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twola · 1 year

Note

I always hate like “requesting” something because it feels like a forceful “write this for me now!” kind of thing, but a I’ve always had this smutty idea in my head where Arthur is getting a little weaker from the TB, but is also pinning after some cute girl in camp. Some wooing occurs and things start getting steamy~ but it’s her first time or she’s not super experienced. I feel like HH!Arthur would try to be the gentleman to show her a sweet, gentle time, but wouldn’t have the stamina for missionary, so his partner would pick up where he leaves off by riding him like the work horse he is. I just thin the scenario would be perfect for like sexy words of encouragement (def NOT thinking of his mare voice lines *wink wink wink*) plus Arthur getting taken care of too instead of just doing the caring. I have like 0 writing skills tho lol so if you ever found yourself in need of smutty I soo I would feel HONORED for you to bring my nasty Arthur thoughts to life

Ooh, TB whumpy smut… I’m sensing a pattern here. My poor boah, how I love to torture him…

This was a good one! Still working on a few more. I love and thrive on feedback so drop me a line if you liked it.

Regret Me Not

Arthur Morgan x F!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

Regrets seem to take up much of his headspace these days... But for one regret of his, Arthur takes action with a little bit of urging on your part.

Arthur wheezes, covering his mouth with the back of his palm, the wet, hacking noise that scrapes out of his throat as he sits on the boulder south of Beaver Hollow, out of earshot of the camp.

Not that he needed people’s stares. He looks terrible enough that he gets looks of pity from the women, avoided by the men - and Dutch? Well, he is living in another reality.

Another cough rips through him, as he feels as if he were drowning within his own body. A small hand lands on his back. He looks up, rubbing his mouth with the back of his sleeve.

You stand over his shoulder, rubbing gently, concern alight in your eyes. You look down and dig into the pockets of your skirts.

“Here.” You say with a small smile, handing him a bottle of tonic.

He coughs again, butchering his thanks, as he takes the bottle from your hands, uncorking it quickly and downing the foul-tasting liquid quickly.

“How are you feeling?” You ask quietly, hand still resting on his shoulder, slowly, gently rubbing circles into his upper back.

Arthur wants to lean wholly into your touch. He wants to wrap himself into you and let you card your fingers through his hair. He wants to rest. He wants to sleep.

He wants, he wants - but alas. None of that was possible.

“Like hell.” He grits out hoarsely, tossing the empty bottle to the dirt at his feet.

“I’m sorry, Arthur.” You say softly. Your other hand moves to his back as well, rubbing at his other shoulder.

“ ‘S alright.” He murmurs, not wanting to let on how good your hands feel on him.

A silence settles in, and you rub at his shoulders for a few moments more before drawing your hands away from him.

“Well… I just wanted to check on you. See how you’re doin’. I’ll see you later, Arthur.” You say, and he can hear the crunch of gravel under your boot as you turn on your heel. You begin to walk up the path back toward camp, as he turns and follows you with his gaze over his shoulder.

Arthur wants. In the embracing of his mortality, the facade of propriety and the painstakingly built walls around his heart crumble in the face of his own death.

He has watched you for months. Yearned for months, wanted and needed your attention, always too self-conscious to reach out and touch.

Sister Calderon’s words echo in his ears with each step you take away from him.

“Take a chance that love exists.”

“D-do you wanna get outta here?”

His voice is hoarse, almost weak sounding. Nothing of the man that he used to be.

You stop, turning around, a small smile creeping across your face. “God, get outta this hell hole? Absolutely. Anywhere is better than these hills.”

His heart hopes.

“I gotta go grab some mail from Van Horn. Ain't much better though…”

“It ain’t here, Mister Morgan. Let’s go.”

—

Van Horn is just as decrepit as the last time he was here. Falling apart and full of the dregs of society, left behind by the churning wheel of progress. He mirthfully counts himself as one of them, he supposes.

He tucks the letters he retrieved into his satchel, moseying slowly toward the back of the dock, where you stand with your elbows on the railing, gazing at the river’s lazy waters. Northward, toward the mountains and the river’s origins.

“Y’ready there, ma’am?”

You look back at him but don’t move. “Already? Ugh. Camp’s just so…”

Arthur sidles up next to you, placing his own elbows on the railing, grunting in agreement. You didn’t need to go any further, he knew where you were going with your comment.

The camp was… well, a gloom has settled upon it. Dutch acting irrational, angry. The loss of Hosea and Lenny. Running from Pinkertons.

And his own impending demise, of course.

“What’re you gonna do after?” Arthur asks quietly and notices the stuttering breath you take as your shoulders drop a little.

“I… I don’t know. I don’t have much else than this.”

Arthur hangs his head, taking in a deep breath. A breath that seems to barely fill his ailing lungs, and he coughs slightly under the rim of his hat.

“Y’got a good head on you. You’ll do fine.” He grits out, voice hoarse.

You remain silent, your eyes set on the water of the slow-flowing river. A boat chugs southbound, heading toward Saint Denis.

“I don’t know how I’ll fare being alone.” You softly murmur.

He sighs. “I’m sure you can stay with Abigail or Missus Adler. Or Charles. You got people to watch out for you.”

“But not you.”

A pang, a sharp pain shoots through his chest, above and beyond the near-constant constriction of his lungs.

“No. Not me.”

You look up at him, a sheen of wetness over your eyes. It pains him as he looks back.

A tear rolls down your face and it’s everything he is not to lean over and cup your face in his hands and wipe your tears away.

“Sweetheart, you deserve-”

“Don’t. Don’t tell me what I deserve, Arthur Morgan.” You spit out, tears openly running down your cheeks.

Arthur sighs, looking back down at the water. It is murky, muddy, dirty right under the dock. Just like this damn town.

You push yourself into his surprised embrace, clutching at his shirt, and it takes him a moment to realize that this wasn’t a dream, and he winds his arms around you, pulling you against him.

“I wish you would stop hiding from me.” You whisper as he holds you to his chest, your cheek pressed against his breastbone, probably hearing the crackling failure of his lungs with each breath he takes.

He doesn’t know how to answer that. For years now, it’s been easier for him to keep that urn with the remains of his heart buried from all.

“I’m here… I’m here now.” He murmurs, resting his chin atop your head.

“I’ve been waitin’ for you, Arthur. Waitin’ and wishing for you to ask me to be yours.” You bury yourself in his embrace.

Fuck.

Arthur’s resolve cracks like a piece of porcelain.

“I’m just a fool. A fool for making you wait.”

You shudder against him, digging your fingers into his shirt, and your breath stutters as you try to stifle a sob. Pulling away, you look up at him, his bloodshot, sunken eyes, still the blue-green pools you would drown in.

You lean up on your toes, arms winding around his neck, but he turns his face away as you draw closer.

“No. I ain’t gettin’ you sick too.”

You frown, glassy-eyed, about to draw your arms from him before he leans down and presses his lips to your cheek, again and again, moving up toward your ear.

“But…. I’ll give you whatever else it is you want.” He rumbles, arms wound tight around you, his body arcing over yours.

You shiver in his embrace, pulling your head back ever so slightly to look him in the eye.

“I want whatever you’re willing to give me.” You whisper, hands moving up and clutching at his collar.

He leans his forehead against yours. “If you want a dying, washed-up gunsling-”

You interrupt, pressing up on your toes and kissing his cheek, “I want you, Arthur Morgan. I’ve wanted you for so long.”

So long.

Goddamnit. He’s been looking at you, yearning for you, for months. Before Blackwater and ferries and being chased by Pinkertons. Before Dutch became erratic, before all of these complications. When he was chasing tumbleweeds across the wild and open west.

He gives a shuddering sigh, and draws you closer, pulling you to him and placing his lips on the long line of your neck. You whimper as he pulls a bit of your pale skin between his teeth, suckling on it, hoping to leave a mark.

You throw your arms completely around his shoulders and begin to pant in his ear. Whimpers turn to whines as one of his large hands moves down from your waist to clench roughly at your rear, drawing you against his pelvis and his rapidly hardening cock.

“A-Arthur - please -” You moan, rubbing yourself against him, and he regretfully draws his mouth away from your skin, pink-tinged and wet from his attentions.

As much as he’d love to turn you around, throw up your skirts, and press himself into you for the sake of time, he knows you deserve more than that.

“Lemme get a room.” He pants, letting go of you, moving to adjust himself in his trousers. “Go on upstairs.”

You pull at the collar of your blouse to hide the evidence of your indiscretion and quietly nod, moving past him and slowly climbing the rickety stairs to the second story of the decrepit building.

He quickly pays for a room, and grabs the key from the clerk with a dismissive grunt, hurrying his way up the stairs to find you leaning against the second-story railing, waiting for him.

Arthur jams the key into the door’s lock, pushing it open, and lumbering into the room, where he immediately sheds the repeater strapped to his back and places it on the worn table next to the door. His gunbelt follows as you step inside, closing and locking the door behind you.

He places his hat atop the pile of guns on the table, looking back at you.

“Still want to do-”

You cut him off by closing the distance between you and throwing your arms around his waist.

He pulls you toward the bed, and places his hands on your waist, holding you still, as he sits on the bed, the worn frame creaking under his weight. He doesn’t spare it a second thought, eyes trained on you, and he gently pulls you to sit in his lap.

You cup his cheek gently, thumb tracing along his beard that he’s kept longer to hide the gauntness of his cheeks. His large hand lands on your thigh, squeezing it as he presses his face into the hollow of your neck.

You gasp as you feel his tongue on your skin, clutching at his shirt as you tilt your head back.

You shiver again as his hand creeps up under your skirt, finger gently rubbing against the seam of your bloomers, which dampens quickly under his ministrations.

“It's been a while,” He grunts out, unable to stop his hips from bucking up against your legs with you seated in his lap, the long line of him chasing your warmth.

“M-me too. Ain’t since-” you mewl into his ear as his fingers push your bloomers to the side and brush against the damp skin of your core, “some stable boy when I was sixteen- ahh - we - we didn’t know what we was doin’.” You gasp out as his pointer finger, thick and strong, dips inside your entrance, sheathing to the knuckle within your cunt.

He slides another finger inside you, groaning against your hair when he realizes how tight you are, clutching desperately at his digits, imagining how good you would feel surrounding his cock.

“I’ll be good to you,” He grits out, crooking his fingers within you.

“Oh-” You gasp, “I know, I know you will, Arthur.”

Arthur pulls you from his lap and lays you on the bed next to him, and immediately starts to shed his clothing, tossing it into piles on the floor as you join him, skirts and shirts thrown from the bed, a union suit and chemise - your bloomers land on the floor and he quickly climbs atop you, spreading your legs and fitting his hips in the cradle of yours.

In this old, dirty bed in this old, dirty room, he swears he has never seen something so beautiful as you sprawled out beneath him, the rise and fall of your breathing, the blush crawling down your cheeks to your neck, spreading out across your chest, to your pink nipples, pebbling as they are exposed to the cool air.

He leans down, balancing himself on his forearms, finding that spot on your neck again and nibbling at it, while one of his hands works its way to the space between you, grasping his hard cock and stroking it as he presses the swollen head against your core.

You mewl as he presses in, the head of his cock entering you, his hand moving from its base to frame your head again.

“God, you’re perfect.” He groans as he starts to press himself inside, inch by inch disappearing into your wet warmth, your panting high and fast in his ear as he suckles on your neck once again.

He thrusts, gently, and his hips press against yours as he’s buried himself to the hilt in your cunt. You mewl out a high whine, nails digging into his shoulder.

Arthur presses himself up slightly, looking down upon you. His fingers begin playing with the curling hairs at your temple, waiting for you to open your eyes, a sign that you’re used to his length and girth within you.

And when you do, he’s stricken. Your eyes flutter open and you inhale a breath with a sweet sigh. God, for once in his damn life, he’s doing something right.

Your arms wind around his neck as you press your lips to his cheek, he knows that you want to taste him, to mold your lips together and moan into each other’s mouths - he wants that too, but it’s a step too far. He’s already half afraid of spreading his sickness to you.

Arthur thrusts, gently still, but faster and harder than he had been, you squeal in delight, which spurs him into finding a rhythm, his body moving over yours.

He grunts, panting as he moves his hips, fucking into you and pressing you down into this old, uncomfortable mattress. He swears he’ll bring you to some nice hotel in Saint Denis and make love to you on a plush expensive mattress-

A constriction in his chest stops him mid-thrust.

He pants, wheezing, his hips slowing as he struggles to catch his breath. Christ, what a sorry excuse for a man he is - can’t even please a woman in the state he’s in.

You gently push on his shoulder, and he has the stamina, at least, to raise himself up and look upon you, cheeks blazing in shame.

“Here, maybe I should get on top?” You ask, your hand cupping his cheek while the other gently lays upon his chest.

He groans at the thought, his traitorous cock twitching as he’s buried in your cunt, causing you to gasp out.

“Alrigh’,” Arthur grunts, and steadies his knees while he pulls his hands to you: one beneath your lower back, one below your shoulder blades. In a jumble of limbs and skin, he rolls over, somehow keeping himself sheathed in you until you’re splayed atop him, your small hips spread out over his.

He has to admit, this was a good idea you had, even before you think to move, what a sight he’s given. His cock fully enveloped in your hips, the dark thatch of hair between your thighs mixing with the curls at his base. Up, up the curves of your waist, he trails his hands, gently skimming your sweat-slicked skin. Your breasts, small yet perky, he’s enraptured by the way your nipples pebble as he rubs his thumbs over them, the sweet sigh that leaves your lips as your head falls back.

God almighty, you’re the sweetest thing alive.

Your hands find purchase on his chest, fingers pulsing, as you roll your hips once over him. His breath stutters, eyes widening as inches of him leave you, only to gently return moments later.

“G-good?” You ask, a self-conscious fear in your eyes.

His hands clamp on your waist and help to guide your movement.

“So good, you’re so good.” He rasps, the end of his lips curling up into a smile.

You smile back, rolling your hips again, taking him and out, following the pathway to your own pleasure and dragging him along for the ride.

Your murmuring devolves into gasping moans as you continue to gyrate above him, squeezing your eyes shut, your fingers spread wide over his pectorals.

“That’s it. You’re alright, girl.” He urges, one hand moving from your hip to where you’re joined, his thumb parting your folds just above where he’s speared into you.

You moan aloud, giving no qualm to volume as he circles and presses against that little nub of pleasure.

“C’mon, sweetheart, you’re almost there.” He whispers as his hips jut upward into yours, he can see the far-off look in your eyes, the way your lips hang open, the shortness of your breath, and the slightly painful way your fingers are clenching into his chest. He can tell, your pulsing, squeezing, sweet little cunt is so close.

You ride him fast, like a horse at a gallop, and that blooming lava in his gut churns in a way that he knows he’s not far behind.

“A-Ar…” You stutter as your eyes close tightly.

“That’s it, that’s it, Darlin’.” He urges, his other hand tight on your hips, aiding your movement.

“Agh, oh god - Arthur.” You moan out, bottoming out completely as you throw your head back. He groans aloud as he feels your muscles constrict around his shaft, the sweet clutch of your cunt.

He thrusts his hips upward again and is rewarded with the sweetest mewl from your mouth, he cannot help but to whimper as he feels warm, wet slick start to seep from where you’re joined, his swollen and heavy balls covered in them.

You recover, gasping as your hands move to his chest, your hips grinding down on him slowly.

“I wanna-” you pant, catching your breath, “I wanna make you come.”

Arthur groans in response, hips bucking upward as his hands fly to your hips again, clenching them hard.

“Ain’t gonna- augh- ain’t gonna be hard to give you that.” He stutters out, knowing that the pull in his gut is getting stronger with each sweet movement you make.

“You’re so good -” You mewl, rolling your hips over him as he grunts, hands sure on your waist, fingers pulsing as his eyes flutter closed, his mouth hanging open as he approaches that precipice.

“You feel just like I’ve always dreamed.” You sigh, and all he can respond with is a thrust upward of his hips, to give you more, to give you himself, all that’s left of him.

He’s there, he’s there. His eyes shoot wide and he grunts, hands hard over your hips. “Get- you gotta, move.”

But you lean forward, not stopping the gentle roll of your body over his, and kiss his forehead.

“Come inside me.” You breathe, hands steady over his beating heart, “Give me all of you.”

Of all the stupid, childish things… but the resolve of a dying man, it is far less strong than before - weakening much like his ailing lungs.

“Please.”

He does, he does.

He grunts needily as he pumps his release into you. Staying sheathed in your warmth, not jerking himself into cold air.

Arthur sits up immediately, burying his head into the side of your neck, and suckles gently at the skin there as your fingers start to play with the wisps of hair at the nape of his neck.

He regrets, it’s all he has left, that again, he wasted his time, glancing shyly at you across the fire for all those months. All he can do is offer you a few fleeting moments of pleasure. He regrets, it’s all he has left, that he cannot taste your lips and the sweetness he knows lies beyond them.

“Darlin’-” he trails off into your skin, trying to compose himself.

I’m sorry- I’m sorry this is all that’s left of me - sorry I can’t give you nothin’ but -

You place your lips on his forehead gently before pulling back. You cup his cheeks in your hands and nod your head.

“Let’s not waste any more time.”

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whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk · 2 months

Text

Begged & Borrowed Time (xxviii, ao3)

(Chapter twenty-eight: After three days spent healing, Cassian finally wakes and finds that he has several things to say to his brother.) (Prologue // previous chapter // next chapter)

At first it was the village.

Not quite a dream, but a nightmare laced with memory as Cassian found himself standing right back in the ashes of his own rage, watching the smoke drift, bitter and acrid, toward the sky. Blood stained the snow and seeped across grey rock, and he could have sworn, even in delirium, that screams still echoed through the mountain pass.

Broken siphons lay shattered, the shards as sharp as drawn blades, and in the dream Cassian looked down at his hands and saw Illyrian blood dripping thick from his fingers. It blurred in his mind, the deserted, desecrated camp high in the mountains looming in his memory as the nightmare sunk its claws deep into his flesh.

And then the screams shifted, a warrior’s pain morphing into something else. The blood on his hands thinned, turning dark— turning to Cauldron-water as the rock beneath his feet turned smooth, blood-stained snow replaced by polished marble. The scene around him changed, until it wasn’t blood on his hands but water, water that needled his skin like acid as it pooled beneath him in a puddle so dark it seemed to swallow the light whole.

Pain— there was so much pain.

His, but not his.

The world began and ended with his every breath, an aching kind of cold pressing at his fingertips and spreading up through his veins as the village he had destroyed once in his fury bled into the throne room like ink, the horrors of both twining until the screams of anguish he heard echoing through the mountains weren’t his anymore but hers—

The floor of Hybern’s throne room was slick with dark water, as black as the night itself. Cassian’s hands slipped as he tried to rise, struggling to find purchase, and gods, it burned. Where the Cauldron’s water kissed his skin, Cassian felt an ice so deep it beggared belief sinking into his veins. He heard screaming, heard her screaming, felt her drowning like it was his own heart ceasing to beat, his own blood beginning to boil. He pulled away, or tried to, but the memory dragged him down, reality converging brutally with the dream, and in his chest hoarfrost gathered, beginning to crawl, and when he opened his mouth to scream—

All he tasted was medicine, a sleeping tonic thick and bitter on his tongue, keeping him chained and trapped within the nightmare until at last, blackness swallowed him… and Cassian remembered nothing at all.

***

When he opened his eyes at last, Cassian swore he could feel her.

Nesta’s scent lingered in the air, draped lightly over the sheets as though she had only just been there, sitting beside him as he lay healing. He seemed to have missed her by a hair’s breadth— by a moment or a second, a heartbeat or an hour, he wasn’t sure. The light danced across the bed, sharp in the wake of his dreams, and as Cassian breathed in the scent of his mate, slowly, slowly, he stretched out a hand, reaching for the ghost of her left behind.

But the movement sent sent a bolt of fire spearing right down his spine, drawing a livid curse from his lips as pain - unrelenting pain - shot like lightning across the broken mass of his wings.

It didn’t stop him.

Couldn’t stop him, not as he reached for the empty space on that mattress, hoping he might bring her back if his fingers could just graze the sheets that still smelled, faintly, of her.

But the space beside him was cold, and if Nesta had been there, it had been hours ago.

Cassian’s brow furrowed, fingers curling tightly in the sheets.

In his chest, something broke.

He loosed his grip on the bedsheets, drawing a gasping breath as he flexed his hand. The movement was stiff, and the siphon he wore was shining as if through fog as pain radiated from the bottom of his wings to the nape of his neck. At his back, pinned beneath him, those wings were nothing but a blistering ache, so sharp his breath got caught in his throat.

And— fuck, when he twitched them, to test how much strength they had left, they were as spindly as the legs of a newborn deer. Wrapped in so many bandages it was a wonder there was any linen left in Velaris at all, he forced his wings to shift. But a roaring pain engulfed him, a tidal wave of it he felt down to the tips of his toes.

His entire body felt hollow, bones aching like they had been snapped too, and he hissed as the pain barrelled through him, a sound of pure agony building within his throat.

It was a brutal reminder of just how close he had come to death.

He had been bleeding and broken, wings shredded, and though he was no stranger to risk or injury… it was different, this time. This time he had felt death in a way he never had before. It had cracked open an eye in the darkness and saw right through to his soul, staking a claim on him as the pain had dragged him under.

A chill coursed through him, kith to the ice still burning in his chest.

But he forced it away.

It didn’t matter.

None of it mattered.

His own pain, his own anguish, was nothing. He recalled the dreams that had haunted him in his sleep, the screams he knew would dog him for the rest of his days. His hands reached again for that space on the bed beside him, her name echoing with each beat of his broken heart.

Nesta.

He could still see her eyes, brimming with terror and rage as the king’s guards forced her into that Cauldron. Could still feel the bond, taut as a bow-string and thrumming the way it had the moment their eyes had met across that godsforsaken throne room. Absolute, inexorable need surged through him as the bond tightened, stealing his breath, and it was for Nesta that Cassian took a breath and braced both palms against the mattress. For her he ignored the barbs of pain that shot through his wings as he pushed his weight against the heel of his hands, trying to rise.

For her.

“Fuck,” he gasped, breaths turning ragged as agony knifed along his spine, spreading across his shoulders.

And across the room, from a half-hidden corner by the window that Cassian hadn’t even glanced at before now, another curse echoed his own.

“For fuck’s sake, Cass.”

Sharp footsteps sounded from the wall of windows opposite, but before Cassian could force his broken body to rise another inch, Rhys’ hand was pressed flat against Cassian’s shoulder, firm and immovable.

“Don’t even think about it,” the High Lord said, in a tone that brooked no argument.

Cassian didn’t stop for a minute to study his brother— to really note the anguish that cloaked him like a second skin. Nor did he pause to wonder how or why Rhys was the only one waiting for him to wake. His brother has been so lost in thought standing in that corner, staring listlessly out of the window, that it seemed he hadn’t even noticed Cassian opening his eyes until that whispered curse had been torn from his throat. He’d never known Rhys to be so distracted but…

No, Cassian didn’t pause. Not for a second, because he couldn’t fucking breathe.

He pushed once more against Rhys’ palm, gritting his teeth against the riot of pain working its way up and down his spine.

“Let me up,” he managed through clenched teeth.

Stitches were pulled taut in wounds not yet healed, and the new, fragile membrane of his wings threatened to tear as his arms began to tremble. His muscles ached, like keeping himself sitting upright was challenge enough, but it didn’t matter, didn’t matter, didn’t matter—

Rhys didn’t move.

“Rhys,” Cassian snarled. “Let. Me. Up.”

The High Lord said nothing, violet eyes dark and determined as he refused to relent. He kept his hand pressed against Cassian’s shoulder, and fucking hell, Cassian thought grimly, any other day he’d be able to force Rhys away without so much as blinking. But the blast that had taken out his wings had all but decimated his strength, leaving him with nothing but the sweat gleaming on his brow as he fought to stay upright.

After what felt like an age of bone-cracking agony, Cassian could do nothing more than collapse back against his pillows, staring furiously at the ceiling and cursing his sudden weakness.

“Not yet,” Rhys said mildly as he removed his hand at last. “Give it another day— give it until tomorrow.”

Cassian slammed a fist against his sickbed. “Another day? How long has it been already?”

His voice was cold, but Rhys didn’t flinch.

“Three days.”

Cassian swore the world began to tilt beneath him, the balance suddenly off-kilter.

“Three days,” he echoed, deadpan.

“And a half,” Rhys added, turning to the window at his back, as if tracking the movement of the sun. “It’s almost noon.”

As if Cassian gave a fuck about what time it was.

“Where is she.”

The demand came out rough, like gravel, and his voice seemed to quake beneath the weight of the temper he was only barely keeping in check. Deep within, something primal and primordial began to howl.

Rhys only rolled his eyes. Under his breath he muttered something that sounded a lot like ‘both the fucking same,’ and Cassian’s brow lowered over narrowed eyes as he began to wonder if Rhys had faced similar questioning from Nesta herself. But then— why wasn’t she here? Where was she? And Mother save him, how was she?

They were the only questions worth asking, the only things that seemed to matter.

“She’s here,” Rhys said after a pause, waving a hand in a gesture so casual it made Cassian clench his jaw. “And she’s awake, which is more than I can say for Elain.”

“Elain isn’t awake?”

“No.”

Cassian glowered. “So Nesta’s been on her own for three fucking days then,” he countered darkly, running a hand over his ribs to make sure those, at least, were still intact. Feeling nothing broken he shifted, more than ready to try and rise again regardless of the pain, but Rhys stopped him with a glare so glacial it made chasms of his eyes.

“Not alone,” Rhys said bluntly. “I checked on her, and Mor took her some clothes.”

Cassian was silent. His eyes seemed to burn as he looked pointedly at his brother and waited for him to continue— because if Rhys thought that was explanation enough, then he was so severely mistaken that Cassian might have started to wonder if the High Lord had hit his head on the way out of Hybern’s throne room. As it was, his brother sighed heavily before running a hand through his already-mussed hair.

“The Cauldron took its toll,” he explained. “Neither Nesta nor Elain were fully conscious when we made it back to Velaris, and after Mor and I winnowed them up here… they were out of it for a little while. Nesta woke after a few hours, but Elain is still drifting in and out.” When Cassian’s gaze turned sharp, bladed with concern, Rhys added, “There’s no injury. Physically, they both seem fine.”

A note of caution entered his voice, one that had all of Cassian’s instincts sharpening like a blade against a whetstone.

“Mor brought Nesta clothes,” the Lord continued flatly, violet eyes devoid of stars. “But she didn’t even bother to look at them before casting them off. Mor wasn’t exactly happy—“

Cassian snarled again, a sound of abject consternation so abrasive it was a wonder it didn’t rake claws down his throat.

“What the fuck,” he asked, in a voice so rough it was little more than a growl, “were you thinking?”

The glare he gave Rhys was one that so rarely crossed his face these days— one that even battle-hardened warriors had run from in the past. But he didn’t bother to temper it. Of course Nesta would refuse whatever it was that Mor had offered. Night Court fashion was a world away from what they were used to below the wall, and though Mor had shaken off the shackles of her upbringing, it was plain as fucking day that Nesta hadn’t.

As well-intentioned as it was, was it any wonder it had brought out Nesta’s claws?

Rhys didn’t answer, only pressed his lips thin.

“Get her something else,” Cassian said sharply.

“I tried,” Rhys retorted, pinching the bridge of his nose. “She doesn’t want anything else.”

“Then I’ll fucking do it,” he huffed, his hands curling once more into fists so tight his knuckles began to ache.

“You can’t get up,” Rhys hissed. “It’s a fucking miracle you’re even alive. It wasn’t just your wings, you know. Whatever was in that blast— you’ve had a temperature for days that even the healers can’t understand. Like you were burning from the inside out.”

Cassian stilled. The dream came back to him in a rush, an echo of that burning heat thrumming distant in his veins. Like it wasn’t him burning at all.

The bond twining around his ribs trembled, and in the silence that followed Cassian shoved it all away and clenched his jaw before demanding roughly,

“Tell me what happened.”

Rhys looked uncomfortable with the question, his shadowed face stony. “I haven’t been able to glean much. All I know is that Hybern broke in whilst they were sleeping. Killed the servants—“

“And the Illyrians?” Cassian felt his anger harden, cool into something far more difficult to break. “Where the fuck were they? I swear, if they—“

“They’re dead, Cass.”

It took Cassian a moment to understand. For the words to sink in. And when they did, there was a ringing in his ears so sharp he had to shake his head to clear it.

Fuck.

“Ash arrows were found in the grounds,” Rhys continued darkly. “And the other four men you sent to the Mandray house never saw Nesta. By the time they arrived she had already gone to stay with Elain. They didn’t know she wasn’t inside.”

It was like being dragged into a riptide.

The waves kept coming, kept pulling and pushing and holding him under, each new kernel of information Rhys offered one that made Cassian feel like his lungs were taking on water. Four men dead— men who had families, friends, loved ones. Cassian had personally picked the ones to go below the wall. He hadn’t been about to put Nesta and Elain’s safety in the hands of any of the more… conservative Illyrians, especially when Devlon had been so reluctant to let them go at all. No, these had been soldiers who respected him, who had only barely grumbled about being stationed so far from home.

Dead.

He’d have to tell their families, have to visit them personally.

And the servants. Gods— who would tell their families? Or Nesta’s father? Cassian didn’t have an overwhelming amount of respect for the man, but still. Would he return to an empty house, dilapidated and dark, a ruin filled with nothing but shattered glass and the echo of violence?

Each thought made his head spin, and yet it was nothing - absolutely fucking nothing - to the weight in his chest, the crushing heaviness where his heart should be.

Because the sharpest undercurrent of all was…

He’d known.

He’d known something was wrong. That night, after Hybern’s attack, he had been so consumed with worry it had almost eaten him alive. He had felt it, as certain as anything.

If only he’d sent a shadow to the Archeron estate that night too. If only he’d known Nesta wasn’t with her husband at all, but with her sister. If only he’d insisted Azriel somehow find the strength to command two shadows across the wall, or better yet, if he himself had flown there despite his exhaustion…

If only, if only, if only.

His eyes closed.

“So when Az sent that shadow…” he began, hoarse. “Nesta wasn’t even at home that night. She was with Elain the whole time.”

His heart felt as brittle as cracked glass, his eyes stinging. Somewhere inside him was a pendulum, one that swung wildly between spikes of terrifying fury, and deep valleys carved of guilt and grief.

He could have saved her.

Could have stopped her being taken in the night, bound and gagged and thrown into that Cauldron. All of it could have been avoided had he only been looking in the right place that night, when the bond in his chest had been so damned insistent that something was wrong.

He should’ve listened. Should have paid more attention.

How many lives would have been saved? How many grieving mothers would have been spared a loss? Most importantly to Cassian, how much pain could he have kept Nesta from? How much agony might have been avoided?

When he slid his eyes open again, he saw Rhys nod.

“That’s all I’ve been able to gather. Nesta hasn’t exactly been… forthcoming with the details.”

Cassian blinked slowly, eyes darkening. “Can you blame her?”

Rhys sighed, taking a step closer. Slowly, carefully, he added, “There’s something… up with her, Cass.”

“Up with her,” Cassian echoed, in a voice as that was cold and flat, as desolate as a Winter Court snow plain. He could have sworn his brother cringed.

“I can sense something,” Rhys continued. “I don’t know what, exactly. She won’t tell me what happened inside the Cauldron—“

“Rhys,” he warned, “back off, would you?”

The dream lurched once more in his memory— the cold, the aching in his bones. That distant feeling of ice searing him right through, stealing his breath with its ferocity. It lingered, even now, like it had been fucking real. Cassian suppressed a shudder.

“It’s her eyes, Cass. There’s something there, some kind of power she won’t speak of—“

“Rhys.”

Cassian fixed his brother with the kind of glare reserved usually for soldiers out of line— the kind that made his entire face harden. He didn’t give a single shit about what Nesta may or may not have emerged from that Cauldron with. It wouldn’t be enough to change anything— to stop him loving her with everything he had left.

“Let her work it out in her own time,” he added gruffly, his tone one that threatened retribution if not flat-out violence.

“We might not have time,” Rhys countered dryly.

Cassian snarled. “I said back off.”

For a second Rhys looked prepared to argue his point, a scowl twisting the corners of his mouth, but Cassian snarled again softly, little more than a growl of patience lost, and Rhys’ scowl vanished. He exhaled heavily and raised a hand in surrender, giving his brother a small nod.

“Alright,” he said tightly. “Alright.”

Cassian nodded once too, brisk, and settled back against the pillows, careful not to disturb the mass of bandages and scar tissue that was his wings.

There was a beat— where Cassian felt the ache deep in his bones collide with the weariness that gnawed, ravenous, at his edges. He sighed, and let himself relent. For now— just for now.

“And Az?” he asked after a moment, forcing himself away from the memory of Azriel’s blood slicking his hands in that throne room.

“The healers are still keeping him under. The poison… it had almost reached his heart.” Rhys shuddered. “It’s the same poison that tipped the arrows I was hit with, only in a far more concentrated dose. If Feyre were here, she could probably heal him just as quickly as she healed me, but…”

The High Lord stumbled over his mate’s name, like it pained him to speak of her. He trailed off, eyes darting back to the window he’d been staring out of before Cassian had opened his eyes, like he was trying to follow the bond and see all the way to the south, to wherever Feyre was now.

“She’s in Spring,” Cassian breathed, not quite a question.

In the dimness of his memory he recalled the way Feyre had drifted back to Tamlin’s side in that throne room, the way Rhys had fallen to his knees. Cassian didn’t remember much— couldn’t remember words or put it all together in any kind of narrative that made sense, and he’d been dragged into unconsciousness soon after his brother had screamed in pain. But he remembered the way Tamlin reached for Feyre, a wary kind of relief igniting in his green eyes and mingling with the reflected candlelight until they were an evergreen forest consumed by flame.

The lines on Tamlin’s face had smoothed as he placed a hand on Feyre’s wrist. No matter that Cassian’s vision had been growing dark, or that Azriel’s life hung by a thread. No matter that Elain trembled in a puddle of Cauldron-spilled water, or that Nesta scrambled towards her sister even as her eyes remained fixed on Cassian.

None of that had mattered to the High Lord of Spring.

A sharp, terse nod was Rhys’ only response.

“There’s something else you should know too,” Rhys said, his voice made heavy by the bitterest sort of irony. He turned back to the bed and looked Cassian in the eye, lifting his chin with all the bearing of a High Lord. “Before we went to Hybern, I made Feyre High Lady.”

For a moment, Cassian forgot the pain in his wings.

He thought he must have misheard, must have been hallucinating from all the tonics the healers had been giving him—

“Mor and Amren were told as soon as we got back,” Rhys said, “but with you and Az unconscious…”

“You fucking what?” Cassian spat, scrambling on his hands to raise himself from the bed. His wings protested again as his muscles shifted, stitches close to tearing, and once more Rhys stepped forward with ease and halted him with a palm flat against his shoulder.

“Don’t start. I’ve already had all this from Mor and Amren.”

Cassian hissed. “And if you think you’re not going to get it from me too then you’re sorely mistaken. You didn’t think we deserved to know that we weren’t just taking the Lady of the Night Court into Hybern, but the High Lady? Have you lost your fucking mind?”

A dark laugh bubbled in his chest, one that ached in his throat. Suddenly all those feelings he thought’d he’d buried, the ones left over from when Rhys went Under the Mountain… they came screaming back, every ounce of inadequacy and failure returning in a wave as he realised that once again he’d been left out of Rhys’ scheming. That the High Lord had left his General in the dark.

He knew how it looked— how it seemed. Every sensible part of him clung desperately to the knowledge that Rhys trusted him implicitly, that theirs was a bond forged of blood and sweat and tears that could not be broken idly…

And yet.

“You didn’t think we needed to know?” Cassian asked again, blunt as an axe. “That we deserved to know?”

Rhys took a breath. “It’s not about that. It was never about that.”

“We were unprepared,” Cassian snapped. “We never would have—”

Rhys drew back, as surely as if Cassian had slapped him.

Everything in the High Lord appeared to crumble. His eyes, dark before, seemed abyssal now. The tension in his shoulders evaporated, the harsh lines at his mouth and his brow vanishing as the fight seemed to leave him entirely. He looked up to the ceiling, the shadows beneath his eyes seeming darker and more prominent than before. A pang of remorse echoed through Cassian’s chest as his words died in his throat and Rhys lifted a hand, not in surrender this time, but something like supplication.

“Enough. It’s done, Cass,” he said, his tone just a touch too resigned to be considered sharp. He sighed again, maudlin. “It’s done.”

Cassian took a breath, willing the waves of his anger to subside. That twinge of remorse in his chest surged as he looked to the windows, where Rhys had been gazing so forlornly. Gods, had he been any better when it was Nesta so far away? How many times had he stared out at that same horizon, wishing miles were inches?

Nesta.

Just the thought of her had everything else fading.

“Tell me something else,” Cassian said, breaking the heavy silence, remembering what was important. “Tell me about Nesta. How was she— when she woke?”

The question lingered, and Rhys… hesitated.

The sure and certain High Lord, who had an answer for everything, hesitated. The silence that followed spoke louder than anything Rhys might have said, and as Cassian’s eyes narrowed, he gave his brother a look of warning that said he’d better come up with an answer, and a good one, fast.

“Rhys,” he said slowly, his voice sharpening. “You were there. Right? Tell me you didn’t let her wake up alone.”

Silence.

The ruby siphon on his hand began to pulse in time with his raging, racing heart, flaring as his temper spiked. His hand curled into a fist so tight his fingertips began to feel numb, and behind his ribs the bond strained so tightly it stole his breath, like a blade had pierced his lungs.

Rhys only scowled, plucking at a piece of fucking lint.

“We’ve been preparing for war,” he said flatly, lifting his chin. “And in case it escaped your notice, I’ve been down a commander and a spymaster. Mor and Amren and I have just about managed to hold this court together, so forgive me for not sitting idle by your sweetheart’s bedside while the world around us goes to shit.”

Cassian growled, a rumble in his chest so deep his entire body seemed to thrum.

“My sweetheart,” he echoed with a low, dangerous laugh. “You’re a fucking cunt sometimes, Rhys, you know that?” His brother was quiet, and Cassian felt the reins of his temper slip through his fingers as he uncurled his hands, leaning forwards as if he was only a breath away from rising from that bed and closing those hands around his brother’s fucking throat. “Never mind that you’ve clearly been sitting idle by my bedside. Never mind that she’s your mate’s sister.”

His lips curled back over his teeth, something feral and unrestrained howling inside, hammering against his chest, begging to be set loose. His siphons flickered.

“She’s so much more than my fucking sweetheart and you damn well know it,” he seethed. “Give her the respect she deserves.”

The voice that left him sounded foreign even to his own ears. It was sharp and bladed and angry— he hadn’t felt like this since that day in that village in the mountains, when he’d slaughtered so many of the men who had sneered when he’d asked where his mother was. Rhys didn’t balk in the face of that anger; his brother stood stoic and firm, letting Cassian’s rage wash over him in a wave.

Cassian took a breath, clenching his fists as he tried to find the moment where everything had gone wrong these past few weeks. It seemed like only yesterday Nesta was in his arms by the water, watching the stars fall from the sky. Only yesterday that Rhys had told him to go and get her, to bring her to Velaris for the night.

And now— somehow they had ended up here. With Rhys separated from his mate as the entire continent faced Hybern’s threat, and Nesta no doubt in more pain than she’d ever been before, no matter how fine Rhys thought she was.

He loosed a single breath, forced the thrumming in his veins to steady.

“I get it,” Cassian bit out as the waves of anger receded just enough to let him breathe again. “Feyre’s not here and you’re losing your mind. But that doesn’t mean you can be a prick to the ones of us left behind with you.” His jaw grew tight, his voice dipping low. “After all, maybe now you’ll understand how we felt all those years you were Under the Mountain.”

Rhys snapped his gaze back to Cassian’s, starless violet meeting furious hazel. His lips parted, as if ready to argue, but something Cassian had said must have resonated because he quickly looked away, back to the windows. Regret flickered in those dark eyes as he ran a fist through his hair, turning his face away.

“You’re right,” Rhys said quietly, like it pained him to admit it. A heavy sigh rattled through his chest. “I’m sorry, Cass.”

Cassian sighed too, the atmosphere shifting as he sat back. Their heated words died in the silence, anger melting and giving way to something else, the kind of acceptance and acquiescence only found in the wake of a blistering argument between those who loved one another as family.

“As soon as I can get out of this bed,” Cassian said darkly, “I’m going to hit you so fucking hard you’ll see stars for a week.”

A tentative smirk pulled at Rhys’ lips.

“Fair,” he answered with a shrug.

And with that, all of the resentment was gone— just like that. Cassian let himself fall back agains the pillows, the burning in his wings easing as they lay flat once more. Looking up at the ceiling, he felt his heart pound as his mind wandered, a different kind of guilt pulling at him, fraying his edges until he was half afraid there would be nothing of himself left by the time it was done.

I’ll find a way to keep you safe. I swear it.

Who could have guessed it would turn out to be such pointless vow, a hollow promise?

“I made her a promise,” Cassian said quietly now, his voice too close to breaking. He spoke more to himself than to Rhys, but still his brother was there to listen. “I swore to protect her and I didn’t.”

“How could you have stopped it?” Rhys asked mildly. “You were in no position to—“

“I could have done something,” Cassian interjected hotly. “I should have done something.”

Gods— the guilt would eat him alive. Would destroy him, and he couldn’t quite tell whether he wanted to run to her or hide from her forever. His entire soul, every tiny facet of his being, longed to find her— but could he bear the betrayal in her eyes, knowing he was the reason she’d been dragged into that throne room? Knowing his failings had cost her her life?

And after all hadn’t he thought, once, that he’d give anything for Nesta to be fae?

Like a fucking fool, he’d once dreamed of her living above the wall, living forever… and for his stunning hubris, his stupid fucking arrogance, the Mother had granted his wish.

He turned his head, eyes catching on the sheets beside him that still carried that lingering trace of her. She’d been sitting there— right beside him. Maybe that meant she didn’t hate him after all.

But maybe she should.

Maybe someone ought to.

He closed his eyes, feeling wave after wave of anguish swallow him whole.

“She still doesn’t know, does she?” Rhys asked gently. “About the bond?”

Cassian shook his head, hardly able to speak. He felt sick.

Rhys let out a dry laugh. “The way you snarled in that throne room… how could she not have realised?”

Cassian didn’t want to think of it, didn’t want to be taken back to that expansive stone room, thick with the scent of spilled blood. But he couldn’t help but recall Lucien and the three little words that had burst from his mouth, like he hadn’t physically been capable of keeping them inside.

You’re my mate.

Gods, the Autumn prince had made it look so fucking easy. Part of Cassian wondered now why he hadn’t just done the same weeks ago, torn off the bandage and made it quick.

Fuck.

Given how badly Nesta had reacted to Lucien’s little outburst… well, Cassian could hardly tell her now, could he? She’d made it clear with the way she’d scrambled to Elain’s side, horror written all over her face, that the last thing in the world she needed - wanted - was a mate.

He’d thought he needed to give her time. To let her adjust to the idea of a mating bond before he sprung one on her, but now…

“Gods,” Cassian groaned, “it’s all so fucked, Rhys.”

Rhys snorted his agreement. “Yeah,” he said dryly, glancing down at his hands. “Yeah, it is.”

The High Lord glanced at the sky again, the sun high in the centre. He looked back to the bed, eyes softening.

“I told Amren I’d meet with her after noon,” he said, brushing a hand down his black shirt. “I should go. There’s still work to be done, and someone needs to keep an eye on those queens. Especially in the wake of….” He waved a hand, gesturing broadly at the chaos that surrounded them. “…All this.”

Cassian started. “You can’t mean to go yourself.”

“Someone needs to, and Az is hardly up to it.”

“You’re a fool, Rhys.”

“I am capable of looking after myself, you know.”

Cassian was about to argue, but as the sun slanted across Rhys’ midnight hair, he looked at his brother— really looked, for the first time since he’d woken. Stress was carved so deeply in his face that every plane of it seemed strained, and his eyes were flat and empty, like the stars there had simply given up hope of shining. He looked like every single drop of anguish Cassian felt had scarred him too, and Cassian’s own eyes softened as he shook his head.

“I’m not going to be the one to tell Feyre when you get yourself hurt,” he said archly.

Rhys laughed, bitter. “Let’s worry about that when she’s home, shall we?”

Cassian rolled his eyes, absently lifting a hand to his chest. It was something subconscious, something innate, that had his fingers splaying across his ribs, right above where he felt that bond tying him so resolutely to Nesta. It was brighter now, more alive, like her being turned fae had amplified it. Rhys tracked the movement and blinked, nodding in understanding. His own fingers twitched, like he’d reach for Feyre if only he could.

“I’ll come back later,” he said gently, nodding to the bedside table where several small glass vials were laid out. “If the pain gets too much, take three drops from the green bottle. Six drops for sleep.”

Cassian nodded, even though he had no intention of sleeping any time soon. He’d spent three days sleeping— it was more than enough. There were more important things now than sleep, more pressing things than pain.

Rhys glanced pointedly at the bottles once more before raising an eyebrow and fixing Cassian with a knowing stare.

“You really should stay in bed for a little longer,” he said, stepping forward to clap him lightly on the shoulder. His voice was weary, but the resignation in his tone said he knew that, short of tying Cassian to the bed, there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop him.

Cassian raised an eyebrow. “And you really should have told us before making Feyre High Lady.”

Rhys rolled his eyes, drawing back. “Alright, alright,” he conceded. After a minute he loosed a long breath, shaking his head in surrender. “Swear to me you’ll be careful.”

“I’m not the one going to spy on the same queens that sold us down the river to Hybern,” Cassian pointed out flatly, a scowl settling above his brows. Rhys grimaced.

“No, but I’m not the one who almost died from blood loss.”

Cassian waved a hand, like it was nothing. Like he didn’t still remember the way his fingers had slipped in pools of his own blood, staining his skin crimson.

“I promise I’ll be careful if you will,” he offered instead, and this time Rhys rolled his eyes, resting his hand on Cassian’s shoulder once more.

“I promise,” the High Lord said, dipping his head. And then he drew back, his steps almost silent as he pulled away. He looked to the door, straightening his spine and plucking at his sleeves before adding a soft, “I’ll see you later, brother.”

It was the only farewell he offered, and even though Cassian muttered a quiet see you later in return, Rhys didn’t say anything more before sweeping from that bedroom, leaving only silence in his wake.

Cassian waited for one breath— then two, three. Just enough to ensure Rhys wasn’t about to come storming back.

And then, arduously, he began to rise.

Every nerve he possessed protested as he forced himself upright. His bones barked beneath the pressure, the bottoms of both wings burning beneath the bandages, like someone had just taken a match to them. He felt every single one of the small, intricate muscles straining as he straightened his spine, pulling so painfully that darkness gathered once more at the corners of his eyes.

But he refused to black out this time.

Cassian gritted his teeth, biting back the groan that rose to his lips.

He eyed the bottles on the side, wondering if he ought to take those three drops after all.

But he pushed— pushed and pushed and pushed, his body screaming.

With effort, he managed to swing his legs off the bed. Somehow, he made it to the door, pulled it open.

In his mind was a singular focus, a sole purpose that kept him going as he staggered down the hallway, each step a labour. He dragged one hand along the wall as he went, using it as a support. And then he was at the stairs, swallowing as pain bloomed in every part of him, as he looked at the downward spiral of steps and knew that the effort might just make him faint.

But for Nesta, Cassian knew he needed to make it down those stairs— come hell or high water.

He was sweating by the time he made it to the landing a floor below. The guest corridor stretched out before him, seemingly endless, and his heart thundered as he made his way down its length. He had guessed this was where Rhys would have housed the sisters, and even though he’d never gotten confirmation, the bond in his chest was thrumming with his every step, like it was leading him right to her. Cassian didn’t know what room Nesta was in, but that thrumming grew louder and louder until he found himself standing in front of a closed door.

Instinctively, he knew this was it.

Already he could hear her heart.

If he wasn’t already so desperate, Cassian thought he might really have collapsed then. If his body could have handled it, he thought he might have sank to his knees.

His mind went blank; his heart pounding against his ribs.

And Cassian didn’t think— didn’t knock.

Like a man starved, he pushed open that door and all but stumbled over the threshold. Instantly he was met with her scent, and with a gasp his mate turned her head, silver eyes glinting across the distance between them that suddenly seemed vast enough to wound.

But as Cassian looked upon Nesta for the first time in days…

Every single thought eddied from his head.

Every single word he knew was forgotten save one.

Nesta.

Her name. Just her name— the only thing in the world that still held meaning.

It bubbled to his lips, his strength failing him as he grasped at the doorframe and felt his knees go weak. He couldn’t pretend arrogance, couldn’t find it in him to flirt. As she lingered, still, on the other side of the room, Cassian felt himself growing brittle as, at last, he found it in him to rasp a single, aching,

“Nesta.”

Taglist: @hiimheresworld @highladyofillyria @wannawriteyouabook @infiremetotakeachonce @melphss @hereforthenessian @c-e-d-dreamer @lady-winter-sunrise @the-lost-changeling @valkyriesupremacy @that-little-red-head @sv0430

#nessian #nessian fic #begged & borrowed time

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danikamariewrites · 9 months

Note

Hi there, can you do a cassian x fem reader fic where he takes care of her during her period?

Period Pains

Cassian x reader

A/n: hi anon! Thank you for the request I hope you like it

Warnings: none

Groaning, you drape your arm over your eyes to shield them from the morning sun breaking through the curtains. As you roll over to face Cassian you feel a shooting pain in your abdomen. You suck in a harsh breath, curling into a ball to try and make the pain stop but it just kept getting worse.

Your winces have Cassian shooting up in a panic. “Y/n, what’s wrong?” His voice is deep and groggy with sleep. Normally, that would turn you on but the pain shooting through your body was all you could focus on.

Cassian stroked your hair to help calm you. You could feel the wet spot of blood in your underwear, but you didn’t want to get up. “My cycle.” You mumbled. “Oh honey.” You sit up and massage your stomach to keep the pain away.

Cassian jumped out of bed, fully alert now, to help you to the bathroom. You stop halfway to rub your numb thighs. On the first day of your cycle pain spreads all over your body. The worst of it is your legs and knees. They get this numb feeling that evolves into pins and needles. Usually you can take it, but this time it feels unbearable. Tears start to form in your eyes. Cassian notices and scoops you into his arms to carry you the rest of the way.

He sets you down on the ledge of the massive tub that takes up most of your bathroom. He leaves and comes back with a fresh pair of underwear for you and a pair of his sweatpants. “Lets get you cleaned up baby.”

Cassian helps you take your sleep shorts and underwear off. He grabs a cloth and cleans between your legs. You put the clean pair on with a pad and Cassian helps you stand, pulling the sweatpants up your legs.

He scoops you up again, carrying you back to bed. Tucking you in he kisses your cheek, whispering, “I’ll be right back, do you want something to eat?”

“Mhmm. Can I have some toast and juice? The strawberry one.” “You got it baby.” As he leaves the room you smile to yourself. Even though your in pain you’re still happy. You feel so loved by Cassian.

You’re so lucky that he isn’t afraid to be around you when you’re on your cycle. Most males avoid females or do the bare minimum for them. But not Cassian. He prides himself on taking care of you. If he left you to suffer he would never forgive himself.

You sit up as he comes back in, carrying a tray with your requested food, a tonic for the pain, a hot water bottle, and the pillow from the couch you nap with. You give him a tired smile.

Cassian sets the tray down, handing you the water bottle and pillow. Uncorking the tonic, he holds it to your lips. After gulping the gross tonic down, you pull the tray on to your lap, munching away at the toast.

Cassian laid back down next to you and started rubbing your stomach. “How are you feeling?” “Better,” you say through a full mouth. “I told Rhys I’m taking the next few days to stay with you. The pain in your legs is making me nervous so I just want to keep an eye on you. If that’s ok?”

You run your hands through his shoulder length hair. Tears well up in your eyes again at his words. “It’s more than ok. I always want you here Cass.”

After you finish breakfast you snuggle into Cassian’s side. Warm and your pain subsiding, sleep took over your body. As you drifted off you heard Cassian whisper sweet nothings.

tags: @nyotamalfoy @auggiesolovey @bubybubsters @baybay123455 @msiecrane @aroseinvelaris

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar reader imagine #acotar reader fic #acotar imagine #cassian fanfic #cassian imagine #cassian acotar x reader #cassian x you #cassian x reader #cassian acosf #cassian acotar

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lvndercrow · 5 days

Text

18+ Writing. Read at your own risk <3

CW: monsters, cnc, abduction, breeding/impregnation, aphrodisiac use

word count: 768 words

———

What is this?

Your body is warm, fuzzy, and growing with need every second.

You remember going out with your friend but didn’t know what happened to get you from point A to point B.

“How are you feeling, love?”

The creature stood over you at a towering 7-foot tall. It crouched down to get a better look at you before reaching out and checking the chains that held your hands in place and removing the gag that it had placed in your pretty little mouth. Mossy horns adorned its head and the worn deer-like skull replaced the presence of a face. The fae creature caressed your cheek before it ran a hand down your left side. Its hand was cold like ice sending shivers down your spine.

“What did you do to me?”

Your speech came out very slightly slurred as you looked around at your surroundings. You seemed to be in the center of a…ritualistic place of worship? It was in the middle of the forest. The raised stone slab you were on was cold, sending another shiver down your spine. Your nipples hardened making you realize the lack of…anything to cover your body.

“I gave you a tonic. Just enough to keep you pliable, not enough to make you so out of it that you can’t react.”

The creature walks around the slab you found yourself on. The warmth between your legs grew at the amount of exposure.

“I can smell your need, pet.” The creature moves in front of you before settling between your legs. The creature grips your hips, lifting you up just enough to become exposed. The creature looks almost hungrily at you before sliding its long tongue against your core.

A gasp escapes your lips as your hips buck at the small sense of relief you just got. With no energy to fight back, your inner moral compass turns. This is wrong. This is so wrong.

“Let me clear your head, darling.” The creature chuckles before lapping at your dripping heat.

You let out a breathy moan, gripping the sides of the slab as best as you can as the creatures tongue circles around your clit. Your hips writhe underneath and you can feel the creatures hands holding your thighs firmly, keeping you in place. You feel a knot form in the pit of your stomach. All you could muster out is an “Oh fuck” before the horned fae stopped completely. You whined at the lack of touch.

The creature positions itself in front of you. Your eyes widen as you feel the large tip pressing against your entrance.

“Stop, stop! That’s not gonna fit!” Your desperate cries were now being silenced by a gag being placed in your mouth.

“I’m gonna make it fit, dear. Stop whining.”

The creature slowly pushes in until it bottoms out inside you, completely filling you.

You let out small squeaks. You felt so full and stretched out. You were shocked at how well you fit around the length. It isn’t long before you feel movement. It starts slow and you feel a large hand around your throat, pinning you down to the slab beneath you. The pace picks up and you let out a cry as your body becomes overwhelmed with pleasure.

“You’re doing so good for me, darling. Regardless of if you’re good or not though, you will be filled with my seed and you will be bearing my offspring. How else is everyone going to know you belong to me, my love?”

The creature begins sharply thrusting at a quickened pace before the thrusts become sloppy. You can feel the creature grow inside of you slightly.

The knot builds in your stomach once more, every sloppy thrust bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Such a good pet. Cum with me. I can feel how close you are.” The creature grabs your hips in a nearly bruising grip.

Waves of heat flash through your body as you bustle over the edge letting out a louder, lively moan.

It isn’t long before you can feel the creature’s cum overflowing inside of you and spilling out onto the slab beneath you, the fae letting out a roar and gripping your throat tighter as it finishes.

The creature pulls out, the rest of his cum continuing to spill out. You watch as some falls onto the grass directly next to the slab, flowers blossoming. You sit there wondering exactly what is happening on the inside if that’s what happens when it touches anything else.

“Like I said, pet, you’re mine and it will show.”

#monster fucker #subby thoughts #monsterfucking nsft #breeding k1nk

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barrel-crow-n · 4 months

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Kaz being horrible to Kuwei in chapter 3 (with Jesper occasionally acting as a Kaz-translator + a jab at Matthias because apparently Kaz can't stop himself) <3

"What did I tell you?" Kaz growled, pointing his cane at him.

"My Kerch isn't very good," protested Kuwei.

"Don't run games on me, kid. It's good enough. Stay in the tomb."

Kuwei hung his head. "Stay in the tomb," he repeated, glumly.

"Well?" Jesper prodded.

"I have other interests," Kuwei replied.

Kaz's black gaze pinned Kuwei like the tip of a dagger. "I suggest rethinking your priorities."

Jesper gave Kuwei another nudge. "That's Kaz's way of saying, 'Help Wylan or I'll seal you up in one of these tombs and see how that suits your interests.'"

"I would prefer to go to Ravka," he repeated more firmly. Kaz's flat black gaze fastened on Kuwei and held. Kuwei squirmed nervously. "Why is he looking at me this way?"

"Kaz is wondering if he should keep you alive," said Jesper. "Terrible for the nerves. I recommend deep breathing. Maybe a tonic."

"Jesper, stop," said Wylan.

"Both of you need to relax." Jesper patted Kuwei's hand. "We're not going to let him put you in the ground."

Kaz raised a brow. "Let's not make any promises just yet."

"Come on, Kaz. We didn't go to all that trouble to save Kuwei just to make him worm food."

There was a long, tense pause, then Kaz ran a gloved thumb over the crease of his trousers and said, "Nina, love, translate for me? I want to make sure Kuwei and I understand each other."

"Kaz-" she said warningly.

Kaz shifted forward and rested his hands on his knees, a kind older brother offering some friendly advice. "I think it's important that you understand the change in your circumstances. Van Eck knows the first place you'd go for sanctuary would be Ravka, so any ship bound for its shores is going to be searched top to bottom. The only Tailors powerful enough to make you look like someone else are in Ravka, unless Nina wants to take another dose of parem."

Matthias growled.

"Which is unlikely," Kaz conceded. "Now, I assume you don't want me to cart you back to Fjerda or the Shu Han?"

It was clear that Nina had finished the translation when Kuwei yelped, "No!"

"The your choices are Novyi Zem and the Southern Colonies, but the Kerch presence in the colonies is far lower. Also, the weather is better, if you're partial to that kind of thing. You are a stolen painting, Kuwei. Too recognisable to sell on the open market, too valuable to leave lying around. You are worthless to me."

"I'm not translating that," Nina snapped.

"Then translate this: My sole concern is keeping you away from Jan Van Eck, and if you want me to start exploring more definite options, a bullet is a lot cheaper than putting you on a ship to the Southern Colonies."

Nina did translate, though haltingly.

Kuwei responded in Shu. Nina hesitated. "He says you're cruel."

"I'm pragmatic. If I were cruel, I'd give him a eulogy instead of a conversation. So, Kuwei, you'll go to the Southern Colonies, and when the heat has died down, you can find your way to Ravka or Matthias' grandmother's house for all I care."

"Leave my grandmother out of this," Matthias said.

Nina translated, and at last, Kuwei gave a stiff nod.

#honestly i could make a post of “kaz being horrible to x” for every character in the books #the bold parts are the most outta pocket bits #he's such a bitch #kaz being kaz #matthias and kaz #kuwei yul bo #nina zenik #jesper fahey #kaz brekker #matthias helvar #wylan van eck #crooked kingdom

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larkingame · 11 days

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Hello!! Are you having a nice day? I hope you do!!! I wanted to ask, could u maybe tell us what the different classes are? Tumblr's search function always lets a girl down and the detailed info is not in the pinned post as far as I can tell, so I can't find the info :( Thank u and have a lovely weekend 💕💕💕

hi! today's going okay so far! thank you for the ask :)

so there are seven classes in larkin! in the game they kind of function like the traditional class system in a game like dnd combined with their background system, meaning they not only shape the players skills and abilities, but they also have an effect on some of their viewpoints and values, as well as having an impact on their relationships with other people in the world!

the outlaw - this is your traditional criminal class/background. an outlaw abrams has managed to survive through any means necessary--something that Wyatt doesn't exactly approve of, given his own 'moral code' 🙄this class is great with intimidation and making connections in the various underworlds that larkin's version of the US has to offer. character's like Nash might not take too kindly to some of their methods, but he would have to admit--they're effective.

the healer - this is your 'doctor' class, well, as close as one can come to being a doctor without any formal training. an expert in traditional medicine, a healer Abrams has survived on the kindness of others after delivering babies, pulling bullets out of rogues and tending to sick kids. Wyatt is particularly proud to call a healer Abrams his kid! Cassidy and Ethel would find you particularly valuable--as the Ward gang is currently down a healer.

the showman - this is Larkin's version of a bard. An expert musician and storyteller, you live for the stage, you shine best when you're entertaining, swaying an audience. Wyatt isn't particularly favorable towards your selected path in life--he thinks your talents could be put to better use doing something else--but you're his kid no matter what. Already kind of mentioned this, but Cyrus has a soft spot for musicians!

the conartist - this class aligns the best with the barest bones version of the MC, when they were first being developed in 2020. They've followed in Wyatt's footsteps, selling forged land-deeds and miracle tonics, swindling unsuspecting bleeding hearts out of their pocket change and making a big old show of it all the while. An expert at manipulation, Wyatt couldn't be prouder of the little conman you've turned out to be. Rose finds the conartist a little suspicious--like people trust them far too easily, but Dominic on the other hand, loves the way Abrams can get people eating right out of their palms.

the thief - this Abrams has sticky-fingers, great with pick-pocketing and breaking into places they shouldn't be, they'd consider themselves something of an expert thief. with a boost to dexterity, this Abrams has nimble fingers that help in terms of picking locks and other delicate tasks. Wyatt thinks you could be doing something a little more honorable, but he'd be lying if those nimble hands of yours didn't come in handy from time to time. Reyes absolutely adores the way this Abrams can rob a man blind without them even realizing.

the gambler - holding 'em and folding 'em is this Abrams' specialty. They've been counting cards since before they could read, shooting dice before they were old enough to enter a casino and hustling pool long before their twenty-first birthday. Wyatt is pretty happy with the little cardshark Abrams' has turned out to be, he admires how well the can keep a lid on things--well, usually. Hollis is hesitant around this version of Abrams. They usually have people figured out the moment they've met them. But this Abrams? This Abrams is unreadable--and they hate going in blind.

the slayer - now, every version of Abrams is a vampire hunter, though the slayer takes a different approach to the craft. Vampire hunter is all they are, it's all they'll ever be, it's what'll kill them one day--but they've long accepted that. Their knowledge of the Vamp world is unparalelled, their dedication to slaying all of Vampire kind rivalling that of the Pope's dedication to Christ. Wyatt is...well, Wyatt worries more about the slayer than he does the other Abrams'. Montero and Adam, both being Vampires themselves have differing opinions of the slayer, but--they'd be lying if they didn't say they weren't at least a little wary of them.

#game mechanics #thank you!

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sosuperawesome · 1 year

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Pin And Tonic on Etsy

#pins #food #dragon #etsy

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throneofsapphics · 7 months

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Hi omg sorry yes Cassian x Azriel x Reader, poly dark because you do it so so so well 😭😭😭😭😭😭🙈🙈🙈🙈💕💕💕💕

time is running out

Azriel x Reader x Cassian

Summary: Maybe she shouldn’t have ignored the warning signs, because a familiar nightmare appeared in front of her.

Warnings: dark/possessive cassian and azriel (they are a bit unhinged), stalking, violence, threats of violence

A/N: thank you for requesting it! I might do a part two

She felt them constantly, and would always spot shadows that seemed to be acting strange, that’s the only way she could describe it.

Everyone probably thought she was insane for turning them down the first time they approached her. Maybe that was her mistake, because they seemed to delight in showing up in places she least expected. The chase was probably enough for them and they stalked her everywhere. Not a day went by when she didn’t see them, or have a note appear in her kitchen or pinned to her door. Places they shouldn’t have been able to get to, and a reminder of her vulnerability. Over the last few months, she’d moved houses no less than four times. Even leaving Velaris for a secluded city in the far north of the Night Court - a largely populated one, a place she was hoping she could slip under the radar. If she could leave for another Court, she would have but it was nearly impossible.

The first time she’d gone out in her new home, a week after moving there, she found a nightclub - somewhere to drink and forget about her current situation, she let a male dance with her, even kissed him in a dark corner. The next morning, a drawing was on her kitchen table. One of his likenesses, and a particularly ominous note.

Next time you let someone touch you, it won’t be a drawing - we’ll leave their head on your table. She sprinted to the restroom and threw up everything from the previous day. The worst part is she believed them, and couldn’t have any deaths on her conscience.

A week later, apparently they grew tired of waiting for her to agree.

Work hadn’t been too difficult to find and she was employed in a bookstore. She would open every morning, avoiding any dark hours. Nights were spent locked up in her apartment, sleep evading her and nightmares of heads lined up on her counter filling every sleeping moment. Tonics did little, she would always wake up with the image in her mind - as if it slipped in right when the medicine wore off. She would have to wean herself off soon, it wouldn’t do to have an addiction to them. Y/n never understood how people became addicted to them in the first place, but now she did.

She was lost in her thoughts as she walked the familiar path back home on muscle memory.

Danger, danger, danger, pricked the back of her mind - on repeat like a familiar record or melody. Then again, it was always present no matter the situation. It haunted her day in and out and she was skittish at the best of times. Always armed, even if she would be useless against the two warriors.

Maybe she shouldn’t have ignored the warning signs, because a familiar nightmare appeared in front of her, grabbed her before she could react and winnowed her to some location she didn’t know, right into a room where Cassian was waiting.

With an ear-piercing scream, y/n shrugged him off and ran to the door, jiggling the handle. Locked. She cursed under her breath before taking a deep breath in and turning to them.

“What the hell?” Her eyes darted around the room, taking in the furniture. Azriel was a few feet away from her, Cassian a pace or two behind him.

“Welcome home.” The smile on Cassian’s face was genuine. Home? Absolutely not.

“You’re both insane.” She hissed at them. Azriel gripped her chin harshly, anger flaring in him. She flinched, but couldn’t move, not with the tight grip he had on her. Shadow wrapped around her wrists. They didn’t restrain her, but only reminded her she was at his mercy, at both of theirs. If they truly wanted her there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. Maybe they’d grow tired of her one day and toss her to the side. She’d never been particularly religious but she prayed for it.

Y/n thought of the last note left pinned to her door with a knife, just yesterday.

Time is running out love, you’ll be coming home soon.

There had been similar threats before, telling her she was testing their patience.

“Care to repeat that?” Azriel raised his brows, taunting and daring her.

“Fuck you.”

“Oh you will,” Cassian’s voice floated over her shoulder, and the resounding smirk on Azriel’s face pissed her off. Enough that she tried to do something absolutely stupid. Y/n spit directly in his face. He didn’t react immediately, but she saw the drops glisten on his face, the sun hitting them directly like an omen.

Instead, he laughed. He fucking laughed. “I knew you had fire in you.”

The shadows disappeared, and so did his grip. He turned his back to her, moving closer towards Cassian. Probably discussing what the hell to do with her. The door was still locked, but there was a window. They made three mistakes.

One, underestimating her.

Two, turning their backs to her.

Three, not taking her knives off of her.

She palmed the fighting knives - two of them. Enough to cause a distraction and maybe hit them if she’s lucky. Y/n didn’t really want to kill them, maybe she’d get to that point one day. The knives launched towards non-lethal spots, and her magic shattered the glass window. She didn’t hesitate to leap out, even on the second story,

“What the fuck?” Cassian’s voice roared from inside.

Her feet hit the ground, her knees impacting, and she sprinted for the gate, leaping over obstacles, a shield behind her, and as soon as she was out of range, she winnowed - throwing her middle finger up behind her.

They heard the whoosh and reacted quickly enough the knives didn’t hit them, but they couldn’t stop her as the glass broke and she sprinted.

Maybe they could’ve caught up with her but Cassian was still shocked at her pure nerve. She’d never shown that she had any magic beyond the normal Fae kind.

Azriel was staring at the spot she disappeared from, his eyes narrowed.

His filter disappeared as he muttered the words, “are you turned on as well?”

The other male shot him a look that said ‘are you serious?’ But didn’t confirm or deny it.

#acotar fic #cassian x y/n #cassian x reader #cazriel x reader #cazriel x y/n #azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel x reader x cassian #dark!cassian #dark!azriel #cassian x azriel x reader #azriel x cassian x reader

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booppooo · 1 year

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Could I request a fem!reader x Ellie in modern au where ellie and reader see each other at a club and end up dancing with sexual tension till they take it further, feeling needy for each other? Your works are literally breathtaking

Who's That Chick?

Ellie Williams x Fem! Reader One-Shot

AN: thank you!!! This request was breathtaking teehee. *sniff sniff* is that a series I'm smelling?

Warnings: where do I even start.... strangers to lovers, smoking (cigarettes and weed), drinking, bar/club setting, oral sex (reader receiving), thigh riding, swearing

21.

You were a fully legal adult. You could buy cigarettes, and drink, and walk into bars, and even rent a hotel room!

Twenty-one was so young yet so mature. Tonight, you were going to take advantage of being young. This was going to be your night to experiment with all your new legalities.

So first you stopped at a gas station and bought a pack of cigarettes. Not that you had ever tried any before, but it had always piqued your interest. You unwrapped the plastic, took out five, and handed the rest to the homeless person huddled up outside who screamed at you for almost throwing them in the garbage can.

In your car you grabbed your lighter and held the flame to the end of the cancer stick. The smoke rolled down the back of your throat and into you lungs, burning in an oddly satisfying way. You coughed, took some sips of water, and went in for another drag. Next up was the bar.

For safety reasons you sent your friends your location and took the bus to the nearest gay friendly bar. If you were going to spend your first night shitfaced, it would be better around lesbians than icky drunk men. For the hell of it you smoked another one of your cigarettes, popped in a mint, and confidently sauntered in.

As you expected the music was loud. A layer of smoke hovered near the lights and the bar was littered with the lonely hearts club.

"Can I get a gin and tonic?" You ordered, taking a seat. Before you moseyed onto the dance floor you wanted to get some drinks in you - that and feel out the place.

The bartender started a tab and placed your drink in front of you, winking and smacking her gum. She pointed at another attendee and asked, "What can I get ya tonight hon?"

"Hey Stella, I'll have what she's having and a shot of tequila."

Stella smiled, "Comin' right up El."

The space between you and the person in the next seat over was occupied by a limber, freckled red-head, apparently named El. You got a general idea of what she looked light through the flashing lights. She was eye candy to say the least.

The heels of her hands rested on the edge of the bar, an elaborate tattoo peaking beyond her rolled up flannel sleeve and her auburn strands loosely pulled back into a low bun, one lock falling by her cheek. When she faced you, you noted the scar through her eyebrow and the shit-eating grin on her face.

The gin and tonic and El's smug smirk made your stomach warm with laughter.

"What?" her smirk grew, "I haven't even told the punchline yet?"

Her charisma made your cheeks flush, "Oh do tell."

"Alright so, two blondes walk into a bar, you think one of 'em would see it."

This had you chewing your lip and scratching your head in thought. You repeated her words slowly back to her, studying her emerald tinted eyes.

"Don't think about it too hard." She chuckled and thanked Stella for her drinks, immediately throwing back her shot.

"You think one of them would see it....oh!" Again you laughed, then rolled your eyes at how stupid the joke was. Or maybe at how stupid the joke made you feel.

"Should've I started with a pick up line?" The glass met her lips and she let the liquor sit in her mouth for a second before nodding in approval.

You pondered her question sarcastically, "I don't know El, you got a better pick up line?"

"Ellie- and I might, only if you want to hear of course."

She pulled a small compact out of her pocket with an old flip top lighter, pulling out a finely rolled joint and pinching it between her lips. The lighter was rolled against her leg in alternating directions, as if she had done it a thousand times, and held the flame to the edge of the joint.

"Now I'm curious, what could be better than two blondes walking into a bar?"

Her rough, lithe fingers reached for the nearest ash tray and tapped the excess from the joint into the already overflowing dish. She handed the joint to you. Tonight was filled with lots of firsts.

"I've got a few actually. But uh, do you know how lesbians have sex? It's kinda complicated, I'd have to show you."

You didn't know if it was from the joint or how off guard Ellie had caught you, either way you choked up. This time she was laughing at you, taking the joint back and taking a long drag, "C'mon it wasn't that bad."

To coat your throat some you took a sip of your drink, "It wasn't bad at all, just not what I was expecting." You watched her expertly let the smoke slither from her lips into her nose, "It's a good thing I'm a hands on learner." Quickly you bit your lip to hide your smile, scared to dip your toes any further into flirting.

Ellie swirled her drink around and then quickly tossed back what was left, "Speaking of hands on, wanna dance?" Her eyes were a light shade of red around her tipsy pupils and mossy irises, her smile was a little more tame, yet she was just as lively.

With a tad more enthusiasm than you would've liked, you took her hand and moved to the dance floor, stomach toasty and most definitely tipsy. If the music wasn't loud before, it definitely was now. The bass from the speakers vibrated your feet and bones.

Ellie began to bop her head, silently urging you to dance along with her. She creeped her way closer to you, eventually landing a hand on your hip and zapping all your nerves with excitement. You swayed your hips and sang the words you knew, holding her vision, unable to contain your smile.

Soon her waist was against yours, moving in sync with your maneuvering hips. She was so close and yet so far, everywhere and no where. Her tongue darted out to wet her full lips, before her teeth pinched her bottom lip and her eyes fell to watch your pelvis's dance as one. Both of her hands had a grip on your waist, and guided you along with her. You didn't know if you were sweating because of dancing, or because of her. She reached the shell of your ear, "Fuck you make me so hot."

As she pulled away her lips lightly dusted your neck, but not enough to kiss you, teasing you to see if you'd take her bait (as if you hadn't at her dumb joke).

It was time for you to get handsy. One set of fingers was resting in the crook of her neck, the other gently holding her jaw, meanwhile you both lightly bounced to the beat. Your heart was hammering against your chest so intensely it made your ribs ache, and your stomach begin to do summersaults. Somehow you felt all of this through the gin and tonic numbing most of your logic and muscles. That somehow was Ellie. She made you feel alive.

That shit eating grin reappeared on her pretty lips again, and you surveyed them for a beat before reconnecting your gaze. She was clever and quickly noticed what you were hinting at, letting her own eyes flicker from your lips and back, then arching a brow. When she noticed you slowly leaning in, she followed suit.

The thick, tense, smokey air between your lips was bridged, and in that same instant your spine shivered as goosebumps littered your skin. As you expected you tasted alcohol, weed faintly in the background. She found a sweet balance between firm and gentle, wet and dry, soft and chapped. You never wanted to leave this moment.

But alas, you had to pull away at some point, immediately noticing the expansion in her pupils and the giddy smile on her cheeks. She leaned near your ear again, "Let's get out of here."

You didn't need telling twice.

With a quick pit stop at the bar, Ellie kindly paid for both your drinks and then you were outside into the bitter night air. To keep yourself warm you lit one of your final cigarettes. Again, Ellie found her way next to you, snaking her arm across the small of your back and onto your hip, keeping you close to her as you walked to the bus stop.

There had to be some sort of morbid curiosity to smoking a cigarette, especially in the cold, watching as the smoke doubled against the chilled wind and holding yourself close. You wouldn't dare buy another pack, but for the ambiance (and truthfully to impress Ellie some) you enjoyed it while you could.

Speaking of the freckled girl, you began to learn how sneaky she was, swooping in while your cigarette was still between your lips and plucking it from you before you finished your drag. You kissed your teeth at her and snipped a small, 'hey!' but she didn't mind you too much. The end of the cancer stick burned a bright red as she took a long, deep hit, then she flicked it away. Her hand guided your expression to her's, then pressed her tender lips to yours once again, before blowing her smoke into your mouth.

"Those'll kill ya." she whispered.

"You're a little hypocrite, you know that?"

"If you say so, pretty girl."

The bus pulled up just as you arrived at the bus stop.

Ellie's apartment was closer, and to make up for her kindness at the bar you paid your bus wages. At her apartment she apologized for the mess and offered you some water or tea.

"Tea? That sounds pretty good, what kind do you have?" You rested your folded arms on her kitchen counter, overlooking the sink to watch her putter around near the fridge.

"None actually, people don't ask me for tea. I hope water is okay," she searched around her fridge, "I have two beers left if you want one of those."

"It would feel weird if we didn't share your last two beers."

"Good point."

The remaining amber bottles were taken from their chilled home and placed upon the counter. Ellie popped the lids by catching them on the edge (some chips already evident where she had opened bottles before). You toasted to the two of you and took a quick swig.

Now, she joined you on the opposite end of the sink, leaning against the counter and watching your eyes and lips as you two got to know each other better.

"I'm surprised you didn't try to open these with your teeth," you commented. A smile was stuck on your expression as if you had locked eyes with medusa - that medusa being Ellie who also couldn't stop biting her lip and smiling.

"I didn't know you could do that..." she panned down to her shoes for a moment and chuckled, "but, my mouth can do a few other things."

When a dainty pink tickled her cheeks you grew stunned. All evening she had been shamelessly flirting and joking with you, being sexy to say the least. But this was what made her bashful? Every passing second with her was like unlocking a new chapter to her personality.

You stepped closer, eyeing her from bottom to top, noticing her toned thighs and her faint abs just barely imprinting through her shirt, "Why don't you show me then?"

Both of your bottles were left to grow warm on the counter, your bodies crawling closer to one another as a lustful heat settled over your figures. Her lips were right there, ready for you to swoop in and envelope them in a zestful kiss...until-

"Wait here."

She lightly jogged around the counter again and dug around in her fridge, leaving you high and dry. For the first time that evening you felt a zing of irritation itch at your chest. Growing tired, you rested your head on your palm and waited as she instructed.

The light from the fridge disappeared as the door closed, and Ellie stood in front of it with a cherry between her fingers. She ate the cherry, spat out the pit, and then rested the stem on her tongue. Within a few seconds, she had a knotted cherry stem presented to you, and plucked it from her mouth for you to inspect. Once more you found yourself at a loss for words and just giggling uncontrollably.

"You do this with all the girls you bring home?" You teased, secretly tucking the stem away in your pocket as a keepsake.

Sensually, Ellie found herself near you again, her palm comfortably resting on your hip and sneaking toward your ass, "No actually, just you."

You playfully agreed with her and made an effort to resume where the direction of the night was heading, hooking your arms around her neck.

Ellie got the hint, "Anyway...let me show you what my mouth can really do."

In that same second her lips were latched to yours. Your core grew hot and slick embarrassingly fast, your knees like pudding and your brain melting like butter in a hot pan. She kissed you like this was the last time she would ever kiss anyone, like all her hook ups and steamy make out sessions before we're prepping her for your lips. For this night.

Suddenly she pulled away, a feeble string of saliva attached to both your lips. Her hands had wandered to your ass, one on your thigh tapping lightly, "Jump."

Rightfully so, you shot her a look of distrust, but she held your eyes confidently. If she didn't catch you, you'd just blame it on being drunk.

But she did.

And she had your legs wrapped around her torso, holding you tightly and kissing you that much more deeply as she took to her bedroom.

In one impressing swift motion she had you against the pillows and hovered over you. Both your legs were still propped by her waist and your hands explored beneath her shirt, quickly finding out she wore no bra. While your hands adventured across her strong stature, her tongue adventured in your mouth. Soon her fingers were unbuttoning your pants.

Briefly she pulled away, "Let me know if you want me to stop, and I will."

You whined, "God, please don't."

Pleased, she ran her tongue across her teeth, sending another ripple of arousal toward your thighs. She shimmied closer toward your pelvis, and kindly helped you out of your pants, then your panties.

Despite a shimmer of sweat coating your skin, the air whisking around her apartment still made you mewl when it crossed your center.

"Everything alright?" Her eyes watched you attentively.

"Y-yeah, just cold."

Those bright, grassy eyes shifted, becoming dark and nearly consumed by her pupil at the sight between your legs, "You don't need to worry about that babe."

Next she dipped down, running her tongue along your thigh and smiling sinisterly when you shuddered. Then her tongue dipped into your folds, making a searing, slippery path to your needy clit. Instinctively you hissed and tried to snap your legs shut, but her strength (which she had proudly displayed earlier) kept them exactly where she wanted them.

She met your gaze through the valleys and hills of your body, eyes still a tint of red, but now blown out like an apex predator who spotted their dinner, "Don't hold back, I wanna hear everything."

Your fists had a mighty grip on the sheets and your face was already on fire, but you nodded and grew more comfortable against her pillows.

Before you knew it she was back between your thighs. Her tongue was like a blistering knife cutting through ice cream, only incredibly wet. She swirled her tongue so expertly it had you panting and scratching at the fabric below you. You didn't see how it was possible you were growing more aroused, but your naval was burning at outstanding temperatures and left you nearly blissed out.

"Ah, oh fuck Ellie! Right there - yes."

Thighs already trembling, fingers pulling her strands from her bun, and jaw slack - you were so close to being fucked out, and it felt like you had just begun. She hadn't even used her fingers yet, and it didn't seem like she intended to either, which frazzled your body even more.

Ellie noticed your thighs twitching and knew they were weak. Holding them apart would take a lot more work than pushing them against your chest, so she shoved your limbs against your torso, digging her nails into your plush flesh.

"Oh god..." you gasped, eyes falling back into your head.

Her plump, glossed lips secured around your throbbing clit, sending you to another level of pleasure you didn't think you'd reach. Your orgasm was pooling in your groin, close to a boil and sweet like the finest syrup.

And your naval grew warmer and warmer and hotter and hotter and wetter and wetter until your climax shattered through you.

"I'm cumming- fuck don't stop Ellie!"

You felt limp and electrified at the same time, back peeling from the sheets and head getting lost further into the pillows. The moans working past your lips were unapologetic and unstoppable, like your hips jutting against Ellie's face.

When your orgasm had subsided, you felt like a sticky, sweaty, sensitive mess. Every time Ellie's tongue worked around your cunt to clean up the mess she made, your body jolted, and she soothed you by gently rubbing your thighs.

Finally, she rested your legs against the bed and crawled back over you. Her hair was as messy as yours, cheeks just as pink and smile just as loopy, the only difference was the coat of slick on her lips and chin.

"C'mere gorgeous, taste yourself."

Sloppily you exchanged a kiss, letting your tongues slide past one another and feeling along each other's sweaty physiques. You both pulled away and sucked in a deep breath.

Giggling, you hummed, "Goddamn...I don't know if I can match that."

Tucking some sticky strands behind her ear, she replied, "Let me ride your thigh and we'll call it even."

"Deal."

A new wave of energy took over your bodies and had you leaping at one another. Another hot kiss was shared as you aided her out of her jeans and planted her on your slightly propped knee.

"Take your shirt off hot stuff, I wanna play with your tits." Ellie instructed, tugging at the garment until you discarded it, "Fuck, you're so hot."

You reciprocated her words and let your hands fall to her hips, urging her to guide her core along your muscle, and when you did you groaned along with her.

Feeling her heat against your warm skin was something you didn't think you'd experience, but you were already addicted - completely and totally under the influence of Ellie.

"Yeah, that's it. How's that feel sugar?" You cooed, massaging her hips and waist.

She hummed and reached out for your chest, taking your breasts into her large palms, "So fucking good - hgnn!"

Now her slick was starting to leave a thick, silky layer on your thigh which helped her grind down easier along your limb. With each push and pull of her hips she whimpered a little louder, her freckled skin grew a little pinker, and her lids grew a tad heavier.

You could tell she was getting tired, "C'mon baby, you can do it."

To help, you pressed your leg up against her as she rode down against it, hoping to amplify her pleasure. Her hands that had consistently groped and toyed with your nipples trailed down to your torso to steady herself. She swiveled her hips up and down your leg faster and harder, no longer whimpering but panting.

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck-!" She chanted, thick brows pulling into the center and pressing her lips into a fine line.

Then her groin began to stutter, her rolling hips were now sloppy, desperate strokes. When her breath got caught in her throat and she dropped her head you knew she was reaching her climax. To aid her you tried to press your leg against her, which made her shiver and yelp when she grew too sensitive.

"Holy shit..." she sighed, definitely exhausted.

You pulled her into your chest and held her for a moment, sharing a quick kiss before both taking up respective room on her bed.

Unable to keep your eyes off her, you lolled your head to the side to watch her. She seemingly had the same idea, because her eyes were already studying you.

"Share my last cigarette with me?"

Ellie laughed, "Why the hell not?"

You searched around in your pockets for the smoke, your lighter, and snagged her bedside ashtray before sinking back into the sheets. Compared to your first cigarette, the burn wasn't as intense, in fact it was almost welcomed. Still, you'd never smoke another one again.

Ellie had sat up and began to undress her upper body, "Why do you have single cigarettes and not a pack?"

"Why are you getting naked?"

She shrugged, "Didn't want you to feel left out, and I'm sweating."

You nodded, handing her the smoke, answering her question:

"I can legally buy cigarettes now, so I did. I took a couple and gave the rest away."

Her eyes widened at you, "Its your birthday?!" You hummed, "Well then...happy birthday. I hope it was a good one."

The cigarette fell back to your lips, "Definitely."

#ellie the last of us #ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie x you

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