#wip: cloy

[theragamuffininitiative]

🎶

-spins the wheel-

You get....!

This song is strongly associated with my urban fantasy, Cloy:

He wasn’t certain at what point the faerie stopped breathing in his arms, but he knew that one moment he was looking into the vastness of that troubled, chaotic sky as the very heavens seemed to quake and shudder and die, and when he tore his eyes away from the death throes of the universe, the spindly faerie, wrapped in colors of red and exuberance and life and vitality, was still and solemn and pale. Captain's attention shifted from death to death, from still form to boiling sky, as if something beyond or inside of the clouds was fighting to get out or else fighting to get away. None of this could be real and none of it felt real. Worlds just didn’t end, they kept going on and on while those who lived inside of them lived and died and were forgotten. But the world itself spun endlessly forward into space, always. Not today. The earth shook again beneath him, but it seemed to him a different kind of shaking, not like the tremors of the past several days, but the kind of shaking of an egg before it hatched, or an engine as it rumbled to life. Something was happening now. Something was beginning. Above him the green sky shifted to a dark, unholy shade of purple. It bent and swirled in upon itself as it hungrily devoured the space between earth and heaven. The immense pressure pressed against Captain, intent on smothering him and every other living thing. He was in the storm, but he was not in its eye. The wind whipped debris around him, stinging his still-healing skin, and the storm raged and scorned and churned, but it was being drawn inward to that place in the center of that field, several yards away from him. Drawn toward River. She was pulling it to herself.

(Oof, this scene isn't actually even written all out yet, but I found this old scrap and gave it a quick buff-and-polish. And it's a lot more than a line whoops 😅)

[d-e-r-i]

[frownyalfred]

TRINITY STRIP CLUB?

I had some bits and pieces written for an outsider!POV fic of the Trinity going undercover of a strip club, but I think I scrapped it since I ended up going with a similar storyline for dead man's party.

(snippets below, unedited)

---

“Oh fuck. VIP in the big suite.” 

Amy set down her gatorade, swallowing quickly. “This late?”

Matt tilted the POS screen her way, showing her the time block. “They just grabbed the last two blocks for the night.” 

“Shit,” Amy said, biting her lip, “That’s pricey.” 

“Ask if they want any bottles,” Matt said, immediately switching to business mode, “Actually, don’t ask. Just bring in the champagne.” 

Amy made grabby hands until he stepped out of her way, letting her look at the screen. She thumbed through the schedule, frowning at the room reservation -- John Smith -- and the underlined note: Do not disturb. 

“Taking first dibs?” she asked, glancing at his sweat-soaked shorts critically. Matt stuck his tongue out at her. 

“They don’t care this late,” he said, “It’s all coming off, anyway.” 

Amy scanned the screen one last time -- three guests -- and snagged her serving tray off the counter, going off in search of champagne glasses. 

Matt, wisely, split off for the dressing rooms, likely to freshen up. He was wiping down with baby wipes in full view of the door when Amy passed by a few minutes later, a chilled bottle of Dom Pérignon carefully perched in an ice bucket on her tray. 

“Give ‘em hell,” he said, grinning lewdly. 

Amy made an unimpressed noise, heading for the stairs. 

(line break)

“Hello, welcome to Club Charlie. My name is Amy, I’m going to be your--”

Three heads shot up, staring at her in surprise. Years of training prevented Amy from immediately stopping in her tracks. She balanced the bucket off of her tray and onto the table, focusing on keeping her heels under her. 

“We didn’t order champagne.”

Amy looked up from the bucket, already reaching for the glasses. 

“Compliments of the…” she faltered, “...house, sir.” 

The man in the middle of the couch -- sunglasses, dress shirt open to the third button, broad shoulders -- didn’t seem amused. Delicate lips pressed together, highlighting their curve. 

“We also asked not to be disturbed,” he said. Not upset -- not really, the truly wealthy ones never did -- but on the road to it. “Miss…?”

“Bruce,” the man to his left said, interrupting before Amy could respond, “let her be.” 

He was just as broad-shouldered, wide blue eyes keeping just above her collarbone. On the table in front of him was an iPad and several notepads, half filled in with penciled diagrams. 

“We can drink champagne,” the third person -- a woman, in a deep red, one-shoulder dress -- said, leaning forward, “I will do the honors.” 

Amy handed off the champagne bottle to the woman, mouth slightly open. 

There had to be a convention in town. A convention for highly attractive, black-haired, blue eyed models. It was like staring at a movie star in real life. 

The woman smiled at Amy in thanky, digging a perfectly manicured finger through the foil of the bottle. Before she could offer the bottle opener, the 

“Holy fuck,” she said, stumbling back into the dressing room, “you need to get in there now.” 

“Are they rich?” Matt asked, looking up from where he was tweezing a hair from his upper thigh, “Please tell me they’re good tippers. I got absolutely fucked by that last DJ set.” 

“They’re models,” Amy said, breathless, “literal, actual, fucking works of art. I’ve never seen three more attractive people in my life.” 

“Bullshit,” Matt said, returning to his hair. 

“Seriously. Grab Leslie. There’s three of them.” 

---

“Two birds, one stone,” Sunglasses said under his breath, “I need to be here.” 

“You said you were available,” the younger man protested, “I didn’t think that meant you were at the strip club.” 

“You said it was urgent,” Sunglasses said, raising an eyebrow at his companion, “and I am available.” 

The woman gave Matt and Leslie an encouraging smile as they mounted the stage. 

“I don’t…” next to Sunglasses, the younger man wiped a hand across his face, “Lois is going to kill me.” 

“Lois would already have her wallet out,” Sunglasses muttered, “and you know it.” 

“Gah.” 

“See something you like, gorgeous?” Matt called to the woman, slinging a hand around the center pole. 

The woman’s sculpted eyebrows lifted, lips forming a perfect, cherry-red pout over her champagne flute. “Will you show me something I’ll like, μωρό?”

“Oh God,” the younger man said, glancing back and forth between the two of them, “This was a mistake.” 

Sunglasses glanced up at the stage, looking marginally more pleased than his companion, “Might as well enjoy it, boy scout.” 

“Enjoy it?” 

“More champagne, sir?” Amy asked, darting in with the fresh bottle. The younger man stared up at her in shock. God, his eyes were really fucking blue. She could get lost in those eyes. 

“I--um,” the man shoved it out at her, “Sure. Please. I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have --”

His reply was drowned out by the sound of Kim Petras blaring through the VIP suite speakers, marking the beginning of the set. 

[jesncin]

wip of my next overly ambitious Clois comic

[suzukiblu]

"🐝❓️" poll winner, "🏙🌃", oh whoops we accidentally an apiary dynamics Superbat fic!! Also, no, Clark does not currently have any idea wtf an apiary gender is. Not even slightly does he have an idea. ❤️

“I . . . might have a problem,” Clark admits, trying not to wince. “Several problems, actually.” 

“Okay,” Lois says, raising an eyebrow at him as she lowers the copy of the Daily Star that she’s been writing insulting edits and patronizing corrections on in red pen. They’re eating an early breakfast in their apartment while Jon sleeps in, given it’s the weekend. It seemed like the best time to broach the subject, given there’s been no actual good time to broach the subject in, uh . . . the entire past decade, basically. “Shoot, Smallville.” 

Clark doesn’t actually know how to start this conversation. Actually he was sort of hoping the conversation would just happen organically at some point in the past decade, but it has definitely not done that, and to be fair it’s not really an organic kind of conversation topic anyway, considering, so– 

It’s just, well . . . he has a problem, definitely. Several problems. 

Specifically, Bruce’s kids are his several problems. 

It’s not that he minds Bruce’s kids. Obviously he doesn’t mind Bruce’s kids. Literally not a single one of them, in fact, including the ones that he doesn’t ethically agree with! Just because he doesn’t personally ethically agree with them all doesn’t mean they’re not still Bruce’s kids! Bruce doesn’t even personally ethically agree with them all! 

The thing is, Bruce keeps getting them, and Clark does not know how to explain how personally embarrassing that is for him. Dick was one thing, and Jason was . . . slightly less different as a thing, he guesses, if a lot more complicated what with the . . . everything, and everything, but then Tim happened, and Stephanie, and Cass, and Damian, and now apparently Bruce is fostering another teenager who might or might not already be a superhero–Duke Thomas, Bruce said his name was, though he didn’t actually confirm the superhero part, just gave Clark a dry look about it when he asked, and– 

“You’re vibrating again, honey,” Lois informs him, putting down her pen. Clark doesn’t blush, because he is a grown goddamn alien who isn’t buzzing because his–because his Bruce won’t just– 

He cannot ever, ever explain this to Bruce himself, but Clark is mad at him. Specifically, Clark is mad at him because if Bruce wants kids so bad, why hasn’t he just asked him for some?! 

This is an insane person’s thought, Clark is fully aware. They’re not in any kind of a relationship in which Bruce would expect him to give him children. Not sleeping together, not dating, and definitely not married. His own wife is, in fact, literally sitting at the breakfast table ten feet away from his pacing, and Bruce at least tried to marry Selina, and also– 

And also, if Bruce wants kids so bad, why hasn’t he just asked him?! 

He’s Superman. He is literally Superman. He could get Bruce so many kids. All the kids. Any kids he wanted. He could do anything short of gestate him one. So why does Bruce just keep getting them on his own instead of just asking him?! 

[bobbinalong]

they won the polls on both platforms! by the skin of their teeth over here but they won lol

[sir-teddy-of-bear]

Wip Ask Game

thought perhaps this might give me motivation to work on some of my wips! feel free to ask away about any fics!!

Multi Chapter

My very fun published work: Back to the old house Chapter 3 - BBC Ghosts with Caphavers

Caphavers Teacher Au - BBC Ghosts

Dean gets over his fear of dogs by rescuing a one from a fighting ring set in season 5 with eventual Destiel - Spn

5 times dean fixed things + 1 time he didn’t have to - Spn, Destiel

5 times Clark was sung a song about being from space by someone close to him + 1 times he did it back - DC, Superman

Oneshots

Billytella non-sexual kink fic - Undead Unluck

Billytella ranch fic - Undead Unluck

Your Love is Sunlight - The Magnus Archives, not canon complaint, Jmart

I Can’t Host (And You Can’t Host) - Spn, Destiel, modern AU

Dean sees Cas’ wings - Spn, Destiel

Lichtenberg Figures - 9-1-1, post s5e10 Buddie

Mattfoggy Fluff - Daredevil, Transmasc!Matt Murdock

Post Kavado - Star Wars The Clone Wars, Codywan hurt/comfort

i also separately have everything i’m working on for codywan week which is in a few months but i’m not sure anyone follows me for star wars stuff so yk, but if you want to ask about the collective hoard then be my guest!

[authenticaussie]

WIP Wednesday (ish)

My wrist is still a pain but I organised annual leave SPECIFICALLY to have fun writing chill time >:( and I want to write some Kon ❤️Game snagged from @/suzukiblu

It’s time for a little accountability, sharing fic, and getting a kick in the pants.

Here’s how it works:

Make a list of five (5) of your WIPs for your followers to chose from.

Post a snippet from one of your fics that you’ve worked on in the past week.

Your followers get to send an ask with one of the five listed WIPs!

You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can’t share from (for example, an event or gift fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

If you’re reading this, you’re invited! Send your friend an ask and make them write 🎉❤️

file names:

Eight legs hit the wall (spiderkon, timkon chapter edition 💪)

Trek au (....trek au)

Sunblind (calypso island / bartkon mythology au)

Everybody's got a little lover in the hand (pockets!au)

Bidding war (identity shenanigans + timkon)

🔪 damnit @cer-rata

🔪

When Lex makes his threat - that the world will forget Superman's identity - it's a relief. Close to one, at least, and yet still a mess, and-

He's tired enough that he doesn't think. Not beyond the anger, the fear, that anyone who finds out will have their brain explode.

How's he supposed to deal with that? The responsibility of his secret as a death sentence, now? His flight home is listless; he takes the long way around, drifting after the sun to try and work his way through what he can do to protect his friends - Jimmy, Perry, and what if Jon ever wants to introduce his friends to his dad and they put the dots together?

There's too much to think about. Too many people still to save.

And then he lands on their balcony and Lois looks at him, guarded but warm, the way she looks at the friends that exist outside of her guarded, guarded circle, and her smile is fake. "Superman," she says, the twitch of her mouth almost flirtatious, but the same way she flirts with Bruce; with no promise, just cocky, "I didn't think we had an exclusive scheduled - what's the sitch, big blue?"

It hits him just as he sees Jon behind Lois, beaming, about to jump forward, dad on his lips - the world includes Lois Lane.

[theragamuffininitiative]

I thought that your ‘urban fantasy, magic is dying’ story sounded really interesting. I’d love to see it if you post it

First: Thank you so much for this ask! It made me so happy to see and I am so sorry it's taken this long for me to respond. I woke up this morning Absolutely Determined to write a little something in this novel I love so much and have so sorely neglected. And I almost made myself late for work jotting down the little snippety shower thoughts I had while getting ready. XD

(Was going to write more and edit these up and post the last/just some favorite bits, but the world is exhausting today so I'm just going to toss the most cohesive bit in here)

Cloy

There were only a few secrets River kept from Avlu, and these she kept like the magic specimens at the lab sealed which were tightly sealed in jars. The first secret was the memories and dreams of her father, which she told herself was to spare her guardian the pain of thinking about the death of his friend, but she knew her real reason was far more selfish: Avlu had years of time and memories with her father and she only had those few small moments. Some were real and some were not and she didn't want anyone telling her which was what. The second secret was almost as old as the memories of her first days of life, the first time Avlu took her on the train and the first time she had seen that great black canyon stretching out through the window. A sprite, standing next to the toddler River and bracing herself with a spell rather than one of the suspended handles, had met River's wide-eyes and a sort of recognition sparked between them. You see it, too. The sprite paled and, with a furtive glance at Avlu and the other passengers, placed a curled finger to her lips. Quiet, the gesture said. This is our secret now. In all the years River traveled the mage-line, she had never encountered the sprite - or anyone else who seemed to see the canyon - again. And, so, a secret the canyon remained. "Are you alright?" Captain asked her now. "Your expression is... strange." She wondered if her face had gone white like the sprite she had shared that moment with so long ago. From the concern he showed, she thought it must have. "Look out the window," she told him. "What do you see?" Captain looked into the black on the other side of the glass for a long time and River found she was holding her breath, afraid he would see nothing and equally afraid he might see that yawning, ancient Something. Captain looked away in the end, and shrugged a little like a shiver had run down him. "It's just darkness," he said. "Empty." River nodded and watched the canyon until the speeding train had finally moved beyond it, hiding an emotion she was not sure she could name as relief or disappointment. Whatever it was, it prevented her from wishing to meet Captain's searching eyes.

There you go! Thank you again for the ask! 😊

[d-e-r-i]

retro clois🫨

[jesncin]

wip of the next overly ambitious Clois comic I'm working on! Lois admiring a nice S.

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for ZepysGirl; the wet nurse omegaverse. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

After a few minutes, Lois’s car finally turns onto the main road and pulls through the front gate, and tension visibly drains out of Clark’s shoulders. At this point, Bruce feels tension drain out of his own shoulders. Lois rolls up the long drive and parks directly in front of the steps, arching an eyebrow at them through her car window. Which–obviously she does that, yes. Neither of them have met her at the manor door before, much less outside the manor door. Much less together. 

“New candidate another bust?” she assumes resignedly as she gets out of the car, the corners of her mouth pulled just a little tighter than usual. It’s a fair assumption, under the circumstances. 

“No,” Clark says, and attempts to smile. “We actually–Chris feral-bonded with him, actually. He’s with him right now.” 

“He what?” Lois blinks in bewilderment, pausing in the middle of closing the car door. “That’s–then why do you both look like somebody just kicked your dogs?” 

Bruce doesn’t dignify that comment with a response, because he has better control of both his face and his pheromones than that and they all know it. Lois is just reading the distress off Clark, who she knows much better, and extrapolating his own state of mind from there. 

. . . besides, Ace isn’t that easy to kick. Obviously. 

“Chris pup-called when Clark was bringing him down to the parlor,” he says instead, phrasing it as carefully as he can to avoid upsetting Clark’s inner omega while still explaining the situation clearly to Lois. She’s more than intelligent enough to read between the lines, either way. “I think the feral bond might’ve triggered the moment the wet nurse heard him. He reacted . . . very noticeably, let’s say, even with it being a Kryptonian pup-call. And as soon as he had eyes on Chris, he went straight for him, took him out of Clark’s arms without asking or acknowledging him, and nursed Chris right there without even sitting down. Before we’d even looked at the contract, in fact, much less hired him. Which–well. Feral bond, so . . . not particularly surprising, there. And he’s a stray, apparently, so I doubt that helped.” 

“And Chris was good?” Lois asks, still looking bewildered. “I mean–he kept the milk down and all?” 

“So far, at least,” Bruce says. “We’ll have to see how it digests and how much nutritional benefit he actually gets from it, obviously, but . . .”

“He nursed Jon too,” Clark says, and it comes out–abrupt, perhaps. Abrupt and tight and almost blurted. 

Bruce did not avoid upsetting the other’s inner omega, clearly. 

“He what?” Lois says, staring at them. 

“Jon came into the parlor after the feral bond was established and the wet nurse offered him a snack,” Bruce clarifies, and doesn’t say a wet nurse who could practically pass for a younger version of your wife just took care of BOTH of your pups in a way your wife very literally CAN’T and they’re both currently off fawning over him, and Clark’s past trauma and terminal sense of responsibility are both having difficulty handling that fact, obviously. 

But, again, Lois is more than intelligent enough to read between the lines.

“Ah,” she says, blinking slowly.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 9

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: We made it to Friday.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The watch ticks on in your hand, counting down the seconds you spend trapped beneath the bed. Cowardice, embarrassment, shock. Pick one. You finally break your paralysis and crawl out from beneath he frame, listening cautiously as you drag yourself across the floor inch by inch.

You stand, glancing furtively around the room. You clutch the watch and turn, hovering it just above the night table. That's too obvious. It wouldn't just appear out of nowhere. You need to come up with a story but you don't know if any lie you tell could be believed. It seems, he even doubts you when you are honest.

You drop your hand to your side and near the door, turning your ear out to listen to house beyond. You grip the door handle tight and lift the door on its hinges as you open it. You slip out, easing the handle down then up to keep the mechanism from clicking.

You peer down the hall as you hear Mr. Laufeyson in his study, the shuffling and scuffing of drawers being pulled in and out. 

There are two paths forward; put the watch somewhere and let him find it or return it to him and feign ignorance. You don't know which is better, both entail a lie you aren't equipped to tell.

You pad down the hall, sidling against the wall and into the library. You could pretend you were there all along, say you found the watch earlier. He would think you busy as he was in the shower. That you were in a world, and a room, separate from him.

You go to the desk and set the watch down as you sit. It takes you a moment to get your mind to focus and you open the lid of the laptop. You hit the power button and tap your fingers on the wood as you wait for it to start up. As the screen lights up, the door from the study opens. You don't have time to hide the watch. The path forward is paved.

Mr. Laufeyson sweeps in without pretense, as he often does. For as much as he resented his brother for the very same, he is comfortable in just barging in. You sit up and look at him over the top of the computer. He crosses his arms as his eyes peruse the space.

"You've not seen--" He begins, his voice trailing off as he faces you. Like a hound, his eyes fall instinctively to the watch. You don't acknowledge it.

You type the password in to unlock the computer. He comes forward and leans forward, spreading his fingers wide over the other edge of the desk. He hums.

"Where did you find that?" He dips his head down, gesturing to the left of your laptop.

"Uh," you let your eyes wander over, "oh!" You look at him with surprise, "I was cleaning and it was... by the sofa. I meant to return it but I haven't seen you, Mr. Laufeyson."

He squints and shifts his weight. He pushes himself straight and smooths his shirt. He is without his usual jacket. He takes measured steps around the desk and comes to stand right beside you. Too close. You feel the heat radiating from, smell the same scent from the room cloying from his figure.

"The sofa?" He questions as he snatches up the watch. He examines it, as if he suspects it is a dupe. "Why, I should be grateful, yes? You've found the very thing I was in search of."

"Er, I guess," you shrug and drag your fingers around the touchpad listlessly. "Uh, excuse me," you stand, the chair scraping loudly behind you, "I forgot my bag downstairs, Mr. Laufeyson."

"Hvitsten," he wags the watch at you, staying firmly in place, "a Norwegian brand," he explains, "this is the North Sea model. Backed with Lapis Lazuli," he turns the face out, "nice, isn't it?"

"Um, sure, Mr. Laufeyson, I... I don't know much about watches," you eke out.

"But you can see it is a fine watch, yes?"

You take a step back and he takes one forward as your leg hits the edge of the chair. You gulp and stare at the watch hanging over two of his long fingers, "I like the colour--"

"If you were to guess, what do you think this piece costs?"

You blink and shake your head. You don't understand why he's asking. Can't he just thank you and take the watch?

"I don't know, Mr. Laufeyson," you croak.

"A pawn shop might offer you a few hundred, but that would be a con," he scoffs and turns the watch over, bringing his left wrist up to hook it in place. "This particular model retails for over two grand. I expect that's more than your rent," he tuts, "a fair amount for anyone but I pay for quality."

"I... it is really pretty," you offer.

"Oh I am aware," he smirks, "naturally, it catches the eye. One can hardly miss it."

You frown. Is he accusing you? You don't say a word. You expect whatever you say wouldn't change his mind.

"So, what I mean to say is I am very grateful that you've found this," he tugs his cuff straight, "for it would be a great loss indeed."

He drops his arm and stays where he is. He does not retreat and despite the urge, you do not either.

"I must be mistaken to think Thursdays you were to clean the second floor only," he remarks, "though it may be a trick of fate that you did the first as well."

"Er, I... had a few minutes-- Mr. Laufeyson, my ledger is in my bag--"

"In time," he crosses his arms and leans back on a heel. You dare to glance up as his eyes scan you from head to toe, "these..." He dips his head to allude to your attire, "are new?"

"Yes, Mr. Laufeyson, I thought-- no more jeans," you press your palms to the wool pants.

"Mmm," his hum is less than delighted, "still, lacking."

You wilt. You really tried and it's still not good enough. He unfolds his arms and you stand dumbly, frozen, as he reaches to pick a thread from your collar. It unravels and he lets it dangle before you.

"As I said, quality is worth the extra cost," he harrumphs and lets the thread fall, "I did provide you a rather generous signing bonus but perhaps your first check will provide adequate compensation."

You watch the thread fall and back up to bend and retrieve it. He watches you and you close your hand around the string.

"I'll throw this out," you assure him, "and grab my bag--"

"I did not dismiss you," he insists.

"I am coming back--"

"You do grow bold, yes?"

"Sorry, Mr. Laufeyson, I didn't mean--"

"If you would let me speak, I might be able to tell you what I had in mind when I entered," he rebukes, "I have a delivery expected at two. I would need you to sign for it. Can I trust that simple task in your hands?"

You chew your lip and bow your head. He inhales and backs away slowly, "very well, go." He flicks his fingers at you dismissively, "grab your things and get to work.”

🧹

There's a pungent stench as you enter the house. The TV blares loudly from the living room as the stale waft of tobacco lingers in the air. But more, there's something far more putrid. 

You peek into the living room. It's later than usual. Your father's head is tipped back as he snores upright. His oxygen tube is taught across his nose and the tank pulled against his leg. As you turn on a light, you notice the dark stain across the front of his pants. Oh no, that's what that smell is.

He gurgles, frightening you. At first, you think he's choking. He coughs and spits into his ash tray. He waves his hand in front of his face.

"What're you waking me up for?" He snarls.

"I was just checking on you--"

He groggily shifts back and forth, shaking his head as he gets his bearings. He looks down and you see him tense. He sits up and reaches for the remote.

"Um, did you need any help--"

"Piss off," he snips, "I was yelling for you earlier. Where were you?"

"I... was working. I told you--"

"Working? What the fuck is work? You? Pfft," he scoffs as he flicks through the channels.

"It's okay, dad, I'll grab you some new pants--"

"Shut up!" He barks. He's obviously embarrassed. You are too. Worse, your guilt sears in your stomach. You should've been there.

"Dad, it's not--"

"You're a dumb bitch, you know that? Shoulda let me fucking sleep," he grits out, "like you shoulda let me die. Now I'm hear sitting in my own piss with no fucking smokes."

He throws the empty pack at you and you wince. You pick it up as your eyes tinge hotly.

"Maybe... maybe I could look into getting a nurse. The doctor said--"

"I can take care of my fucking self!"

You snap your mouth shut and clasp the package between your hands.

"I'm only trying to help--"

"What? By keeping me in this hellhole? Eh? It's fucking torture. Why the fuck would you that?"

"Dad," you squeak, "I love you--"

"Proves how fucking stupid you are," he snorts.

You stand in scalded silence. You're just trying to help. That's all you've ever done and it's never been good enough.

"If you don't got smokes, go the fuck away," he hisses.

You obey and leave him, tossing the empty pack in the garbage. You head upstairs with heavy steps and yawn at your door. You drop your bag on the bed and go back to close the door. You lean on it as your tears begin to flow.

You can't do anything right. No matter what you do. It's like you're trying to get your head above water in the middle of a storm. You slide down to the floor and hang your head over your bent arms.

You know you can't stay home. As prickly as Mr. Laufeyson can be, he pays you well and he isn't entirely unkind. He didn't have to pay you a bonus but he did. He didn't have to hire you at all. Besides all that, he can at least admit when you've done something well.

It isn't him you can't say no to, it's the money. Not just to pay off the hospital but to keep the house running. For yourself as much as for your father.

And you can't leave your dad alone to fend for himself. He obviously can't, not anymore and he doesn't want your help. You might love him but there's only so much you can do.

You lift your head and inhale, sniffling roughly as you wipe your nose. Tomorrow, you'll go to the hospital and ask about home nurses. You'll have to find room in the budget.

🧹

You're out of breath as you get on the bus. You had everything timed out so you could get to Mr. Laufeyson's on time. Still, your usual bus went out of service and you had to get a transfer onto a different route. The change throws your entire day off and adds to the disparity of your week.

You get off a bit further from Mr. Laufeyson's as this bus doesn't go as far as the other. You run down the street, sweating in the black polyester pants and peach coloured button-up. You scramble to get out the phone and put in the proper code.

Your first try is with the one from the day before. On your second try, you clatter through and scurry down the path. The backdoor proves just as troublesome in your frantic rush.

You get inside and leave your shoes by the door. No cleaning, or at least, you don't plan on it. You near the bottom of the staircase, breathless and puffing, clinging onto the straps of your leather bag.

"You are late," Mr. Laufeyson strides out of the den.

"Yes, Mr. Laufeyson, I'm sor-ry," you gulp through repressed pants, "the bus--"

"I don't care about the bus. It is your responsibility to be here on time, regardless of the method."

"I understand--"

"I am starting to question if you do," he rebukes.

"Mr. Laufeyson, it won't happen again."

"I know it won't or you will not have another chance to be late," he warns, "you were not here to prepare the tea for my guest. I had to do it myself."

"Guest? I... didn't know--"

"I didn't ask if you knew. If you'd been here on time, you would have," he chides, "it seems, in my efforts, I forgot to fetch the biscuits with the teapot so you will go and do so."

"Yes, Mr. Laufeyson," you nod, "I'm so sorry--"

"Sorry, yes, I'm sure you are," he lifts his chin and turns on his heel, "you certainly will be..."

At first, you're not sure you've heard the words. That he would say something so callous. You back away, heart hammering as you try to convince yourself it wasn't real.

You go back down the hall and shove your bag in the back closet. You veer into the kitchen and search the cupboards; biscuits, biscuits, biscuits...

You find an unopened tin and bring it down onto the counter. You peel away the plastic and take out a sleek black serving plate. You use some tongs to lay out the biscuits neatly, an array of each type. You'd done similar for Corrissa with the hors d'oevres. You take the plate and carefully make your way into the hall, trying not to disturb the arrangement.

You enter with your head down, hoping not to disturb Mr. Laufeyson as his deep voice carries to the high ceilings. The curtains are open and the windows shine brightly. You peak up as you approach him and his guest.

She doesn't notice you until you're a foot away. You shy away from her gaze, her pupils a greenish blue and her golden hair silver along the temples. You place the plate on the round table by her elbow, just between the chair and the end of the sofa where she sits.

"And who is this?" She preens curiously.

"Mother, you needn't worry--"

"You hired a full-time maid?" She wonders.

"Mmm," he hums, "suppose she would be a house manager. She handles all the little details I don't have time for."

"Oh, like Evelyn."

"I suppose," Laufeyson agrees dryly.

You back away and look up again. Is that really his mother? She's beautiful.

"Please, darling, join us," she trills.

You blanch and look at Mr. Laufeyson as a line squiggles between his brows. He looks between you and his mother. Before he can protest she is on her feet.

"Please, I do love to get to know the staff," she approaches, "I'm Frigga. I hope you've heard a lot about me. His mother, of course. I only came to see that he's well... he never has time to call. Perhaps you might change that, hm?"

You glance over at Laufeyson again, frightened. Not just by this over friendly woman but by him. You don't know if you should say you have work and refuse or if that would be rude. She is his mother and you wouldn't want to upset.

"Mother, she does have her work--"

"Tosh, it can wait," she puts her hand on your arm and ushers you to the couch, "have some biscuits, darling, you look faint."

Laufeyson huffs but does not speak. He hooks one leg over the other and places his chin on his knuckles. He glares at you and you look to your lap.

You've done the wrong thing again but you're not sure there is a right option in this circumstance.

"These are my favourites," Frigga declares as she holds out a braided biscuit with large grains of sugar sprinkled over it. "Don't tell me these are the same I gifted you for the holiday," she tisks.

"I haven't much of a sweet tooth."

"I do forget, Thor tends to fancy the sugar," she chitters and returns her attention to you, "forgive me, I didn't get your name."

Your mouth is dry. You stare at the golden rings on her fingers. You clear your throat and utter your name, sealing your misdeed.

[bigfootsmom]

Eeeeeeeeeeeee, a helicopter crash snippet! You’ve made my day!!! -helicopter anon 🚁

Hehehe hello helicopter anon 🫶🏻 I hope I can make your day even better with another snippet :3

The first stumbling step is horrible, so is the second and the third. By the fourth, they’ve found some kind of clumsy rhythm that carries them forward in what Tommy prays to anything that’s listening, is the right direction.

It’s graceless and awkward and each jolt forward on unsteady legs has Evan’s arm shifting in the sorry excuse for a sling. His pained cries are muffled, and Tommy glances to the side to see Evan’s teeth digging into his bottom lip so hard he has to be drawing blood.

Tommy wants to say something, break the silence, offer comfort or try to lighten the mood. But he barely has the breath to spare, his lungs working over time as he sucks down great mouthfuls of ashy air. The smoke stings the back of his throat, the burn settling next to where the urge to apologize rests heavy and cloying.

He did this.

He did this to Evan. The blood and the ash marring his usually sunshine bright features wouldn’t be there if it wasn’t for Tommy.

I’m going to use this as my WIP Wednesday so tags below the cut <3

Tagged by the love @tizniz and @eddiebabygirldiaz 🫶🏻

Tagging @usersiren @honestlydarkprincess @swiftietartt @holdmygum @devirnis

@father-salmon @giddyupbuck @underwaterninja13 @monsterrae1 @loserdiaz

@princessfbi @homerforsure @mellaithwen @bisexual-buck @maygrantgf

@shyaudacity @housewifebuck @colonoscopys @loveyouanyway @watchyourbuck

@bibuddie @smallandalmosthonest @iinryer and YOU if you’re reading this and want to post <3

[authenticaussie]

🔪 damnit pls, that's unhinged

Lois is smart. Lois said she'd not figured it out before Clark told her but Clark's always been sure she was lying, and her kid calling Superman 'dad' is going to-

He doesn't think; the realisation that Lois doesn't remember him has overtaken all other attempts at reasonable thought, and all he can imagine is her face, screwing up in slow-motion agony as she puts the pieces together and dies in front of him. He wooshes past her and grabs Jon, yanking them both out the window and into the sky.

"Superman?" she calls, shocked and confused by the speed he's moved past her, and then her voice dips into panic as everything else catches up. "Jon!"

Jon can hear it just as easily as Clark. His eyes are wide above the hand Clark placed over his mouth, and he struggles against Clark's grip. Careful not to drop him, Clark shifts so Jon can stand on his feet, sliding his hand away from Jon's mouth.

"What the heck!" Jon says, and then baps his fist against Clark's chest. "You better not be evil, I know Supergirl is on world, she'll beat you up if you hurt my dad-"

"Jon-" Clark tries, and then, "Jonno, no, bud. It's me, everything's fine. I'm sorry."

[c-e-d-dreamer]

Barbarian Bat: Part Four

A/N: Omg we're back again! I would like to apologize for this taking so long. I genuinely forgot about this fic. That's the lesson here. Don't be like me and have so many WIPs you accidentally forget your own fics.... anyways! Happy Lover day of @cassianappreciationweek! Hope everyone enjoys some blue alien man Cassian and some NSFW goodies!

Read on AO3 // Chapter Masterlist // Previous Part

When Nesta blinks her eyes open, she feels more rested than she has in days, in much longer if she dares to admit it. The fog in her mind has finally cleared, the hollow ache in her chest finally dissipated, and for once, all Nesta feels is warm and content. It has her burrowing deeper into her furs, has her basking, if just for a moment longer, in the heat of the fire in front of her.

And the fire along her back.

Perhaps, she can blame the way she’s not fully awake yet, the way her mind is still trying to shake those final twisting vines of sleep. But it takes her a moment too long to register the weight across her waist, the warm hand splayed across her stomach and holding her close.

It all comes back to her in a rush fast enough to knock her off her feet, threatening to pull her under and drown her beneath dark waves. The Elder Cave. The metlaks. Cassian.

Almost instinctively, Nesta’s entire body tenses, a hand flying to her chest to press where her khui lives beneath her skin. She waits for the inevitable purring to fill the cave, for Cassian to make some comment and that awkward air that had cloyed against her skin like nails last night to return. Waits for the inevitable conversation about what will happen next, what they will do next.

But it never comes.

Cassian doesn’t even stir behind her, his breaths still slow and steady. Each one has his chest brushing along her spine, has warm air skittering across the crown of her head where he has his face buried in her hair. It shouldn’t be as relaxing as it is, but it’s a soothing balm over each and every one of Nesta’s frayed nerves, her muscles unwinding with each counted breath of his.

She’s not sure that she deserves it, this comfort. She certainly doesn’t deserve the male still sleeping so peacefully behind her as if he somehow finds comfort in her. How could anyone ever find comfort amongst the prickling thorns of her soul? If she gives in to the quiet of the cave enough, she can still hear Tomas’s words echoing and clamoring for attention in the back of her mind, can still feel his grimy hands on her body.

Even worse is the way she can still hear her mother’s voice too. Nesta is sure that back on Earth, her mother is rolling in her grave at Nesta being mated of all things to a big, blue alien man. It’s nowhere near the high-powered family name and riches her mother prepared her for, molded her for, expected of her. Another failure to add to Nesta’s lengthy list.

That familiar ache starts to solidify in Nesta’s chest, curling and piercing like claws around her heart. It sends ice flooding through her veins, has heat beginning to press behind her eyes, and Nesta takes a deep, stuttering breath against the way it gnaws and numbs at her insides.

A soft mumble of words sounds from behind her, and then Cassian’s arm curls tighter around her, tugging her back even closer against him. With his large size, it leaves his body practically curled fully around hers now, like his own sort of protective shield and cocoon. She hates that it works, that it has the voices in her mind quieting, Cassian somehow comforting her even when he’s fast asleep.

“Stupid alien,” Nesta mutters under her breath.

Despite her words, Nesta allows herself to give in to the comfort, allows herself to count each of Cassian’s breaths and match her own to them. Until her muscles finally unwind and relax, until all she can hear is no voices but just the quiet of the cave. With a soft sigh, her eyes flutter closed again, sleep curling back around her limbs as surely as the warmth between the furs, as the male wrapped around her.

When Nesta next opens her eyes again, she finds herself alone in the furs. She frowns, scrubbing the remnants of sleep from her eyes until the cave comes into full focus. The fire has been stoked back to life, flickering flames filling the cave with light and warmth. Cassian sits just beside it, hunched over slightly. He has a stone in one hand and what looks to be some sort of bone in the other.

For a moment, Nesta just watches him. Watches the way his hands work, knocking and sliding the stone against the bone. Watches the way his forearms flex, muscles working with the movements. Watches the way his mouth twists while he concentrates, his lips shifting until the left side tugs up into an all too familiar smirk.

“I have burned you some quill-beast meat.”

Cassian doesn’t look up from the task he’s doing, and Nesta is glad. She can feel heat creeping up her neck and threatening to spill across her cheeks at being caught staring. With a huff, she sits up, pushing the furs off her legs and shifting closer to the fire.

“Thanks,” she mutters, taking some of the quill-beast meat and nibbling on it. “What are you making?”

Cassian holds his hand up, and Nesta realizes it’s a knife that he’s been carving. “It is for you. I have used a small bone, so you will be able to grip it comfortably.”

Nesta can do nothing but blink dumbly at him, her mind reeling and trying desperately to wrap around his words, what they mean. Her silence doesn’t seem to deter Cassian. He reaches forward, warm fingers curling around the wrist of Nesta’s right hand. He draws it closer to him and turns her hand until it’s palm up, gently placing the handle of the knife against it.

“You will want to keep a firm grip with all fingers,” Cassian explains, guiding her fingers to curl around the handle, her thumb pressed over her forefinger and middle finger.

“Why?” Nesta whispers, finally finding her voice.

“If your grip is too loose, your hand will slide when you strike. Keeping any fingers off the handle will risk cutting on the blade.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

Cassian sighs softly, pulling his hand away from hers. “I told you that I would train you. I want to help you feel safe, Nes.”

Nesta looks down at the knife in her hand, carved so carefully with care. Her fingers flex and tighten around the handle. It’s certainly the perfect size, the perfect weight for her. A lump presses painfully against her throat, threatening to choke her, and she has to swallow hard around it.

“What will you do?” Nesta asks, desperate for a change in topic. “When we go back to the main cave?”

Cassian’s brows pinch, his lips dipping down into a small frown, as though he’s really thinking about it. “I will return to my hunting duties. I am sure they will need me back on the trails. Perhaps, I will volunteer to take one of the trails that is a farther journey. Many males have not wanted to take such journeys, especially since the humans have arrived.”

“You won’t want to stay at the cave and find someone new? I’m sure plenty of the women would be more than happy to share your furs.”

Even as she tries to force the teasing words, the joke falls flat even to Nesta’s own ears. It doesn’t change the fact behind them, though. She’s certainly seen the way some of the other women look at Cassian, at his broad shoulders and large hands, at his easy smiles and kind disposition. She’s seen the way they offer flirty smiles of their own. And she hates the way the thought has a sour emotion suspiciously close to jealousy churning in her gut.

“I do not wish for anyone else to share my furs,” Cassian tells her quietly. “There will never be anyone else for me, Nes. I would always choose you. Even if you do not choose me.”

The confession has Nesta’s breath catching in her lungs. Of course, it’s that moment that her khui decides to voice its own thoughts on the matter, thrumming to life. Cassian’s own khui begins to hum in response, the cave quickly filling with the purring sound. His gaze drops down at the response, his hand rubbing at his chest.

“But I hope you will still allow me to train you,” Cassian continues, meeting her eyes again. “So you can feel strong. Feel safe.”

“I feel safe with you.”

The words are out before Nesta can stop them, but it’s the truth. She knows that Cassian would never hurt her, that he'd never let anything hurt her. She knows that he’ll always protect her and have her back, even when she keeps pushing him away. Because he wants to. Because he cares.

When was the last time anyone truly cared about her?

Nesta's been fighting tooth and nail for what feels like her whole life. Fighting against the pressures and expectations placed upon her by her grandmother and mother. Fighting against Tomas and his words and his hands scraping against her skin. Fighting for her sisters. Fighting against her own failures and demons trying to drag her down under the raging waves.

And if Nesta is being completely honest with herself, she's tired.

“I will always keep you safe, Nes,” Cassian tells her, hesitating for just a moment before his hand reaches out and closes around hers. “No matter what. You leave, and I will follow. Always.”

“Why?” Nesta whispers, the pressure in her chest threatening to swallow her whole.

“You are my mate.” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, like it’s as easy as breathing. “You were mine from the moment you landed here, the moment I saw you. And I am yours.”

“You shouldn’t say things like that. You shouldn’t be kind to me.”

“Am I supposed to be cruel to you?”

“Yes.” Cassian frowns at her answer, his hand shifting to cradle her face. His thumb slides across the apple of her cheek, swiping away a tear she hadn’t even realized slipped free. “I’ve been cruel to you.”

“I told you that I like our game, our back and forth. I wish for more of it.”

Nesta rolls her eyes before she can stop it, the laugh that tumbles free from her throat so at odds with their current conversation. But judging by the grin that tugs across Cassian’s face, drawing the reaction was his exact intention all along.

She doesn’t know how he keeps doing that, making her feel better, putting her at ease. How he keeps seeing her, truly seeing her past every cut and bruise and mask. How he keeps holding every jagged and broken piece of her and holding them like they’re precious rather than something that needs to be sanded down or fixed.

How he keeps being everything she needs, everything she wants.

She glances back down at the knife still in her hand, and it all hits her with a stark sort of clarity she doesn’t think she’s ever had, that she certainly didn’t think was possible these past few days. It settles with surety in her chest, around her heart like a golden thread, and determination straightens her spine. Setting the knife aside, Nesta pushes up to her feet, Cassian making a confused sound as he watches her.

“Do you not like it?”

“Who cares about the knife?” Nesta fires back, stepping closer and into Cassian’s space.

Cassian’s brow furrows in confusion, even as his hands come up to rest on her hips almost instinctively. “Are you well, Nes?”

“Stupid alien,” Nesta mutters under her breath.

She settles her own hands on either side of Cassian’s jaw, tilting his head up to where she wants him and pressing her mouth against his. She remembers a moment too late that the sa-khui don’t kiss, Cassian all but freezing against her. But then he’s responding with fervor, lips moving in tandem with hers. His fingers tighten around her hips, hauling her closer still until their chests are pressed together.

She lets him lead, lets him get a feel for mouth-mating as the sa-khui have been calling it. His tongue presses past the seam of her lips, sliding into her mouth, and Nesta has to hold back a whimper. The other women back at the cave had certainly spoken about the… differences when it came to the sa-khui compared to the men back on Earth, but no one had warned her that their tongues had ridges.

His tongue slides and drags against her own, flicks along the roof of her mouth, and Nesta is all but putty in his hands. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she’s surprised how good at kissing he is for a beginner, but she also can’t find it within herself to care. She dares to bury a hand in Cassian’s hair, tugging at the dark strands, and Cassian groans into her mouth, his tail flicking forward to curl around her thigh as though holding her in place. As if she has any intention of stopping now that she’s had a taste.

“I now understand why the other males enjoy mouth-mating,” Cassian pulls back enough to say. He reaches a hand up to Nesta’s face, his large palm spanning her whole jaw and down to her neck, dragging his thumb along her bottom lip that she’s sure is kiss bitten and pink.

“So then why’d you stop kissing me?” Nesta asks, leaning back down to steal another kiss.

Cassian groans again against her lips, his fangs teasing at her bottom lip before he pulls away again. “Perhaps, I wish to kiss other parts of you, my mate.”

Nesta swallows hard, her voice breathless even to her own ears when she asks, “like where?”

The smirk that pulls its way across Cassian’s face is slow and all male bravado. One of those large hands slides along her back and curls back around to her waist, cradling her against his body. He keeps his grip on her, even as he pushes up and to his feet, as he shifts them both. The cave is small enough that Nesta barely has time to react to the movement before her back is pressed into the furs.

Cassian dips his head again, but this time, his lips latch onto her neck. His mouth is hot as it slides across her skin, fangs scraping right against her pulse point until Nesta is shuddering against him. She tilts her head back, presenting him with more access and keening when Cassian moves his attention to that spot just behind her ear.

“Cassian,” Nesta moans softly, arching her body up, desperate to get even closer to him.

“I like the sound of my name from your sweet mouth,” Cassian murmurs against her skin.

His hands slip beneath the leather fabric of her shirt, sliding up over her waist and leaving heat seeping beneath her skin. His fingers flex, squeezing the flesh, and Cassian groans where his face is still buried at her neck. His khui practically echoes the sound, his whole chest all but vibrating where it presses against Nesta’s own.

“You’re so soft.”

The words are enough to give Nesta pause, to pull a genuine laugh out of her. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Yes,” Cassian answers easily in that same matter of fact tone of his. His hands continue sliding up, lifting her shirt up completely and tugging it off. “I like it. You are not hard like the sa-khui.”

With her arms newly freed from her shirt, Cassian’s fingers circle around her wrist. He guides her own hand to his chest, sliding it down over his pectorals, over the muscles of his abdomen. Despite the almost suede softness of his skin, despite the warmth that exudes from him, there’s no denying the hard planes just beneath. Her fingers curl of their own accord, a shiver skittering down her spine that has nothing to do with her chest now being exposed to the cool air of the cave.

“We might need to start some sort of flirting lessons on this planet,” Nesta teases, desperate to regain some sort of control.

“Are you not impressed with me, Nes?” Cassian teases right back.

He pulls back enough that he can push to his feet, his hands reaching for the laces of his pants. It’s with slow, careful movements that he unties the knot, his eyes never leaving Nesta’s face. But Nesta’s own gaze dips to where he finishes loosening the laces, to where his pants drop away and to the ground. Her mouth goes dry as he tears away his loincloth and tosses it aside, his already hard cock bobbing free.

He’s large, certainly larger than any man Nesta ever saw back on Earth, and his cock is thick. She can see the vein running along the underside of it, the set of ridges along the top, the horn-type piece protruding that Nesta assumes must be the spur she’s heard the other women in the cave mention. The head of his cock is thicker than the rest, a darker blue than his whole body, and already it glistens with his own arousal.

“Are you impressed with me now?”

Nesta’s attention dances back to Cassian’s face, and she supposes she shouldn’t be surprised to find that cocksure smirk of his firmly in place, glowing eyes practically sparking with male pride.

She intends to wipe that look clean off his face.

It takes some shifting against the furs, but Nesta is able to shimmy out of her leggings, leaving her fully bare. She leans back on her hands, bending her knees and spreading her thighs. It’s well worth it for the reaction she garners, satisfaction burning bright in her chest at Cassian’s expression, at the way he literally drops to his knees before her.

“Nesta,” Cassian whispers, his voice reverent. His hands skate over her ankles, up her calves and thighs. “I must be the luckiest of males for my khui to resonate for you.”

Nesta surges forward, crashing her mouth against his before he can say anything else. He responds immediately, capturing her lower lip in his mouth and sucking. He’s clearly gotten too good at kissing already, but Nesta can’t find it within herself to care, especially when Cassian tears his mouth away to press hot kisses down her throat and across her collarbones.

His mouth closes around one of her breasts, and Nesta all but arches up against his face. With her khui vibrating in her chest, it only adds to the sensation licking like flames down her spine. She feels needier than she ever thought possible, the inside of her thighs already sticky and wet with it. She knows it’s her khui to blame for how keyed-up she feels, but it’s hard to care when all she can focus on is the heat of Cassian’s body pressed against her skin, the feel of his tongue swirling over her nipple, the ache in her cunt that she knows can only be filled by the male above her.

“Cassian,” Nesta pleads, bucking her hips up against him.

“Is there something that you need, sweetheart?” Cassian teases, shifting his mouth’s attention to her other breast.

Nesta moans again, grasping onto one of Cassian’s horns desperately. “Please. Cassian, please.”

“I enjoy the sound of you begging even more.”

Cassian’s mouth never leaves her skin, but he begins to trace a path down, along her sternum, over her stomach, across her hip bones. His hands slip up and tighten around her thighs, prying them far apart to make room for his big, alien body. It’s a simply obscene sight, her legs thrown over a set of blue shoulders, a head of dark curly hair and horns between her thighs. His warm breath fans across her cunt, and already, she can feel herself clenching in anticipation.

“Already so wet for me,” Cassian groans softly. “They say there is no sweeter taste than that of a resonance mate, and I cannot wait to find out.”

Before Nesta can fully register Cassian’s words, before she can say anything back, Cassian presses his mouth against her. Just the first lick has her gasping, her thighs squeezing instinctively around his head, but the reaction only seems to encourage Cassian. He devours her with a ferocity that has her seeing stars.

Suddenly, she feels like she understands why he was so good at kissing because the way he uses his mouth is practically unfair. She can feel every bumpy ridge along his tongue as it slides and swirls against her clit, and her toes curl at the sensation. And then he spears that tongue into her. It reaches deeper than any human could, those ridges dragging along the walls of her cunt.

Nesta cries out, it all too much and not enough at the same time. It feels too good, and she tries to rock her hips, tries to ride Cassian’s face, but his grip tightens on her thighs, holding her in place exactly how he wants her. Too fast heat pools low in Nesta’s gut, threatening to send her tumbling over the edge already, but she can’t find it within herself to care so long as Cassian doesn’t stop doing what he’s doing.

She whines at the loss when he pulls away, but at least, it gives herself a chance to catch her breath. She tilts her head enough that she can look down, but it’s instantly a mistake. His lips and chin are coated in her arousal, and he licks his lips with a groan, smirk still out in full force as his fingers flex against her skin.

“As sweet as I expected.”

That’s Nesta’s only warning before Cassian dives right back in. He focuses his tongue’s attention back on her clit, slipping one of his hands down so that he can sink a finger into her cunt. It’s all that Nesta needs, all that it takes for her orgasm to tear through her like a tidal wave. Her back bows off the furs, but Cassian doesn’t stop. He continues to lick at her and rock his finger, his ferocity and eagerness only seeming to grow with her release.

“Cass… Cassian…” Nesta chokes out between gasps, trying to squirm away from his ministrations and the overstimulation.

Cassian growls, gripping her hips and yanking her right back over his mouth. “Mine.”

For a moment, Nesta isn’t sure where one orgasm ends and the next one begins. Her entire body feels like it’s ablaze, head dizzy with the pleasure of it all. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she’s aware that she might be screaming Cassian’s name.

At least, Cassian finally relents, his tongue swiping one last time through the mess of her two orgasms before his mouth pulls away. Nesta slumps back against the furs, her chest heaving and aftershocks still skittering down her spine. She can feel Cassian’s hands slide down from her hips and over her thighs, humming at the warmth of his touch. Her eyes flutter open, and she finds Cassian still on his knees before her, his own glowing eyes half lidded and watching her.

“The next time we do this,” Nesta begins, still catching her breath. “Remind me to teach you about blowjobs.”

Cassian blinks a few times, his head tilting to the side, and Nesta wonders how that translates for him, what sort of imagery the word draws forth. But she doesn’t expect him to smile. It’s a slow thing, the way it pulls across his face, and it’s lopsided. Just the sight of it has Nesta’s heart skipping a beat between her ribs, and she has to swallow hard before she finds her voice again.

“What’s that look for?”

“You said next time,” Cassian explains, leaning over her until his face hovers above her own, that same dopey smile still firmly in place.

Nesta can feel a blush creeping up her neck and threatening to spill across her cheeks, but she refuses to look away from his gaze. “Well, yeah. We’re mates, right?”

“We must accept resonance first to make it official.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” Nesta challenges, lifting her legs enough that she can hook them around Cassian’s hips.

“I would like to kiss you again.”

The earnestness of his voice is enough to give Nesta pause. Enough for her heart to trip over itself and warmth to flood between her ribs. This stupid alien. Stupid alien with his warmth and kindness and tender care. Stupid alien with his heart so proudly on his sleeve, handing over that heart to Nesta without a second thought, without an ounce of fear or worry. Who cradled Nesta’s own heart so carefully before she even realized she’d placed it in his awaiting palms.

And he’s all hers.

“You don’t have to ask. You can just–”

Before Nesta can even finish speaking, Cassian leans down and seals their lips together. The kiss is surprisingly gentle. It’s at odds with the way Cassian’s hands slide under her ass, lifting and tilting her hips up. At odds with the way the head of his cock slides across her cunt and the arousal pooled there.

His tongue presses into her mouth at the same moment he thrusts his hips forward, sinking his cock into her. Nesta gasps against his lips, her head falling back against the furs. It’s indescribable, the way he presses so deep, the way he stretches and fills her. She swears she can feel every ridge along his cock, that vein that runs along the underside. And gods, the spur. It somehow glides perfectly along her clit like another finger, only adding to the intensity of it all.

“Look at how you take me,” Cassian breathes, his attention locked on where they’re joined. “You were made to take my cock, weren’t you, sweetheart?”

“Fuck,” Nesta whimpers, clenching down around him.

“That’s it,” Cassian praises, dragging his mouth over her neck and finding that spot that has her clenching again. “That’s a good girl.”

Nesta tries to buck her hips up against Cassian’s hold. “Please. Cassian, please.”

Cassian groans, but he pulls his hips back just to snap them back forward again. Nesta thought the stretch of his cock was one thing, but the drag of those ridges along the walls of her cunt with each hard thrust has her every nerve ending flaring with pleasure and heat. She lets out a loud moan, fingers slipping against Cassian’s skin as she digs her nails into his shoulders.

“We will need a cave far from the others if these are the sweet sounds you will make each time your cunt welcomes my cock.”

Cassian continues to rock his hips, setting a brutal pace. His cock somehow sinks deeper still with every thrust, his spur pressing tantalizingly against her clit. It’s all that Nesta can focus on, that burning pleasure, the way it threatens to swallow her whole. She can think of no better way to go, lost into those flames with the male above her.

“Don’t stop,” Nesta gasps out between moans. “Please, don’t stop.”

“Do not worry, Nes. I do not intend to,” Cassian pushes out between gritted teeth, clearly just as affected as she is. “I intend to have your delicious cunt wrapped around me every night until you are carrying my kit and then every night after that still.”

The imagery and the future it paints tugs a fresh litany of moans from Nesta’s chest and past her lips. She’s not sure she’s ever been this turned on in her life. She can feel the absolute mess she’s making between her thighs, can hear the wet slap of skin echoing off the walls of the cave around her, but it’s hard to care when Cassian continues to play her body like his own personal instrument.

“Do you like that, my sweet mate? I can feel the way you’re squeezing me.”

“Yes! Please. I need…”

Nesta doesn’t even have time to finish speaking, another choked off moan tearing through her. Cassian picks up the pace, slamming his hips against her own. Each hard drive of his cock sends her cresting higher still, release glimmering just within reach.

“Then come for me, Nes. Come all over my cock.”

One of Cassian’s hands slides up to her breast, thumb dragging against her nipple and palm kneading at the flesh. It’s all it takes to push Nesta over the edge. She all but screams Cassian’s name, spots dancing behind her eyelids as she arches up off the furs. Cassian groans against her ear, only snapping his hips a few more times before he stills above her. His cock twitches deep within her, flooding her cunt with warmth and his own release. It has her moaning again, has her cunt fluttering still and milking his cock.

She slumps back against the furs, taking a moment to catch her breath. Her heart continues to pound in her chest, but there’s silence otherwise in the cave, her and Cassian’s khuis finally quieting. It’s jarring, but there’s a peace to it too, wrapped up in this cave with Cassian’s warm body pressed against hers.

He pulls out of her, but he doesn’t go far, settling beside her in the furs. Nesta barely has time to shiver at the loss, at the cool air of the cave settling over her, before Cassian rearranges the furs to cover them both. His arms wrap back around her waist, tugging her to close to lay across his chest.

“Now we are mates,” Cassian declares proudly, burying one of his hands amongst the strands of Nesta’s hair.

Nesta snorts softly, but she curls tighter into Cassian’s embrace. “Guess you’re well and truly stuck with me now.”

“Stuck? I am not stuck.”

“It’s just a joke,” Nesta consoles him, patting his chest soothingly.

“I do not like this joke. I told you, Nes. I am the luckiest male to resonate with you,” Cassian tells her, his tone fierce.

“I know,” Nesta whispers. She shifts and turns her head up enough that she can meet Cassian’s gaze. “I’m lucky too, you know.”

Cassian smiles softly, the expression taking over his face in the most beautiful way. His hand moves from her hair to her cheek, his fingers carefully tracing over her features. Nesta’s eyes flutter closed at the gentle touch, and she leans fully into him, leans into the comfortable warmth this male gives her.

“My Nesta,” Cassian says, his own voice quiet, revenant. “My heart. My world.”

“Is that a declaration of love?”

“And if it is?”

Nesta opens her eyes again, unable to bite back the smile threatening to spill across her own face. “Then I’d say good. Because I love you too.”

—

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