#it's either wanting a boyfriend or being way too self absorbed right now bc that's just where i am right now

[wrecking]

crazy how i actually bounced back from my 3 day funk almost immediately after the calendar date was over. back to being parasocially obsessed with men 🫡

[oogaboogasphincter]

The 50/10 Method (Agent Whiskey x f!reader)

Summary: Jack makes the most of your 10 minute study break. 

Word Count: 2.7k+

Rating: E (explicit) 18+ ONLY! bc this is just cringey smut lmfao

Warnings: smut (oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v sex (obvi use protection irl), very easily and conveniently reached orgasms (this is a fantasy i can do what i want skjfkd), dirty talk, one (1) allusion to thigh riding and one (1) instance of 💙spitting💙, fingering, positions i hope i've given enough detail so y’all can imagine what i was picturing💀), pet names (sweetheart, honey, cowboy *affectionately*, good girl, baby), there’s a sentence about reader having long-ish hair, reader and jack have a dog, swearing, reader is afab and is called things like good girl and the like, just overall trash grammar and structure 😇

Author’s Note: so this is very poorly written and extremely self-indulgent, as i myself use the 50/10 method 🙃. but i had a lot of fun with it, and i think that’s what writing is supposed to be all about! :) also i was heavily inspired to write this after reading “Take a Break” by @mellowswriting​ and “Study Buddy” by @pascalpanic​. please go check those out because they’re absolutely fantastic!!!!! +while you’re at it, i would highly advise you to read anything on their masterlists bc they’re just 💜exquisite💜

gif by @thernandalorian​

The lines of text on your computer screen are starting to blend into each other, creating a single run-on sentence that one of your previous English teachers would ridicule the author for. The sharp curves and angles that distinguish each letter from the next are becoming soft and dull, blurring into each other until your brain can only recognize it as a smeared streak of black on white.

It’s 11:00am on a Saturday, a big exam set for the upcoming Monday’s morning. You don’t feel rushed for time, or overloaded with unknown material, and the early hours of the day have been quite productive. Following a shared breakfast of homemade waffles in bed with Jack, your boyfriend, you didn’t complain when setting up your study station on the living room’s large oak table. If anything, you had been excited to begin studying early in the hopes of finishing your review by the end of the day. That way, tomorrow would be free for you and Jack to do whatever you pleased.

However, as the hours went by, your motivation was slowly but surely diminishing. The serene study atmosphere that you usually thrive in is now driving you mad. You yearn for a noise, any noise; a bird to sing a song in the tree outside your window, the smack of your dog’s loose wrinkles against each other as he attempts to shake the sleep out of him, a pencil unable to stop itself from rolling and dropping onto the floor with a tink.

You’re momentarily gifted with the crisp sound of a page turning. You flit your eyes over to gaze upon the source of your granted wish and your heart flutters in reaction to the sight: Jack’s resting on the couch, cowboy hat balanced on the back of it, deeply absorbed in the next installment of his favorite murder-mystery series. You find it curious that his desire for an adrenaline-filled challenge doesn’t stop when he comes home from mission after mission that nearly cost him his life. You’ll ask him about his insatiability one day, but for now you categorize it as fictional research for his Statesman assignments.

Your short glance quickly turns into an entranced stare. Jack looks... divine. Fetching. Luscious. As he’s lying on his back, neck propped up against the arm of the couch, his book balanced on his chest, relaxation radiates off of him in waves and utterly seduces you. You’re surprised that he hasn’t been a greater distraction to you throughout the morning. How have you managed to ignore the denim-wearin’, plaid-shirted, pornstache-sportin’ cowboy of your dreams that is only a few steps away?

Involuntarily, the thigh muscles of your crossed legs contract in an effort to bring some semblance of friction to your now weeping core. Similar to your imaginings of your dog earlier, you shake your head to force these heavy, unwanted feelings to dissipate and turn back to the work in front of you. Of course, Jack does the opposite of what you’d like him to do and takes an interest in your fidgeting. He peeks over the top of his book, “You cold, sweetheart?” 

His question is reasonable: you’re purposely wearing a skirt that’s so short it rides up quite high when you sit. You don’t dare to meet his eyes and answer while pulling a textbook close and opening it up, “No, I’m okay.”

Fortunately he returns to his reading. Your attention is able to retain itself for about a paragraph, but then your mind takes a sharp detour back to those pesky, steamy desires. You mentally huff at your inability to remain concentrated on your studies and rifle through the options of what you can do to satiate yourself for the time being. 

You could switch texts and force your brain to recognize the change and therefore become distracted. You could pick out some colored writing utensils and bring some fun to active reading. You could say fuck it, go straddle Jack and beg him to use you in whichever way he would like.

Jack interrupts your brainstorming, “Are you sure you don’t need a blanket or sumthin’? I can go get my jacket for ya.” 

The attentiveness of your southern lover melts your heart. You turn to him, “No, really, I’m okay, thanks.”

“I wouldn’t count a bathroom break as taking away from your 50 minutes, honey, if that’s what’s makin’ you twitch.” 

You had been implementing and strictly adhering to the 50/10 method all morning: study for 50 minutes, take a break for ten. Its effectiveness was never doubted, as it has proven to work for you for years. Only ten minutes into this 50 minute period, the devil of restlessness pokes at you and makes you think could time go by any slower? A hand comes up to cover the blush creeping across your cheek as you dismiss Jack’s suggestion, “No, that’s not it.”

Behind your embarrassed hand, Jack cocks an eyebrow at you. Your simple choice of words has given the Agent a hint, that there is something that’s bothering you, he just hasn’t figured it out yet and you don’t want to admit what it is for some reason. He returns to his book, however lost in thought about what your problem could be, while you task every cell in your body to pay attention to your studies. 

35 minutes remain on the clock, and Jack guesses, “Did you have too much coffee?”

You can’t help but grin at his sleuthing, “No, I just had my regular.”

He conjures up another possible solution five minutes later, “Are you itchin’ to get out of the house? We haven’t left in two days.”

He’s getting warmer. Both of you know exactly why you haven’t left the house in two days: you’d been occupied with activities of the sinful variety. You can’t gauge yet whether or not he knows he’s dancing around the answer, “Baby, you’re distracting me. And nope, it’s not that.” 

He smiles apologetically, “Sorry,” and uses his book as a partition, blocking your ability to procrastinate and just visually drool all over him.

Silence fills the next 20 minutes. Even though Jack is out of your sight, details from your observations exaggerate themselves in your mind to the point that they’re all encompassing, intoxicating. The way his jeans wrap around his legs ever so perfectly, the worn denim hugging those muscular thighs that he loves for you to grind yourself against when you’re feeling especially desperate (like now). How his plaid flannel slopes over the swell of his belly, stretching tight against his skin as his diaphragm contracts and deflating when he exhales. Even his large feet, strewn about lazily on the couch, his toes pointing in different directions, amuse you. 

Ten minutes remain in your study session. Feeling guilty about spending the majority of the last hour envisioning the seductive intricacies of your boyfriend, you actually start to study. 

“How many times do you think I can make you cum in ten minutes?”

Your eyes are ripped from your material and land on the menace lazing on the couch. He’s put his book down, one arm behind his head while the other is crooked, allowing himself to palm his cock through his pants. Jack’s wearing a shit-eating grin, bewitching your crossed legs to switch which one is on top; an excuse to apply more pressure to the yearning area between them. You fidget in the chair, shamefully trying to get the seam of your underwear to rub against you in just the right way. You shrug, “I-I’m not sure.”

He gets up and comes over to you, standing behind you and leaning forward to rest his chin on your shoulder. He murmurs in your ear, “I think we should find out during your next break.”

You turn to face him, “I think so too.”

He gives you a quick kiss, “Well, you better be a good girl and study for these last few minutes. Earn that break.” He places his large hands on either side of your head and turns it toward your materials, making you both laugh.

Somehow, you’re able to pay attention. Jack’s impending promise of ravaging you for ten minutes straight quells your jittering nerves and gives you something specific to look forward to. Before you know it, your alarm is beeping, alerting you that your break has commenced. Jack cages you by reaching forward and grabs the clock, programs it to ten minutes and keeps it in his hand. He grips the sides of your swivel chair, pulls it back from the table and spins you around to face him, the speed of the turn making your hair swoosh across your shoulders. Through mutual giggles, Jack lifts you up, winding your legs around his waist, your arms doing the same around his neck. “I want you to count for me how many times you cum.”

Breathlessly, you simply obey, “Okay.”

He practically runs to the bedroom. He sets the clock on the nightstand and turns the face towards the mattress so you don’t lose out on studying time. Tossing you onto the bed, your giggling continues as you bounce from the force. Jack hooks his fingers in your underwear and yanks them down, pulling them out from under your skirt and over your shoes. The way he wastes no time ridding you of any other garment makes blood and heat flood your center and air rush out of your lungs. He pushes your lost air back into your mouth with a kiss and then immediately retreats back to in between your legs.

He flicks the fabric of your skirt up onto your belly, letting himself have complete, unobstructed access to his early lunch. His fingers fondle your folds while his lips place sloppy kisses along the inside of your thighs. After he’s had his fill of that step, he sits back and stares at you: spread out for him, more than willing to take anything he wants to give to you. He blows out a whistle, eyeing your core, and you say, “Hey, you’re on the clock, cowboy. No time for dramatics.”

He nods, a smirk pulling at one side of his mouth, “You’re right, sweetheart.”

He spits onto your cunt, forgoing his usual gentle licks to adequately wet your pussy. A quiet fuck escapes your mouth as he plunges his tongue into you. Your fingers wind themselves in his chocolatey locks and pull, extracting an excited moan from your lover. His fingers knead the soft flesh on the backs of your thighs as he eats and when his mustache starts to tickle your clit, you’re done for. Your grip on his hair becomes vice-like and your whole body seizes up, constricted by enrapturing pleasure. You strangle out, “One.”

Jack unlatches his mouth only once he’s certain your first orgasm is complete. He stands, admires your wrecked expression, takes his cock out, spits into his hand and pumps his dick a few times. Hands slithering around your waist, he flips you onto your stomach and pulls your ass up, positioning you on your hands and knees. You’re a little bit dizzied by his manhandling in combination with his expert tongue, but this type of vertigo is the most enjoyable you’ve ever experienced. 

When he pushes into you, it’s a bit of a stretch because he hadn’t warmed you up with his fingers. He relaxes you by leaning forward, pressing his chest against your back and peppering soft kisses to your shoulder blades. The clink of his belt comically punctuates his thrusts, but your laughs are swallowed by intoxicated groans. You don’t know, and you don’t really care to figure out, how he already has you teetering on the edge of cumming again. Heightened senses tell you that you’re close; the fabric of his shirt feels unearthly soft as it brushes against patches of exposed skin, his fingertips are delightful lead in their clamp on you, his grunts and pants angelically reverberate in your skull. And then, suddenly and all at once, “Two.”

Jack’s pride shows itself in a smirk while he flips you onto your back. He makes a show of hooking your calves over his shoulders, eliciting laughter from the both of you. Resting almost all of his weight on top of you, your knees find your chest and his hands find your hair. The intimacy of it all is almost too much; his thumbs stroke your temples, palms cradle your head, those goddamned puppy-dog eyes bore into you. You turn your head in his grasp to check your timing: five minutes left. 

Jack’s tongue darts out to lick the pads of his fingers before he snakes it down in between the two of you to rub your clit. Your moans come out uncontrollably, your eyelids stutter and he eggs you on, “That’s it, sweetheart. Give me another one.”

Hearty moans are reduced to desperate gasps and you’re unable to verbally acknowledge the third orgasm that rips through you. Nonetheless, Jack can tell from the way your eyes roll into the back of your head and his name tumbles ferociously out of your mouth that you’re cumming. “’Atta girl.”

Jack takes his cock out of you and the whine that escapes your lips embarrasses you. He can’t help but laugh at your whimpering before he scoots down the bed and starts to eat you out again, framing his head with your quaking thighs. You find the strength to check the time, “Jack, there’s only a minute and a half left.”

He moans deeply into you, unaffected by your comment, and eases three fingers into your fluttering center. Like earlier, your hands fly to his hair like a magnet and find purchase so tight it makes your knuckles go pale. In a matter of seconds, circling your clit with his sopping tongue and tapping your g-spot with his deft fingers, Jack has you cumming yet again. This time you yell out the count, “Four!”

The sounds his ministrations make are lewd and exhilarating, pushing himself to his own precipice. You look down your body to find Jack’s other hand jerking his cock and his seed spilling out of him moments later. He groans into your pussy while you pet his hair, praising him for his efforts. 

Simultaneously, you both remember that you’re being timed. Your eyes meet the clock at the same time: 30 seconds. Jack springs from the bed and pulls you up with him, grabbing your discarded panties. He squats and taps your ankles so you lift your legs up, sliding each leg hole over your body and pulling your underwear up underneath your skirt. 

You fumble with his mussed clothes, stuffing his still-hard cock into his boxers, hiking his jeans up over his ass and zip and button them closed. You snake his belt around his waist and let his fingers do the work of buckling it before he picks you up bridal style and ushers you out of the bedroom, grabbing the clock off of the nightstand on your way out. 

Unhinged cackles follow you two down the hallway as you return to the living room. He plops you down in your chair, straightens you out, gives you a kiss on the cheek and then your alarm goes off. You raise your eyebrows at him, “Jeez, you didn’t waste a second.” 

He hums, then mumbles, “You get back to work now, babygirl,” and leaves you with a yearning kiss on the part of your hair.

Both of you return to your respective readings, hopelessly trying to downgrade your panting gasps to normal breaths. The absence of Jack’s warmth is already painful. But you rationalize that the indulgence of the last ten minutes is more than enough to get you through this next hour of studying, if not for longer.

Little do you know that Jack feels the same pain. His ache for your touch, sexual or not, will overtake him later and he’ll be unable to resist the temptation of coming over and distracting you again. Determined to finish your studying, you’ll propose a compromise: you can sit in his lap while he is lulled to sleep by the ambience of the afternoon rain and the enveloping comfort of you. The two of you can try to beat the record of four orgasms next semester. 

💘taglist: @pascalpanic​, @mellowswriting​

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Twelve

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: this took so long bc ive been reading chain of iron and in general agonizing over things i cant control instead of being productive 🥴 that being said, absolutely none of the events in this chapter were planned in my outline, but here we are with something new!

***

December brings more snow and bone chilling weather, to the point where Cassian has to drag Nesta out of bed, either physically or by phone call, to get her to therapy appointments on time. 

She’s in the waiting room one freezing morning when, in her utter boredom, she musters up the nerve to turn to the girl sitting next to her. “What are you in here for?”

The girl blinks her large blue eyes, taking notice of Nesta for the first time. Nesta uses the opportunity to take in her freckle-painted face, a little wan but beautiful. Reddish brown hair hangs around her face and shoulders, creating a thick curtain from the rest of the world, and Nesta’s curiosity piques like she’s just found a shiny new toy.

It probably isn’t right to compare people to toys, but then the girl says, “This isn’t prison, you know.” Her voice is deep, almost sultry— completely at odds from her huddled-in posture and sickened expression. “I didn’t commit a crime to have to be here.”

Is she insulted by Nesta’s question, or is she poking a joke? Nesta decides to play it safe by murmuring, “Sorry, never mind.”

She starts to turn away when the girl says, “We’re trying a new type of trauma therapy today. I had to get here half an hour early because I couldn’t swallow my nerves.”

Nesta might lack many social skills, but she isn’t stupid enough to ask what kind of trauma the girl is being treated for. Instead, she nods casually as if she understands the struggle. “I’ve been coming here for weeks now and I’ve barely discussed shit. That’s mostly on me, but you know…” She actually doesn’t know where she’s going with her train of thought. “It sounds brave to do whatever you're doing,” she states finally. “I don’t think I’ll be able to open up that much about myself, ever.” 

The girl gives Nesta a weird look that she immediately recognizes. Nesta uses it every time she doesn’t know how to respond to someone who takes her by surprise.

The door to Lana’s office clicks open, and the woman herself pokes her head out with a plain smile. “Ready, Nesta?”

Nesta bites down on her frown. She has a feeling today won’t be as easy as her past sessions.

She’s about to leave without another glance at the girl beside her when that low voice speaks up. “I’m Gwyn.”

Nesta looks back at her as she gets up from her chair, and says the first reply that comes to mind: “Good to know.”

***

Nesta is contemplative hours after she gets back from her therapy session, bundled up in her bed with a coloring book. The repetitive motion of filling in the mandala drawing lets her mind wander, picking up and dropping different thoughts like she’s inspecting stones. 

She keeps her wrist light as she colors in with red. She finally said Tomas’s name in therapy today, though the action left a slimy feeling in Nesta’s stomach that lingers even now. She also spoke about her sisters, which somehow ended up leading to a discussion of her uterus. 

“How have you been dealing with the endometriosis news?”

Nesta shrugged. “I’m getting treated, and my last period was more bearable than usual—”

“I mean mentally, how are you doing? With how your condition could affect your future?”

Nesta narrowed her eyes. “Affect me how?”

“Have you never considered the impact it could have on your ability to bear children?”

“Not everything in life is about bearing children, you know.”

“We’re humans. It’s definitely something to consider.”

“Not for me. I’ve never wanted kids.” A mistruth at best. “I don’t care what endo does or doesn’t do to me on those grounds.”

In a way, Nesta told herself, the health risks were actually for the best. If she ever did, by some stupid loss of sanity, try to have children, then her body would act as a safety net from her decisions.

Lana only said, “You’ll never know how much you care or don’t care until you talk out your feelings.”

“Then I guess we’ll never know.”

Nesta lets the memory of that conversation drop like a stone on a shore. That’s not something she has to face for a good long while. No, right now she has to face her past. 

Her sisters, and her ex, and even her father— 

I wonder if I came off too strong with Gwyn today. 

Her hand stops drawing, and she switches out her red marker for an orange one. This thought she doesn’t mind inspecting for a little longer: she and Gwyn ended up leaving their sessions at the same time, which meant they were forced into stilted conversation on the way down to the parking lot. 

Not forced, Nesta self-corrects. She willingly initiated a conversation, and it didn’t go terribly. She wonders if making friends in therapy waiting rooms is a real thing.

Her phone vibrates beside her, breaking her hours-long mental bubble. Blinking dazedly, she answers the phone call.

“How are you?” is the first thing Cassian says to her. He makes sure to ask her that at least twice a day, like a gauging of her temperature. It makes Nesta wonder what she’s ever done in her life to call for such… attention to her well-being. 

“I’m good,” she answers honestly. “My head’s a little loud right now, but I don’t mind it.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“No, I’d rather hear you talk.” She slumps back against her pillows, coloring book forgotten. “What’s up?”

“Ah...” Cassian sounds hesitant for the first time since their relationship started. “It’s just that I haven’t gotten my Christmas decorations up yet, and I was going to ask if you wanted to help.”

Nesta takes a moment to absorb his words. “It’s December fifth,” she says.

“Yeah?”

“You just seem like somebody who does their decorations the day after Thanksgiving.”

“Well, this year is a little different, with you moving out and being busy with school…” He pauses. “I was waiting to do it with you.”

When she doesn’t reply, Cassian adds, “I don’t even know if you care about Christmas. I know you and your family sort of ignored holidays. It’s fine if you don’t want to—”

“I’ll be over right now,” Nesta blurts. 

Half an hour later, Cassian swings open his door with a smug grin on his face; a vast difference from the stammering hesitance he displayed over the phone earlier. Nesta’s own lips want to pull up into a smile just at the sight of him, but she holds back and narrows her eyes instead. “What’s got you so worked up?” she questions as she steps into the warmth of the cabin and out of the freezing cold.

“The way you ran over here as soon as I asked.” He looks her up and down, still amused. “You didn’t even bother to change, did you?”

It’s true: she’s in the same sweatpants and long sleeved tee she wore around home, and her socked feet are shoved into slippers. 

“Get that smirk off your face.” Nesta flicks his nose before tossing her coat off. “If this is a competition about who’s got a bigger puppy-crush for whom, you already won when you delayed putting up your Christmas decorations for me.”

“Fair enough,” he grins. The words send an unexpected pang through Nesta, because it’s partly true, isn’t it? He cares more openly for her than she does for him. 

She looks away in guilt, not knowing how to fix the imbalance. Her eyes land on the living room coffee table, where their half-finished jigsaw puzzle sits. It’s been stored under the couch for the past few weeks, forgotten by Nesta and Cassian alike as they moved on with their lives, but now it’s sitting out again.

“Have you been working on the puzzle without me?” She raises an inquisitive brow, about to feel— hurt.

“Never,” Cassian promises, saving her from that irrational hurt. “I just brought it out because I figured we should get to finishing it one day.”

She pads over to the table, picking up a puzzle piece and turning it over in her hand. “I don’t know if you remember, but we had a terrible time working on this,” she scoffs lightly.

“Oh, I remember,” he says, coming up behind her and stealing the piece from her grasp. “I think it’s safe to say those evenings were the worst fights we’ll ever have together.”

Nesta leans back against Cassian’s chest and hums. “It made us a stronger couple, don’t you think?” She turns her head up and back to meet Cassian’s eyes, finding that he’s already looking down at her.

Hypnotized, she leans into his warmth. She only manages to land the smallest kiss against his lips when his hand squeezes her ass cheek. “You’re here for a job, remember?” He taps her butt before pulling away, gesturing to the Christmas tree in the corner of the living area with his chin. It stands bare. “You do tinsel, I’ll do lights.”

Tinsel is harder to work with than Nesta remembers. She only manages to get half the tree done before plopping onto the Persian rug, exhausted and covered in silvery material. She doesn’t mind laying there while Cassian continues working; it’s her revenge for when he napped on her bed while she moved in.

“You know the stair railings still need to be wreathed, Archeron.”

Nesta declines to respond, tilting her head on the carpet for a better view of her boyfriend’s ass instead. “All this decorating,” she starts. “Is it just for you?”

Cassian turns to her, surprised. “Well…”

She pushes up onto her elbows, catching her mistake. “Are we doing Christmas together? Or are your friends coming over?” She hasn’t bothered to celebrate Christmas in years now, and she doesn’t care much what Cassian’s plans are either way.

“I was hoping for both?” He sounds hesitant. “Christmas Eve is all the way over in Velaris, but I was thinking we could go together, open some presents, and come back and spend Christmas here.”

Nesta purses her lips. She doesn’t actually hate that plan. Both Feyre and Elain have been pestering her with the annual texts asking her to visit for Christmas, and for once, she feels like responding to them. The invitation is more of a formality than an actual request at this point; she doubts her sisters want her there after years of rejections, but… what’s the harm?

“Is that a yes?” Cassian asks at her unreadable face.

“Yes,” she states unflinchingly. She refuses to overthink the possible consequences of this choice and chooses to focus on the broad grin overtaking Cassian’s face. “Really?” he says.

“But there has to be rules.” Nesta sits up fully now. “No one can know we’re together, no matter how much you trust or love them.”

“We already agreed to that, baby.”

Yes, but Nesta knows the secret weighs on him heavier than he shows— even if he agrees with her that it's for the best. “It’ll be different when we’re together in the same room as everyone else,” she says. Cassian wears his beating heart on his sleeve, and she doesn’t think he’s ever had to hide it before.

“You’ll also be different,” she adds. “It’s a huge change of pace.”

Cassian drops the remaining strand of lights and smiles confusedly down at her. “What do you mean, I’ll be different?” He sits across from her, before the blazing fire. 

“You know how you get around your friends.” Nesta shrugs without a thought. “Like your personality readjusts to mirror the people around you. I used to find it a mix of sad and adorable, like a neglected puppy desperate for love, but now I— okay, I still feel the same way.” She waves a hand in a dismissive gesture.

By the look on Cassian’s face, he does not find her words so easily dismissed. 

Coldness curdles in the pit of Nesta’s stomach, the realization that she’s said something wrong. She can’t fix it until she knows where she fucked up, though.

“Is that what you think of me?” Cassian finally says lowly. His usually expressive mouth is drawn tight and narrow. 

“Um… What would you rather I think of you?”

His eyes widen in disbelief. “Seriously, Nesta?”

Nesta’s back stiffens, refusing to cower. “I only described what I’ve observed in the past.”

“And what you observed was a desperate puppy?” His voice is cold in a way she’s never heard before.

Okay, she’s starting to see how that might be offensive. She forges onward, “Tell me what you think about yourself in the presence of your family, then.” It’s a private victory that she says family instead of clown circus. But she’s not trying to turn this into a fight.

Cassian is silent, but his stare continues to rage at her.

“Tell me,” Nesta repeats.

His hands curl into fists on the rug. “I think I’m empathetic, easy to talk to, and easier to be around. Is it a problem if I’m likable?” Unlike you are the unsaid words.

Nesta inspects the space between them like it’s a chessboard. “And what part of yourself are you giving up to be so likable, Cassian?” she says quietly.

“Nothing.”

Nesta disagrees, if only because she’s been watching him out of the corner of her eye for years. “I think you base your personality off of those you love, and you lose a little bit of your true self every time you put others’ needs before your own.” 

She shuts her mouth, not having expected such honesty to come out of it. Cassian is taken aback, too, she can tell.

“And I guess it’s natural that you’d see all of that as a bad thing, considering your history of being closed off and self-serving to a fault,” he fires back with the flatness Nesta utilizes so often.

One for one. Fair enough. “We’re both right then,” Nesta says. “You work for your best friend because you have no ambition beyond serving your family, and I have no such family because I can’t bring myself to care about those things. Are we even now?”

Cassian furrows his brows, those defensive walls melting away as he realizes she’s completely serious. “What? No, Nes—” He shakes his head. “Okay, so maybe you’re right about me. Maybe I agree with you a little bit, but… If we see flaws in each other, then we should be working to overcome them instead of weaponizing them.”

Now Nesta’s the one shaking her head, quickly lifting a hand to stop him. “Relax there, sweetheart. I have no expectations from you or myself to go on some self-improvement journey now that we’re together. Talking about my feelings with a professional every week is hard enough.” Yes, agreeing to go to Feyre’s Christmas party is improvement. Slow, barely there improvement, but enough to wear her out for the rest of the month. For Nesta to fully let people into her life, to treat them as lovingly as she treats Cassian— that’s a long way away. She can’t envision it, doesn’t even know if she wants it.

Cassian must understand some of what she’s thinking, because he nods and backs off. He gets back up and returns to stringing lights, tossing a handful of tinsel at Nesta as if to say Get back to work. 

She stands and obeys, thinking their not-argument is officially over when Cassian says, “You’re wrong about one thing.”

She looks up from where she threads tinsel through fir leaves. He doesn’t take his eyes off his work as he says, “You do have a family. And deep, deep down, you care about them as much as I care about mine.”

***

Nesta catches Emerie’s eye as the dark-haired beauty walks into the pub. Raising a hand and waving, she gestures Emerie over to the booth she’s sitting in. 

“Look what I found,” Nesta says with a hint of pride, pointing to the redhead sitting beside her. “A third girl for girl’s night!”

“I was kidnapped,” Gwyn speaks up. “Jumped on the way to my car.” She’s out of her usual hoodie and in a tight-fitting blouse, looking stunning even while seeming out of place in the dim bar.

“She came here consensually,” Nesta retorts. “Emerie, this is Gwyn. We met at therapy.”

Gwyn offers Emerie an awkward smile.

Emerie slides into the booth across from them with raised brows. She looks between Nesta and the new girl and back again. “You invited her here? All by yourself?” she asks.

Nesta nods firmly.

Emerie breaks into a wide grin and reaches over the table to grab Nesta’s hand. “I’m so proud of you!” If Emerie were anyone else, she’d be squealing in excitement, but Emerie does not squeal.

Nesta waves off her friend’s praise, though a part of her wants to beam at it, too.

Gwyn glances between the two of them with slight amusement. “I mean, it’s not that impressive,” she says. “She came on a bit too strong, probably a five out of ten on the asking-someone-out scale.”

“‘A bit too strong’ is all you’re gonna get with Nesta,” Emerie says, lifting her hand to order drinks. “She’s all-or-nothing, and most people would pray she doesn’t give them her nothing.”

Nesta doesn’t know if that’s a compliment, but she supposes there are worse things that could be said about her.

“So, Gwyn, what do you do?” Emerie leans forward. “All our friends are law students and it’s starting to get boring.”

Gwyn goes off about her librarian job as Nesta orders their drinks, and Emerie rests her chin in her hand and listens eagerly. Christmas music plays softly in the background and snow flurries gently outside. Nesta thinks she can’t be doing that bad in life, if she’s managed to carve out this little slice of happiness for herself.

***

a/n: i promise shit actually happens next chapter! we're getting christmas with nessian and the ic in the same room for the first time

taglist: @ladywitchling @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson

[catherinestuart]

HSHQ TASK FOUR / EVENT TWENTY-TWO —– OPEN PLOTS for catherine, ariel, elena, dalia, & dianna

catherine stuart

because catherine is obviously my fave ( lol ) i updated her connections page.

mentor : someone older, preferably female ( bc strong women coming together???? damn ), who is a monarch or a crown heir. someone who could take her under their wing and help her take over the world somehow. 

childhood crush : a boy she used to chase around as a kid, because catherine is 100% the type of girl to bully the boy she likes in the playground. it would be cute if he knows about it and probs make fun of her now lmao- 

admirer : someone have a crush on catherine and make her wildly uncomfortable.

ariel de bragança

ari has an old connections page but it’s not updated hehe

fwbs : yes multiple, bc she deserves it, and somehow it feels wrong that she’s only sleeping with her fiancé.

secret boyfriend : ok so... y’all know about how ari got kidnapped in spain?? i previously said that it was for her to visit a boy that she liked. what if that boy was a royal/noble and someone that she was dating in secret???? idk it’s probably a slim chance but it could cause a lot of angst!

frenemy : someone who’s annoyed by her endless optimism and general sunny disposition. mb they’re nice to her face but talks shit about her behind her back. 

sara-elena asturias

will they wont they : best friends but with a flirty edge?? maybe they’ve known each other for ages and ages and everyone just thinks they’ll end up together, but then elena got pregnant and married carlos so he gets married too, mb he’s trying to forget her. have they ever had feelings for each other?? ( mb the timing isn’t right and they keep missing each other wow ok now i’m sad )

yummy mummies : who has a son and would like to marry the future queen of guatemala? it depends on the relationship of the moms, it could be something that they both want or their advisors’ idea. anyway their kids could have playdates with ...special purpose and idk i love making tweens suffer.

social climber : he wants to call himself king ( even on the technicality that he married a queen regent ), maybe he’s the younger son of a monarch who would never get the chance to be king, maybe he’s a duke looking for a step up? what ever the reason, he wants to seduce elena into marrying him. 

blind date : lmao imagine royals on a blind date

dalia radziwiłł

this girl needs the most plots tbh- she just got engaged to kristoffer so if there could be a connection from there???

best friend : she needs a bff lmao. dalia might be a new royal but if your character goes to celebrity parties maybe dalia could’ve met them there?? 

exes on terrible terms : listen, they’re not even exes. mb they had a fling way back when dalia was still a struggling actor, and she fell for him hard. he doesn’t think that she’s proper enough for him, being a daughter of a lowly countess of no international importance, he rejects her without question. but fuck, she loves him -- maybe until today, and now that she’s a princess that’s engaged to a crown prince... is she finally proper enough for him?

bully : so she’s barely a princess, and this royal barely acknowledges her sad excuse of parentage. someone snobby should probably put her place, someone who thinks that actors have no place in being royalty. 

fan : pls stroke her ego and fawn over her, dalia likes to think that even royalty likes to watch her movies. 

dianna yi 

so this is love : dianna doesn’t really.... love people, she’s too self-absorbed and far too superficial to think about feelings like that. but what if ....she falls in love with a royal with a fancy title?? someone she was determined not to fall for, someone her parents would just LOVE to have as an in-law, and maybe -- just maybe -- she’ll leave her husband for them? after all these years of trying to piss off her parents in the end she’s the one who chooses to marry someone with position.

fwbs : idk bc she’s here to solely cheat on her husband ok. mb we’ll throw in a pregnancy scare to make it spicy. 

cheaters club : do u wanna cheat on ur spouse/significant other too?? dianna will 100% back that. 

dumb bitch : dianna is a dumb bitch, but you come to her for political reasons and try to lobby her for trade deals or war or wtv the fuck but obviously you came to the wrong yi. di and sab are only in phuket for a good good time ok.

boarding school friends : did they go to le rosey in the same time as dianna? bc fuck they would’ve heard of her then. she’s the girl whose skirt is always shorter than it needs to be, the one who barely passes, and the one who sneaks in alcohol during formals. 

muse : she would love to be drawn like one of your french girls. 

hate-fuck : i mean... she’s into that. like they’re hot when they don’t open their mouths, but every time they speak dianna doesn’t know whether to slap them or kiss them -- either way she needs them to shut up. 

a v important task : any virgins want a tutorial on how to have sex the right way? dianna thinks of herself a mother teresa figure of all things improper, which makes her the patron saint of ...sins probably idk. if u want she’ll take ur virginity for free. 

[perpetually-jungshook]

SorryNotSorry

(How to Change a Fuqboi- between the lines)

Word Count: 2.1k

Request: @baekinacupoftae​

Ok so I’ve read the fboi series… THEY WERE LIT despite being frustrating bc why the cliffhangers? u make me wanna cri. Nah, jk. But if you do have time, a sequel/closure would be nice. Only if you want to :) *whispers (especially Taehyung’s)

A/N: So! I have officially made a fan theory for my own story! Does that make me conceited? 🤔 or just a proud author? 😂 Haha~ This story comes from an “all one main character” timeline/theory for the Fuqboi series. I also included Jackson cuz why not? 😉 enjoy and as always, make sure to pay attention to details 💖

The light sprinkle of spring rain had ceased a few hours ago, but the damp smell still floats into your olfactory system with a vengeance, especially as you walk out of the department store for the last time, clutching your coat tighter around your frame. Thankfully, Namjoon hadn’t been scheduled to work today, so you were able to clean out your locker in peace.

Submitting your two weeks notice had been easier than you thought, especially with the excuse of “I’ve decided to focus on school” sitting on the tip of your tongue. It wasn’t a lie. You’ll be transferring to a different university this fall, but now you’re completely free.

Free to do what? Besides spend more time on campus, you aren’t exactly sure. Forget Namjoon? Yes. And his petty, disgusting denial of his true, selfish identity. Forget Yoongi? Yes. He was only a one time mistake you made because you were so desperate to get away from…

Taehyung.

The name sends a wave of nausea through you, forcing your body to double over as you reach your car. You swallow hard around the urge to dry heave, refusing to cry. Still, the memory strikes you hard like a punch.

You tapped your pencil against the surface of your desk, trying to concentrate.

Annotating poems was one of your least favorite things, but your literature class demanded it, so annotate you would. Maybe.

The loud buzz of the dryer gave you just the excuse you needed to abandon the task momentarily. With too much enthusiasm, you emptied it of its contents, suddenly deciding that pristinely folded clothes were a top priority.

This load of laundry had been a mix of yours and Tae’s. The two of you shared a hamper, after all, and the duty to empty it out often fell on you- not that you minded. Living at his parents’ house rent free was compensation enough.

As you made your way through the pleasantly warm pile, something unexpected made you stop.

A pair of lacy red panties.

They definitely weren’t yours, and this observation began the chronic downward spiral. Where did they come from? Taehyung? He couldn’t have…? Not again. Could he? Even after MONTHS of being faithful? Usually you tried to classify these thoughts as benign, unjustified unease. But this time, THIS TIME, you had something solid, tangible evidence to ignite your anxiety.

You hadn’t caught Taehyung cheating for months. You barely even saw him LOOK at other girls since the compromise. But this? The underwear of another girl?

Anger flared in your system just in time for the front door to open. You could hear it along with his deep voice, which called out, seeking you, “Baby, I’m home. How’s the homework? Will you be done soon or do you want to…?”

His question trailed off as he found you in the living room, pinching the article of clothing in question like it was a creature about to bite, yet also an object so fragile that it would shatter with the slightest movement.

Taehyung’s boxy smile immediately dropped when he saw the expression on your face.

“Baby, that’s not…” he started, but you raised your hand to cut him off.

“Please don’t speak to me right now.”

“But I didn’t-”

You placed the underwear down on top of his pile of clothes, shaking your head, “I gave it everything I had, Tae.”

“I don’t know-”

He seemed genuinely perplexed, but something inside of you had already broken.

“I just… need to leave,” your voice sounded hollow even to your ears.

“I don’t know where those came from,” he blurted, raking his fingers through his hair as the severity of what you said dawned on him. “Really, honest to god. Are you sure they aren’t yours?”

You didn’t even take the time to respond, picking up your pile of clothes to go to your room. Following, but giving you a few steps of space as if he wouldn’t dare CHANCE touching you, Taehyung started rambling.

“They could be my mom’s,” he offered desperately, voice cracking as you began sifting through your closet and drawers, starting a small pile on the bed. “I- I haven’t done anything. I promise- I SWEAR.”

You wanted to listen to him, to hope, to forgive, but you COULDN’T. Whether or not any of what he said was true, whether or not he HAD actually cheated again… you were done. You had given him everything. Your time, your heart, and later with the compromise, your virginity. Yet none of that could heal the wound of mistrust he’d inflicted. He’d made you feel cheap, like a slut, an enabler who knew her boyfriend had a history of sleeping around but STAYED ANYWAY.

So you had to do it. You HAD to leave. The waiting, the wondering, it was all too much. You couldn’t trust him, no matter how much you thought he loved you. Or worse, no matter how much you thought you loved him.

That had been half a year ago.

You take a few deep breaths, steadying yourself before climbing into the driver’s seat. Your fingers find your phone and dial the first recently called number.

Jackson picks up on the second ring, “Dude, I’m a little busy?”

“Sorry,” you sigh, resting your head against the steering wheel. “I just wanted to make sure you left the door unlocked.”

“Oh,” he clears his throat, “I MIGHT have forgotten… But I’ll be home in like twenty minutes, okay?”

Seven months and he still hasn’t found the spare key.

Living with Jackson had been third on your list of preferences, but it beat other options like staying at home or at Taehyung’s. Jisoo, your first choice, already has five people living in an apartment clearly meant to comfortably fit one. And Chaeyoung’s parents hate you for reasons you suspected have everything to do with her constant complaining to them about your “toxic” relationships.

So here you are, crashing in a two bedroom condo with your “third” best friend.

Needless to say, you don’t really get out much.

You pull up to the curb, lucky to find a parking spot in this mess of a complex, and with heavy limbs, practically drag yourself to the correct door just as Jackson’s shiny black truck haphazardly screeches to a halt. He tumbles out of it to sprint toward you, key raised like an Olympic torch.

Judging by the redness of his eyes, he’s either high or drunk, but this isn’t anything new.

“I got it! I got it,” he stumbles up the few steps before shoving the key into your palm. You can suddenly smell the alcohol on his breath. “There. No harm no foul.”

“Thanks, Jackson,” you sigh, giving him an awkward pat on his ridiculously muscly shoulder. “I’m glad you got someone to drive you here too.”

“Oh right,” he spins on his heel, abruptly yelling at the driver, “Just park it anywhere.”

You watch the truck lurch forward and roll down the street at an unsteady pace. Unsure what to make of it, you shrug and unlock the door, letting Jackson stumble in first, massive smile spreading across his lips.

“So, Namjoon or no?”

The name sends a prickle of irritation through you, “No.”

“Dude, I’m telling you. You should’ve just asked him to fuck.”

An angry blush colors your cheeks, “I didn’t WANT to fuck him.”

“Right, you had Yoongi for that.”

And this is why you don’t want to live with Jackson.

Despite the comfortably warm temperature, you suppress a shiver, namely because you know he’s right. Yoongi was just the consolation prize for the gap that Taehyung had left in your heart and Namjoon was the desperate attempt to fix your self image. Even so, you’d prefer not to think about it.

“Will you STOP?” you huff, throwing the keys onto the small table near the door.

“Sorry,” he cackles, giving your arm a humorous punch that (probably unintentionally) HURTS. “Okay, okay. I’ll leave you to your stupid books.”

Sometimes you swear that if you hadn’t been friends with him since before he turned into a grossly typical “bad boy” in high school, you would’ve never spoken to him in the first place.

Still, at least he wasn’t a fuckboy.

“Wait, want a cig?” Jackson offers as he pulls the pack from his shirt pocket, flannel buttons off by one near the middle.

“No thanks, I don’t smoke.”

“Eh, someday you’ll try it.”

You trek down the hallway to your room- well, less “your room” than Jackson’s storage closet that happens to have a bed in it. Walking around stacks of papers, boxes, and other random CRAP, you throw yourself down on the mattress, letting your book bag drop to the floor.

What you wouldn’t give for one of Taehyung’s thermoses full of homemade noodles.

Your heart aches.

Flipping open one of your textbooks to distract yourself, you stare blankly at the words, eyes skimming across them but brain absorbing none. You decide to give up as soon as you hear the front door open and an unfamiliar voice saying, “I left the truck in the parking lot down the street near the liquor store. There weren’t any spots open.”

“Did you hit anything?” Jackson asks in his easily identifiable slightly raspy voice.

“I may or may not have backed into a shopping cart…”

It isn’t unusual for one of you to have friends over. What IS strange is the fact that you have no idea who is speaking. Your friend circle is very small, consisting of Jackson, Jisoo, and Chaeyoung. Your housemate has a few regulars that frequently stop by too, Mark, Jaebum, and some guy they call Bambam- who you’ve always suspected is their weed dealer.

This voice is too soft to be Jaebum, he’s too talkative to be Mark, and Bambam never stops by unless all three are in the house. This leaves mystery guy peaking your interest.

You abandon your textbook, slipping off of the bed.

“Dude really? You backed Marci into a SHOPPING CART?”

“Marci?”

“My baby, my ride, MY BEAUTIFUL TRUCK.”

“Jackson, chill.”

“DON’T TELL ME TO CHILL.”

Classic Jackson, screaming, but not actually upset.

“Why did I let someone drive who doesn’t have a license?”

You stop in the hallway, leaning against one of the walls, content with observing. The boy with Jackson is beautiful to say the least. Smooth features, hair pulled up in a snapback, kissable lips, dark eyes, killer smirk-

Smirk?

That’s when you realize you’ve been staring… and he’s been staring RIGHT BACK.

A blush floods your cheeks, but you decide that because you’ve already been caught in the act, there’s no point in trying to hide yourself.

“You MADE me drive because I wouldn’t let you leave intoxicated,” the boy says, amused, but not breaking eye contact with you. Oh no. He’s hot and he KNOWS it.

“Ah, that’s right,” Jackson nods, tapping his finger to his forehead, big grin plastered all over his flushed face. “I’m so smart and responsible.”

You decide to not remind your friend that the reason he’d had to leave the party was because he failed to unlock the door.

“Definitely…” mystery guy trails off before clearing his throat. “You didn’t tell me you had a girlfriend.”

“That’s cuz I don’t,” Jackson laughs, glancing over his shoulder to follow the boy’s gaze. “She’s just a good friend who needed a place to live.”

Sometimes, you loved Jackson’s obliviousness. Other times, it bothered you immensely. Why wouldn’t he introduce you formally?

Mystery guy’s kissable lips form into a small “o,” and he cocks his head slightly, finally letting his gaze wander away from your eyes- only to explore the REST of your body. Heat shoots straight down to the pit of your stomach, making your legs weak.

Jackson seems to get momentarily confused, then scoffs, “When you’re done eye-fucking her, let me know and we can go get food.”

Unabashed, the boy nods, “Sure thing.”

Your friend wanders past you toward his room, letting the door close behind him and leaving you alone with mystery guy. Something pinches your throat, slowing time to a hazy halt, each breath teetering on the edge of possibility. The tension in the air is palpable and with each step he takes toward you, a pleasantly uncomfortable knot in your stomach tightens.

For a moment, you forget Namjoon, Yoongi, and…Taehyung.

He stops only two steps away, catching your hand in his to bring it up to his lips with another terribly beautiful smirk.

He kisses the knuckle of your middle finger gently, voice dropping to a whisper, “Well hello there, love. I’m Jimin. Who might you be?”

✩✩✩♔✩✩✩

EOPQ 12: So in what order (chronologically) do the Volumes occur? Think you can piece it together? 😉

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