the mirror like you’re angry. How you flinch when another woman’s name is in a headline with me.”

Your throat tightened.

“You won’t watch my interviews. Won’t talk about work unless I’m alone on set. You think I haven’t noticed that either?”

You looked away, heat rising behind your eyes.

“I’m not mad,” he added quickly, softening. “I just—”

“You think I’m crazy,” you cut in, voice sharp. “Is that it?”

His expression crumpled. “No. God, no. I think you’re hurting. And I didn’t see it before. But I do now.”

You stood suddenly, pacing toward the window, needing space. His gaze followed, and you could feel it like a weight between your shoulder blades.

Then, he said the one thing he didn’t mean to say — at least not like this:

“I just don’t know why you’re doing this to yourself.”

You froze.

And snapped.

“Doesn’t every guy want a thin wife?”

The words were bitter and ugly, tumbling out before you could stop them.

Marshall stood too, stunned. “What? No. That’s not—what the fuck are you talking about?”

You laughed once — sharp, hollow. “You think I don’t see the girls you work with? The actresses, the dancers, the goddamn models? Every time you’re next to one of them, the internet lights up like a Christmas tree.”

“That’s not real—”

“It feels real!” you barked, turning on him. “Every time I look in the mirror, I think: Would he look at me twice if he met me now? Or am I just the woman he settled down with because she was there at the right time?”

He took a step toward you, but you stepped back.

“I run because it makes me feel like I have control. I skip meals because it feels better than eating and feeling like shit about it five minutes later. I smile so you won’t ask questions. Because I know — the second you really see how bad it’s gotten, you’ll wonder if this is still what you signed up for.”

His face was pale, pained.

“You think I’m here because I settled?”

“I don’t know why you’re here anymore, Marshall,” you whispered. “I love you. But I don’t know how to believe you love me back when I can’t even stand myself.”

He was quiet for a long moment. When he finally moved, it was slow, like he didn’t want to startle you. He reached out and gently took your hands, cold and clenched.

“You don’t have to fight this alone anymore,” he said quietly. “You gave me just enough to believe you were okay. But now I know better.”

You tried to pull away, but he held on.

“I don’t want a thin wife. I want you. Alive. Healthy. Smiling for real. Sitting down at dinner with the girls without faking it. I want the woman who used to dance in the kitchen while pasta boiled — even if you were off-key and burned half the sauce.”

Your mouth trembled.

“I didn’t see it. But I see you now.”

And with that, the dam inside you cracked.

You didn’t collapse into his arms. Not yet. But your grip on control loosened — just a little.

Enough for him to pull you close.

Enough for you to let him.

---

Recovery wasn’t linear.

It wasn’t even real, if you were being honest.

Not for you.

After that night, you tried. You really did. You sat at the table for dinner. You ate with the girls. You even smiled, sometimes. You stopped skipping breakfast—if Marshall was home. You started kissing him back again instead of just letting him kiss you. You folded yourself into the mold of a woman who had been seen and loved and chosen.

But it was just a new performance.

You got better at hiding it.

When Marshall left for studio days or photo shoots, your appetite went with him. You skipped lunch more often than not. You’d plate something, leave it on the counter, let it go cold, then toss it. The garbage was always a little fuller when he wasn’t home — not with food, but wrappers and uneaten pieces tucked just beneath the surface, far enough that he wouldn’t see.

The treadmill wasn’t enough anymore, either. You joined a HIIT class downtown under the name "Marie" — your middle name. You liked the burn. Liked the way your vision sometimes blurred at the end, how your body trembled from pushing too far. It felt like penance and discipline all at once. The ache was something you could count on.

You told yourself it was control.

The scale was the confessional.

You weighed yourself in the morning, just after waking. Then again at night, after your workout. Twice a day, every day. The number was everything.

98.6.

Your golden standard. The weight you were the day Marshall first kissed you behind the bleachers, sixteen and reckless and perfect in his eyes. You clung to it like it was a promise — that if you stayed there, he’d never stop loving you. That if your body didn’t change, maybe you could still be the girl he first wanted.

You told yourself it was nostalgia. Maybe a little vanity.

But it was fear.

You never admitted it. Not even to yourself.

And then one morning — a Tuesday, cold and dull, the kind where the sun doesn’t bother rising fully — you stepped onto the scale after your shower.

You watched the number blink.

And blink again.

99.8 lbs.

It wasn’t even a full pound.

Not really. Not if you took into account water weight and maybe hormonal bloating.

But it might as well have been a hundred.

You stared at it. Blinked hard. Stepped off. Stepped back on.

99.8.

Your breath caught. Your vision blurred.

And then the sob hit so violently it knocked the wind out of you.

You dropped to your knees in front of the sink, towel still wrapped around your body, water from your wet hair dripping onto the tile. You curled in on yourself, fists pressed into your ribs like you could squeeze the shame out through your bones.

You’d been so careful.

Every calorie, every workout, every lie — all undone by this. A stupid, meaningless number that felt like the world ending.

You didn’t hear the bedroom door creak open.

Didn’t hear footsteps approach.

Didn’t realize Marshall was there until his arms wrapped around you from behind, strong and quiet, pulling you against his chest.

You stiffened in panic.

He saw.

He heard.

And still, he didn’t say anything.

He just held you while you cried, the scale a few feet away blinking its stupid blue numbers into the void.

And you didn’t know what broke you more—

The fact that you couldn't stop the sobs,

or the fact that part of you still wanted to get back to 98.6.

---

You cried until your throat ached.

Curled on the cold tile, body trembling, breath catching in shallow hiccups. You couldn’t stop it — the panic, the shame, the flood of everything you’d kept bottled inside for years. The number still blinked faintly on the scale across the bathroom, indifferent to your unraveling.

Marshall said nothing.

He just held you from behind, arms wrapped tightly around your frame, chin resting against your shoulder, grounding you with the quiet, solid weight of him. No demands. No pressure. Just warmth.

When your sobs finally faded into dry, shaking exhales, he didn’t let go.

Instead, he shifted carefully, like you were glass — and lifted you into his arms.

You didn’t fight it.

Didn’t speak as he carried you across the room, your towel clutched weakly in one hand, your fingers curled into the collar of his t-shirt. He laid you gently on the bed, then slid in beside you, pulling you close, chest to chest. He held you like he was afraid you'd vanish if he let go.

It was a long time before either of you spoke.

“What happened?” he finally asked, voice a whisper in the quiet.

You hesitated. Then, softly, you said the one thing you’d never admitted out loud.

“I—I went up.”

He blinked. “Up?”

“My weight,” you croaked. “The scale said 99.8. I’ve been working so hard to stay at… at 98.6. Since—since high school. Since before.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you. Confused. Eyebrows pinched, eyes soft and wounded.

“You think I even knew what you weighed in high school, baby?”

You blinked back at him, stunned. His voice broke on the edges — not with anger, but with grief.

“All I knew was the girl two houses down — the one who helped me pass Mrs. Lanaham’s math class in fourth grade — didn’t care that I dropped out. Didn’t care that I was messed up, or angry, or broke. She let me kiss her under the bleachers while wearing a pink sundress that was way too soft for someone like me.”

His hand came up, brushed damp strands of hair away from your face.

“I cared about the little sound you make when I kiss you just right behind the ear,” he murmured. “I didn’t care about how much you weighed. I cared about you.”

Your chest clenched tight.

“I’ve been trying to be that girl again,” you whispered. “The one from before the world got loud. Before I had stretch marks, and kids, and all these… fears.”

He shook his head slowly. “That girl’s still in you. But you don’t have to kill yourself trying to prove it.”

You swallowed thickly. “But what if she’s not good enough anymore?”

“She’s everything,” he said simply. “She’s the reason I learned how to love anything at all.”

You cracked then — not loud like before. Not messy.

Just… cracked.

You let your forehead press against his collarbone, and he held you like he didn’t care if you were 98.6 or 198.6. Like none of that ever mattered.

And for the first time in forever, you let yourself believe maybe he meant it.

---

The room was silent but full — heavy with everything unsaid, with the ache of truths just now surfacing. You lay in his arms, breath still uneven, skin chilled from the air and your own unraveling. The scale was somewhere behind you, blinking into nothing.

Marshall’s fingers traced light lines along your back, like he was mapping the parts of you he never wanted to lose. His breath was warm against your temple. You could feel his heartbeat where your palm rested over his chest, steady and solid, a drumbeat for something unspoken.

He didn’t speak, not right away.

Didn’t try to fix it — maybe because he didn’t know how. Maybe because he’d finally realized this wasn’t something he could fix for you. It wasn’t a verse he could write or a punchline to soften the blow.

What he had were his hands.

His mouth.

His body.

So that’s what he gave.

He tilted your chin gently, eyes searching yours. Then, he kissed you — soft at first, reverent, like you were made of something ancient and breakable. His lips moved against yours with a slowness that asked nothing but offered everything.

You breathed in sharp when his hand slid beneath the towel, not demanding, just exploring — like he needed to relearn every curve, every hollow of you with worshipful precision. He didn’t rush. Didn’t push.

He kissed your cheek. Your jaw. Down the side of your neck, lingering in that place just behind your ear that always made your breath hitch.

“That sound,” he whispered. “That one. You still make it.”

His fingers brushed the underside of your breast, then curled around your waist, his thumb pressing softly into the slight rise of your stomach. You flinched, just a little.

He kissed that too.

“This,” he murmured, “right here? This isn’t a flaw. This is where our babies came from. This is home.”

Tears pricked your eyes again, but not from shame.

His lips followed the trail of every part you’d tried to shrink away — the curve of your hip, the softness of your thighs, the inside of your wrist where your pulse raced. Every kiss was a vow. Every touch a quiet defiance of the cruel voice in your head.

“You know what I see?” he whispered against your skin. “When I look at you?”

You didn’t answer.

He kept going.

“I see the girl who made me laugh when I didn’t know how. The woman who gave me three daughters and a thousand reasons to stay clean. I see strength. I see softness. I see you. And I still want you. Every version of you. Even the broken pieces you don’t think are lovable.”

You choked back a sob, pressing your face into his chest.

“I want the version of you that cries on the bathroom floor. The one that burns dinner and forgets appointments and stays up too late reading shit on her phone. I want the version of you that’s 98.6 and the version that’s 99.8. And if someday it’s 108 or 150 or more, I’ll want that version too.”

His hand found yours, fingers intertwining.

“You don’t have to starve to be loved. You don’t have to disappear to matter.”

You weren’t sure when it turned — when it shifted from comfort into something more intimate. Maybe when his lips moved lower. Maybe when you started whispering his name like a prayer you didn’t believe you deserved answered.

But you let him love you.

And for once, you didn’t shrink away.

You let his hands tell the story your mind refused to hear — that you were still here, still wanted, still enough.

Even if the scale didn’t agree.

[m11quda]

[ Okay sayd on twitter I’ll redo my expandable oc and had a completely new idea for a monster, so here’s the parasite! ]

[ More info down below btw! ]

[ Sorry for the word salad but I’ve come up whit a lot of info for this fucker! ]

[umi-no-onnanoko]

11/06/25

Day 11 of 100 days of productivity challenge

I had a good night's sleep, but my blood pressure continues to be a pain and stay low. I assume it'll be like this for most of the summer, so I'm resigning myself to it.

For breakfast, I made porridge and added a teaspoon of Nutella, at least I pampered myself that way before dedicating myself to pilates; today I managed to hold a plank for 15 seconds, which I know isn't much but it's a lot for me.

Afterward, I read a bit and nerded out as usual with some video games. Unconventional lunch with grilled sausage and a pretzel, while for dessert I finished the tiramisù.

I went for a drive in the early afternoon and it was melting hot. Even though I'm in the mountains, it's already super warm. I had to dig out my hat (best combo with my t-shirts mood cute and reality mood) to at least get some protection from the sun, or I would have ended up like a melted ice cream.

Came back home, finally I breathe and rest for a bit, watching crime show on tv then having snack and a tea; control if my Shein pack whit mom's birthday present is in Italy and when will arrived, I'm so exited this year I have doing my best with presents now I have only to decide what will be the menù and of course the cake.

For dinner rice salad and also a so gnammy pistachio croissant from the family's friend bar, best of the luck.

𐙚 Currently reading: La Regina degli inferi: la maledizione di Persefone 𐙚

-umi-no-onnanoko ( @umi-no-onnanoko )

[heroofshield]

Year of the OTP April: Right in Front of My Salad? (DA:V Emmrook)

Takes place in the second half of the game but no real spoilers. Enjoy!

@anderfels

"This is the first time you've cooked."

Emmrich set down his knife before turning around to see Rook leaning against the countertop. "Actually this is the first time I've cooked for the group. Second time for you."

"What was the first?" Zea Laidir asked, tipping her head while tucking her hair behind her ear- knowing that it would show off her neck and hopefully distract Emmrich from her intentions.

"If you recall the first time was in the Memorial Gardens."

"That doesn't count, you didn't do any of the cooking. If I remember correctly you had one of the cooks do it for you. So first time." Zea slid to the side so she was closer towards Emmrich, but importantly close to what he had just sliced. Her fingers quickly snatched a cucumber from the pile and darted back just as quickly.

"Rook!" Emmrich tried to be exasperated with Zea, but knew he couldn't. She was a bright ray of sun in his life; full of laughter and whit, full of stories of her adventures and places traveled, and a lust for reading and knowledge that while didn't rival his own- was quite impressive for someone who'd gone through so much. She knew how much she distracted him at times and used it to her advantage every now and then.

"Such as now." he thought while letting a mild exasperated expression flash across his face as she took a bite of the pilfered vegetable.

"Those are for the salad." he replied in a crisp voice, hoping he sounded like the 'disapproving professor' he usually reserved for students who weren't performing to their full potential or he'd found them being academically dishonest.

"Are they? Sorry." Zea said in a 'not even the little bit' voice, taking a bite of half of the cucumber. Munching on it, she watched Emmrich deftly slice the rest and set them aside on a plate. He then moved on to the tomatoes and made quick work of them as well. "Such nimble hands."

"Yes, well I did help my father in his butchers shop before..." Emmrich trailed off. Even though it had been decades since his parents passed, every now and then there was that familiar stab of grief. It had dulled as time moved on, but it never completely went away. Pulling himself out of the maudlin thoughts before he could spiral any deeper, he cleared his throat and straightened his back. "He was training me to help slaughter the animals and to do that you needed to have deft knife skills."

"Does Lucanis know? Because I'm sure with his own skills in the kitchen, he'd make you his assistant."

Emmrich huffed at the comment, him being an apprentice in the kitchen with the heir apparent First Talon was absurd. But he didn't say so, because he caught Zea's hand creeping forwards to pilfer a tomato- grasping her wrist with his hand before she could steal it. "What did I tell you about the ingredients?"

Zea saw that Emmrich wasn't truly upset and so let a slow smile appear, "I don't remember. Maybe you need to tell me again."

Emmrich just let out a 'hmm' and pulled enough on her arm to draw her close to him. "Let me refresh your memory." he replied in a low tone in her ear.

Zea felt her face flush slightly and swallowed thickly, "And how are you going to do that?"

Emmrich was about to answer when he heard a throat being cleared that was neither him nor Rook.

"Really? In front of my salad?"

Emmrich turned his head to see Taash standing by the entrance to the kitchen- arms crossed in front of their chest and a stormy look on their face. "Oh Taash! I-"

"It's bad enough that I can hear you through the walls when you're...talking about books in Rook's room, now I have to see...whatever this is before I eat?" Taash made another face before stomping out.

Zea was speechless. Well, not completely but enough that she felt bad. Glancing over to Emmrich, she saw that he had that pinched look on his face that meant he was going to try and bury himself in his books. "Hey, don't worry about it. I'll talk to them and straighten it out."

"You sure? I could-"

Zea silenced Emmrich with a quick, chaste kiss on the lips. "They're either probably ranting to Harding about this or in their room. I'll handle it."

"Oh well, if you insist...then that's alright by me." Emmrich gave a weak protest, knowing that it had been bound to come up at some point. They hadn't been exactly subtle in their affection for each other and he was sure that the others were aware of their attraction towards another as well.

"I'll come to the library tonight. That'll mollify Taash some." Zea gave Emmrich another quick kiss before hurrying out of the kitchen and out of the dining room itself. Walking across the courtyard, she hoped that Taash would be less annoyed when she caught up with them.

[mushie-mushroom]

Here's an art I made for my school project it's supposed to be a fruit salad whit gummy worms :D

[obscurebitch]

sun dried tomatoes chicken thighs with an arugula fennel salad in a honey olive oil dressing …. and orange olive oil cake with whit wine …. STUNNING. she did her big one while i read aloud to her lol

[drmarune]

Teen parent Nacht Au(8)

Cucurucho‘s first birthday

josele is @loosesodamarble

——————————————————————-

Morgan and Ida are making baby food for cucurucho but they can‘t figure out if they make the food sweet or bitter

Morgan:hm cucurucho like more Sweet for sure Ida

Ida:No bitter is nice

Nacht and Josele looking at this

Nacht:they know baby’s can just taste salty and sweet in the first year‘s mostly?

Josele:they do?well would make sense why Ida did like salty stuff more as a baby even we gave her more sweets like milk

Nacht:year

Ida:hm what do you think Nachty?

Morgan:yes brother you are her father

Nacht:you know what give her something like apple or other natural sweet‘s Morgan did you forget baby’s can‘t eat sugar? It’s poison for them

Morgan laughing nervously

Nacht:and gremlin just you like bitter stuff cucurucho like salty and sweet stuff mostly sweet right now

Ida:yes Nachty……….

Josele: I where right you became a good parent Nacht“laughing

Nacht blushing:year sure

Morgan:yes My Love is right Nacht „smile

Nacht:shut up your all………

Ida:why my?!

Nacht:year sure not you but the other your are lucky cucurucho is sleeping right now

—————————————

There cucurucho is just one year old don’t give it a party mostly because Nacht doesn’t want one and there he is the father……….

Just friends are there like yami ok just yami Nacht just yami sad soul

Yami:isn’t it boring for the rascal? No other baby’s her age are here

Nacht:it’s fine she is happy and I don’t know the other Adel is crap they well ruined cucurucho I can’t handele this…….

Morgan:oh don’t be so Brother it’s give for sure nice on I mean we did turn out fine“laughing

Yami: if you say so…..

Josele:yami don‘t ruined it but cucurucho need children her age

Nacht:year sure she will but not whit the no€ jop€s

Then came the maid whit cucurucho wo is happy to see Nacht and the other

Cucurucho: Dada!!! Hungy!

Nacht:yes rascal we have food today even a apple muse for you and and little fruit salad

Cucurucho quick happy at this

Ida:happy one year cucu!!!“smile bright

Morgan:oh yes happy birthday day cucu“smile

Josele:oh yes happy first one“smile

Yami:year rascal congrats

Cucurucho smile happy and laughing

[marune2]

Devil parent Faust Au

Lucifugus is concerned Abaut the eating habits of he’s baby’s

Morgan is obsessed whit sweets and strawberry’s

And Nacht like salads a lot and don’t eat enough

But Lucifugus make them it from time to time there Favorit food because they cute if they are happy but he take care they eat enough and well

[m-jrgymrubix-nollchtr0]

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[peppermintwindmills]

ASMR|||•Rigatoni Cottage cheese Pasta Mukbang• Tuna salad (White rice 🍚) Come eat dinner with us! #asmr #mukbang #pasta #food #asmrsounds

ASMR|||•Rigatoni Cottage cheese Pasta Mukbang• Tuna salad (White rice 🍚) Come eat dinner with us! #asmr #mukbang #pasta #food #asmrsounds https://clapperapp.com/video/WRdKpGRb3eJv98kX?is_invite=1&r=x6v4kaNbJK&c=sh&m=mo

[zwerfplaneet]

okay so fun story. "fun" story. a story that skirts the line between bureaucracy and sheer unwillingness.

had my names and gender marker updated this monday. it wasn't possible to file for a new ID in the same appointment, it has to be a separate appointment. it was then, in turn, impossible make an appointment for a new ID on the same day or even the day after. so i have that appointment today. then, they have 6 WORKdays to actually make my new ID. but whit monday isn't a workday. so i would only get my new ID on tuesday the 10th at the earliest.

the real kicker? updating my gender marker invalidated my old ID and the worker ("oh wow, i never would've thought you were träñšgėńðęr" said with such enunciation it made me just stop in my tracks and deadpan look her in the face for a second) wanted to take it from me. i was like hell no what if i get asked to ID myself, i legally have to be able to? and she was like yeah then you have a problem :) but the bullshit legalese word salad i convincingly improvised on the spot SOMEHOW convinced her to just punch holes in my current one and give it back to me. still don't have legal ID but at least Swiss Cheese old ID is rather common if people file for new IDs in general.

THE REAL KICKER 2.0: i can pay an additional €50 on top of the ~€80 base cost to get the ID this monday instead. and im seriously considering it because i am DONE with this shit

[chrisschallertideaengine]

Author Oblige: Day whatever, but it's working

To remind myself, this series has been tracking how a change in my internal vocabulary changes my actions. To whit, “I have to write something to keep up the story” (an obligation) to “I finally get to work on it!” (eager anticipation). I’ve been doing it with diet changes, so that I finally “get to have a salad” and “do I have to get eat those donuts? Can’t I get an energy boost some other…

[reginadeltrash]

There is a name for that fucking awful sensation that someone is playing a prank on you, just to make you upset when everything seems to be going smoothly?

Like, thanks, while my depression is finally subsiding I really need to be secret Santa for the girl who completely ruined what remained of my self esteem by ignoring me for a year and not inviting me to her birthday party, while the prior year I was the only one there, even fighting whit my stupid green repulsed head, to be able to eat salad, just to came to me after a year to ask if I could share my candies whit her, like nothing had happend!

Like what the hell should I even do?

Not give her a gift? Give her a bad gift purposefully (and trust when I say I could give her the worst gift possible)? Just being normal?

[drmarune]

It’s Sweet why did make it so sweet and cute my dear Loo😭

Isn’t Gabriel is the angel of water but again it’s said this Gabriel have a feisty personality it’s suit Magna then again my dear Loo👍

It’s cute Magna is good whit he’s parents especially he’s mother pretty good for him and he’s dad💕

And then the cooking part is good too oh dear at least Magna get a special menu from him even it’s a salad 🥗

Whas a good read my dear Loo I love you writing after all even after year’s 🥰

Welcome to the Black Bird Part 18: Gabriel's Passion

Summary: Introducing Magna as Gabriel, a member of the kitchen staff and the fiery man behind their fine pastries. Genre: general Word count: ~800 A/N: Credit to @crazycookiemaniac for the artwork of Magna.

..........

Magna remembered the day he fell in love like it was yesterday. He had returned home late due to after school baseball practice. His arms limply hung at his sides and his feet dragged behind him as he walked into his family home. As he walked in, he heard the television play a jazzy, saxophone-filled song at a low volume.

“Maaaaa… I’m hoooome…” Magna groaned while shuffling through the foyer.

“Welcome home, little man,” Blaire, Magna’s mom, called back. Her voice came from the same direction as the music. “Your dad’s sleeping so try not to be too loud.”

Magna gave a hum in reply then paused by the open archway that led into the living room. Blaire sat on the couch, eyes glued to the screen showing a dance program. It was nothing new.

“Ma,” Magna said, prompting Blaire look at him. “I’m tired. Can I watch something before I do my homework?”

“‘Kay then.” Blaire stood up and gently tossed the remote to her son. “But the shows you like might already be over.”

“Uh-huh…” was Magna’s nothing reply.

He plopped on the couch and flipped through channels. He found the channel that played after-school cartoons but, like Blaire said, the cartoons had finished airing. The show he stumbled upon was a cooking show led by a middle-aged couple. The wife stirred peaches in a pan while the husband talked about “caramelization.” Magna prepared to change the channel again when the husband brought a glass of amber liquid to the pan then poured it in and—

FWOOOOSH!

Flames bloomed in the pan and danced on the screen.

Just like that, Magna fell in love.

…..

“Get the pastry shells in the oven, Fen! Umi, pick up the pace with those crabs or I’ll throw you in the tank!” “Richard” commanded the kitchen preparations. “Vincent, pulverize those vegetables!” If the chefs fell short during preparations before opening, then business hours would be a disaster. Thus, everyone had to be on their A-game. “How’s the pastry cream, Gabriel?”

No answer.

“Gabriel! Answer!” When he again got no reply “Richard” stalked over to where the new hire was stationed. “He better have good reason…”

At his station, Magna used one hand to slowly pour a pot of steaming milk into a massive bowl of a mixture consisting of egg yolks, sugar, and cornstarch. With his other hand, he kept a constant stirring motion, strong but not aggressive. There was enough of the in-progress cream to amount to a half gallon and Magna was stirring it no problem.

“Keh. Ain’t ya’ tired, kid?”

“Not at all, chef!” Magna answered over his shoulder. “I’m on the varsity team for baseball and my arms—”

“Don’t need your life story. Just need you to fucking answer when I call you.” “Richard” bonked Magna on the back of the head. “You better not forget the cho—”

“It’s already setting in the fridge, chef!” Magna interjected with a grin. “You gave me this job so I’m gonna do it right!”

“Richard” looked skeptical before smirking. “You better, or you’re on the chopping block.”

Magna grinned to himself as he continued to stir, unshaken by his superior’s threat. Really, it was more like a challenge to Magna that got him even more fired up.

…..

Spicy Greens. A salad made from summer greens—cucumbers, tomatoes, young carrots to name a few—with a sriracha-based vinaigrette.

Magna’s parents would tell Magna that he had a fire burning inside him. They claimed it was why he had trouble exhausting himself and why his passion for sports and cooking were so strong. He had the temper of a firecracker for that reason, too. His dad even joked that his preference for spicy food fueled came was due to that fire needing fuel.

It was all probably just coincidence.

But fire really was a part of Magna; a part of life. Working up a sweat from eating hot chilis. Circling the baseball field until his veins pumped molten iron instead of blood. Feeling the waves of heat off the stoves and ovens in the kitchen.

Literal or metaphorical, Magna was drawn to burning heat.

After joining the Black Bird, Magna wanted for his menu item to be a dessert that would be flambéd for a final touch. Secre and the senior chefs vetoed him though. As disappointed as he was at first, he ended up happy with the spicy salad. It couldn’t compete with the Fiend’s Firework Stew in spice but Magna liked it.

Magna piped cream into the mini puff pastries that were needed for afternoon tea sets. He had to be careful but timely in his preparations. He’d do more than manage the task though.

This was one of his passions so he wouldn’t do anything less than his best.

[theladyofdeath]

Isn’t She Lovely {1}

Summary: Cassian, a single father, tries online dating for a one night stand and gets more than he bargains for. Nesta, a former professional ballet dancer, opens her own studio in her new hometown of Velaris and finds that she knows one of her students’ fathers from a night of utter regret.

Warnings: Mature content throughout. Language, sex, drinking, etc. NSFW.

A collab with @snelbz

A/N: Since Shelb became a mama and I started my teaching job, we hadn’t been able to write much. Now, we’re feeling good with where we are at and were able to pick up writing again not long ago - which we had missed soooo much. This is our first series since our little hiatus. I hope you all enjoy! We would love to know what you think. Chapters will be posted every Sunday and Wednesday. This is only a 10 part mini series!

Nesta felt ridiculous, but if nothing else she needed to get laid.

To say it had been a while was an understatement and she hadn’t had the time or energy since moving to Velaris to go out and find someone the old fashioned way. It used to be easier, she swore, in high school and college to come across a cute guy and hit it off. Now, as she neared her late twenties, dating became more and more difficult.

When Feyre had suggested a dating app, Nesta thought it had been an absurd suggestion. She hadn’t let her little sister know that she downloaded said app as soon as she got back to her little house on the outskirts of town. Now, two days later, she had been matched up with and was on her way to meet a man for dinner. He was an incredibly attractive mechanic whose hobbies included restoring old cars and playing the guitar. He was twenty-eight and had abs for days, judging by his profile pictures. He seemed nice enough in the few messages they had exchanged.

For safety, though, Nesta pulled out her phone and texted her other sister, Elain.

Going on a blind date. If I go missing, we were last seen at Monelli’s.

As she parked her car in the lot behind the restaurant, Nesta’s phone vibrated.

Feyre will be pleased.

With a roll of her eyes, she was hopping out of her car and walking to the front set of doors. Monelli’s was known for their incredible Italian food and gorgeous building - a historic two story place that had been refurbished to its former glory.

It was bustling with people but for a Friday night, Nesta was not surprised. It did make it more difficult to find her date, though. She hoped she hadn’t been catfished.

That would be mortifying.

After a deep breath, Nesta entered through the front doors and walked up to the hostess.

“Good evening,” she smiled. “How many?”

Nesta hesitated. “Actually, I’m waiting for someone. Has a tall man with long, brown hair and hazel eyes come in?”

The hostess nodded over toward the bar. “He’s waiting there. I told him it’ll be about fifteen minutes for a table to open up.”

“Thanks.”

After waiting for a server carrying a tray laden down with plates piled high in delicious pastas and breads and salads, Nesta crossed the threshold into the bar. She paused, glancing down at herself. She felt absolutely ridiculous, like everyone was staring at her, which she hated unless she was on stage, lost in the music. When she danced, she couldn’t care less who watched as the rhythm flowed through her, as the beat of the song matched the beat of her heart. But right now, as she was about to go on her first normal date since she’d broken up with her piece of shit ex?

Yeah, the eyes she could feel lingering on her as she stepped into the crowded bar made her self-conscious. She never would have worn the red dress on any other occasion, never wore anything as tight or with a slit up so high on her thigh that she had to be careful how quickly she walked, lest she become a different kind of dancer entirely.

Looking around the room, ignoring the few sets of eyes she felt settle on her, she finally spotted him.

He had his back to her as he reached for his glass of whiskey, neat.

He wore fitted navy slacks with a white button down, the sleeves rolled up to reveal dark ink displayed across his forearms. That long, thick hair of his was tied at the nape of his neck.

After a moment of watching, observing, she was sitting on the stool beside him. “Cassian?”

His eyes snapped to hers, then down her body before he met her gaze once more. Nesta held her chin up high, pretending that the inside of her body wasn’t going absolutely insane.

He was far more attractive in person, and his pictures were gorgeous, so that was certainly saying something.

“Nesta,” he said, his voice low.

He held out his hand.

Nesta took it.

He brought it to his lips, his eyes remaining locked on hers.

“Nice to meet you,” he said, and before she could reply, he asked, “Drink?”

“Please,” she said, as he waved the bartender over. Nesta ordered a safe glass of white wine.

“You look gorgeous,” he said, and Nesta cleared her throat.

“Oh, thank you,” she replied, and a moment passed before she even thought to tell him that he looked nice, too. Deciding that the moment had passed and it was too late to tell him as much, Nesta said, “I’m glad we got to meet on such short notice. I hated to rush our meeting but this next week was going to be a little hectic for me.”

Cassian shrugged a single shoulder as a glass of wine was set in front of Nesta. “I don’t mind. Tonight worked well.”

He was right, it was like they were meant to meet. She’d been planning to have dinner with her sisters, but both of them had made last minute plans that morning, Elain with Nuala and Cerridwen, Feyre with her fiancé. Which left Nesta with nothing to do on a Friday night.

Until she got a message from the gorgeous man she’d matched with on that ridiculous dating app the evening before.

He’d sent a cliché opening message. She’d harmlessly flirted for a minute, and when he’d asked if she had anything special planned for tonight, she asked him to dinner.

He hadn’t responded for an hour or so, but it was the middle of the day on a Friday. Most people were at their jobs, Nesta reminded herself. But when he did, he’d accepted her offer, asking her to meet him at Velaris’ most popular restaurant.

“Nazari, table for two?”

Cassian looked over his shoulder at the hostess and stood. “Looks like our table is ready.”

Nesta nodded and stood, taking the hand that was offered to her. His skin was rough but his grip was gentle. She couldn’t help but imagine for a split second what those hands would feel like on the rest of her body.

They followed the hostess to their table and Cassian pulled out her chair like the perfect gentleman. Once she was seated, he sat opposite of her and thanked the hostess for their menus before she scurried off.

After a sip of whiskey, he opened up his menu and began looking through it. Nesta did the same, although she already knew what she wanted. The shrimp scampi was to die for.

“Been here before?” Cassian asked, eyes still on the menu.

Nesta nodded. “A couple of times. You?”

“Long time ago,” he replied.

The conversation fell away so Nesta pretended to search her menu anyway.

Five minutes later, the server appeared and Nesta ordered her pasta. Cassian ordered a rare steak with a side of penne topped with Monelli’s famous, special sauce. “You like meat?” Nesta asked.

Cassian raised a brow, as if the question itself was one of the strangest he had ever heard. “I do. So do you, it seems.”

“Not so much,” Nesta said, scrunching her nose. “Especially rare? It’s practically raw.”

“Shrimp is meat,” Cassian replied, one hand gripping his glass of whiskey.

“Not really,” Nesta said. “Shrimp is protein, but it’s far different from beef. Or chicken, for that matter.”

“So you don’t eat meat?” Cassian pushed. Then grumbled, “And judge those who do, it seems.”

“I’m not judging,” Nesta snapped, then calmed herself before continuing, “And no, I eat shellfish occasionally, and chicken, but that’s it.”

“Animal rights type of thing?” Cassian asked, sipping from his glass.

Nesta watched him for a moment then shook her head. “No, not really. I just think someone ripping into a rare steak is a bit barbaric, that’s all.” He raised his eyebrows, so she explained. “I just came off of a very strict diet that I’ve been on for a while. I’m still working normal things back into my everyday routine. So, like I said, chick and shellfish, and greens mostly.”

Cassian watched her for a moment with a stupid, subtle grin on his full lips. “You eat healthy. I like that.”

Nesta arched a brow and chose to sip from her wine glass instead of making a retort.

“I can tell,” he continued, and his eyes grazed her form-fitting dress. Nesta’s jaw locked and she swore that her cheeks reddened.

“I take care of my body,” Nesta said, at last. “You seem to do the same, even with your poor intake of raw meat.”

When he spoke next, his voice was so low that if Nesta hadn’t been following the way his lips slowly moved she would have been certain that she imagined it. “It’s crucial to stay in shape. Never know when all the clothes will be coming off.”

She lifted a brow.

He grinned as he drained his glass of whiskey.

The server brought a basket of bread but neither of them touched it.

“So, you’re a mechanic?” Nesta asked a moment later. “Run my own shop,” Cassian said, as he motioned for another glass of whiskey. “And what do you do? Your profile didn’t say.”

“I’m a dancer,” Nesta said.

Something flashed in Cassian’s eyes but it disappeared as soon as it had come. “Yeah?”

Nesta nodded, and before she could stop herself, she said, “I tour with a ballet company.”

It was a lie, of course, but it hadn’t been a lie for long.

Cassian nodded but said nothing more as a newly filled glass of whiskey appeared.

Their food came a minute later and the conversation between them had died for the majority of it.

“I can barely enjoy my steak with you sneering at it like that,” he said, using his fork to mix the bowl of greens next to his plate. “I can feel it getting colder with each second that passes.”

She had just taken a bite, her mouth full of pasta and shrimp, so she rolled her eyes, continuing to chew until she could respond. His eyes lit up at the expression on her face, and she didn’t have a chance to reply before he said, “Though I’d bet that stare could heat a few things up, too.”

Nesta had just stabbed at her food when she asked, “You’re a shameless flirt, aren’t you?”

Cassian shrugged a shoulder as he covered the remainder of his steak with his greens and took a big bite. “I say what I think.”

“No, you dance around what you’re thinking,” Nesta said, deciding she was full and needing a to go box. “You think you’re clever with all these little innuendos you keep feeding me.”

“You don’t like my innuendos?” Cassian asked, brow raised, consuming his plate with a speed that would make others think he hadn’t eaten in days.

“I suppose I’m a little more blunt than most,” Nesta said, dabbing at her mouth before folding her napkin in her lap.

“I’m not sure you want me to be blunt about what’s on my mind,” Cassian said.

“Then allow me to be blunt,” Nesta said, and fiddled with the stem of her nearly-emptied wine glass. “This isn’t going great. We have absolutely nothing in common and trying to have a steady conversation with you is like pulling teeth.”

Cassian lifted an amused brow. “But you’re attracted to me.”

Nesta didn’t deny it right away. “I shouldn’t be surprised that you think every woman is attracted to you.”

“Every woman may not be, but you are,” Cassian said, setting down his fork. “I’ve been with enough women to recognize the looks you keep giving me.”

Been with enough women. Charming, Nesta thought, but she couldn’t admit that he was right. She had come on the date knowing full well that there was a good chance this would be a dud. It wouldn’t be a complete waste of time, though, if she got something out of it.

It had been so long since she had taken control of a man for the sake of pleasure.

“Maybe so,” Nesta agreed, lifting her chin. “I won’t deny that you’re attractive, even though your communication skills could use a tremendous amount of work.”

Although meant as a jab, Cassian’s head fell back as he laughed. When he met her eyes again, the gleam in them had Nesta’s toes curling. “Lucky for you I know of something we can do that requires no conversation at all…and I’m far better at it than I am trying to string together some words to impress a haughty dancer that I thought was hot on some outdated hookup app.”

Nesta should feel offended, should slap him across the face for being rude as shit, but her heart had begun to race. Is this what got her going after almost a year of no sex? Some conceited asshole that thought he was all that and then some? Some hot conceited asshole, she corrected herself. Yeah, he was full of it, but Nesta had no doubt that he was a god in bed. And if he wasn’t? At least Nesta got a break from trying to get herself off and let somebody else at it for a night.

“So what is it you propose?” Nesta asked, running her fingers through her long, loose curls.

Cassian tracked the movement.

For a moment, Nesta thought he would push everything off the table between them and ravage her right there on the tabletop.

For a moment, Nesta wanted him to.

“I live two blocks down,” he said, his tone sending shivers down her spine. “One night, no strings attached. You look like you need to be taken care of.”

She was quiet still, eyes on him, assessing him and whether he meant what he said. She never wanted to see him again, his conceited, cocky demeanor had cemented that, but his body…

She could see the strong bands of muscle on his forearms beneath his rolled-up shirt sleeve. Knew every other part of him would be just as solid, just as muscled, and it had been a hell of a long time since she ogled someone as much as she had when she saw his dating profile.

Hell, she was so sex starved she’d even gotten off to his pictures the night before when she found him, before he’d matched with her. But she would never tell him that.

“You can leave as soon as we’re done or stay as long as you like,” he said, voice dropping low as he leaned closer to the table. “I’ve got my place to myself, a king-sized bed, and about a thousand things I want to do to you.”

Nesta sucked in her bottom lip, then drained what was left of her wine glass before saying, “Call for the check.”

With a grin, he did so. The server brought the bill and after one quick glance at it, Cassian dropped a stack of bills into the portfolio and rose to his feet. He held out his hand.

“I can pay for my own meal,” Nesta said, taking his hand and standing.

“Good date or not, I pay,” Cassian murmured in her ear, and began leading her toward the exit.

That stupid little grin remained.

It made Nesta’s knees weak.

The air had grown cool as the sun had fully faded and the moon was in its rightful place for the night. Having only lived two blocks away, Nesta had assumed he had walked, but he led her to a black truck and unlocked it, pulling open the passenger side door. He helped Nesta up inside the cab before rounding the truck and getting behind the wheel.

It was surprisingly clean, not a speck of dust to be found. It looked fairly new and smelled like leather.

They kept quiet as he pulled out of the lot and headed west, away from town. Two and a half blocks later, he pulled into the parking garage for a large brick building and stopped in a spot near a door.

Without a word being spoken, the two of them entered through that door and up a set of rickety, metal steps before going through a second door and into the halls of his apartment building.

With every step, Nesta’s heart beat a little bit faster.

A throbbing had formed between her thighs.

Cassian stopped at the elevator and pressed the call button. They waited in silence until the elevator dinged and the doors opened. Nesta entered first. Cassian followed.

He pressed the button for the sixth floor and the doors shut them inside. Once they were alone in that small, compact room, Nesta turned to look at him, to say something, anything to break the silence, but Cassian was already taking a step toward her as they began moving.

He took her slim waist into his hands and pulled her toward him.

Nesta gasped, her arm instantly finding their way around the back of his neck, the other grabbing his shirt. He took his time leaning into her, but when her fingers brushed his warm skin just above his shirt collar, he snapped.

His mouth found hers, hungrily, and Nesta quickly responded.

He tasted like whiskey - not Nesta’s first choice of drink but it certainly suited him. When his tongue brushed along hers, Nesta’s body made full contact with his, and then her skirt was being drawn up and Cassian was lifting her off the ground. Her legs wrapped around his waist and the elevator stopped, the double doors opening, once again.

Their lips never broke as Cassian carried her into the hall. He’d only taken a few steps before he stopped, fiddled with his key, and pushed open a door. Once they were inside and the front door shut, Nesta finally broke away from Cassian’s lips and, breathing heavily, asked, “Bathroom?”

Cassian blinked, his eyes glazed over from lust. It took him a moment to realize what she was asking. “Oh, uh, yeah. Down the hall, on the left.” A beat passed before he set her down and Nesta scurried down the hallway.

Clicking the door shut behind her, Nesta quickly smoothed out her hair and touched up her makeup, knowing full well they were about to be a disaster, but appearances were very important to her. After popping a mint, she unlocked the door behind her and began to walk down the hall.

A cracked door caught her eye and, although she knew she shouldn’t, she gently pushed the door open.

Pink. It was an explosion of pink and sparkles and…dinosaurs. The last items didn’t quite fit with the rest of the decor, but there was even a stuffed, pink dinosaur placed lovingly atop the pillows of the twin sized bed.

Realizing asking about the room would only make their hookup a fuck-ton more complicated, Nesta pulled the door shut again and headed for the entry where she’d left him.

Setting her purse on the counter, she found him standing in the middle of the living room, gazing out the window, a glass of something Nesta would have bet her life on was whiskey dangling from his fingers.

Nesta walked up behind him and said, “Quite a view you have.”

“It’s why I got the place,” he muttered, and slowly turned to face her. His eyes flashed when they connected with hers, but her eyes soon trailed down to his shirt, where he had undone half the buttons, revealing his strong, inked chest.

“Can I get you a drink?” he asked, voice low as Nesta closed the distance between them and placed her palm gingerly against his chest. His heart was beating wildly.

She shook her head and pulled her hair back, off of her shoulders. She slid the strap of her dress down and then the other. Cassian watched silently, intently as he raised his glass to his lips and took a drink.

She liked the way he was watching her, thrived on the fire, the lust, the need in his eyes.

Especially when she slipped her dress down further, revealing her breasts to him.

She could still feel his lips on hers, the taste of the whiskey still dancing around the edge of her senses. His eyes, which she’d noticed after far too much time looking at his pictures were usually a sparkling hazel, were nearly wholly black, and his tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip.

Slowly, teasingly, he reached up and brushed a callused finger over her nipple. The throb in her core pulsed and she sucked in a breath through her teeth as his finger circled one nipple and then the other.

He was teasing her, playing with her, and usually, Nesta was on board with the game. But tonight, she wasn’t in the mood.

Before he could react, before he could grab her and take control, her fingers knitted into his hair, just beneath that nub of a ponytail, and she crashed her lips against his once more.

Her dress was off and tossed aside like an old, filthy rag in a matter of seconds before Cassian carried her through his apartment and to his bed where he laid her down.

At the foot of his bed, Cassian stripped down and climbed on top of her, careful not to crush her with his weight before fucking her senseless well into the night.