75: "Don't bite me, I'm mad at you." Nessian please!
This took me far, far, far too long, and I apologise. I really liked this one for Nessian so I wanted to do it justice. As always, anyone and everyone is free to send me ACOTAR promptsfor any character/pairing.
Here’s the fic - hope you enjoy!
For all their bickering, Nesta and Cassian can never seem to have a decent argument.
Nesta tries her best. With the same burning fury from the days when they spent every second fighting Hybern for all that they held dear, she storms into the cabin Cassian occupies. She catches him unprepared, half changed from where he’s been training the new recruits. The mental image of him in all his muscular, inspiring glory instructing a new class of liberated young Illyrian women does nothing to assuage Nesta’s anger. What she hates most though is that now it stings of jealousy. Damn her fae hormones.
“My Lady. I didn’t expect to see you before the dinner,” Cas says, focusing back on the straps of his fighting leathers. Though Nesta often calls him clumsy or blundering, his calloused fingers are awfully deft as they free his chest from the tight, black material, unlacing straps and freeing clasps. If only there was a way for Nesta to get him to stop stripping without admitting to why it caused a problem. If only he wasn’t so damn confident now in how he affected her. If only she hadn’t let him learn that really, beneath all her cold hatred, her knees went weak every time he gave her that fond half-smile.
“Then perhaps,” Nesta says, arms crossed firm over her chest, “you shouldn’t have sent me what I can only assume was meant as an insult.”
Cassian quirks an eyebrow. He doesn’t look at her, but being the insufferable man-child he is, his lips betray him, not quite able to swallow an impish smirk. “You don’t like my fashion tastes?” He asks, cocking his head at her like a young pup, like he’s innocent, not the scheming, centuries old arsehole he clearly is.
“Fashion would imply that this monstrosity qualifies as clothing.”
Nesta holds up the garment that was delivered to her not an hour ago. It would put even the Court of Nightmares to shame, all black lace and slivers of translucent fabric as thin and soft as a whisper. She’d have taken it to be intended for the bedroom, were it not accompanied by a scrawled note of ‘I look forward to seeing you at dinner.’
“You said you were fed up of Az and Rhys staring at their oh so beloved mates all evening,” Cassian say with a shrug, then a grin. “I’d like to see a mate bond stand against you in that.”
“You’re an idiot.” Nesta scowls, flushed scarlet and feeling far too flattered for someone possessing as much dignity as she does. Heat stirs in her stomach, and she feels an all too familiar itch between her legs. It’s the same every time. Stubbornly ignorant, ignoring the give away signs, she tries to hold onto the anger she’d walked in with. “Are you saying that if we were mates, you’d still betray me for a woman wearing this- this costume?”
She knows she stands no chance the moment Cassian’s smile appears. It’s a species she’s only ever seen north of the wall, unknown to humanity. An animal smile. Predatory. All too sinfully delicious. “Nes,” Cas whispers, his soft voice deadly with that wolfish grin, the one neither gentle nor demure. “Are you really so jealous of the mating bond? Of Rhys and your darling sister? Old Azriel and dear Mor?”
Leaving his change of clothing behind, he crosses to her, still shirtless, trousers unbuttoned, dark skin still sluiced with sweat. “I’m not jealous,” Nesta says. She’s on edge, her muscles coiled and tensed, but it’s not pure and known like her anger is. She almost feels sick with it, heady. “I don’t envy them when they pine and fawn over each other. Being helplessly bound to another appeals little to me.” He draws close and slips a hand around her waist, but she pushes a hand to his chest, keeping him back. “Were you my mate, however,” she says, fixing his gaze with hers, “you would look at no one else. You wouldn’t be able to breathe if I so much as entered the room.”
“Oh?” Cas says, and his small smile alone is enough to reignite Nesta’s anger.
“You’d be even more of a mess than you are now,” she says, and there is no kindness in her tone, it’s all bite and it makes that itch between her legs spread deeper, to her bones. “You think you’re such a strong, immortal warrior, bat boy? You wouldn’t be able to think about anyone, anything but me. It wouldn’t matter how pretty or young or gifted those trainee girls of yours are. I’d own you.”
She’s breathing heavily, and almost without noticing it, she’s moved her hand up to wrap it around Cassian’s neck. Her grip isn’t enough to cut off his airway, but she can feel his pulse thrumming beneath her thumb and forefinger. He looks back at her, boyish smile gone, eyes so soft, so open, that she forgets to breathe for a moment. “Nes,” he says, so honest it breaks her heart, “You already do.”
It’s the same as it always is when they try to argue. Her outrage is unmasked, revealed to be something far more dangerous because it makes her weak to him, and willingly so. She has been conditioned to despise how easily she melts beneath his kisses as he nuzzles into her neck, but even the guarding walls of The Ice Queen can’t hold Cassian at bay. She doesn’t know how, but he’s so achingly comfortable to fall into, so full of heat that she forgets what it is to be cold.
He’s not gentle long though; they never are. His teeth, sharp and strong amongst the blurred heat of their skin, nip at her collarbone, the shell of her ear. “Don’t bite me,” she scolds him, though she laughs at herself. “I’m mad at you. You’re supposed to be groveling.”
“Apologies, my Lady.” His voice is rough and close in her ear. “I couldn’t help myself.”
“You never can,” Nesta says, as she looks at him for too long, like she’s still scared he’ll disappear, like they’re back in the war. He knows that look, knows how she feels, and responds by shoving her rough back against the wall, pinning their two bodies firm against each other, so he’s all there, all around her. She grips him back, grasps the muscled thickness of his neck, and rests their foreheads together for a moment of peace amongst the passion. “I wouldn’t have you any other way.”
I love your omegaverse! I want to know everything about it 😍 how do ruts work in this world? Can omegas of all genders become pregnant? I know you said bonding marks aren't permanent, but is there any way to permanently bond to a mate? Once yuuri's out of his heat haze, will he still be desperate for viktor? Or more calm? Sorry for so many questions, I just love this world you've built! Much love ❤️
I’m glad you’re enjoying my little a/b/o world! ❤️💕 I’ll see if I can answer these questions well enough for you:
1. Yes, there are ruts. But they’re not very regular. I know there was some interest in seeing Victor go into rut, which I might do at some point (any real interest in a side-story for this or something?). But it wouldn’t be until he’d been off suppressants for a while. They’re so irregular, you really can’t plan for them. 😂
2. Any Omega can become pregnant, as can anyone with a uterus. It makes for a large portion of the population that are able to reproduce (which is probably why natural selection allowed secondary genders). But I won’t be dealing with mpreg in YCPfE.
3. To my knowledge there is no way to make bonds permanent. It has to do with stimulation of the scent gland, so it’s impossible for a single bite to continually do that. HOWEVER, you can become habituated to it, so each bond bite lasts longer. Even to a point that between a long-term couple, a bond might last a week. But it would still need to be refreshed, and most couples enjoy the bonding enough it’s a more regular occurrence than that.
4. Oh goodness, yes. While Yuuri is in heat, he’ll be desperate for Victor. The heat haze (the feverish blur) doesn’t last the whole thing (sometimes days, sometimes hours, depending). But the need for dick? That lasts the whole week. You’ll just have to see how calm/not-calm he gets once the haze is gone. 😜
If you have any other questions, or want clarification, just let me know.
Summary: Jughead found out that Cheryl has liked him for a while now they decided to set up a date. Only the date ended up being sex at Mayor McCoy’s House. Based on my RP Blog, when Josie and Jughead save Cheryl from her mother. Cheryl’s secret crush on Jughead had come out. With Josie at a sleepover at Val’s and Mayor McCoy out of town, Cheryl invited Jughead to come over and fix a little problem of hers that he started.
Warnings:Smut, Like A lots of Smut, Unprotected sex (literally they used a condom once. wtf), heartfelt conversations too, dirty talk, daddy kink, I mean Cheryl is in this,
Disclaimer: Betty and Jughead are not nor were they ever a couple in this! Also, @jugheadkingofweirdos helped me writing this! <3
After taking the Drink of The Gods, what is experienced on the inside is not always a reflection of what is experienced on the outside. Ivar has since passed out and you worry about what he saw might bring for you and your people.
It was your thirteenth birthday, the celebration ending in the traditional way, with your first received prophecy.
You’d practiced night and day the motion to gutting the bird from breast to belly in the smoothest, most merciful way. Your mother told you to think long and hard on a God to mark as your own and you chose Morrigan, the Great trio of war sisters, the bloodied Morrígna.
For the Saxon’s their world was peace and farming, and eradicating your people. They caught men, women, and children of the druidic following when they were alone and vulnerable, claiming them demons and witches, hunting down entire villages and denying their own ancestors once followed and praised the same gods. The druid’s blood ran in their veins and it always would no matter how much they would fight it.
So you needed strength. You needed fire and metal and blood to keep the old ways alive, no more hiding and being purged from the Earth they worshiped. Only with the combined Morrígna
by your side could that happen, and they were hard women to please.
Imagine Steve, Peggy, and Sam in a poly relationship while they all fight together under the cap title. Not a single one of them has a single self-preservation gene in their body, and their battle plans are always reckless and spectacular.
“Buck, we’ll be fine. It’s no
more dangerous than th—”
“I dare you to finish that
sentence, Rogers.” Damn, he sounds hot like that. Sam bites away a smile
as he rounds the corner. He’d left them alone for ten minutes to suit up and
they’re already at each other’s throats. It’s almost enough to take the
excitement out of wearing wings. Flying. He can fly.
“You are not doing
anything reckless,” Bucky continues. “Sam’s only been out of the hospital for
two months. You will not drag back into some harebrain—”
“Bucky, please.” Sam walks
into the cargo hold and up to his boyfriend. Peggy smiles at him tiredly. He
grabs Bucky’s hands and pulls him close. Physical touch always grounds Bucky
even though sometimes he can’t handle it. He knows how worried Bucky can get,
how worried he had been when Sam was hit. And he hates making Bucky worry, he
hates making Bucky doubt and yet… “I’m completely capable of taking care of
myself. I’m fine. I was cleared by Dr. Cho herself. Regeneration tech is
Bucky flushes, caught. His
fingers tighten their hold on Sam’s. “You just got out of the hospital. I’m not
letting you go into a situation where you can get hurt again.”
Sam softens. He rests his
forehead against Bucky’s for a moment. “But that’s not your choice to make.
We’re superheroes, sweetheart. This is what we do.”
Bucky swallows heavily,
looking down on their entwined fingers. When he looks up, his face is carefully
and completely blank. “Do whatever you want.”
He’s out of Sam’s hand and
the room before Sam can react. Shit.
Steve starts after him, but
Peggy pulls him back. “We don’t have time, Steve. He’ll be fine.” She rests her
head on his arm. “We’ll all be fine. Bucky’s simply overthinking it. We have
only have twenty more minutes to come up with a solid plan. That’s the best
thing we can do right now.”
Steve sighs and nods. Despite
his aching heart, Sam smiles and opens his arms to let Steve fall in. “Peggy’s
right. It’ll be fine.”
“THIS IS NOT FINE! THIS IS SO
FAR FROM FINE! STEVE, 5 and 8. PEGGY, BEHIND YOU.” Sam swoops down between two
warehouses and knocks out two of the HYDRA agents as Steve round kicks the
soldier who crept up on his five and somehow simultaneously just about beheads
the other guy with the shield. Despite all the practice he’s had with it, he
still can’t quite manage it like Steve does.
Sam touches down for a moment
and uses that momentum to get back in the sky. Soaring between whizzing
bullets, he gets his eyes on Peggy again…who is nowhere to be seen.
“Carter, you get in?”
When he doesn’t get an
answer, “Red, I need eyes.”
<initiate seek protocol>
<heat signature: negative>
<last known heat signatu
“Red? RED! No! Goddammit.”
Sam sweeps back down, landing where he saw Carter last. There were no soldiers
around, nothing. He couldn’t hear anything, not the bullets, not Steve or the
shield, not Bucky or the quinjet.
It was too quiet. Dead
“Peggy?” Sam whispers. Why,
he doesn’t know. Probably because this is Creepy AF and he doesn’t do creepy,
much less Creepy AF. He likes his life just fine, thanks.
See, here’s the thing, he’s
been in enough combat situation to know this ain’t normal. Which means 0-84.
Which means he should contact SHIELD. But he can’t. Because his communications
Just…so fucking great.
Sam pulls out his glock and
does a perimeter check. Nothing.
So. She’s inside. She went
inside the creepy base without backup. Now, to be completely honest, Sam
totally understands why Bucky’s always harping on them. Because they pull shit
like this. Unnecessary shit. Not that she can’t take care of herself, but
there’s three of them for a reason.
He remains alert as he slips
into the base with an open door. No locks, no keypads, nothing. Again, creepy.
Maybe Wanda and Nat should’ve
taken this case. They probably have a better background in this sort of stuff.
He clears each room as fast
as he could while also being thorough and keeping an ear out for the comms
getting back up again. He goes to the basement before the upper levels. He
touches every piece of equipment he can. He touches half-filled coffee mugs and
toasters. They’re all cold. There’s no one around. It’s like there’s never been
anyone around except all the equipment is state-of-the-art and there are no
cobwebs anywhere. It’s clean. Perfect.
Could he be hallucinating?
He can’t see Peggy anywhere.
He can’t hear anything aside from himself. Not the ventilation systems. The
quiet…the quiet is almost deafening. It can’t be real.
This can’t be real.
Sam sprints down the stairs
and outside. The sun feels warm. He can feel the breeze on his skin. He
darts between trucks, cold trucks, to where he saw Steve last, but there’s no
one there. No Steve. No fallen soldiers. No bleeding guards. Nothing except
abandoned vehicles and buildings.
This isn’t right.
He has to get outta here. He
has to find Peggy and Steve. He has to get back to Bucky. He hasーhas toー
He needs to get back the
Bucky parked the quinjet 1.3
miles from the base, 17 degrees southwest.
“That’s.” Sam gulps.
“That’s…alright, so the sun’s over there and so I need to…over here. There.
Somewhere. Right. Sam, you got this. You gotーIs…is that smoke? Please tell me it
ain’t smoke. Oh, no no nononononono.”
All thoughts of a solid plan
slip out of his mind and he runs towards theーyep, smoke. Smoke means fire. Fire never means
Panic bubbles through him and
he tries to regulate his breathing before he passes out or something equally
stupid. The closer he gets, the stronger the pungent smell of smoke is, the
more ashes float to the ground and here he is, running into a forest fire. Any
other day, he’d be hightailing the other way, but this is Bucky. This is Bucky.
His lover, his family, their forever.
Sam shrugs off his jacket and
balls it up to cover his face as he moves closer, slower, more careful. Bucky
has to be okay. Bucky will be okay. And then they’ll go back and find Peggy and
Steve. It’ll be fine.
It’ll be fine.
It’ll be finー
“Sam? Is thatー”
“Peggy!” He runs towards the
direction of her voice only to bound back when the air around him burns.
“Sam!” A shout.
He waves a hand in front of
him, trying to clear the heat from blurring his vision, but that only makes him
Covering his face almost
completely, he searches for her voice. Her voice. That’s what’s important.
Forget everything else. Forget the heat. Forget the panic. It’s okay. It’ll be
fine. “Peggy, talk to me. Hey girl. Please. What are you doing out here?”
“Iー” she coughs then chokes. “I’m okay.
I came toーfind….Bucーky. Somethーing was s-strange. Iー”
“Yeah, me too,” he replies
and peeks over his covering. His vision blurs and dances, but he can see her on
the ground, Steve hovering on her side overー
“Come here,” Steve gasps out.
“I’m trying to wakeーhim up. But he won’tーyou were a paramedic.”
Steve looks up at him, his
eyes wide. He was trembling. “Sammy, you gotta save him. You have to save
hi-im. Sammy please.”
Sam makes himself move. He
has to. He has to try.
A sob ripped out of Peggy
when he comes closer. He feels her cold touch on his arm, gripping.
“I tried to help,” she says.
“I couldn’t get him out, she
“He was alreadyー”
Sam can’t take his eyes off
Bucky. Burnt, bleeding, broken and bruised. He’s not moving. Every second
between Steve’s desperate CPR, he’s not moving. He’s just…there. He’s
just…a body. Like Riley had been. A pile of bones and marred flesh. He’s just
Peggy’s hand falls away.
“Sam! Sam, I need you to hear
me, okay? I need you to breathe. Count and breathe. Deep breaths. For me. For
your Bucky. Please.”
He doesn’t wake up to
Sign #1: he’s actually dead
and in heaven
He doesn’t open his eyes to
bright white lights either. He’s in the dark and warm. He takes a deep breath
and feels a familiar touch on his sternum. He looks down and there’s nothing
there. There’s no one here.
And then, the noises reach
him and he almost dies in relief. Sounds. Thank god.
He swallows dryly and tries
to move. He manages to get an arm up before it flops back down as exhaustion
floods his system.
but he’s okay
now. Tony came by to visit. You know what he’s like. Pepper was with him which was nice. We talked…”
Sam opens his eyes, blinking
against the lights until a dark form appears before him. “Peggy?”
“Yes, Sam, I’m right here.”
Her arms encircle his.
“Yes, I’m okay, Sam. I’m
completely fine, darling.” She soothes away the frown between his eyebrows
before kissing him on his forehead.
“Magic. It was a spell.”
Peggy grimaces. “Strange helped us with it.”
He catches her arm and drops
a kiss in the middle of her palm. When she smiles at him, he tugs her close to
give her a real kiss. He tangles his fingers in her hair and holds her steady.
She’s warm under his fingertips, moving and smiling. Oh, thank God she’s
okay. She’s here. Right here. She’s safe. Sam, it’s okay. She’s safe. He
pulls back a little to look at her. “Are you okay?”
Pain flits through her eyes
as she nods, echoes of his own, of whatー
Sam jolts up in his seat,
almost butting into Peggy.
“SAM!” Peggy tries to push
him down, but Sam’s out of the bed and out the door before she can.
He follows the voices down
the hallway to the living room where Steve andーBucky. Sam’s
across the room in a flash and in Bucky’s lap. Bucky who is warm and moving.
Bucky who isn’t burned or broken.
“Whoa, darling. You alright?”
Bucky grins at him.
Sam dips down to kiss his
boyfriend before he starts crying. Blindly, he reaches for Steve and pulls him
close, sliding an arm around Steve’s neck. He gasps when Steve joins
them, his face smushed against Sam’s, his hard body pressed against his side,
his back…just present. He pulls away from Bucky to pull Steve into a
deep kiss. You’re okay. You’re all okay. Thank God.
God. Thank God. Thank God.
Steve wraps himself around
Sam, his warmth sinking in Sam’s skin and he basks in it. Peggy joins them a
few seconds later, pressing a open-mouthed kiss on Sam’s exposed throat and he
shudders. They’re all here. They’re all safe.
it’s hard to find solace in distance when my hands are empty and my heart is aching.
if missing you is romantic then call me hopeless-
my knees are bloodied from tripping over these unpaved miles.
it’s easy to understand why so many people give up because my ankles are swollen and the heat is blurring my vision
but I can feel your hands on my back and your lips brushing my ear-
that’s when I’m assured that
finally coming back to you will taste that much sweeter
and being in your arms
will feel that much more like home.
setting: non-magical, mythical AU pairing: marcus flint/oliver wood word count: 2743 A/N: part two of @flintwoodandco‘s giveaway winning fic! the brilliant selkie’s idea belongs to them <3 like I said, this fic is four parts long, and I’ll be posting the rest of them for the next two days (part 3 on monday, and the final part on tuesday ). (and, of course, another shoutout to my beta @nymphadoraholtzmann!!)
I’m not excited, but should I be? is this the fate that half of the world has planned for me? I know I love you and you love the sea but what holy water contains a little drop, little drop for me?
- unbelievers, vampire weekend
Marcus had never quite realized, before, that he could actually be lonely. He had spent his entire life surrounded by friends - other gang members kids, for the most part - and when he had decided to move away, one of the things he had been looking forward too was getting to skip all of their parties and not have to listen to their rambling and complaining and drama. But instead, he found himself… wondering. Wondering if Adrian had ever told Terry how he felt. Wondering if Draco had finally proposed to the fluffy haired girl.
When his phone rang, he took one look at the caller ID and hit answer before he had even decided he wanted to speak to her.
“Parkinson,” he breathed out, trying not to sound as desperate for human contact as he felt.
“Marcus!!” Came the half-shrill excited voice from the other end of the line. “Oh my GOD Marcus you have been gone literally forever, and then you don’t even return my texts? I thought we were friends you know.”
“Pansy,” he managed to laugh in response, “we’ve never been friends.”
“Oh, don’t be an idiot, Marc. You’ve known me since I was in nappies.”
Marcus couldn’t stop the grin that broke out on his face and he headed out of the cottage to sit on his front lawn, just in case he lost cell reception. “Sure, Pans. What do I owe the honor, then, for the phone call?”
He could nearly hear the girl on the other end of the line rolling her eyes, and he couldn’t stop the joy that bubbled up in his chest, just a little, at the reminder that he actually did have people who cared about him. That he wasn’t the only person in the world - him and the mysterious quite possibly not real naked man from his beach.
request by Anon:Taehyung, Smut, [ Touch - Writer’s Choice] + “Let me show you how much I missed you.”
[!] Daddy kink, mild dirty talk, overstimulation.
You wake to the feel of fluttering eyelashes against your neck; the delicate touch making your skin prickle into goosebumps just before you feel lips connect against your sensitive flesh. Keeping your eyes closed as you wade through your sleepy haze, you indulge in the feel of large hands skimming along your every curve. As it travels inch by inch, you’re reminded of why you had not a thread covering you, due to the night before. Vivid memories of Taehyung bloom against your dull mind, of him /finally/ coming home from tour and /finally/ capturing your lips with his own. His words of praise still danced along your skin, his admirations of /how beautiful you were/ still making your heart hammer within your chest.
Taehyung moves his lips down your neck, savoring the sweet taste of your skin under his tongue while his hands find the apex of your thighs. With a gentle touch, he pushes your legs apart to draw lazy circles around your clit. Still sore from the previous night, you can feel him grin against your throat when he’s met with your sharp intake of air. The heat that had consumed your skin from the prior evening is quick to find its way along your every nerve, making you lightly whimper as Tae comes to drink the noises eagerly from your lips. Every noise you make has his skin tingling in the best of ways, as though the stars inside of him stirred just for you.
“I wouldn’t say that I get jealous-” Rick said, the sun overhead reflecting in his sunglasses. The road ahead was black, and hot, with heat waves blurring the air. Wind blew past your ears, and with the top of the convertible down, it would have been easy to miss what he said next.
“I just know I have a right to what belongs to me. And if anybody tries to take that from me, well-” He looked at you, a careless grin on his face. “I’ll kill them.”
The run was meant to be routine; there wasn’t anything
grueling or demanding set in the plan, but a horde of zombies migrated into the
area and chaos ensued. The runners
were surrounded and everyone was separated. Daryl was enraged by the undead ambush;
vision sharpening as his body began to flood with adrenaline, arms trembling as
his conscious and subconscious thoughts converge onto the sole being that’d
become his entire reason for
existence. After what everyone has lost, what he has lost, he’d been crumbling under hopelessness and despair. He
was growing tired of running, tired of watching his back and tired of surviving.
He’d given up. He was impeded by darkness; until you.
Leonard McCoy had a minor problem. Well, actually, Jim Kirk had a problem, but as usual, it became Leonard’s problem.
It seemed that when his roommate was at all tired or exhausted, he developed a tendency to become a human blanket. It was happening several times a week now. Leonard would wake at dark o’ clock in the morning with the blonde out like a light and sprawled on top of the doctor. And the man was surprisingly heavy, and an even heavier sleeper.
And of course, when he woke, Jim said nothing about it. Just stumbled off and yawned and became his usual chipper self. Whenever Bones tried to bring it up Jim just looked at him strangely before changing the subject.
Calling his name made him just murmur a sleepy “Bones…” but he’d remain asleep. Trying to tap or shake him just made the man nuzzle into his chest or try to burrow his face in the crook of his neck (and Leonard was an unfortunate amount of ticklish). Trying to push him off completely was futile when the damn brat’s grip on him would then become octopus-strength.
And sleepy Jim was apparently opportunistic in becoming McCoy’s blanket. If Leonard took a nap on the couch, he’d wake with Jim dozing on top of him. If he nodded off at while studying at his desk, Jim would be in a chair next to him, passed out on his shoulder. And of course there had been that one particularly memorable time when Leonard had dozed off while taking a bath.
McCoy had given up on fighting it now (except for the bath incident, he’d been sticking to showers lately), and he’d begrudgingly admit to himself that it wasn’t completely awful to have a Jim Kirk blanket. He was a warm and solid weight, and nights that Leonard went without had started to seem a bit…chillier. And Jim was finally fully rested, so it was hard to argue with that.
It wasn’t an issue until they’d both ended up drunk, Leonard having a few with M'Benga after a long day, Jim arriving back later after hitting the bar after a longer day, and Leonard fuzzily waking to slow but insistent rocking at his hips.
Maul tells his apprentice that they’re a contradiction and they are very confused about that and eventually confront him and there is kissing. @the-flying-elephant gave me this idea a long while ago, so enjoy, love!)
It’s the sun, more than anything, that’s driving you crazy.
You can deal with the sweat and the burning of your muscles, the sting of blows landing on you when you weren’t fast enough to dodge them. You can deal with moving so fast the world blurs around you.
But this heat - it’s making you angry. Which, possibly, was Maul’s intention, since you are training with the Dark Side and all.
The wooden staff smacks into your shoulder. “Ow!” you hiss, and bring your own up to knock it away.
“Pay attention,” Maul growls. “If this were a true fight I could’ve slain you nine times already.”
“Then get it over with,” you snip back, grinning at him as you swing your staff at his head. “Since I’m such a disappointment and all.” The staff glances off one of his horns, and the snap of sound echoes around the stony courtyard.
“Funny.” He takes your staff, then throws it, along with his, off to the side. “Hand to hand. No Force tricks. Fight me, apprentice.”
“You’re on, red man,” you pant, and lunge at him.
There’s a chaotic blur of heat and pain and motion. You grit your teeth, shut down, and react. Let your instincts take over, blocking and lunging. You’re doing better than usual, but it still ends the way it always does - with your back slamming into the ground with his forearm pinned across your shoulders. The breath huffs painfully out of your lungs and you cough, turning your face aside.
“Good one,” you croak. “Almost got it that time.”
“Oh, did you?” He smirks as he helps you to your feet. “Could’ve fooled me.”
“Well, maybe you’re easy to fool.” You shake the dust from your hair and clothes. “Maybe I’m letting you win.”
He laughs - an unexpected sound, loud and ringing and clear. You’ve made him smile before - quick, reluctant smiles mostly - but this is different. You’ve never heard him laugh like this. He looks you up and down, every dusty inch of you, and you really, really hope the heat creeping up your neck and face is from the sun. For a minute, you’re distracted by the vivid gold of his eyes.
“You’re quite the contradiction, my apprentice,” he says, and then turns on his heel and leaves.
Wait…what? You blink, staring after him and wishing you’d asked earlier. Just as you’re about to call after him, he shuts the door behind him.
Ooookay. You kick at the ground, frowning. “What does that even mean?”
Hours later, you’ve had about all you can take of pacing and wondering and thinking. And for some reason (you suspect he’s avoiding you, but why?) he left the house soon after your sparring session ended, saying nothing more than for you to stay there and wait.
“Wait, my ass,” you mutter venomously, watching the front gate with narrowed eyes. “He’s gonna get it when he gets back.”
“Oh, am I?” Maul strides through the gates, locking them behind him as his golden eyes flare. “Please, enlighten me as to how.”
“With a hacksaw,” you fire off automatically. Part of you cringes, but you’re miffed enough at him that you don’t stop; you stomp forward to meet him. “You can’t just say cryptic statements like that about me to someone so curious! I need to know things, okay?”
He narrows his eyes at you. “Careful,” he growls. “You know to whom you speak.”
You huff and look down. “Fine. Sorry. But please, just tell me what you meant? I’ve been going mad thinking about it all day.”
“Have you now?” he muses, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Well, that’s useful information.”
Unable to stop the reaction, you stomp your foot and whine at him. “Tell me! Come on, please?”
With his arms crossed, the zabrak tilts his chin up and considers you - again. With that raking gaze that makes your stomach flip. He so does that on purpose, you just know it.
“What did I mean?” His voice is quiet as he meets your eyes, and you can’t look away. “Just what I said - you’re a contradiction made flesh.”
“Thanks,” you say weakly. “That really clears it up.”
“You’re powerful, but vulnerable. Strong in your anger, but stronger in your laughter.” He smirks. “You hurl your petty insults at me, always ready with a clever comment, and yet I sense you crave my approval.”
Okay, your face is definitely too hot now. You look down. “I do not,” you mutter lamely. It’s a total lie.
“As you should,” he purrs, stepping closer to you. “Am I not your master, and you my apprentice?”
“Y-yes,” you mutter, swallowing hard. “And there’s maybe kind of a little bit of truth to that? Just a bit, though.”
“Of course.” His eyes flare and he smirks, stepping even closer. “That is also a reason, you know.”
“What is?” You’re hypnotized by him. Your voice is barely a whisper.
“You act like you feel nothing - like an accursed Jedi. And yet any fool with even the slightest Force sensitivity could sense the depth and intensity of your feelings.”
“Great,” you mutter, finally breaking his gaze. “So you know then.” You don’t have to say what he knows. He’ll - well, he’ll know. Know how much you love him.
“Of course I know.” Suddenly he’s inches from you - you can feel the heat of him, and look up sharply to meet his eyes just as he grabs your face and crushes his lips to yours, breaking away only seconds later. “How could I fail to see?”
And with the most smug face you’ve ever seen, he walks away from you for the second time that day. Only this time, you’re quick enough to go after him.
Here it is - the crossdressing!Cas
fic! I really have nothing to say in my defense.
Will weren’t exactly the type of people you’d see going on a picnic, but it
happened. At least when there hadn’t been a case in weeks, they were all more
or less bored with hanging around in the bunker, and the heat index hit the 90s
for the first time in ages.
go?” Sam asked as he showed up at the top of the stairs, carrying the green
“I am. Cas
is just taking his sweet time”, Dean muttered, and eyed the cooler suspiciously. “Let me see
the lid and looked up at Sam with a bitchface.
more smoothies in here than beer!”
many beers were you planning to have?” Sam said defensively, jerking the cooler
out of Dean’s reach.
“How many smoothies were you-” Dean began, but was fell silent as he saw Cas ascending the
stairs towards them.
“I think,” Percy says one night, “That I should feel bad about this.”
“Do you?” Percy hesitates, frowns, and finally says, “No.”
Nico shrugs and let’s his head roll back, clearly growing bored of another one of Percy’s morality crises, “Then don’t.”
“Do you?” Percy asks and Nico sighs but refocuses on the conversation, “Feel bad?”
“Nope,” and the way Nico says it so casually makes Percy’s heart skip, “Why should I?” “Because…” Percy realizes he isn’t quite sure, he just knows that, somehow, he’s doing something wrong or something that should at the very least feel more wrong, “Because…”
“You feel bad because you think you’re using me,” Nico raises an eyebrow, but it’s not really at all a question, he knows he’s right, “But you shouldn’t, because you’re not. And even if you were,” Now Nico manipulates his expression into something sultry and dark that makes Percy breathe a little harder, “I don’t really mind being used by you.”
“That shouldn’t be sexy,” Percy says, but it is.
“But it is,” Nico confirms, “I’ve told you I’m more than ok with this…arrangement.”
“Arrangement,” Percy wonders how they’re both managing to pronounce the capital “A”, “Is that what this is? An Arrangement?” Somehow that phrasing makes him begin to question it again, what they have, what he takes from Nico and what Nico let’s him have. It leaves an uneasy heaviness in his chest that has become more and more easy to ignore. That might not be good.
“Well, yes,” Nico leans his body forward until his breath is ghosting across Percy’s cheek, “it is. Because you get caught up in worrying about being a hero and what you should be doing opposed to what you want to be doing and I help you ignore that. And you want to be more scared of the part of you that scares everyone else but instead it excites you, and I help you get more excited. Right?”
Percy frowns and doesn’t respond, which is okay because Nico wasn’t really planning on letting him interrupt anyway, “Right. You like that I’m not scared of you.”
“Why aren’t you?” Percy realizes that was the questions he’s been wanting to ask since they started…whatever this was. “Why aren’t you scared of me when I’m like this? Everyone else is.”
Nico’s eyes suddenly look a lot older, his expression is fierce and destructive and far too king of ghosts to be anything other than unsettling. Percy thinks that it probably looks a lot like his own face, and that’s weirdly reassuring. “Percy, it takes a lot more than anything you’ve done to scare me.”
“You don’t know everything I’ve done.”
“You don’t know everything I’ve done.”
Percy grins and then realizes he’s grinning, excited by Nico’s words that were phrased as a threat. A challenge.
It shouldn’t be sexy, but it is. He feels his blood burn.
“That’s true,” Percy says as the every smaller voice of concern is muted and he arranged himself to loom over Nico who’s cheeks flush and eyes spark, “But you should still be scared.”
“Of you? Never,” Nico rakes his fingernails over Percy’s arm and smiles at the red marks he leaves, “You’ll have to try harder than that.”
A threat, a challenge, a promise. Nico laughs in a cold, manic way and then their teeth bite into each other’s lips and Percy decides that this doesn’t feel bad at all. He pins Nico’s wrist and moves to scrape his teeth over Nico’s jugular and the dark, scary part of himself thrills to see Nico’s neck acquiesce in show of submission. He feels a heartbeat under his teeth and feels powerful. He catches the curves line of Nico’s bruised lips and realizes he’s laughing again.
Nico’s words ring in his ears, ‘I don’t mind being used by you.’ It really, really shouldn’t be sexy.
But his body is thrumming with energy and the vibrations of Nico’s laughter and their body heat blurs the air like a mirage and nothing really seems to be as important as Percy making Nico scream.
Word Count: 3007 (YEAH YOU READ THAT RIGHT)((kinda can be read alone, but reading the whole series helps! Thats a loooooose kinda)) Warnings: Smutty smut smut smut and more smut. annnnd cursing. cause smut. Notes: Okay Y’all. I’ma break it to you the nicest way possible. CD will only have two more parts making it an even 10. SO with that said be prepared! muwahahaha Also, I stayed up all night writing this, so IF there are mistakes, its because it’s currently 4am and I just HAVE to share this with y’all. HAVE TO. I feel so much better about all the fluffy stuff I’ve been writing now. YAY ME(( I edited it and I can’t believe you guys gave this 30+ notes with its terrible writing. WOW. 4 am writing is no my stong suit))
I just saw you reblogged a scene of Friends With Benefits as a Steroline dynamic and it reminded me of this scene:
And I pictured Stefan being like in a freaky mood because he and Bonnie were obsessed about Harry Potter and they’re super fans, and they’re such potterheads, and Caroline was making fun of him because Bonnie told her and he gets so offended about this and she just wants him to shut up lol
LMAOOOO that’s so them that I ended up drabbling it real quick:
“—can’t believe you of all people would get on my case for this,” Stefan huffed, thick brows drawn and hair a chaotic mess of blonde-brown atop his head. “You signed me up for ‘Pop Culture Reference of the Day’ because I’m too out-of-touch, but I’m not allowed to like the most mainstream book series of our generation?”
“Stefan,” Caroline groaned, head collapsed against the couch she was straddling him against, radiating exasperation. She was half-naked on top of him, pencil skirt hiked up to her thighs and bra halfway unclasped, remnants of the handsy makeout session they’d been in the middle of before she’d made the worst mistake of her life.
She’d made one (five) little joke (jokes) about Harry Potter after Bonnie had told her he’d dressed up every year to wait in the midnight lines, and just like that, boom. Full-on defensive fanboy. Nerd nightmare activated.
Someone kill her.
“I never said you weren’t allowed to like it, I just thought it was funny tha—”
“Like who doesn’t like Harry Potter?” he blustered on, oblivious with righteousness, and she lifted her head off his shoulder to stare miserably at the ceiling. “It’s not even a book at this point, it’s like a generational rite of passage. It’s ageless, genreless—did you know the original manuscript got rejected twelve times because the publishing houses couldn’t reconcile it as a children’s book?”
“Did you know a half-naked blonde with a lot of pent up stress to burn from a presentation she stayed up all night prepping for is sitting in your lap but you’d rather rant about a fictional wizard than kiss her?”
She dropped her stare down to his with a pointed look, and his overeager expression quelled slightly, parted mouth slowly falling shut. She arched a brow at the silence, waiting for him to slip in some stubborn ‘okay, but just for the record—‘ closing argument like he always did, but after a few moments, he just let out a sharp sigh, lifting a hand and pushing it through his hair. “Sorry.”
Her lips couldn’t help but twitch at how resigned of a mutter it was—he was still annoyed. Jesus Christ, who was she dating? “Mm-hmm.”
“I know you had a long day, I just…” he dropped his gaze, visibly forcing his nerd outrage down, “got a little carried away.” His stare lifted back up to hers, softening a bit. “I’m done.”
She slowly began slipping her arms back around his neck, body easing forward to press against his. “As long as I don’t have to make a habit out of competing with teen boys for your attention,” she drawled, brushing her nose against his before giving his lip a playful bite, and she felt it ease into a smile against her teeth.
“Don’t foresee that being a problem,” he rumbled back, hands drifting up her waist before wrapping around her and pulling her into a kiss. His mouth was warm on hers, nipping and teasing in that heady way of his, and she delighted in the way a guy who’d just spent five minutes working himself into a tizzy over Harry Potter could effortlessly charge every inch of her skin with electricity.
Minutes passed and mouths grew hotter, hands going from a lazy exploration to a hungry rove, and just as she drew back to finish off the last of the buttons on his shirt, she heard a throaty murmur.
“Wasn’t technically a teenager anymore by the end, though.”
“What?” she ventured in something of an autopilot, entirely distracted by the heat between their hips and the need to get his shirt far, far away.
“Harry,” he replied, hazy gaze watching her hands as she finished the buttons and pushed the rumpled Oxford open. “The books end with a flash-forward, so he would’ve been thirty-seven at the last point we see hi—”
“I don’t care,” she said in a rush of heat, sliding her hands up his face and recapturing his mouth with hers. He answered back in kind, hand lifting to tangle itself at the nape of her neck, and for a few more blessed minutes, there was no more Harry Potter talk to be found—just thick, intoxicated breaths and muffled groans.
Until she started kissing her way down his neck.
“Although, he could be thirty-six, now that I think about it,” he murmured thickly, unexpectedly, the words rumbling in his throat, “depending on what you add the ‘nineteen years later’ to.”
“Mm,” she hummed, making her way back up and taking his earlobe between her teeth.
“Was the Battle of Hogwarts ‘98 or ‘97?”
“No idea,” she replied, snaking a hand into his hair and dragging her nails against his scalp. Her lips were hot against his ear, tongue tracing the curve of it.
“It’s gotta be ’98.”
He caught the impatience in her voice and shook his head slightly. “Right, sorry.”
Another period of glorious Harry Potter-lessness stretched over them, this one longer than the rest, and this time, she was sure it was permanent. Her bra was long gone, skirt gathered in a haphazard scrunch around her waist, hips moving against his undone fly in a grind that had him so worked up his fingers were digging into her skin. His mouth was fire on hers, hand buried in her hair, and she couldn’t help but feel like finally, finally, she was dealing with a hot-blooded 24-year-old male.
Until he suddenly pulled back with a groan. “I’m sorry, this is going to bother me until I figure it out—can I just look up the year real qui—”
“I’m leaving,” she announced, pushing herself off him and getting off the couch, and he lapsed into a badly stifled laugh.
“Oh, come on, it’s just a second,” he said, holding up the phone he’d
fished out of his pocket with the beginnings of a grin. “See, I’m already halfway through typing it.”
“And I’m halfway through leaving.”
She yanked her skirt down and whirled around
in search of her bra—it was dangling off the couch arm.
“Boom—1998. Mystery solved. See how fast that was?”
She reached forward to grab a strap and he
intercepted her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her back down onto his lap.
“Stefan,” she warned, stare flying ceiling-ward in agitation, and he buried his head in the crook of her neck, holding her down against him.
“He was thirty-seven,” he mumbled into her hair, fingers trailing down the line of her waist, and she could hear the trolly glint in his eye.
“Cool, maybe you can date him.”
“Mmm, rather date you.”
He dropped a light kiss below her ear. “You sure?”
“I don’t know…”
He slowly began kissing his way down her jaw, lips a playful blur of heat on her skin, and after a few seconds, her eyes begrudgingly fell shut, body easing back into him. She knew she was fighting a losing battle. God, she hated him.
“Let it be known,” she muttered a little more breathily than she’d meant to, “that if I hear a single thing about Harry Potter—”
“Who?” he asked, and despite her annoyance, she felt the corners of her lips twitch.
“Your thirty-six-year old boyfriend.”
“Then I’m out of here,” she finished, the threat a little undermined by the way she lolled her head to the side as his mouth slipped down her throat.
“Deal,” he murmured, and without warning, he scooped her up and got to his feet, walking them over to his room. Just as they crossed the doorway, though, he snuck in a brief murmur between kisses. “Just FYI, he was thirty-seven.”
A small shriek pierced her words as he dropped her onto his bed, flaring into a bright, bell-like laugh that she couldn’t help. He climbed on after her with a crooked grin, all warmth and self-satisfaction and pure, unadulterated nerd pride, and yep.
Definitely hated him.
Oh, Stefan. Hope that was along the lines of what you were thinking. Woo, fluffy drabbles!