#i like the idea of them being friends on the surface

[calypsolemon]

right here my friend! I failed to explain anything about it because i posted it at like 3am when i had no energy, but here's the deets

Post-game, Click Clack finds himself a bit perturbed by... himself. It's his job to edit the story of the world, but the part of himself responsible for that job (the one that manifests as the narrative voice) still allowed for the Inspekta situation to occur, and kept himself ignorant of how he was hurting Thespius with his actions. He knows he could have edited the Story to be more pleasant, if he really wanted to, and he's not fond of the fact that his own self would ignore the pain and suffering of his loved ones for the sake of the world's narrative satisfaction.

So, he begins to edit the problems he and his loved ones experience out of the picture. At first, he simply rationalizes it as all of them needing a break after the Inspekta incident - who wants to deal with life's little inconveniences right after a huge disaster? But as time goes on, he begins to meddle more and more, trying to fix every little thing to be ideal and flawless. Hobbyhoo becomes rather boring in an odd way; every play they put on goes without a hitch, every story idea flows to the page without a need to think, every relationship is in a state of stale bliss. His own relationship with Thespius is seeming just... too perfect, none of those previous miscommunication problems ever boiling to the surface again! (←lying). Slowly, he is bringing the Story of the world to a grinding halt, in order to ensure his friends never get hurt again.

Well, his narrator half is not all too happy with himself for that. It's his job to edit the story of the world, what's the point of his existence if he has no story at all? So, he formulates a test for himself. A small edit is made, a string of Thespius's guitar snaps, sad but easily fixed through mundane means. But this edit is made permanent, etched into the fabric of the world's story. All Click Clack has to do is leave it alone, give up on it when he realizes he can't edit out this tiny hiccup in an otherwise perfect day.

He can't leave it alone.

Increasingly desperate and frustrated, with all his fears reaching a crescendo, Click Clack lashes out at the part of himself who could be so cold as to only care for the Story and not the people within it. He reaches inside, and pulls himself from himself, attempting to wrench control from himself. Instead, what he succeeds in is very nearly severing himself in twain.

Two parts of Click Clack now exist as separate entities in the world, only connected by a single fragile thread. One of them loses his connection to the Story, left devoid of nearly everything he's supposed to embody as a god. The other is being consumed by it, no longer able to regulate how much of the Story leaks out to the mortal world. The latter runs away very quickly in an attempt to keep the Story safely contained, leaving the former to deal alone with the horrified reactions of his loved ones when they find out.

aaaaand thats basically most of what I have so far! feel free to send questions if you want more information, I call this "Pen and Ink au" and will tag any further posts about it as such.

saw everyone was posting their split-up clickers so I'm throwing my hat in the ring

[lvrrgirlll]

Currently thinking about semi-arranged marriage!patrick x wedding planner!reader…

Patrick wasn’t ever really keen on the idea of marriage. He always thought it was something that just wasn’t for him. He still thought that, actually. But his parents didn’t.

He had taken some time off the tour to visit his parents after years of struggling to really get where he wanted to go. Both he and his parents knew why he was really there, though. They had frozen his trust fund.

Long story short, they gave him an ultimatum: either get married and settle down or lose access to the trust fund. And if the couple months he’d gone without the trust fund had taught him anything, it was that he only had one skill in life, and he was barely good enough at that to stay afloat. That’s how he ended up meeting you.

His fiancé, a nice yuppie who his parents had set him up with, had hired you, a wedding planner, to plan the most elaborate wedding money could buy for the two of them. Unfortunately, though, (or fortunately —depending on how you look at it) she was far too busy between wedding dress fittings, long days at the office, regular gym sessions, and shopping outings with her friends to ever actually show up for your meetings. She would always just tell Patrick what she wanted, and he would show up.

So over the months of planning the wedding, you two grew a lot closer than he felt with his own fiancé. After all, he was only marrying her for his trust fund and she was only marrying him because she was scared she was getting too old and decided it was time, no matter who it was with.

You had told yourself that whatever you felt, it would never come to the surface, but you couldn’t help all those little moments when it almost felt like you could be playing your wedding with him. Like when you two were at the cake tasting and he got a little frosting on the corner of his lip and you wiped it off. Anyone would do that though, right? Or when you two were touring venues and didn’t even realize you had started holding hands. It was a mindless thing, of course…

The worst one was when you were sampling different brands and types of champagne. His fiancé had told him to make sure he really tried them all because she only wanted the best. And somewhere in all of the tasting, you two both got a little tipsy. And maybe while you were tipsy you two kissed, which turned into making out in your car. You were both too sober to call it some drunk mistake, but you both called it one anyways.

“So what’s it like being a wedding planner,” he’d asked once, when you two were at a florist looking at different sample arrangements.

“Fun. Y’know, you help plan the happiest day of some people’s lives,” you responded simply.

He chuckled dryly. “Happiest day of their lives, huh…” he repeated under his breath, a sort of bitter, contemplative tone lingering. “And it’s not… lonely?” He’d noticed the lack of a ring on your finger long ago, when you two had first met to start planning.

You froze for a moment, trying to brush off whatever feelings his comment stirred up. “Well… yes. Sometimes.” You cleared your throat, avoiding eye contact with him as you messed with the flowers in front of you. “I mean, of course I hope to plan my own wedding someday, instead of someone else’s.”

When you two leave the florist, onto the next project, Patrick stops you for a moment. He wordlessly fiddles something out of his pocket, a small flower he must’ve taken from inside. He’s tied the stem in a ring. “Here.” Offering a smile, one of pity and longing and a sort of… sorrow, perhaps, he slips the dainty flower ring onto your left hand ring finger. He proceeds walking then.

“C’mon, our wedding’s not gonna plan itself,” he reminds you. But when he says “our wedding” you have to remind yourself he doesn’t mean yours and his. He means his and hers.

[camp-mithril-lake]

So my ideas inspired by the Ponyo Apocalypse Outlier Gang (by @keferon) since this has been a fun AU to chew on and I love the Outlier Gang + Fish Dad specifically.

Part I, because I'll do the others in a bit and don't want to lose this to Tumblr drafts.

SHOCKWAVE

Shockwave, former Senator of the Iaconus Shoal, in the sea close to Iacon the human city, is currently taking a break before for the upcoming election cycle after losing his seat to a rival due to a scandal he was exonerated for. He is actually biding his time and pretending to have gone away in disgrace, while some friends investigate rumors and leads for him and he plans to undermine his opponent.

It has however given him time to investigate the recent unnaturally accelerated changes in sea level and worries about changes in sea monster population and evolution and rapid fluctuations in weather and sea currents that Thunderwing has been writing him about.

He is going to pick up some data he'd collected and witnesses a human island be subsumed and what's more notices the strange readings and behaviors and creatures popping up. He goes to investigate and finds a bunch of human pups surviving there. They end up being violent in that way everyone assumes humans are but assist him. He in turn decides to help protect them and find a proper human caretaker for them.

Shockwave has always been a bit more curious and open about humans because he was good friends with one who he considered a teacher name Jhiaxus, who eventually vanished. He collects human devices to explore the make of and information on some of their inventions and cultures as a hobby. This is considered an eccentricity by many and I am picturing full Ariel but it is just part of his "oh handsome Senator Shockwave" persona that makes people underestimate him and is about 35% played up deliberately as a non-threatening joke while being fully serious and incorporating bits he finds useful.

Due to the language barrier the more Transformer-esque names or ones Shockwave nicknames the kids and they eventually adopt, enjoying them. Skids's is a more direct translation since he picks up the merfolk language the easiest.

TERRY BRAUM (16->17) - TRAILBREAKER

The oldest of them and has some pretty intense trauma.

He was drunk with a friend two years ago and they wrecked killing a family that was pulling out and the friend, the one who was driving, being the only one conscious when the cops came. The friend blamed him and Terry was the one who took the fall and got arrested. His life was ruined and he was devastated by the death, injuries, betrayal, and arrest back to back.

He had a single mother with a heart condition who had a heart attack and died due to the stress of his trial and subsequent sentencing. He was eventually exonerated due to the video of the crash surfacing and proof his friend was the one driving the whole time. His mother was gone by this point and he was sent into the foster system.

He has issues with confined spaces and trusting people keeping a proverbial shield around himself now. He kept drinking and broke into his foster’s liquor cabinets and got in trouble this way which got him referred to the Academy.

"SKIDS" (16) - SKIDS

He speaks a lot but not about his past and insists his name is Skids. He has a pretty gnarly scar across the back of his head covered by hair. He also doesn't talk about this and has a lot of strange skills he's built up over time.

Skids had a seemingly good life with a very attentive mother, but knew there was something off. He was homeschooled because his mother moved a lot for work and it was both seemingly normal things like literature, math, basic science, history, but also stranger topics: weapons safety and shooting, coding, lock picking, parkour, gymnastics, poisons, hotwiring cars, driving, emergency wound treatment focusing on gunshot wounds, how to stay calm during an emergency, etc. He travelled most of Cybertron.

By the time he was ten realized it was not normal for them to be constantly changing their names, hair, story, and location. It started as a fun "game" when he was younger where his mother would ask who they'll be next and he didn't know his real original name. Or his mother's who was just Mother.

The most frequent name was her nickname for him which was Skids because the first time he drove a car for her during a getaway while she was treating her own gunshot wound in the back he was constantly skidding everywhere on the road. He was eight.

It was also not normal to have a collection of wigs, IDs, weapons, etc. with them as "go bags". Or to have a meet up and escape plan if the cops come while "Mother is out.". Skids, being Skids, started investigating and found a long trail of bodies everywhere they had been, including people he had met or his mother had used him to lure in.

The worst is a kid his age he thought of as a friend because they'd moved next to him and his mother started to befriend his father. His mother was both a serial killer and a hitwoman.

He couldn't handle the guilt and eventually called in a tip and ran and kept running. He suppressed a lot of memory to avoid his own guilt over “assisting” with the damage. He got moved around because he kept running away.

SKY WARD (15) - SKYWARP & T.C. WARD (11) - THUNDERCRACKER

Sky grew up in a pretty rough household with her older sister Star being her main, slightly resentful but very protective, caretaker. They had older siblings who'd moved out and cut contact with their mother as soon as they kid and most of them were half-siblings. Star and Sky were the only full siblings amongst them. When she was about eight her mother brought home a seemingly random child who was T.C. She was also their sister, but had lived with their father who her mother would disappear to visit.

When Star turned eighteen she planned to do something more and escape as well and go to college on a scholarship and never speak to her mother again, but then her mother disappeared for months and Star stayed with them, refusing to call for help and taking care of them. But everything blows up when their mother shows up finally and this time with a new baby (Sunny) and it develops into a screaming match.

The cops get called and everything comes out forcing them to be taken in by CPS. Star is furious and angry and seething but slowly starts planning. She can't go with them because she turns eighteen while they are in custody and they won't let her take them because their landlord evicted them and she is couch surfing until college opens. She gets her scholarship and a job while keeping in contact with them and the foster family that took them in.

Sky and T.C. are waiting for her and when she gets an apartment she files to try and get custody, showing that she can keep a roof over their head and provide, etc. Her mother even signs over custody willingly relinquishing her rights. Star takes Sky and T.C., but one of their older sister's who is married and doesn't have room for all of them but can take one, takes the new baby.

It all goes to hell though when Star is accused of stealing from her college and identity fraud. She denies it but loses her sisters and goes to jail due to a terrible lawyer and being pushed to take a plea deal for the chance of getting them back later.

Sky has her sister's temper and acts out with more and more vicious pranks, becoming one of those TikTok Prank Channels of horror and bullying which ends up getting her and T.C. who follows her lead moved when she turns them on her foster parents for refusing to let her visit Star or contact her.

This got her moved home which caused T.C. to be involved as well to go with her. She stole T.C.’s dog, Buster, for her from their original foster home after they'd moved to Jhiaxus. T.C. cried because she never thought she'd see her again. They were moved their first at the recommendation of their caseworker who is genuinely trying to help them and keep them together.

T.C. is the quieter and younger of the two, but can be just as reckless. She crashed her former foster parents’ car in order to get moved with Sky. She wants to be a writer, keeps a notebook of her ideas, and reads often. She dealt with everything by turning inward while Sky was more like Star and struck out.

They have really only ever been able to rely on each other and Star and keep themselves to themselves.

[penguinlife]

This insomnia is killing me.

This is totally my opinion. I strongly believe that Nic believed Luke and the dancer had broken up in NY. They did hook up on the WT, I believe she was under the impression that A was confused and that Luke had given her the wrong idea that they were more serious than what they were. Leading to all the mixed messages answers.

A resurfaced at the London premiere, and I still believe it was orchestrated by his sister Lauren.

Now, before the cray cray, Luke haters misunderstand me. Luke has some issues. He is truly a nice guy. And with nice guys, they tend to get into situations because they are trying not to hurt people.

He and Nic put some distance between them after the WT. It is easy for them to compartmentalise. Their feelings are just their characters spilling over.

The throwaway comment that Nic made about her being a 7 haunts me. It presents as low self-esteem. She knows she is a good actress, and she is happy to receive compliments when it has to do with her work, but she hates it when people comment on her appearance, good or bad. I might be projecting here, but it makes sense to me. Every time she gets recognised for anything, she pivots to someone or something else.

She loves Luke and cherishes his friendship. I think she sees it to be all that it could ever be. I have been in a similar situation. Again, I might be projecting.

He and A rekindled their relationship over the summer but parted ways again just before S4 filming kicked off. By this time, Nics walls were up.

After the new year, A again reapeared, this time at the family funeral. Again, I think Lauren was the person who invited her. Luke and Nic have been on a filming break. Similarly to the one they had in Nov/Dec last year. My guess is about a month. During this time, he and A started hanging out again.

This brings us to the SAG awards. I have a feeling A was going to be at least at the afterparty, but something last minute changed.

From the SAG awards red carpet, it did seem like it was coming more from Luke's side. Nic was more reserved. But their feelings for each other are real, and they can't hide it. Nic's walls are still up to protect herself. Yes, in my opinion, it was an overcompensation to follow A. Saying in a way that she won't let anything happen between her and Luke because, look, she is now friends with A. Also, I believe subconsciously she is forcing Luke's hand, claim A, make it official.

Now, I don't believe he will claim A. Actually, the opposite will happen. He believes himself to not be a pushover, unlike his character Colin. Because he is a truly nice guy, he acts out in a way that only hurts himself. Like how he took A to the Boss One event and the BAFTA afterparty. Someone most definitely in his team advised him against it.

Luke and Nic will be back on set tomorrow, and I believe they will confront what has happened.

Side note: Luke respecting S3/Polin/Nicola by not bringing A into the light has done what I thought it would. He has gained a lot of positive attention. He was essentially just part of the ensamble nominations, but he was as highlighted as Nic by all the major accounts. Yes, their interaction helped. But essentially, they only hugged each other. In of it self is super harmless and on the surface meaningless. It was the authenticity of the moment that made it blow up.

I listened to the Nikki Glaser episode of Armchair expert with Dax and Monica on my walk yesterday. She famously made a comment about Taylor Swifts weight, which was included in Taylor's documentary. She reflected on how it was 100% on herself. She was projecting as she was struggling with verious forms of eating disorders. She was jealous of Taylor, one for wanting to look like her and two for wanting to be her friend. She apologised to Taylor, owning what she had said. Taylor graciously accepted the apology.

I so resonated with what Nikki was saying. I gained quite a bit of weight in my 20s&30s because of some health issues. Not having the funds to see specialists. I have always been told I was pretty. Sinse from a very young age, but when my late father made a comment a few years ago that it is a shame that I gained so much weight, I am no longer pretty, shook me to my core. I never thought I was pretty. But I suddenly realised I was being treated differently.

Covid happened, I got retrenched and received a really nice settlement. Could finally afford that specialist, psychologist, and dietician. 12 months later, and I am back to what I weighed at university. It has been hard work. Commitment and determination. No excuses and being extremely hard on myself.

Something inside me has shifted. I used to be body positive. All bodies are beautiful and have value. But lately, I find myself thinking very harsh thoughts. When I see someone who is overweight, I judge them. If I can do it, so can they. Why are you not taking care of yourself. Your health is the most important. If you could just stop eating takeouts or sugar. This is me 1000% projecting. It is my own issue. I miss eating nice food. I miss having to just sit and watch movies. Not exercise. Sometimes walking 5km is absolute torture. Everything hurts. My energy is at 0. Every step is extreme effort. But I am being so extremely hard on myself that I just hate on everyone who gets to not do it. I can admit that. I don't go and speead that toxicity on other peoples posts.

These people hating on NIc or Luke, you are telling on yourself. It is not on them. We don't know them. We make assumptions and guesses, but at the end of the day, we only see glimses of them.

Before making that nasty comment, reflect. Are you projecting, assigning labels, and judging what is on the surface?

[isanesshilarity]

I think what's also funny about my preferences is like a good 9/10 times I truly prefer Isagi as the top/seme. I think it's sort of a waste if he's a moeblob uke regardless of who he's shipped with (KIIS/RNIS/SEIS what???/etc)

Like I didn't struggle through BLLK Round 1 of Isagi searching for his ego and growing a backbone just to give up on all of that. I LOVE Isagi's latest ego where he's cocky and confident and devouring bitches on the field left and right. I think the parallels being set up between him and Sae as insane players with loving familial backgrounds is going to come down to a difference in influence (Re Ale vs. Ego/BLLK) and Isagi is going to "win" by being allowed to keep his ego vs. Sae who had to surrender his dream of being a striker. It matters so so much to me.

My one exception? HOIS. Frankly it's the same thing where it's a BIGGER waste if Hiori is an uke. Listen to me, LISTEN. Hiori is the last of an extinct breed in shonen manga. Moeblob teeth-licking sadists are being hunted to fucking extinction. I used to like KRHO but I frankly don't believe Karasu can handle him anymore sorry. I don't even really rally behind HOIS where Hiori breaks Isagi into his little striker toy (because see above) so even though I love love LOVE Hiori I don't know who to ship him with currently it's ruining my life. Sigh. Anyway forreal I have an Isagi is 1/seme/top/left agenda everyone live in my house please.

[merevide]

thinking. about a lottienat the little mermaid au.

[landoughnut]

Made With Love

♡ masterlist - request - emoji anons

♡ pairing - max verstappen x fem!reader

♡ summary - while visiting your boyfriend working, why not bring a little surprise sign you made for him?

♡ warnings - blushy and in love max, drivers and fans teasing max, fluffffff

♡ w/c & a/n - 1.08k | IM BACK 🫶🏻 hehe sorry yall this isn't too great but I gotta get back into the groove so pls send in thoughts or requests bc my minds a blank canvas

Race weekends were always chaotic, but the energy in the paddock today was on another level. Fans packed the grandstands, waving flags, banners, and signs - some are more simple, some are memes of the drivers, yet they were all made with the same excitement for the race ahead.

And somewhere in that sea of people, standing right at the front, was you. Normally, you’d be in with Red Bull but you went over to the fans to join them for the time being. Some had given you bracelets and asked for pictures, which you happily agreed to. 

So here you stand, clutching a sign you had spent way too much time making the night before.

It wasn’t your fault, really. You had been up late, watching Max’s past races for “inspiration” (which was really just an excuse to admire him), when an idea popped into mind. With a few markers, a ridiculously pathetic and cheesy pun, glittery heart stickers, and maybe a questionable drawing of you two, you created what could only be described as likely the most embarrassing thing he would ever see before a race.

“DRIVE FAST BUT NOT TOO FAST, I HAVE PLANS FOR YOU LATER ;)”

You could already imagine his reaction - probably an exasperated sigh, followed by that little smirk he always gave you when he pretended to be unimpressed but was actually very much an attempted cover up of how he falls deeper in love with you. 

The drivers started their walk to the grid, and your raced just a little bit when you spotted him looking impossibly handsome. Max looked calm - focused, sharp, already in his zone - but you knew him well enough to see the tiny traces of nerves beneath the surface. 

As they passed by, you lifted the sign above your head and glanced at some of the fans around you who giggled when they read it.

It took him a second, but then he stopped.

He just… stood there, staring at the sign like he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or melt into the asphalt. His mouth was parting and closing again, unsure of how to react, but you just gave him your perfect smile and it made his heart flutter. His ears went pink first, then the blush crept up his neck, blooming across his cheeks.

“Oh, for f-” Max muttered under his breath, rubbing his temple, but the amused smile on his face betrayed him.

And that’s when the teasing began.

Lando cackled loud enough for the entire grid to hear. “Oh, this is GOLD!”

Before Max could escape, Lando slung an arm around his shoulder, grinning like he’d just won the championship. “So, what’re these ‘plans’ about, mate? Anything we should be worried about? Should we clear the podium early?”

“Do we need to tell Christian?” Charles chimed in, barely holding back his laughter. “You know, just in case he needs to schedule some extra… recovery time for you.”

A chorus of laughter followed. Max groaned, dragging a hand down his face, but the pink on his cheeks only deepened. “You’re all the worst,” he grumbles.

Meanwhile, the nearby fans had caught on fast.

“Oh my god, he’s BLUSHING,” one girl gasped, tugging her friend’s arm.

“He’s practically making heart eyes, how adorable,” another comments, phone already in hand and recording the scene.

Max, looking positively doomed, glanced at you - a mix of betrayal, affection, and desperate pleading. But you? You just continued to smile sweetly with a tilted head.

“You like it.”

“I hate it.”

“You’re literally blushing.”

“I’m warm.”

“Mhm,” you roll your eyes and chuckle.

The teasing didn’t stop as he pulled out his phone and snapped a quick picture of your masterpiece, grumbling something about “evidence to haunt me later.” But before he walked away, he pointed at you, eyes narrowed.

“You’re lucky I love you.”

Your heart did a little flip and you grinned. “Oh, I know.”

And just like that, he was gone, back into the pre-race frenzy - but not before stealing one last loving glance at you over his shoulder.

Later on, the celebration was loud and chaotic. Max had finished on the podium - not a win, but a damn good race - and when he finally found you in the paddock, you barely had time to react before he crashed into you, arms wrapping tight around your waist.

“Enjoy the show?” he asked, voice still breathless with adrenaline.

“Loved it. Thought you might’ve forgotten about my sign, though.”

“Oh, trust me,” he groaned, pulling back just enough to look at you. “Hard to forget when the im being tagged in posts of it nonstop.”

Your brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

He sighed dramatically before pulling out his phone. Everywhere, Twitter, Instagram, TikTok, was flooded with clips from earlier.

Fan tweets scrolled across the screen:

“THE WAY HE STOPPEDDDD LOOK AT HIM. HE’S A GONER”

“If my future man doesn’t hold up a sign like this for me, I don’t want him”

“This man is so down baddd LOOK AT THE BLUSH”

“MAX VERSTAPPEN ‘I’M WARM’ CHALLENGE (IMPOSSIBLE)”

You bit your lip, trying (and failing) not to laugh. “I mean… they’re not wrong,” you poke his cheek.

Max groaned, pressing his forehead against yours. “You’re never making a sign again,” he says, although you both know he doesn’t mean it.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, swaying slightly. “Oh, baby, you know that’s a lie.”

Before he could argue, you kissed him, soft at first, teasing. But then he tilted his head, deepening it, fingers pressing into your waist like he didn’t care that people were watching.

Somewhere in the background, some group of fans started shouting.

“Oh my goshh, he’s in love!.”

“Life is so unfair! Where’s my Max?”

When you finally pulled away, breathless, he was grinning like a lovestruck idiot.

“You’re ridiculous,” he muttered, thumb brushing over your cheek.

“And you love it.”

His gaze flickered to your lips, then back to your eyes. “Yeah,” he whispered. “That I do.”

Later, when you made it back to his driver’s room, you caught him slipping the sign into his bag, folding it carefully like it was something worth keeping.

“… You’re keeping that?” you asked, amused.

He shot you a look. “Shut up.” You didn’t push it. But you did smile. He bites his lip, placing it into his pocket, knowing that no matter how many trophies he collects, this - you - might just be his favorite thing he’d ever won.

[tempo-takoyaki]

From an anonymous freeform prompt for SVSSS Action, may I present to you... Delicious in the Abyss! A SVSSS x DunMeshi AU!

More info about the different characters (with some sketches) under the "read more" :

In Delicious in the Abyss, we follow various groups of adventurers as they explore the "abyss" a mysterious place filled with various fauna and monsters. No matter their race or age, most of them have the same goal: becoming the master of the abyss... However, some have a very different idea of how one should explore the abyss. Take for example a certain group led by an elf named Shen Yuan who desires one thing only... eat as many different monsters as possible!

Shen Yuan's party :

Shen Yuan: Elf, 87 y/o, Mage. His wish is to eat and study as many monsters as possible. He started exploring the abyss about twenty years ago, but had to stop abruptly after taking in Luo Binghe. On the surface, his studies seem to merely be for the sake of curiosity... But are they?

Luo Binghe: Tiefling, 63 y/o, Tank (and cook). Thrown into the abyss at the age of 38 (since tieflings are a long-lived race, it means he was about 14), he got stuck in the lowest levels for few years before Shen Yuan saved him. He regards him as his savior (and one true love) and would do anything for him... even if it means cooking the monsters (he hates it, he hates it so much).

Shang Qinghua: Gnome, 87 y/o, Healer. Shen Yuan's oldest friend and the author of many infamous books. He stopped writing them about twenty years ago though, after he started to explore the abyss with Shen Yuan. He seems to be looking for something in the abyss, or rather: someone.

Liu Qingge: Tallman, 26 y/o, Swordsman. One of Shen Yuan's friends. He used to be part of the Cang Qiong guild but left it after a disagreement with one of his colleagues. Now he works for Shen Yuan with his younger sister, Liu Mingyan. "Uh? My goal? Get stronger. Mh."

Liu Mingyan: Tallman, 24 y/o, Swordswoman. Liu Qingge's younger sister, she accompanies him on each of his missions. She got an offer to work with Cang Qion mountain once but refused it once she learned her brother had left the guild. She's quiet but efficient, however, Shang Qinghua suspects that she might stick around for other reasons...

Cang Qiong Guild:

Yue Qingyuan: Tallman, 48 y/o, Tank. The leader of Cang Qiong, he's a respected individual amongst adventurers. However, he seems leniant on the vices of his vice-leader: Shen Qingqiu.

Shen Qingqiu: Tallman, 40 y/o, Swordman. Vice-leader of Cang Qiong. He's the reason Cang Qiong is exclusively made of tallmen, as he has a strong distate for any other races, especially elves. The only exception to this rule is his adopted daughter: Ning Yingying, a dwarf. He's the one who abandoned Luo Binghe into the abyss after discovering his true nature.

Mu Qingfang: Tallman, 29 y/o, Healer. The group's medic.

Qi Qingqi: Tallman, 31 y/o, Swordswoman. She wanted to create a branch specifically for women in Cang Qiong Guild's but because of Shen Qingqiu's veto on recruiting other races she couldn't make it work.

Ming Fan: Tallman, 19 y/o, Mage. A cowardly young adventurer. He has a crush on Ning Yingying.

Ning Yingying: Dwarf, 51 y/o, Tank. Despite being older than him, she's Shen Qingqiu's adopted daughter whom he took in when she was merely 30 y/o. She likes her father a lot, however she can't forgive him for what he has done to Luo Binghe. (She'll leave Cang Qiong to join Shen Yuan's part at some point).

(Side note, Cang Qiong is still specialized in cultivation, hence why most of them look so young)

The Tieflings hideout:

Tieflings are a race that I made up for this AU specifically, inspired by D&D. They're inhabitant of the dungeon, tall and sturdy, with pointy ears akin to elves, horns of various shapes and tails. They can also use magic like elves, tallmen or gnomes, however their magic rely on its own set of rules.

Mobei-Jun: Tiefling, 92 y/o, King of the Northern tribe. Leader of one of the numerous tiefling tribes hidden in the abyss, he met Shang Qinghua twenty years ago in the abyss and has made him swear his loyalty to him since then. He has sensed change in the abyss since Luo Binghe's arrival, and decided to trust Shen Yuan's party to solve this issue... With the compensation of Shang Qinghua.

Sha Hualing: Half-ogre half-halfoot, 15 y/o, Princess of the Eastern tribe. Adopted daughter of the king of the eastern tribe, she's a bastard born from the forbidden union between an ogre and a half-foot and was abandoned into the abyss at birth. Of short stature, with a short life spawn, she makes up for it with her keen senses and her strength. She later on joins Shen Yuan's party.

The first Tieflings:

Tianlang-Jun: Tiefling, ??? y/o, Master of the Abyss. The master of the abyss, his powers are beyond anything imaginable. He claims to have eaten what has given him those powers and since then has known hunger beyond what any mortal could endure. He has once fell in love with a tallman woman by the name of Su Xiyan, but she has left the abyss years ago, and he doesn't know what her whereabouts are... The only thing he knows is that she's the only one capable of satisfying this hunger that eats him from the inside.

Zhuzhi-Lang: Beastman (snake), ??? y/o, Guardian of the abyss. Tasked by the Abyss' Master to protect its inhabitants, he'll kill anyone who gets in his ways indiscriminately at the exception of Shen Yuan, who saved him years ago when exploring the abyss for the first time. He only obeys the Abyss' Master orders, and because of that, has forced the Tieflings deeper and deeper into the abyss regardless of how they felt about it. As a chimera, he's more snake than the tiefling his soul has been mixed with.

Other groups:

Huan Hua's guild (the governor's guild): The one guild financed by the governor of the state in which the abyss is located. Its members are from various races. Despite the guild stating they're open to anyone, only those from a wealthy background can become a part of it.

Zhao Hua's guild: Specialized in magic. They have rounds to reanimate unlucky adventurers in the abyss.

Tian Yi's guild: Specialized in training new adventurers.

And that's it for now! What awaits them in the abyss? Many adventures and delicious cooking, that is, if Luo Binghe can handle it.

"Freed from the abyss at long last... Forced to cook the monsters with seasoning this time. I've been cursed there's no other way to explain it... Damn it, it's good though, I really am a great cook."

[moonlightwritingf1]

The fire between us | LN4

☃️ summary ━━━━━━━ Trapped in a Swiss cabin during a snowstorm, Lando and Y/N, who’ve been friends for less than a year, are left alone. As they play strip poker, hidden feelings surface, leading to a playful, intimate night where their connection deepens.

☃️ pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

☃️ word count ━━━━━━━ 7.4k

☃️ warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content

It was the week before Christmas, and the Swiss Alps had transformed into a winter wonderland. A luxurious cabin was nestled at the foot of the mountains, offering everything one could dream of—cozy fireplaces, panoramic views, and an atmosphere thick with the promise of festive memories. Lando had been the first to arrive. As the one who’d paid for the cabin and organized the trip, he had eagerly anticipated the getaway with their friend group. He loved skiing, but even more than that, he loved the idea of spending a few quiet days away from the hustle and bustle. More than anything, though, he was excited about being alone with her—Y/N.

From the moment they met less than a year ago through mutual friends, Lando had been captivated by her. She was different, making his heart race just a little faster whenever she was near. He tried to hide it—keeping his feelings buried beneath casual conversations and friendly smiles—but every time he saw her, his heart betrayed him. He couldn't stop thinking about her.

Despite his efforts to keep his feelings hidden beneath casual conversation and playful teasing, they simmered just below the surface, growing stronger each time they hung out.

But Y/N had no idea. At least, that’s what he thought. She treated him like a close friend—nothing more. They’d spent time together over the months, enjoying each other’s company, making memories, but it was always just... friendly. And Lando had become all too familiar with that painful distance—the fine line between friendship and something more that he had no idea how to cross.

That was until this trip.

When Y/N finally arrived, she was the second person to make it to the cabin. And just as she stepped out of her car, the snowstorm began. The storm had been forecasted, but it hit much harder than expected. Before long, the roads were impassable, and their friends were stuck on the other side of the mountain, unable to get to the cabin. Just like that, Lando and Y/N were alone together, stranded in the middle of nowhere, with only each other’s company to keep them entertained.

Y/N was still adjusting her coat, brushing the snowflakes from her hair as she walked inside, her cheeks flushed from the cold. Lando, who had been staring out the window with a faint smile, snapped out of his daze when she appeared in the doorway.

“Hey! It’s freezing out there,” she said, stomping her boots on the mat as she entered.

Lando couldn't help but grin, his heart skipping at the sight of her. “You're telling me. I wasn’t expecting this kind of snowstorm.” He glanced outside. The flakes were falling heavier now, swirling around in the night sky. “Looks like we’re snowed in for a while.”

Y/N laughed. “Great. I hope we’re stocked up on food. I’m not sure I can survive on just wine and Christmas cookies.”

Lando chuckled, holding the door open for her to come inside. "We've got plenty of food. We’re going to be fine. Don’t worry."

“And it looks like it’s just you and me for the next few days,” she said, her voice light but with a hint of something more—something he couldn’t quite place.

Lando smiled, trying to act nonchalant, but his pulse quickened. “I guess so. Should be fun,” he replied, glancing around the spacious cabin. The fire was already crackling in the living room, the tree twinkling with Christmas lights, and everything felt so cozy. But it was also... quiet. Too quiet. Just the two of them.

After they had settled in and exchanged pleasantries about the snowstorm, Y/N collapsed onto the couch, kicking off her boots and letting out a sigh of relief. “This place is amazing, Lando. I could live here.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Lando replied, smiling at her. “It’s the perfect place to get away.”

They exchanged a few casual words, laughing at some of the jokes their friends had sent through text. But as the night grew darker and the storm raged outside, they were left alone in the quiet of the cabin, with only the sound of the fire and the wind howling through the trees.

Y/N stretched out, glancing at Lando from across the room. “So, what now? We’ve got the whole place to ourselves. What should we do?”

Lando’s eyes twinkled with mischievous intent. “Well, we could play a game.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “A game? Like Monopoly or something?”

He shrugged nonchalantly, though his mind was already racing with possibilities. “Or something a little more... interesting.”

Her curiosity piqued, Y/N leaned forward. “What did you have in mind?”

Lando’s lips curved into a sly grin. “How about strip poker?”

Y/N blinked, clearly taken aback. “Strip poker? Really?”

Lando chuckled, knowing how she might react. He’d teased her with ideas like this before, but never seriously. Tonight, however, it felt like the perfect opportunity to let the playful tension between them simmer into something more. “What? You scared?” he asked, his voice dipping into a low, teasing tone.

She crossed her arms over her chest, clearly thinking it over. “Scared? Of you? Please.” Y/N shot him a teasing grin of her own. “You sure you want to risk it?”

“I’m not scared. Are you?”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “Fine. Let’s do it. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Lando grinned, gathering the cards. He wasn’t entirely sure how they got to this point, but there was no turning back now. He could already feel the playful, flirty energy between them, and it only made him want to tease her more. The game started innocently enough. They each took turns dealing the cards, laughing as they made their moves. At first, it felt just like any other game—light, easy, and full of jokes.

But as they started shedding clothes, something shifted. Lando couldn’t help but notice how Y/N’s eyes lingered on him just a little too long, how her lips curled into a teasing smile whenever he lost a round. And she was good—really good. Each time she won a hand, she would make a show of pulling off a layer of clothing, the way her body moved making Lando’s pulse spike in ways he didn’t want to acknowledge.

When Y/N was down to her tank top and leggings, she shot him a look. “Looks like I’m winning, Lando. Are you sure you’re alright with that?”

Lando could barely keep his eyes off of her. The way she smiled, the way she moved... everything about her made his heart race. “I’m just getting warmed up,” he said, trying to sound casual. “You should be worried.”

“Worried?” She let out a soft, melodic laugh, clearly enjoying the challenge. “I’m not the one losing clothes here.”

Lando grinned, trying to shake off the growing heat that he felt every time she looked at him. He could tell by the way she kept glancing at him that she was feeling the tension too. This wasn’t just a game anymore—it had become something else, something more dangerous, and he couldn’t seem to pull back. “It’s not over yet,” he said, his voice low.

Y/N shrugged, her lips curling up into a smile. “I’m not sure you can come back from this, but we’ll see.”

Finally, it was down to the last round. Both of them were now only in their underwear, the cards spread out between them on the floor. The fire crackled in the background, the only sound in the room except for their breathing.

“So,” Y/N said, her voice low, “you ready to lose?”

Lando swallowed hard. “Not yet,” he replied, trying to sound confident, though his mind was racing. The last layer of clothing between them felt like a barrier he couldn’t cross, but the tension was thick enough to slice with a knife.

They played their final hands, both of them taking risks, both of them desperately trying not to give in. And in the end, it was Y/N who won. She threw down her cards with a laugh, eyes sparkling.

“Well, looks like you’re the one who’s going to lose this time,” she said smugly, leaning back with a satisfied grin.

Lando stared at her, a slow smile tugging at his lips. “I’m just getting started.” Without another word, he closed the gap between them, pulling her into a kiss that was nothing like the playful teasing they had shared moments before. This kiss was slow, deliberate, filled with the intensity of everything that had been building up between them for months.

Y/N froze for a second, surprised by the suddenness of it, but then she melted into him, her hands cupping his face as she kissed him back with equal fervor. The heat from the fire seemed to intensify as they deepened the kiss, their bodies pressed close together, the game now forgotten.

When they finally pulled apart, their faces flushed with more than just the warmth of the fire, Lando whispered, “I think I lost... but in the best possible way.”

Y/N’s smile softened as she traced the line of his jaw with her finger. “I think we both won,” she said quietly.

They decided to keep playing, though the silence between them was heavy, thick with unspoken words and unfinished moments. Lando could feel it in the way Y/N’s breath hitched slightly when he leaned closer, and in the way her fingers trembled just enough to be noticeable as she reached for another card.

This is it, he thought, his pulse quickening. One more round. One more chance to either lose everything or finally claim what he’d been wanting for so long.

“Your move,” Y/N said, her voice low but steady, her eyes locked on his. Her lips curved into a faint smile, teasing but laced with something deeper—something that sent a shiver down his spine.

Lando swallowed hard, his fingers brushing against the edge of the deck. He could feel the heat radiating off her, even from across the makeshift table they’d created on the floor. Her bra hugged her skin, the straps resting delicately on her shoulders, drawing his attention and making it impossible to focus on anything else. His own boxers felt like a damn prison at this point, constricting every thought and movement.

“You’re staring,” she murmured, her voice light but pointed.

He blinked, caught off guard, and forced a laugh. “Am I?”

Y/N tilted her head, her grin widening. “A little. You might want to focus. If you lose again, there won’t be much left to look at.”

Her words were playful, but there was an edge to them, a challenge that made his chest tighten. Focus, Lando, he told himself. But no matter how hard he tried, his gaze kept drifting back to her. To the way her hair fell in soft waves over her shoulder, the way her cheeks were flushed from the warmth of the fire and whatever tension was simmering between them.

“I’m focused,” he said, trying to sound confident even though his heart was pounding. “Just... taking my time.”

“Mmhmm,” she replied, clearly unconvinced. She leaned forward, her elbows resting on the ground, and the movement drew his attention to the way her bra shifted, revealing just a hint of skin.

God, he thought, how is she doing this to me?

He picked up his cards, his fingers trembling slightly as he flipped them over. Two pairs. Not bad, but not great. He glanced at Y/N’s hand, trying to gauge her expression, but she was too good. Her face was calm, composed, her eyes still locked on his with that same spark of mischief.

“Well?” she asked after a beat of tense silence. “Are you going to fold, or are you in this to the end?”

Lando hesitated, his mind racing. He could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on him, the knowledge that this wasn’t just a game anymore. It was something more, something that had been building between them for months. And now, here they were, alone in this cabin, stripped down to the bare minimum, their bodies close enough to touch.

If I fold, he thought, then it’s over. And if I don’t...

He looked at her, really looked at her, and saw the faintest flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. That was all the encouragement he needed.

“I’m in,” he said, his voice steadier than he felt.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by his decision. “Alright then. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

She laid down her cards, and Lando’s stomach dropped. Three jacks. He couldn’t believe it. She’d beaten him again.

“Damn,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “You’re good at this.”

Y/N laughed, a soft, melodic sound that made his chest ache. “Told you you should’ve folded.”

“Yeah, well,” he said, forcing a grin. “Guess I’ll have to live with the consequences.”

He started to move, reaching for the waistband of his boxers, but Y/N stopped him with a single word.

“Wait.”

Lando froze, his hand hovering above his hips. “What?”

Y/N met his gaze, her eyes dark with something he couldn’t quite place. “Let’s make this interesting.”

His pulse quickened. “Interesting how?”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she pushed herself up onto her knees, bridging the gap between them until she was close enough that he could feel the warmth of her breath on his skin.

“Take them off,” she said quietly, her voice almost a whisper. “But not yet. Just... stay like that.”

Lando’s throat went dry. He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks, in his chest, everywhere. “Like what?”

Y/N’s gaze flicked downward, lingering for a moment before returning to his face. “Tease me first. Make me wait.”

The request hung in the air between them, heavy and charged. Lando could feel his heart hammering against his ribs, the blood rushing through his veins. He wanted to protest, to say something clever or sarcastic, but the way she was looking at him—like she was daring him, testing him—made it impossible to think of anything else.

“You’re serious?” he managed to ask, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N nodded slowly, her eyes never leaving his. “Very.”

For a moment, neither of them moved. The fire crackled softly behind them, the storm outside howling louder now, as if urging them to act. Lando could feel the weight of her gaze, the way it seemed to pierce through him, stripping away any pretense of control.

And then, without thinking, he reached for the hem of his boxers, tugging it upward just enough to reveal the barest hint of skin.

Y/N’s breath hitched, her lips parting slightly as she watched him. “More,” she said, her voice low and husky.

Lando swallowed hard, his fingers trembling as he pulled the fabric up another inch. He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks, in his chest, everywhere. “Is this what you wanted?”

Y/N didn’t answer right away. Instead, she leaned closer, her fingers brushing against his thigh. “Almost,” she said, her voice a sultry purr. “But not quite.”

Lando’s breath caught in his throat. He could feel the heat of her hand on his skin, the sensation sending sparks of electricity coursing through his body. “What do you want, Y/N?” he asked, his voice rough with need.

She smiled, slow and deliberate, her eyes locking on his. “Show me,” she said simply. “Show me how much you want this.”

Lando’s fingers brushed against the waistband of his boxers, his breath hitching as he hesitated for just a moment. His eyes remained locked on Y/N’s, her gaze steady and unyielding, daring him to go further. The firelight danced across her face, casting shadows that made her look even more alluring, more demanding. He couldn’t resist—not anymore.

With a slow, deliberate motion, he slid his boxers down, revealing himself completely to her. The air between them seemed to thicken, charged with an electric tension that made his skin prickle. He was fully exposed now, every inch of him on display, and yet it didn’t feel humiliating or uncomfortable. Instead, it felt... thrilling. Dangerous.

Y/N’s breath hitched as she took in the sight of him, her cheeks flushing a deep shade of red. Her lips parted slightly, but no words came out. She was clearly caught off guard, though whether by surprise or arousal, Lando couldn’t tell. What he did know, though, was that her reaction only fueled his own desire. He was playing with fire, and he wasn’t about to back down.

“Satisfied?” he asked, his voice low and rough, practically dripping with challenge. The corner of his mouth lifted into a sly grin as he watched her squirm under his gaze.

Y/N blinked, shaking her head as if to clear it. “I... I don’t think so,” she stammered, her voice uncharacteristically breathless. She leaned back on her hands, her legs crossed at the ankles, trying to maintain some semblance of composure. But the way her chest rose and fell rapidly, the way her eyes kept darting to him and then away, gave her away.

Lando chuckled softly, leaning forward just enough to shift the dynamic between them. “Come on, Y/N,” he said, his tone teasing. “You can’t expect me to believe you’re not impressed.”

She rolled her eyes, though the effect was ruined by the flush that spread across her neck. “Impressed? By what? Your poker skills? Because those definitely left something to be desired.”

He smirked, knowing she was just trying to play it cool. “Oh, I see. So you’re still mad that I lost. Fine. Maybe we should play another round. Even the odds.”

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, her expression shifting from playful to wary in an instant. “Another round? Really? You’re not exactly... dressed for the occasion.”

Lando leaned back, stretching casually, his movements slow and deliberate. “Who says I need clothes to play? Besides,” he added, his voice dropping to a whisper, “it’s not like you’re shy about winning.”

Her breath caught again, and this time she didn’t try to hide it. The heat in the room had reached an almost unbearable level, and it wasn’t just from the fire. With only her underwear on, every subtle movement was impossible to ignore. Lando’s eyes flicked to the way her pulse jumped at the base of her throat, the way her legs shifted restlessly against the floor as if she was trying to maintain control. She was fighting it, resisting the pull between them, but he could see the cracks forming in her resolve. And honestly? He loved watching her struggle.

“Alright,” she said finally, her voice trembling just enough to betray her nerves. “But this is your last chance. Don’t blame me if you lose everything.”

“Don’t worry,” Lando replied, his grin widening. “I’m used to betting big.”

They shuffled the cards once more, their fingers brushing more often than necessary. Each touch sent a jolt of anticipation through Lando, making him wonder if Y/N was feeling it too. The game began, but it was hard to focus with the way she kept stealing glances at him, her eyes lingering just a little too long on places they shouldn’t.

The first few rounds were tense, both of them holding their cards close to their chests. Lando tried to keep his confidence up, but the way Y/N’s breathing quickened with each passing moment made it difficult. She was getting flustered, clearly struggling to concentrate, and it only made him tease her more.

“You alright over there?” he asked after a particularly long pause, his voice dripping with mock concern. “Need a break? A glass of water, maybe?”

Y/N glared at him, though the effect was softened by the blush spreading across her cheeks. “I’m fine,” she snapped, though her voice wavered slightly. “Just... focusing.”

Lando chuckled, leaning closer until their knees nearly touched. “Focusing on what? The rules of the game, or... other things?”

She swallowed hard, her eyes flickering to his before darting away. “Maybe both,” she admitted quietly, her cheeks burning brighter.

It was the admission Lando had been waiting for. Her honesty, her vulnerability, it was all he needed to see that she was just as affected by this as he was. And with that realization, his confidence surged.

“Well, then,” he said, his voice smooth and assured. “Why don’t we make it a little more interesting?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her bravado returning in full force. “Oh? And how do you propose we do that?”

Lando leaned in even closer, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered, “How about... a forfeit? For every round you win, I have to do whatever you say. And for every round I win...” He paused, giving her a moment to process. “You have to do whatever I say.”

Her breath caught again, and this time she didn’t try to hide it. The tension between them was palpable, the air thick with unspoken desire. She knew this was dangerous territory, but the way Lando’s eyes burned with mischief and intent was impossible to ignore.

“Fine,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Lando grinned, his heart racing as he dealt the next hand. This was it. This was where the real game began.

The cards were shuffled again, the deck slick between their fingers as they settled into another round. The fire crackled softly in the background, casting flickering shadows on the walls of the cabin. The storm outside raged on, but inside, it was warm and intimate, the air thick with unspoken promises.

Lando leaned back slightly, his eyes fixed on Y/N. “Your move,” he said, his voice low and deliberate. There was a spark in his gaze that made her stomach flutter—a mix of challenge and something deeper she couldn’t quite name.

Y/N met his stare, her lips curling into a small smile. She could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on her, the stakes higher than ever before. Every movement, every word, seemed to carry more meaning than it should. She shifted slightly, her legs brushing against his under the makeshift poker table, and Lando’s breath hitched just barely.

She played her cards carefully, her mind working overtime to anticipate his moves. But even as she focused on the game, she couldn’t ignore the way his presence seemed to fill the room. His knee grazed hers again, deliberately this time, and she shivered despite herself.

“Bold play,” Lando murmured as he laid down his hand, a sly grin tugging at his lips. “But I think I’ve got you beat.”

Y/N glanced at his cards, her heart sinking slightly as she realized he was right. She bit her lip, trying to hide her disappointment, but Lando was already leaning forward, his expression teasing yet somehow serious.

“Looks like you owe me,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper that sent a shiver down her spine.

“What do you want?” she asked, her voice steady despite the butterflies in her stomach. She knew whatever he had in mind wouldn’t be simple, and part of her reveled in the idea of giving him control.

Lando paused for a moment, as if weighing his options. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her face, his fingertips lingering against her cheek. “Take off your bra,” he said simply, his tone light but his eyes burning with intent.

Y/N froze for a second, her breath catching in her throat. The request was direct, unexpected, and yet… not entirely unwelcome. She could feel the heat rising to her cheeks, but she refused to let it show. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, meeting his gaze with a confidence she wasn’t sure she truly felt.

“That all?” she teased, her voice cool despite the way her pulse quickened.

Lando chuckled, low and deep, the sound sending a thrill through her. “For now,” he replied, his eyes never leaving hers. He was enjoying this, she realized—enjoying the way she fought to maintain her composure, the way she challenged him even as she gave in.

Y/N hesitated for just a moment longer, then reached behind her back. The clasp of her bra came undone easily, and she slid the straps down her arms, letting the fabric pool at her waist. She kept her posture relaxed, her shoulders straight, refusing to let him see how much his attention affected her.

Lando’s gaze dropped to her chest, his expression softening for a moment before he forced himself to meet her eyes again. “Gorgeous,” he said quietly, his voice almost reverent.

“You’re not too bad yourself,” Y/N replied, her tone light as she tried to keep things playful. But there was an edge to her words, a hint of something raw and unspoken that made Lando’s breath hitch.

They sat like that for a moment, the tension between them palpable, the room feeling smaller with each passing second. Then Lando spoke again, his voice low and rough. “Another round?”

Y/N nodded, her heart racing as she picked up the cards. This time, there was no mistaking the electricity between them, no pretending that this was just a game. It was something more, something dangerous and thrilling, and she was all in.

The next few rounds passed in a blur. They teased each other mercilessly, their banter sharpening with every hand. But there was an underlying current of desire now, an awareness of how close they were, how little separated them except for the thin layer of her underwear and the rules they’d set.

Lando won again, his grin widening as he laid down his cards. “Looks like I get to collect my prize,” he said, his voice dripping with mischief.

Y/N’s breath caught as she realized what that meant. “And what exactly is your prize?” she asked, her voice steady despite the heat pooling in her lower belly.

Lando leaned in closer, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered, “I want to taste you.”

The words hung in the air between them, heavy and charged with meaning. Y/N felt her heartbeat accelerate, her skin tingling in response to his proximity. She should have said no, should have put a stop to this before it went any further. But the truth was, she didn’t want to. Not with him. Not when he looked at her like that, with such fierce intensity it stole her breath.

“You’ll have to be more specific,” she said finally, her voice trembling just slightly. She was playing with fire, she knew that, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

Lando’s grin widened, and he slid his hand along her thigh, his touch warm and insistent. “I want to make you come,” he said, his voice low and smooth, “with my tongue.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, her entire body flooding with heat at his words. She could feel the flush spreading across her chest, her nipples tightening in response to his nearness. She wanted to say yes, wanted to give in to the hunger that had been building inside her since the moment they’d first kissed. But part of her hesitated, afraid of what it meant, afraid of how far this would go.

“Are you sure about that?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lando didn’t answer with words. Instead, he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against hers in a soft, fleeting kiss. “Never been more sure of anything,” he murmured against her lips.

Then, without waiting for her reply, he stood and pulled her to her feet. In one swift motion, he guided her backward until she was sitting on the edge of the couch, her legs dangling over the side. He knelt in front of her, his hands resting on her thighs, his gaze locked on hers.

Y/N’s breath hitched as Lando’s hands slid up her thighs, his touch warm and deliberate. She swallowed hard, her heart pounding in her chest as she stared down at him. His eyes were intense, almost predatory, and the way he looked at her made her feel like she was the only thing that mattered in the world.

“Tell me to stop,” he repeated, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down her spine. “But if you don’t…”

If I don’t? Her mind raced, torn between the sudden rush of desire and the lingering caution that held her back. But then she met his gaze—those deep, dark eyes that seemed to see straight through her. There was no hesitation there, no doubt. Just pure, unfiltered need, and it was contagious.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered, her voice trembling with anticipation.

Lando’s lips curved into a slow, satisfied smile, and then he was moving, his hands sliding beneath her thighs as he gently urged them apart. Y/N sucked in a sharp breath as he knelt lower, his face now level with her aching core. The firelight danced across his features, casting shadows that made him look both dangerous and irresistible.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with admiration as his fingers grazed the edge of her underwear. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

Y/N’s cheeks burned, but she couldn’t deny the thrill that coursed through her at his words. His honesty was intoxicating, and it made her want to surrender completely. “Show me,” she said, her voice barely more than a breath. “Show me how much you want this.”

His answer was immediate. In one swift motion, he hooked his fingers under the elastic of her panties and pulled them aside, exposing her to the cool air again. Y/N gasped, her body tensing as his breath ghosted over her sensitive skin. Then, without warning, his mouth was on her, his tongue darting out to taste her.

“Oh!” The sound escaped her before she could stop it, a mix of surprise and pleasure that left her head spinning. Lando chuckled softly against her, the vibration sending another wave of sensation rippling through her. He teased her with his tongue, flicking and circling in lazy patterns that had her gripping the edge of the couch for support.

“Lando…” she moaned, her hips twitching as she tried to push herself closer to him. But he wasn’t done teasing her yet. His hands gripped her thighs tighter, holding her steady as he explored every inch of her with his mouth. His tongue delved deeper, curling and pressing in ways that made it impossible for her to think clearly.

Her breath came in short, jagged bursts, each one louder than the last. The fire crackled behind her, its warmth spreading through her body along with the overwhelming sensations Lando was stirring within her. He’s so good at this, she thought dimly, her mind fogging over with pleasure. So in control.

But just when she thought she might actually pass out from the intensity of it all, Lando changed his pace. Instead of the slow, deliberate movements that had been driving her wild, he began to move faster, his tongue darting in and out of her in a rhythm that matched the pounding of her heart. His teeth grazed lightly against her clit as he sucked, creating a new kind of friction that had her arching her back and crying out his name.

“Yes, yes, yes!” she chanted, her words incoherent as her orgasm built and built inside her. Lando didn’t let up, not for a second. If anything, he intensified his efforts, his fingers brushing against her folds as his mouth worked furiously. The dual stimulation was too much—too perfect—and within moments, she was shattered.

“LAN-DO!” Her scream filled the cabin as her hips bucked against his face, her entire body trembling with the force of her release. It felt like everything inside her was exploding, over and over, until she was nothing but a quivering mess. Lando rode out her climax with ease, his mouth never leaving her as he licked and kissed until every last bit of tension had drained from her body.

When she finally collapsed back onto the couch, her chest heaving and her legs still shaking, Lando pulled away slowly, his lips wet and his expression smug. “Better than winning at poker?” he asked with a grin, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Y/N glared at him, though her smile gave her away. “Don’t get cocky,” she panted, batting his hand away playfully.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he said, standing and towering over her. “Round one was just the beginning.”

Before she could respond, he grabbed her by the hips and lifted her onto his lap, positioning her so that she was straddling him. His erection pressed firmly against her core, already demanding attention, and Y/N couldn’t help but shudder at the sensation.

“Ready for round two?” he asked, his voice low and husky as he nipped at her earlobe.

Y/N’s response was instant. She ground her hips against him, relishing the way his breath hitched and his grip tightened on her waist. “Show me,” she whispered, her voice laced with challenge. “Show me what else you’ve got.”

Lando didn’t need to be told twice. With one hand on her back and the other guiding himself, he lined his length up with her entrance. Y/N braced herself, her heart racing as she felt the blunt pressure of his tip against her slick folds. Then, with a deep groan, he pushed forward, filling her in one smooth thrust.

“Fuck,” she gasped, throwing her head back as the fullness hit her all at once. It was overwhelming—his size, his strength, the way he claimed her so utterly. She’d never felt anything like it, and the realization only heightened her arousal.

“You feel so good,” Lando growled, his voice rough with need as he pulled back and thrust into her again. “God, Y/N, you’re so tight.”

She clung to him, her nails digging into his shoulders as he set a steady rhythm. Each stroke was deliberate, hitting all the right spots and sending sparks of pleasure shooting through her veins. The firelight flickered across their entwined bodies, casting a golden glow that made everything seem even more intimate.

“Harder,” she demanded, her voice breaking as she shifted her hips to meet his thrusts. “Please, Lando. Harder.”

He didn’t hesitate. With a growl of approval, he grabbed her hips and drove into her with renewed vigor. The slap of skin against skin echoed in the quiet cabin, mixing with their ragged breaths and the occasional moan that slipped past her lips. Y/N clung to him, her body writhing as she surrendered to the sensation.

“Yes, yes, yes!” she cried out, her voice rising with each thrust. Lando buried his face in the crook of her neck, his teeth grazing her skin as he fucked her with relentless determination. He was everywhere—his hands, his mouth, his cock—and it was too much. Too perfect.

“I’m going to come again,” she warned, her voice trembling as her orgasm began to build once more. “Lando, I’m—”

“Come for me,” he commanded, his voice a raw, primal demand. “Let go, Y/N. Let me feel you come around me.”

Those words were her undoing. With a cry that echoed through the cabin, she threw her head back and shattered around him. Her inner muscles clenched tightly around his cock as her orgasm tore through her, leaving her breathless and trembling.

Lando’s thrusts slowed as he watched her fall apart in his arms, his own release nearing. He buried his face in her neck, whispering sweet, frantic promises as he continued to move inside her. And then, with a final, desperate thrust, he came undone.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he groaned, his voice strained as he spilled deep inside her. His whole body shuddered as he emptied himself into her, the sensation of being so intimately connected to her overwhelming.

They stayed like that for a moment, their bodies locked together as they caught their breath. Y/N pressed her forehead against his, her heart still racing as she tried to process everything that had just happened.

Lando and Y/N remained intertwined, their bodies still twitching with the aftershocks of their shared climax. The fire crackled softly in the background, casting a warm amber glow over them as they clung to each other, their breaths mingling in the quiet space between their lips.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The only sounds were their heartbeats slowing to a steady rhythm and the occasional pop of a log in the fireplace. The storm outside seemed distant now, its fury muted by the cocoon of warmth and intimacy they’d created within the cabin.

Y/N shifted slightly, her fingers tracing lazy patterns across Lando’s back. Her skin was still flushed, her body languid with satisfaction, but her mind was racing. She couldn’t believe how deeply she had let herself go—how completely she had surrendered to him. And yet, it felt right. It felt inevitable.

What is this? she wondered, her thoughts a jumbled mess of emotions. What are we doing?

Lando pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his eyes searching hers. His expression was soft, almost reverent, as if he were trying to drink in every detail of her face. “Hey,” he murmured, his voice low and tender. “You okay?”

She nodded slowly, her lips curving into a small smile. “Yeah. Just... catching my breath.”

He chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair away from her cheek. “Same here.”

Their eyes held for a moment longer before Y/N broke the silence again. “You’re really bad at poker, you know that?” she teased, her tone light despite the heat still simmering between them.

Lando grinned, the corner of his mouth quirking up in that playful way of his. “I thought I was pretty good at bluffing. Guess not.”

“You weren’t bluffing when you said you’d do anything to win, though,” she said, her voice dropping slightly as she remembered the intensity of his actions.

His grin faded, replaced by something far more serious. “No,” he admitted quietly. “I wasn’t.”

The air between them shifted, the playful tension giving way to something heavier. Y/N’s breath hitched, her heart racing as his words sank in. He wasn’t just talking about the game. He was talking about her.

She swallowed, her voice barely a whisper. “You mean it?”

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.” He shifted closer, his hand brushing her cheek with a tenderness that made her pulse quicken. His thumb traced her skin, his touch warm despite the chill lingering in the air. “You’re worth more than winning a game, Y/N. You’re worth everything.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, her heart pounding against her ribs. She wanted to say something—to tell him how much his words meant to her—but the words stuck in her throat. Instead, she leaned into his touch, closing her eyes for a brief moment as his warmth enveloped her. For months, she’d ignored the flickers of possibility between them, convincing herself it was all in her head. But now, there was no hiding from it.

When she opened her eyes again, she found him watching her with an intensity that made her stomach flutter. “Lando,” she started, her voice trembling slightly.

But he cut her off with a kiss, soft and lingering, as if he were savoring the taste of her. When he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against hers, their noses brushing as they breathed each other in.

“Don’t overthink it,” he murmured, his forehead resting lightly against hers. His lips curved into a soft smile, the teasing edge of his usual grin still there, but gentler now. “Just… let it happen.”

And for once, she did. She closed the distance between them, leaning into the warmth of his touch and the quiet certainty in his eyes. When their lips met, it was soft, tentative, but it carried the weight of everything unsaid.

The fire crackled in the background, but all she could feel was him—his warmth, his presence, and the promise held in the quiet stillness of the cabin.

Lando shifted again, rolling onto his back but keeping her close. Y/N curled up beside him, resting her head on his chest as his arm wrapped around her, pulling her even tighter against him. The steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her ear was oddly comforting, grounding her in a way she hadn’t realized she needed.

“So,” she said after a while, breaking the silence with a tone that was equal parts playful and curious. “What happens now?”

Lando chuckled, his chest vibrating beneath her. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” she said, lifting her head to look at him, “we can’t exactly keep playing strip poker. Not without clothes, anyway.”

He grinned, clearly enjoying her teasing. “Maybe not. But that doesn’t mean we’re out of games.”

Her eyebrow arched in question. “Oh? What did you have in mind?”

“How about truth or dare?” he suggested, his voice dripping with mischief.

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “Seriously? You want to play truth or dare? After all that?”

“Why not?” he countered, his grin widening. “It’s a classic. And who knows? Maybe we’ll learn something new about each other.”

She considered his proposal for a moment, her curiosity piqued. “Alright,” she said finally, sitting up slightly so she could look at him. “Let’s do it. But fair warning—I don’t hold back.”

“Neither do I,” he replied, his tone confident. “Your move.”

She bit her lip, thinking for a moment before deciding. “Truth.”

Lando’s grin turned sly. “Alright... what’s the last thing you Googled?”

Y/N blinked, surprised by the simplicity of his question. “Really? That’s your big question?”

“Yep,” he said, leaning back with a satisfied smirk. “Spill.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at her lips. “Fine. I Googled the best places to visit in Switzerland.”

“Huh,” he said, his expression thoughtful. “Planning a solo trip?”

“Maybe,” she said, shrugging nonchalantly. “Or maybe I just wanted to see if there was anywhere else worth checking out while we’re here.”

Lando’s smirk softened into a genuine smile. “Well, if you’re looking for recommendations, I’m your guy.”

“Good to know,” she said, tilting her head as she studied him. “Your turn. Truth or dare?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Dare.”

Her grin widened, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Alright... I dare you to kiss me until I forget my own name.”

Lando’s breath hitched, his eyes darkening as he processed her challenge. Before he could respond, she slid her hand along his jaw, guiding his face toward hers. Her lips met his in a kiss that was slower, deeper than before—a kiss that left no room for doubt about how much she wanted him.

He groaned softly into her mouth, his hands gripping her waist as he deepened the kiss. Every movement, every touch, seemed deliberate, as if he were etching the memory of this moment into his very soul.

When they finally pulled apart, Y/N’s cheeks were flushed, her breathing heavy as she looked up at him. “Okay,” she said breathlessly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I think you win this round.”

Lando chuckled, his thumb brushing across her lower lip. “Careful,” he warned, his tone teasing but with an edge of seriousness. “You’re playing with fire.”

“Good,” she said, her smile turning wicked. “Because I like it hot.”

Before he could respond, she kissed him again, her hands sliding down to his shoulders as she pressed herself closer to him. The fire roared behind them, the storm raged outside, but all that mattered was the connection they shared—a connection that was growing stronger with every passing moment.

They stayed like that for a while, lost in each other, the world beyond the cabin fading into obscurity. And as the night wore on, they continued to explore the depths of their desire, pushing boundaries and discovering new ways to bring each other pleasure.

It was a night unlike any other, a night that would stay with them long after the snow had melted and the fire had burned out. A night that marked the beginning of something extraordinary—something that neither of them could have predicted but that felt utterly, undeniably right.

[angelltheninth]

Friends with Benefits with Love and Deepspace Men

Pairing: Zayne, Rafayel, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, creampie, friends with benefits, protectiveness, love confession, fingering, realization of feelings, denaial of feelings, mating press, desk sex, jealusy, flirting, referanced cunnilingus

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

A/N: I would legit want to be their friends. The benefit is heaing me yap about how pretty they all are and whatever my newest hyperfixation is.

FwB!Zayne always tries to keep things strictly professional beween the two of you. There's him when he is your friend and collegue and him when he's making love to you on the surface of his desk. It's easy for him to cross between the lines, one moment he's giving you advice or talking about problem he has and the next he has his hand down your underwear and the other over your mouth, keeping you quiet. He's actually very good at going between the two modes and will never cross a line without your permission. Any feelings he might develop he will only show when he's being your lover, not when he's your friend.

FwB!Rafayel hides behind the flirting he does to make you belive he;s not as serious as he is. There will always be a time for him to be your friend and listen to any problems you make have, go on movie dates with you, take you shopping and order your favorite food when you're sad. And then there is the time when he offers to take your mind off what ever is bothering you by holding you close while you ride his cock and breathe heavily against his neck. Ocassionaly you have said you loved each other, and both of you know it's true, but you want to take a bit more before your relationshp takes that next step.

FwB!Xavier gets too into his own head about the whole deal becuase how is supposed to act that he wasn't balls deep in you the night before when you walk funny in front of him. Downright impossible for him to ignore the signs you give him. And he really does try his best but he doesn't want to make it seem like he only wants you for sex so he ends up texting you a lot while you're apart. Which only confuses things more. Truly he wishes there was an easy way for him to deal with this. Perhaps the best thing is for him to confess that he wants to be your boyfriend, not just the guy who makes you come and then never talks about it again until the next time.

FwB!Sylus teases you so much that you have no idea when he wants to be your friend and when he wants to fuck. There have been times where he deliberately made you think one thing only to do the other. Mindgames like these are fun for him, and watching you get all out of sorts because of it is even better. For as many times as he's fucked you into the bed he was also the one to comfort you when you were full of doubts and wanted nothing in return. Part of him hates that you still see him as a friend after all of that but he also won't force you to see him as anything else. Besies it's only a matter of time before you do.

FwB!Caleb is too jealous to stay just friends after the very first night you spend togeteher. Stares at othe guys that flirt with you so much a few of them actually took off running in the opposite direction. He didn's spend the whole night eating you out until you could no longer scream his name just for some other guy to swoop in and take you home. Try as he might to hide his jealus side it's very much impossibe, his smile gets sour and tight every time you tell him a guy flirted with you. A man like him can only tolorate so much before he confesses to you while fucking you. Not even romantically, he growls it out while having you folded in half and just as he fills you up with cum.

[rainydayathogwarts]

One of us - platonic!marauders x reader

summary: when the marauders find out you're an animagus, you're forced into the beginning of a friendship with them. wc: 1.2k+

With a piece of toast halfway through your mouth, actively listening to Evan’s story, the last thing you’d been expecting on a Monday morning was for Dumbledore to stand up for an announcement. “Will the following students please report to Professor McGonagall’s office.” The old wizard cleared his throat and Evan rolled his eyes, mockingly starting to list off the names of the marauders. “Sirius Black,” You and Evan burst into a fit of giggles at the accuracy of his prediction, listening closely for the other students’ names. “James Potter, Peter Pettigrew and,” Dumbledore paused, squinting his eyes at the slip of paper he was staring at as Evan mumbled ‘Remus Lupin’.

“Uh, Y/N L/N.” You felt all the blood drain away from your face and Evan’s jaw dropped from where he sat in front of you. You felt everyone’s eyes turn towards you and furrowed your eyes in confusion. Evan widened his eyes at you, nodding his head towards the entrance of the Great Hall. You gestured at him with your hands, expressing how you had no idea what you'd done, and grabbed the rest of your toast, sticking it between your teeth as you gathered your bag, slinging it over your shoulder.

Turning around, you were surprised to find the three other students lingering in the doorway, waiting for you. You bit through your toast, catching the piece of bread in your hand as you sped up your footsteps, catching up to them. The gears in your head churned as you thought about every single rule you broke in your last seven years at Hogwarts. But why on earth would you be called to see the head of gryffindor house when you weren’t even a gryffindor? You gasped, stopping in your tracks. The three boys in front of you spun around to look at you, a panicked look on your face. “Oh, looks like someone knows what they’re in trouble for.” Sirius teased in a sing song voice, a smirk making its way on his face.

“Oh, can you tell us please! Because, we’re probably in trouble for the same thing, and we always get in trouble so it could be anything! And you, you never get in trouble.” You grimaced at Pettigrew’s little rant, debating whether you should tell them. You shook your head quickly, swallowing the lump in your throat, saying with an embarrassing squeak “I can’t tell you.” Because being an unregistered animagus was not only breaking school rules, but breaking the law. And the only reason you would be called to Professor McGonagall’s office was because she too, was an animagus, and she’d be the only Professor who would know how to deal with situations like these. You looked at the three boys in front of you, rushing past them. But if that was the case, why on earth would they be called into her office too?

You huffed, making the final turn to Professor McGonagall’s office. You put your fist up, ready to knock, but held yourself back. “Hey,” You turned your head to look at the boy speaking to you, a gentle smile on his face. “Don’t worry. If you were in real bad trouble, you wouldn’t be called in with other people.” James nodded towards his two friends, mumbling “Speaking from experience here.” You scoffed in amusement, unable to help the small smile on your face, finally knocking on the wooden door. The “Come in!” was instant. You gulped, smile instantly dropping.

The three of you entered the room in a single file line, sitting down on the four chairs lined up in front of the deputy headmistress’ desk. Professor McGonagall didn’t look up at you until you were all settled, slamming a stack of papers down on the wooden surface of her desk. “Well,” She started with her familiar croak, adjusting her glasses on her nose. “This isn’t how I thought I’d start my week, but what’s life without surprises?” You laughed nervously at her words, but you could tell from her monotonous voice and serious facial expression that you were out of order.

“Recently, a few members of staff have heard students talking about how animals from the forbidden forest are getting comfortable and wandering on school grounds.” You sucked in a sharp breath, straightening your posture as you peeked at the three boys from the corner of your eye. They were glancing right back at you. “More specifically, mentions of a stag, the grim, and a white tiger.” Professor McGonagall looked straight up at you. “Ms. L/N the dog and stag may get away with it, and no one has even noticed the rat, but a white tiger? Students are claiming they’ve made the scientific discovery of the century because white tigers are apparently inhabitants of Scotland now. Scotland!!”

You felt heat rush to your face as she said those words, reaching up to take her glasses off and folding them in front of her. You smiled nervously, rearranging the the tie around your neck as you said “Frankly, Professor McGonagall, I’m not quite sure I know what you’re talking about.” A noise of disagreement came from Sirius, who was wincing at your challenging tone. Professor McGonagall reached for her wand, and you barely had time to react before she was mumbling “Revelio” under her breath. You felt your bones shift, the familiar warm feeling of your animagus form overtaking your body. You squealed, or rather roared, your thick, furry paws sending you leaping into the air as you quickly forced yourself to take shape of your human form again.

You stood awkwardly next to the chair you’d be sat on, patting your hands down on your hair to tame it and straightening out your shirt. Sounds of amazement came from the three marauders at your animagus state, watching as you calmly sat down, clearing your throat. “Alright then.” You muttered, tossing your hair over your shoulder. “You need to sign these registration forms.” The four of you made sounds of exclamation, standing up in unison. “That’s what I thought.” Professor McGonagall continued, a satisfied smile on tugging at her lips, “Now you four be careful. If I call you up here again, know that these forms will be waiting for you.”

You all made noises of agreement, speeding towards the door. You slammed the door open, taking a deep breath when you finally escaped Professor McGonagall’s wrath. You sighed, looking to where Remus Lupin leaned against the wall waiting for his friends. His eyebrows shot up in surprise at your dishevelled state. “Moons, you’ll never guess!” Sirius brushed past you, ranting on to his friend about your transformation. “Oh my goodness, be quiet!” You snapped, spinning on the balls of your feet to face him. Remus laughed, watching as James slung an arm over your shoulders, saying how you had to transform for them again, whilst Peter went on about how soft your white fur looked.

“You know what this means don’t you?” The tall boy called out, looking at how your shoulders became stiff and you tried prying your hair out from under James’s arm. You raised your eyebrows in question, prompting Remus to go on.

“It means you’re one of us now.”

[er1nne]

blurred lines

⸝⸝⸝ ⑅ —໒ྀི ִֶָ rafe cameron is kown for throwing the best parties, so of course your best friend had to attend, but who'd guess she'd leave you alone with him to take care of you

word count: 6.4k sorry lol

warnings : roofing / slight drug use, mostly fluff, misunderstood rafe as usual lol, also not proofread unfortunately so excuse any mistakes

AN: the problem is left ambiguous & left to the imagination so you can make up the problem, you guys loved the last one lol :) i have plenty more in the vault so let me know if y'all want them. enjoy!

(please do not copy or plagiarize, this is my original work subject to copyright)

You don’t know why you’re here.

The party is overwhelming, a pulsing, chaotic blend of music, voices, and movement that sets your nerves on edge. The heat of too many bodies pressed into one space makes the air thick, suffocating.

You hadn’t even wanted to come, but your friend had convinced you, promising it would be fun, promising she’d stay by your side. Your friend had dragged you along, practically vibrating with excitement at the idea of getting into a this party in particular for some reason. You don’t understand, she had gushed, fingers tight around your wrist, her eyes wide with something close to desperation. People would kill to be invited to one of these. She had promised it would be fun, that she wouldn’t leave your side, that this was a once-in-a-lifetime kind of night.

All lies. And just as quickly as you arrived, she had disappeared into the crowd, swallowed whole by the chaos, leaving you stranded in a place you had no business being. That promise had shattered the moment you stepped through the door. See, what she didn't tell you however, that it was at the famous Cameron Estate. As quickly as you both arrives, she had disappeared into the crowd, leaving you stranded in a sea of unfamiliar faces.

You don’t belong here. Not among the drunken recklessness, the glossy, carefree people who thrive on excess. Not in a house where money drips from every surface, where the air itself feels steeped in entitlement. You’ve heard the stories—everyone has. Rafe Cameron’s parties are one of a kind. But you're not the type to be interested in the whispers and gossip everyone spreads about them on campus.

Now, you hover near the wall, gripping a red solo cup with fingers that feel too tight, the plastic bending under the pressure of your grip. You're not normally a drinker, but given your nerves right now, you definitely needed the drink. You take a slow breath, exhaling through your nose. You’re not here to have a bad time. Maybe you just need to loosen up. One drink to take the edge off. You bring the cup to your lips, letting the liquid burn as it slides down your throat. It’s stronger than you expected, too sharp, making you cough slightly. You grimace, the burn lingering on your tongue, but you swallow it down anyway, hoping the warmth will spread, will make you feel like you belong here. You roll your shoulders, forcing yourself to relax, but the tension in your body remains stubborn, coiling tight in your muscles.

The bass reverberates through the floor, through your chest, making your pulse feel off-rhythm. People are laughing, shouting, clinking drinks together in messy toasts that spill onto the already sticky floors. Someone stumbles past you, knocking into your shoulder hard enough to make you stumble. You flinch, pressing yourself closer to the wall, hoping to make yourself smaller.

Still, you scan the room, searching for your friend, but she’s nowhere in sight. Irritation flickers through you—how could she just abandon you like this? You shift on your feet, debating whether to go find her or just leave altogether. But then, you feel it. A prickle at the back of your neck. It’s faint, barely noticeable at first, like the sensation of a cool breeze brushing your skin. Goosebumps rise along your arms, but you tell yourself it’s just the temperature shift from the packed, overheated room. The feeling lingers, subtle and nagging, trickling down your spine before settling deep in your gut. You shake it off, shifting your weight from foot to foot, convincing yourself it’s nothing more than the side effect of being in a crowded space with unfamiliar faces. But as the seconds stretch, so does the discomfort. The undeniable feeling of being watched. A vague, creeping unease, like an itch beneath your skin.

At first, you ignore it. The party is crowded, filled with wandering gazes and fleeting glances. It’s probably nothing. Probably just your imagination. But as the moments stretch, the feeling lingers, heavy and persistent. You force yourself to move, to look natural. You take another sip of your drink, even though the taste is sharp and acrid against your tongue, even though your stomach twists in protest. The burn should be grounding, but it only heightens the awareness prickling along your spine. You scan the room carefully, slower this time, more deliberate. Your gaze drifts past groups of people caught in conversation, past the drunken laughter and the messy dancing, past the flickering glow of the chandeliers overhead. Your fingers tighten around your cup as you look toward the bar, toward the far end of the room where the shadows stretch just a little deeper.

And then you see him.

Rafe Cameron.

He’s across the room, leaning against the bar like he belongs there, like he owns the place -- oh wait he does. Shit. You're the one who doesn't belong here. A drink dangles loosely in his fingers, but he doesn’t bring it to his lips. He’s not talking to anyone, not engaged in the revelry like everyone else. He’s just watching.

Watching you.

His gaze is a weight, heavier than it should be, anchoring you in place even as every nerve in your body is telling you to move. To look away. To do something. But you don’t. You can’t. The darkness in his gaze draws you in too close. The dim lighting carves deep shadows along the sharp edges of his face, accentuating the sharp lines of his jaw, the cool detachment in his features. He looks almost statuesque, like he was placed there, perfectly sculpted, perfectly still. And yet, despite the stillness, despite the casual way he leans against the bar, drink loose in his grasp, his presence feels anything but passive. It almost feels like an accusatory stare, but something in your gut tells you it's something else.

You swallow hard, pulse flickering unevenly as you force yourself to breathe. He’s like a fixture in the room, unmoving, his presence both effortless and overwhelming. The dim light carves shadows along the sharp lines of his face, accentuating the cool detachment in his gaze. He isn’t smiling. He isn’t pretending not to stare. Doesn’t break the stare. He just is.

You look away, but your body betrays you. A shiver traces your spine, and your fingers tighten around your cup. The weight of his attention settles over you, thick and suffocating. You shift from foot to foot, adjusting your stance, suddenly unsure of yourself in a way you hadn’t been moments before. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe he’s just bored. Maybe he’s not even looking at you. But when you glance back, just for a second, his gaze hasn’t wavered. The space between you feels charged, stretching taut like a thread ready to snap.

Your throat is dry, so you take another sip of your drink, trying to dispel the tension. The burn should be grounding, but it only adds to the growing warmth pooling low in your stomach. The room feels different now, like you’ve slipped into another layer of reality where things happen slower, where every movement matters. The ice in your glass has long since melted, leaving behind a diluted, lackluster drink that won’t do anything to soothe the warmth pooling low in your stomach. It’s the perfect excuse. A reason to step away, to put some much-needed space between you and the weight of his gaze, still heavy, still unwavering. The kind of look that sinks beneath your skin and stays there.

A group of people pass between you, momentarily breaking his line of sight. The spell should break. It doesn’t. Your heartbeat presses against your ribs, too fast, too shallow. He’s still watching, still waiting. You tell yourself you’re overreacting.

The other side of the bar feels farther than it should. The walk is a slow unraveling, each step meant to shake off the feeling of his eyes still following you, still holding on even when there’s distance. But it doesn’t work. Your heartbeat presses too hard against your ribs, too shallow, too quick, the way it does when something isn’t quite right. You tell yourself you’re imagining it, that it’s just in your head, that you’re overreacting.

But then your head starts to feel heavy.

Your fingers feel a little looser around your cup, but you barely register it. You take another sip, but the taste is wrong now—bitter, artificial. The warmth that had been pleasant before now sits heavily in your stomach, slow, syrupy. A strange warmth spreads through your limbs, slow and unfamiliar. Your vision feels sharper and blurrier at the same time. The music presses against your eardrums, a dull, throbbing hum that no longer matches the rhythm in your chest. The music distorts, stretching and bending at the edges. The lights seem dimmer, then too bright, flickering as if they’re keeping time with your unsteady pulse. The conversations around you feel distant, layered on top of one another like a badly tuned radio. Your breath catches, sharp and uneven. The sensation is gradual, creeping, and for a moment, you convince yourself you’re just tired, or maybe you drank too fast.

You steady yourself, shifting against the wall. But the floor feels different beneath you—less solid, somehow. Your limbs feel lighter, and at the same time, unbearably heavy. A cold sweat beads at the back of your neck. Something isn’t right. But it takes longer for your mind to catch up with your body, to connect the dots between the warmth in your stomach and the sluggish, detached feeling seeping into your bones. Panic claws at your throat. You try to take another step, force yourself to move, but your limbs feel detached, foreign.

You squeeze your eyes shut, hoping to shake the feeling, but it only makes the vertigo worse. The heat of the room presses in on you, suffocating, and the sound of laughter and music stretches, distorts, becomes something distant and hollow. You want to move, want to breathe, but it feels like you’re wading through thick fog, each step heavier than the last.

A bead of sweat trails down the back of your neck. Your heartbeat slams against your ribs, erratic and deafening. A sickly nausea curls in your stomach, spreading outward in slow, unbearable waves. The cup in your hand feels impossibly heavy, the plastic slick against your palm. You let it slip from your fingers, hear it hit the floor, but the sound is muffled, insignificant against the chaotic hum surrounding you.

Your vision tunnels, and for the first time, real fear grips you. The once vibrant room is now a mess of shadow and movement, colors bleeding together, voices rising and falling like waves crashing against the shore. You open your mouth, trying to call for your friend, but the words die before they leave your lips, dissolving into a breathless whisper. The realization is slow, unfurling like a nightmare you’re just starting to understand.

Your drink. Something is wrong with your drink.

Your breathing quickens, shallow and uneven, your chest rising and falling too fast, too tight. Your fingers twitch, grasping at nothing, muscles sluggish and unresponsive. The walls seem to bend and stretch around you, the lights overhead shifting like distant stars, too bright, too sharp. You blink rapidly, but it only makes the dizziness worse. The edges of your sight blur further, darkening. The room feels impossibly far away, your awareness slipping, slipping—

And then there’s a presence beside you.

A firm grip on your arm. The touch is steady, grounding, but you barely have the strength to turn your head and see who it is. You don’t have to.

You don’t know who it is.

The scent reaches you first—something clean, sharp, expensive, mixed faintly with alcohol. A voice cuts through the fog, low and steady, but the words slip past your understanding. The presence is steady, firm, an anchor against the overwhelming sensation that you’re floating, weightless. A name—your name?—is spoken again, but it barely registers, as if it belongs to someone else.

You part your lips to respond, but the words slip away before they can form. A strong arm curls around your waist, another against your shoulder. The world tilts, and you realize you’re being lifted. Your body feels light, unmoored, like a doll in someone’s grasp. Your head lolls against a broad chest, the steady rhythm of a heartbeat against your ear, grounding but distant. Footsteps echo—slow, purposeful—but you barely process them. The lights of the party blur into a smear of gold and shadow, flickering at the edges of your vision as you’re carried away.

The voices, the music, the chaos—it all drifts into silence. The world fades. Everything dissolves into black.

Dawn arrives in fractured light and warmth. The first thing you register is the persistent press of sunlight against your closed eyelids, insistent and intrusive. The dull ache in your skull pulses in synchronicity with your heartbeat. The silences of the space unsettles you—too stark a contrast to the last thing you remember.

A scent infiltrates your awareness—rich, savory. Coffee. Bacon. The comforting familiarity should soothe, but instead, it feeds the dissonance pooling in your gut. The weight of the blankets drapes over you, cool fabric against your overheated skin. Your limbs remain sluggish, burdened by an inexplicable fatigue.

Blinking against the light, you lift a hand to rub at your eyes. The motion feels distant, disconnected, as though your own body resists you. A tremor skates along your fingertips. A creeping unease slithers through you.

The room resolves in pieces. Soft, sun-dappled sheets. A nightstand, its dark wood surface adorned with a solitary glass of water. The low murmur of movement, distant yet present, beyond a partially ajar door. Every detail unfamiliar.

You sit up too fast.

The dizziness crashes into you, rendering the world momentarily unsteady. Your stomach churns in protest. A cold sweat prickles along your spine as you press your palm to your forehead, struggling to tether yourself to the present.

Where are you?

Your breaths come faster, shallower. The space surrounding you—spacious, curated, the kind of elegance that exudes wealth—does not belong to you. The bed is too large, the sheets too luxurious. The walls are adorned with artwork that suggests taste and affluence. This is not yours.

And you do not remember how you got here.

Your stomach knots, nausea clawing its way up your throat. Fragments of the night attempt to surface—the party, the music, the sensation of liquid sliding down your throat, the slow unraveling of your control. A pair of eyes lingering in the distance.

And then—

Nothing.

An abyss where your memory should be.

A new sound pulls you back—footsteps, nearing, steady. Your pulse stutters, skittering in your chest. Fear coils tight in your ribs, an instinctual response to the unknown.

The door swings open.

The figure standing there is silhouetted against the morning light, their presence filling the doorway with an unsettling quiet. You try to focus, to piece together something recognizable—an outline, a familiar stance—but the fog in your mind is thick, unrelenting. Your hands grip the sheets, fingers curling into the fabric as your breath catches, morning crust still coating your eyes, blurring your vision.

“Good morning.” The voice is smooth, calm, too composed. It should be comforting. It is not.

Your throat tightens as the memory gap yawns wider. Who is this? And why are you here?

The scent of coffee lingers in the air, mingling with something else—something darker, something you can’t yet name.

And then the figure takes a step forward, slow and deliberate. The weight of their presence fills the space, shifting the atmosphere in an unplaceable way. Shadows stretch and contract in the morning light, their silhouette still obscured by the glare of the sunlit doorway. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears, each thud a heavy punctuation against the silence.

Your fingers tighten against the sheets, as if their fabric might tether you to some semblance of control. But control is slipping. Your breath catches in your throat as they advance further, their posture unreadable, their face still hidden from view. The scent of coffee lingers, but now it’s mixed with something else—something faintly metallic, almost sterile, unsettling in a way you can’t name.

They pause just short of the bed, standing over you now. A tension lingers in the air between you, thick, expectant. And then—finally—their voice cuts through the quiet again, smooth and even, but carrying an undercurrent of something you can’t yet define.

"You’re awake."

The voice sends a shiver down your spine. Familiar, yet distant. Your eyes finally adjust, your surroundings sharpening into something tangible. The deep mahogany furniture, the neatly pressed linens, the faint scent of cologne woven into the fabric of the room. Recognition dawns in pieces, fragments of memory slipping through the haze like sand through fingers.

Your breath stutters. This is Rafe Cameron’s bedroom.

Panic blooms in your chest, sharp and unrelenting. Your fingers clutch at the sheets, grounding yourself as the weight of realization crashes over you. How did you get here? The last thing you remember—the party, the drink, the slow, dizzying descent into something dark and consuming. Everything after that is a blur, an abyss where memories should be.

The tension in your limbs loosens, but a strange warmth replaces it—one you can’t quite define. The proximity, the realization that he had carried you, that he had seen you at your most vulnerable. A rush of heat blooms beneath your skin.

You shift against the pillows, suddenly hyperaware of the way the fabric clings to your skin. The weight of the night presses down on you, something heavy and lingering, something you can’t shake off. Your arms pull in close to your body, shrinking in on yourself instinctively, the way you might if you were trying to disappear. The feeling creeps in, insidious and unspoken, settling in your chest like an ache.

Rafe notices.

He exhales, his posture shifting as he takes a step closer, then hesitates, watching your reaction. "Nothing happened," he adds, quieter this time, as if anticipating your thoughts. "I just... made sure you were okay."

You swallow, your throat dry. Your fingers twist into the sheets as you nod, the weight of the moment settling over you. He moves again, this time toward the bed, lowering himself onto the edge. The mattress dips under his weight, closing the space between you in an intimate proximity that makes your pulse stutter.

Your breath catches. He took care of you.

For a moment, neither of you speak. The silence is heavy, charged, filled with unspoken questions neither of you seems willing to voice. Your gaze flickers to his hands, resting loosely on his lap, his fingers curled slightly as if he’s resisting the impulse to reach out.

You should say something, anything. But all you can do is sit there, the warmth in your cheeks betraying you, your heart hammering against your ribs as you struggle to process what this moment means.

And Rafe just watches, waiting.

"Why?" The word leaves your lips before you can stop it, barely more than a whisper but sharp enough to cut through the quiet. It lingers between you, heavier than you intended, like it carries more meaning than just the question itself.

He glances at you then, something unreadable flickering across his face before he looks away again. There’s something about the way he won’t meet your eyes, the way his fingers press into his palms like he’s holding something back.

"You don’t remember much, do you?" His voice is quieter this time, like he already knows the answer.

You shake your head, swallowing around the lump forming in your throat. "Not after a certain point. Just… flashes."

You think you see something in his expression shift, something fleeting. His jaw clenches for half a second before he nods, just once, like that was what he expected. And then he looks past you, toward the window, like there’s something out there more bearable to face than this conversation. Like maybe he doesn’t want to see the way you’re looking at him now.

Rafe leans forward, resting his chin slightly down as if in deep thought. His jaw tightens, like he’s considering his words carefully. "Because that party wasn’t for you. You’re not like them."

His voice is steady, but there’s something beneath it, something almost reluctant. As if he’s saying more than just that, as if there’s something else sitting on the edge of his tongue, something he won’t let himself say out loud. Your breath hitches. He noticed you. Not just that you were there, but that you didn’t belong there, that you weren’t the kind of girl who let herself get lost in that world.

His fingers tap absently against his elbow before he exhales through his nose, slow and measured. Without a word, he reaches toward the nightstand, fingers closing around a small, amber bottle. He twists off the cap and shakes out two pills into his palm before handing them to you along with a glass of water.

You don’t know what to say, don’t know how to respond to the weight of his words. A thousand questions press at the back of your mind, but none of them make it past your lips. So instead, you just look at him, studying the way his shoulders stay tense, the way his fingers twitch slightly where they rest.

You hesitate, glancing between him and the offering. The silence lingers, thick and unspoken, but he doesn’t push. Just watches, unreadable, until you take them from his hand. The cool glass feels solid in your grip, the only thing grounding you in the moment.

"It'll help," he finally says, voice low, controlled. Not an explanation, not an insistence—just a fact. And then he looks away again, like the moment never happened.

Your heart stutters, warmth creeping up your neck. You aren’t used to this side of him, this quiet sincerity. It makes your stomach twist in a way that has nothing to do with fear.

You clear your throat softly, fingers tightening around the blanket as you shift. you murmur a quick thank you to him, the words barely above a whisper, like you’re afraid to break the fragile quiet between you, you must have lost your voice last night.

Rafe doesn’t react at first, doesn’t acknowledge it right away. He just sits there, staring at a fixed point on the floor like he’s lost in something too deep to name. And then, finally, he nods—just once, a subtle dip of his chin. No arrogance, no teasing. Just acceptance.

The silence stretches, thick and unmoving, pressing against the walls of the room. The air between you is charged with something neither of you is willing to name, a slow, smoldering tension that lingers in the way he breathes, in the way his fingers twitch just slightly where they rest against his knee. The world beyond the bedroom feels impossibly distant, like something you left behind the moment you opened your eyes.

You can hear your own breathing, the slow, measured inhales that feel too loud in the quiet, the way your pulse thrums against the side of your throat. Everything is heightened, magnified—the subtle shift of the mattress beneath his weight, the faint scent of his cologne clinging to the fabric of the sheets, the way the sunlight spilling through the curtains catches in his hair, illuminating the sharp angles of his face.

Rafe doesn’t move. He hasn’t since he handed you the water, since he watched you take the painkillers without a word. He just sits there, his posture loose but intent, his forearms resting against lightly against his body, as if he’s waiting for something. You don’t know what. You don’t know if he does either.

Your fingers tighten around the glass, the condensation cool against your skin. The weight of his attention is suffocating, not because it unsettles you, but because it’s steady. Because he’s not watching you the way other people do—not with expectation, not with scrutiny, but with something quieter, something that feels like it belongs entirely to this moment.

You shift beneath the covers, suddenly aware of the space between you, of how small the room feels despite its size. There’s no rush, no urgency, but the tension coils slow and tight in the air between you, a pull that neither of you acknowledges, but neither of you breaks.

You should say something. Maybe to fill the silence, maybe to push away the weight of whatever is settling over the two of you, but the words don’t come. Instead, you glance at him, at the way his jaw is set, the way his gaze flickers—just for a moment—to the space where your hands curl into the blanket, to the way your shoulders have drawn inward, like you’re bracing yourself for something.

The realization lands heavily: he’s waiting for you to be okay.

You exhale, slow, measured. It should ease some of the pressure in your chest, but it doesn’t. The sheets smell like him. The realization makes your stomach twist, sharp and unexpected, and you inhale quickly, trying to steady yourself, to push it away. But it’s everywhere. His scent, his presence, the ghost of the weight of his gaze on you.

Rafe leans back slightly, his movements deliberate, unrushed. He shifts, settling more comfortably, but it does nothing to loosen the tension laced through the room. If anything, it solidifies it, makes it more tangible, makes it something that feels like it could snap at the slightest provocation.

The past few hours are a blur, a haze of flashing lights and distorted sound, of the world tilting beneath your feet, of a hand—his hand—steadying you before everything went dark. And now you’re here, in his bed, wrapped in the lingering remnants of a night you can barely piece together, but one thing is painfully clear: Rafe Cameron didn’t leave you behind.

And that fact, that certainty, makes your stomach twist.

Your fingers toy absently with the edge of the blanket, your gaze trained on nothing in particular. You can feel him watching you, can feel the weight of it in the space between you, in the air that crackles with something unspoken, something slow-burning and unrelenting.

It’s infuriating, the way he’s so still, so quiet, like he has all the time in the world to wait for you to make sense of whatever is unraveling inside you. Like he doesn’t care how long it takes.

Another beat of silence.

Then, finally, he shifts, pushing himself up from the bed with a slow, fluid motion. His presence doesn’t leave with him, though—it lingers, draped over you like a second skin, woven into the air you’re breathing, into the space he just vacated. He pauses near the door, his hand resting loosely on the frame, his body turned slightly like he’s debating whether or not to say something.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he looks at you, a glance that lasts only a second but feels like it stretches forever, before he turns and disappears into the hallway, leaving you alone with nothing but the ghost of his presence and the steady, relentless pounding of your own heart.

For a long moment, neither of you says anything. You just stand there, staring at each other, something unspoken stretching the space between you like a frayed wire. His gaze is steady, unreadable, but there’s something in the way he looks at you that makes your breath catch, makes your fingers twitch at your sides.

The weight of the night still lingers between you, thick like smoke, curling around the edges of whatever fragile thing this is. The silence isn’t empty—it’s full, layered with everything that wasn’t said. The flicker of his throat as he swallows, the way his fingers flex against the counter like he needs something to hold onto. His presence is a solid thing, inescapable.

He clears his throat, breaking the stillness like shattering glass. "I should take you home," he says, voice low, even. "You probably want to get out of here."

You nod automatically, but the motion feels disconnected, like it doesn’t belong to you. The truth is, you don’t know if you want to leave. You don’t know if you’re ready to walk out of this moment, out of this strange and suffocating thing pressing against your ribs. But it’s the logical choice. The right thing to do. So you shift your weight, stepping further into the room as if that will make it easier, as if that will make it feel real.

Rafe watches you for a second longer before pushing off the surface he was leaning on. He moves with the same careful deliberation he always does, like he’s in control of everything, like nothing touches him unless he lets it.

But then, as he reaches for his keys, his jaw tightens. His movements slow. His grip on the metal rings shifts slightly, like he’s debating something, like something about this moment doesn’t sit right with him. And then he looks at you again, his eyes catching yours, something flickering in his expression—something restrained, something almost unreadable.

"Be more careful next time." His voice is quieter now, rougher at the edges. "

You swallow, the weight of his words settling in your chest as a slight warmness fills your cheeks, even if he can't see it. The words settle between you, heavy. He’s not scolding you, not angry. But there’s something else beneath it, something darker. Like he hated seeing you like that. Like he doesn’t want to have to do this again. Like he hated seeing you like that. Like he doesn’t want to have to do this again. But maybe it's all in your head.

A part of you wants to say something—to defend yourself, to explain—but nothing comes out. You just nod, barely, the movement almost imperceptible. He watches the way your fingers tighten around the hem of your shirt, the way your shoulders tense like you’re bracing for something.

He exhales sharply, turns toward the door, and motions for you to follow.

But the moment doesn’t end there. The shift in the air is subtle, but it’s there. His fingers flex around the keys, his body pausing for just a second longer than necessary before he moves. Like he’s giving you the chance to say something. Like he’s waiting.

You don’t take it.

The cold air hits you the second you step outside, sharp and biting against your skin. It’s the kind of morning that lingers somewhere between the last remnants of night and the hesitant promise of day, the sky washed in pale hues of blue and gray, the world still and quiet.

You don’t say anything, but the shiver that rolls through you betrays you, your body instinctively curling inward as if you can escape the chill. Rafe notices. Of course he does. He hesitates for a second, just a fraction of a beat, then lets out a slow breath, as if he’s annoyed at something—himself, maybe.

Without a word, he shrugs off his jacket.

It’s heavier than you expect when he drapes it over your shoulders, the thick, well-worn material settling around you like a second skin. The scent of him lingers in the fabric—something clean but deep, a mix of faded cologne and the unmistakable warmth of skin, like the kind of comfort you don’t realize you need until it’s there.

The jacket is old, but not in a neglected way. More like it carries weight, history. It’s a varsity jacket, dark navy with white leather sleeves, the kind that looks like it’s seen late-night drives, fights behind stadium bleachers, and moments that don’t belong to you. His name is stitched into the fabric on the chest, subtle but undeniable: Cameron. The embroidered lettering is slightly frayed at the edges, as if it’s been touched too many times, traced over absentmindedly. On the sleeve, a faded championship patch clings to the leather, the numbers slightly worn, a quiet reminder of a past you know nothing about.

But he doesn’t just let it fall into place. His hands stay there, gripping the edges just beneath your collarbone, holding it closed, holding you—if only for a second too long. His touch is light, almost hesitant, but deliberate in a way that sends a shiver down your spine, one that has nothing to do with the cold.

The space between you feels smaller now, the tension stretched taut, humming like a wire between you. His fingers shift slightly, his knuckles grazing your collarbone through the fabric, his touch warm even against the cold bite of the night air. You can feel the heat radiating from him, the way his breath ghosts over your cheek, close enough that if either of you leaned in—just a fraction—you’d close the distance entirely.

Rafe’s eyes flicker down to meet yours, something unreadable passing through them, something almost thoughtful, almost careful. It’s a contradiction—the way he holds the jacket like he’s reluctant to let go, yet his jaw is set, his expression betraying nothing.

You swallow, fingers curling around the edges, your hands on top of his, pulling it tighter around yourself. It’s warm, warmer than his hands. Too warm, maybe, but you don’t push it off.

Rafe watches you, his expression unreadable, but there’s something in the way his gaze lingers on you that makes your breath come slower, makes your chest feel too tight and your hands are touching before he reluctantly pulls away, almost as if not to scare you off or harm you.

"It’s cold," he mutters, like that explains it, like that’s the only reason he did it.

You don’t challenge it. Because maybe that’s the reason you don’t take it off, either.

And just like that, whatever this moment was slips away, fading into the morning light as he leads you to his car.

The world beyond the house feels different, like the air is thinner, lighter, no longer weighed down by the silence between you. The gravel crunches beneath your feet as you follow him toward his car, your steps feeling almost mechanical. The sky is still streaked with soft shades of dawn, a nostalgic blue still coating the sky, the edges of the horizon tinged with the last remnants of night. The streetlights on the corner on still on,

He unlocks the door, pulling it open for you, but you hesitate. Just for a second. Just long enough for him to notice.

His fingers tighten around the top of the door, his gaze flickering to yours. But he doesn’t say anything. He just waits.

You don’t know what you’re looking for. Some kind of confirmation. Some kind of explanation. But there’s nothing. Just him. Just you. And the space between that feels too charged to make sense of.

You step inside, settling into the seat, the leather cool and smooth beneath you, molded from years of use, broken in but still exuding something undeniably expensive. The scent of rich leather and faint motor oil lingers in the air, a combination of luxury and the kind of careful work that doesn't come from a mechanic’s shop.

The dashboard glows with a soft luminescence, highlighting the precision of the controls—sleek buttons, polished chrome accents, the faint imprint of his hands worn into the steering wheel. The passenger seat, by contrast, is almost untouched. The leather is stiff, uncreased, lacking the wear and shape molded by frequent use. There are no stray belongings, no faint imprints of past passengers, no lingering signs that anyone else has ever sat there. It feels untouched, almost foreign, as though this space was never meant for anyone else. The thought makes your stomach twist, the realization settling in like a whisper you can't quite decipher. For all the history his car carries, for all the work and time poured into every inch of it, this seat feels like it doesn’t belong to anyone—except maybe, just maybe, to you now. The seats cradle you, low and firm, the kind of comfort designed for control at high speeds. A faint scuff on the door panel catches your eye, and you can almost imagine him there, late at night, sleeves pushed up as he worked under dim garage lights, fine-tuning something only he could perfect.

The convertible top is locked in place for now, but the idea of wind rushing past, of the open road stretching ahead, lingers in the air like a promise. This isn’t just a car. It’s his, in every sense of the word. And now, for the first time, you’re inside it.

You grip your hands together in your lap as he closes the door with a quiet click. The sound lingers in the air, final in a way that makes your stomach twist.

The car is dimly lit, the dashboard casting a faint glow across his face, sharpening the lines of his jaw, the slight furrow between his brows. He doesn’t look at you right away, just exhales slowly, fingers tightening around the steering wheel. The movement is small, restrained, but you notice it. You notice everything.

The drive is silent. Not uncomfortable, but not easy either. The road stretches ahead, the faint hum of the tires against the asphalt the only sound between you. The air feels heavy, charged, like the moment before a storm, thick with something unsaid.

Your fingers twitch slightly, pressing into the fabric of his jacket still draped over your shoulders. It’s too big on you, the sleeves hanging long past your wrists, the collar brushing against your cheek. The warmth of it, of him, lingers against your skin, a constant reminder that he was close, that he chose to put it there. You could give it back. You should. But you don’t.

The leather of the steering wheel creaks as his hands flex, his grip tightening like he’s forcing himself to keep steady. You steal a glance at him, at the way his jaw tenses, the muscle there twitching slightly. The way his fingers tap once against the wheel before stilling. He’s holding something back, something weighted, and you don’t know if you want him to let it go or keep it buried between you, a secret neither of you knows how to say out loud.

The headlights cast long shadows across the empty road, the outside world slipping by in streaks of gray and muted gold. But inside the car, it’s different. It’s just the two of you, wrapped in a silence that feels almost sacred, like speaking would break something fragile, something delicate.

You shift slightly, the fabric of the seat cool beneath your legs, your knee brushing against the center console. The touch is barely there, a whisper of contact, but his fingers flex again, his grip tightening like he felt it too. Like he’s trying not to react.

You turn your gaze back to the window, but you don’t really see the passing streets. Not when every part of you is aware of him, of the tension strung between you like a wire ready to snap. It hums beneath your skin, lingers in the space between your breaths, curls in the air between you like smoke.

A red light slows the car to a stop. For a moment, the world outside is still, painted in the muted glow of streetlights. You chance another look at him, catching the way his fingers drum lightly against the gear shift, restless. His eyes stay forward, locked on the road, but his shoulders are stiff, coiled with something unreadable.

Then, without looking at you, without taking his eyes off the road, he exhales, slow and measured. "You warm enough?"

It’s nothing. Just words. Just an excuse for something else. But the way he says it, low and rough, makes your stomach twist, makes your fingers curl tighter around the sleeves of his jacket.

"Yeah," you murmur, voice softer than you mean for it to be. "I’m fine."

He doesn’t believe you. You feel it before you see it—the weight of his gaze settling over you, careful but unrelenting. When you finally look at him, his eyes are already on you, studying, assessing, searching for something in your face that you’re not sure you even understand yourself.

His grip on the wheel loosens slightly, but he doesn’t look away. It’s not just concern. It’s something quieter, deeper, something that lingers in the way his brows draw together just enough to show he’s holding back words he doesn’t know how to say.

His mouth parts, just slightly, like he’s about to speak, but he doesn’t. Instead, his fingers shift against the gear shift again, as if grounding himself, as if trying to keep some sort of distance between whatever is happening between the two of you. But it’s there.

You feel it in the way his throat moves when he swallows, in the way his shoulders seem to tense and relax all at once. And suddenly, the car feels smaller, the air thinner, the space between you pressing in from all angles.

The light turns green, and he finally looks away, jaw tight as he presses down on the gas. But the moment lingers, stretching across the quiet miles, settling somewhere neither of you wants to name.

His fingers drum against the gear shift again, once, twice, before stilling. The light turns green, and the car moves forward, but the moment stays, lingers between you like an unanswered question.

Another mile passes in silence. Another breath held too long before being released. The weight of the night still clings to you, woven into your skin, into the spaces between your ribs. And you know, without him saying it, without needing to ask, that he feels it too.

You tighten his jacket around yourself, pressing your fingers into the thick material. You don’t want to acknowledge how it feels like something you weren’t supposed to have, like something borrowed but not meant to be returned. But neither of you moves to change it.

The distance between you and the night before stretches, but it doesn’t fade. Whatever this is—whatever happened back in that house, in that room, in the space between breaths and silence—it isn’t over.

And somehow, you don’t think it ever will be.

© ER1NNE est. 2024. all rights reserved. unauthorized use, duplication, or reposting of any original content from this blog without explicit permission is prohibited. please respect the creator’s work.

[claitea]

ok sorry i just really loved the thought of n arguing with this little thing i wanted to draw it

Do you ever think about how almost all of N’s Pokémon throughout the first games were one offs he released after he battled you, how he cared about them all deeply enough that he thought it would be selfish to have them battle more than necessary. And do you ever think about how this is the case with all his Pokémon EXCEPT his Klinklang in the final battle at the league, where the second to last battle he had a Klink and this Klinklang is very likely that same Pokémon? Do you think this was a visual representation of his mindset wavering from a fixed point? How that Klink refused to leave him right away and he couldn’t bring himself to force them to leave because his mind is in so many different directions? He can keep them around just a little longer until he becomes champion, it won’t be long, he can bend things some so long as he doesn’t fully stray from his path…right?

Or is that just me am I the only one willing to be insane about Klinklang of all Pokémon

[youngsadlesbian]

hi, one of my favorite writers!

i never noticed your requests were open, so is it okay if you write about wanda x fem!reader where they have been in a relationship for almost 6 years, the longest in their friend group, their friends assume the worst because they love eachother like bestfriends. what i mean is that when their friends see them sleeping together, they both face the other way. or when they watch a movie, their isn’t much snuggling. but when they’re actually alone, they feel more comfortable with eachother, that their friends walk in on them being clingy to eachother. being a lowkey couple isn’t so bad compared to what their friends think type of trope!

thank you for your time, and i love your works. xo !

BEHIND CLOSE DOORS

pairing: wanda maximoff x reader

summary: after nearly six years together, your relationship with wanda is the longest-lasting one in your friend group. but to everyone else, you two don’t look like the typical couple. you don’t snuggle at movie nights, you sleep facing opposite directions at group sleepovers, and your friends quietly assume your spark is gone. little do they know, you and wanda are simply a lowkey couple—comfortable and deeply in love when the world isn’t looking. but when your friends accidentally stumble upon one of your private, clingy moments, they realize just how wrong they’ve been.

a/n: i had this request in my inbox for a long time and only noticed it these days. sorry for the delay and i hope you like it.

word count: 1,1k

warnings: fluff <3

“You and Wanda are basically like an old married couple,” Kate teased, nudging you with her elbow as you all sat around the coffee table for game night.

“Is that supposed to be a bad thing?” you replied, raising a brow as you stacked your deck for Uno.

“No! Not bad, just…” Kate trailed off, clearly trying to find the right words.

“Predictable,” Yelena finished bluntly, tossing a handful of popcorn into her mouth.

“I mean, you don’t even sit next to each other during movie nights,” Natasha chimed in, smirking from her spot on the couch.

Wanda, who was sitting across from you, laughed lightly. “So? We’ve been together for six years. We don’t have to be glued to each other.”

“Yeah, but where’s the passion?” Kate asked, gesturing dramatically. “The fire? The hand-holding and constant cuddling?”

“We’re not 16,” you deadpanned, earning a chuckle from Wanda.

Your friends dropped the topic after that, but you could still see the curious glances they exchanged. You and Wanda didn’t fit their idea of what a couple should look like, but you didn’t really care. You and Wanda were fine just the way you were.

Living together for the past three years had only made your relationship stronger. You and Wanda had fallen into a comfortable rhythm that worked perfectly for both of you.

Your mornings started with quiet moments—Wanda making coffee while you scrambled eggs, sharing small smiles across the kitchen. Evenings were spent unwinding on the couch, reading, or binge-watching whatever show caught your attention that week.

You didn’t feel the need to be overly affectionate in public or around your friends because your bond didn’t rely on outward displays. It was in the little things: Wanda setting aside the last slice of pizza for you, or you remembering to buy her favorite tea when the supply at home ran low.

But your friends didn’t see those moments. They only saw the surface.

The first time your friends openly voiced their concerns, it was at Natasha’s apartment after a late-night movie marathon.

“Okay, don’t take this the wrong way,” Yelena started, her tone making it clear she was about to say something controversial.

“Here we go,” Wanda muttered under her breath, leaning against the arm of the couch.

“It’s just… are you two, like, okay?” Yelena asked hesitantly.

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you’ve been together for so long, but you don’t act like it,” Kate interjected. “You’re more like… roommates or best friends.”

Wanda exchanged a look with you, her lips twitching in amusement. “Just because we don’t make out in front of you doesn’t mean we’re not fine.”

“Exactly,” you added. “We’re just not into PDA. That’s all.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure? Because I don’t think I’ve ever seen you two even hold hands.”

At that, you and Wanda burst out laughing.

“Oh my God,” Wanda said, wiping a tear from her eye. “You guys are ridiculous.”

But the concern on their faces didn’t fade.

Later that night, back at your apartment, you and Wanda finally addressed the conversation.

“Do you think they really believe we don’t love each other?” you asked, pulling on a sweatshirt as you got ready for bed.

Wanda was already under the covers, scrolling through her phone. “Probably. But who cares? We know the truth.”

You climbed into bed beside her, resting your head on her shoulder. “Still, it’s kind of funny.”

“They think we’re boring,” Wanda said with a dramatic sigh, wrapping an arm around you.

You laughed. “If only they knew.”

Because behind closed doors, you and Wanda were anything but boring. You loved snuggling up during quiet afternoons, Wanda’s fingers tracing patterns on your arm as you watched TV. You teased each other endlessly, sharing inside jokes that no one else would understand.

And when it came to physical affection, it wasn’t something you felt the need to flaunt. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t there—it was in every kiss goodnight, every lingering touch, every whispered “I love you” before falling asleep.

\*/

The incident happened a week later. Your friends had come over to your apartment to hang out, and you had no idea they were still around when you wandered into the kitchen to find Wanda.

She was standing by the counter, scrolling through her phone, when you wrapped your arms around her waist from behind.

“Hi,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

Wanda smiled, setting her phone down to place her hands over yours. “Hi.”

“I missed you,” you admitted, resting your chin on her shoulder.

“You were in the living room five minutes ago,” Wanda teased, turning her head to kiss your cheek.

“Still missed you,” you said with a grin.

The sound of a dramatic gasp made both of you freeze. You turned to see Kate, Yelena, and Natasha standing in the doorway, their jaws practically on the floor.

“Oh. My. God,” Kate said, pointing a finger at you two. “You do like each other!”

Yelena burst out laughing. “This is amazing. I feel like I’ve just uncovered the world’s greatest secret.”

Natasha smirked. “So much for ‘just best friends.’”

Wanda rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her smile. “Get over it, guys.”

But your friends didn’t let it go. For the rest of the night, they wouldn’t stop teasing you about how “different” you were when no one was watching.

After that, your friends seemed to accept that your relationship didn’t need to look like anyone else’s. They stopped questioning why you and Wanda weren’t overly affectionate in public, and they stopped assuming the worst.

And while you still preferred to keep most of your relationship private, you didn’t mind letting a little bit of your affection show.

“See?” Wanda said one day, lacing her fingers with yours as you walked into Joe’s Bar. “A little PDA won’t kill us.”

You grinned, squeezing her hand. “It’ll definitely keep them off our backs.”

From then on, your friends never doubted the love between you and Wanda again. Because whether you were holding hands in public or sharing quiet moments at home, your connection was undeniable.

[crushpunky]

actress!reader reveals what’s on her phone

masterlist | actress!reader masterlist

based loosely on the glamour interview, screen time :)

“Hello, Glamour, I’m y/n y/ln and today we are going to be digging through my phone!” Y/n sang, greeting the camera with a grin!

What’s your screen time?

“Oh my god…” Y/n groaned, running a hand down her face. “4 hours and 35 minutes.”

“That’s not too bad!” The interviewer said with a sympathetic giggle.

“Well that’s good to hear.” Y/n chuckled, swiping through her phone.

What’s the story behind your lock screen?

“Awww, it’s very cute.” Y/n said, her cheeks flushing slightly as a grin spread across her face before she held her phone up to the camera:

“So it’s a picture of me, my wonderful husband, Drew, and our dog Charleston.” Y/n couldn’t help but continue to smile at the photo and the memory of the evening. “This is at a beach in… somewhere in South Carolina, I’m not giving away our secret spot. But yeah, I think it was taken by one of Drew’s sisters and it’s just such a good memory of me and my favorite person… and Drew too.”

Y/n teased as she swiped into her phone for the next question.

How about a little tour of your camera roll?

“Ooh it’s about 90% photos of Charleston.” Y/n giggled as she scrolled through her camera roll:

“Well, we’ve got some photos from set, of course, but I can’t share those.” Y/n explained. “Lots of my friends and their dogs, Drew being a goof, some outfit photos… nothing too crazy.”

“The last picture of Drew?” The interviewer asked, referring to the meme of him she had saved on her phone:

“Oh my god I forgot I had that!” Y/n giggled, genuinely tickled by the meme her and Madelyn had stumbled across. “That’s Drew as Glinda from Wicked, of course. Doesn’t he just look so beautiful?”

Y/n quirked her brows, smiling into the camera as she held up the meme.

You’re very honest about your love of Tik Tok, would you mind sharing some of your favorites?

“We’re gonna have to dig deep into the archives… the personal collection.” Y/n teased, scrolling through her numerous saved Tik Toks.

“Well, I’m not shy to admit that I am a bit of a fangirl and do have quite a large folder of saved edits.” Y/n giggled, her cheeks flushing as her eyes landed on an especially entertaining edit of Drew. “Now I’m gonna preface that… yes, a lot of these are of Drew or myself or our characters. I can’t lie, I do have a bit of an addiction.”

As she watched it, she bit her lip and let out a flustered giggle. Behind the camera, the interviewers laughed at y/n’s reaction, causing her to scroll onto the next edit:

“Oh my god I forgot about this one!” Y/n squealed. “I was showing this one to Drew and Madelyn last night and we were in actual tears at the comments!”

“I just want to say, shout out to the editors and commentators on Tik Tok for being so unabashedly horny.” Y/n said, pointing to the camera with a cheesy grin.

What have you been listening to lately music wise?

“I mean… the people already know.” Y/n rolled her eyes playfully as she opened up her Spotify before turning it to the screen:

“I told y’all I was a Swiftie and I wasn’t lying.” Y/n raised her eyebrows as she dove further into her playlists and collections.

“Playlist wise, I have my go-to jams, showtunes, classic rock, rap and hip-hop… a little bit of everything.” Y/n smiled.

"I also like to make playlists for each of my characters," y/n explained. "It really helps me to get into the mind of the character and kind of... explore aspects of them that might not be surface level or obvious."

What’s the vibe on your Pinterest?

“Ooh yay! I love Pinterest.” Y/n squealed as she opened up Pinterest excitedly. “Pinterest is actually the most underrated app, I use it everyday for work, memes, funsies.”

“Fun fact, a lot of my nails and fashion genuinely come from Pinterest.” Y/n explained. “My stylist and I have a shared board and are constantly sharing new ideas.”

“Is your Pinterest public?” The interviewer asked, to which a mischievous grin spread across y/n’s lips.

“No it is not, I like to be at least a little bit mysterious and I feel like Pinterest is pretty personal.” Y/n nodded.

Who was the last person you texted or called?

Y/n giggled, not even needing to open the app to check as she pushed a piece of hair behind her ear.

“Drew. He texted me right before I got here, which we always do right before either of us have an interview.” Y/n grinned, closing her phone.

“Well thank you so much for having me, Glamour, and I hope that you all enjoyed looking into the depths of my phone!” Y/n said, waving to the camera before turning to the interviewer.

“That wasn’t quite as scandalous as I thought it was going to be.” Y/n teased, winking to the camera one last time.

[illyrianbitch]

And I'm Thinking About Your Lips

Pairing: Reader x Cassian

Summary: You and Cassian have been best friends since you were teenagers-- just friends. But one night at Rita's changes everything and now you cant breathe when you're around him and he can't stop imagining how you'd taste.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT! like porn with plot aka: best friends to lovers, sexual tension, alcohol use, drunken handsy moments, two dummies in love, male masturbation, unprotected PIV, fingering (f receiving), oral (f & m receiving), dirty talk, sex sex sex! we love sex!!

Word Count: 19k (a biggie!)

a/n: heavily inspired by my fav song mistakes like this by prelow. give it a listen for the vibes ;) I was going to make this multiple parts but decided against it. lets imagine Rita's like a lil more modern club okay mwuah enjoy.

Part Two

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Rita's was loud.

On busy nights like these, the place was a complete sensory overload– live music with thumping bass and swirling laughter. The air was thick with the mingling scents of sweat, perfume, and the occasional waft of arousal, a delicious smell that often lingered in Rita’s. You loved nights like these, loved the energy that came with finally being able to let go. You let out a content sigh as you watched people dance across the dimly lit club, enjoying the music that vibrated through their bones.

You stood next to Cassian at the bar, leaning against the smooth surface as you awaited the drinks you had ordered. He was in the middle of telling you a story-- or at least you think it was a story. You couldn't tell.

"What?" you exclaimed loudly, leaning forward in a futile attempt to decipher his response. Frustration etched across your face, you took a step back, gazing up at Cassian. Your eyebrows furrowed, and you shook your head while gesturing emphatically to your ears. "I can't hear," you mouthed, hoping he'd understand.

Cassian's initial confusion gave way to realization, his mouth forming a distinct "Ooooh." Leaning down, he bridged the distance between you, his lips hovering above your ear  to deliver his words in a loud whisper.

And then it happened—a giggling drunk couple bumped into Cassian, disrupting his balance. His lips, which had initially hovered near your ears, now made a brief but intimate contact, running along the shell of your ear. 

Maybe it was the alcohol coursing through your veins, the warmth permeating your entire body. Or perhaps it was the pulsating energy of the crowded dancefloor. Whatever it was, you felt it—a shiver tracing a path down your neck, following the curve of your spine. Awareness dawned on you—his proximity, his breath on your ears, the almost electric closeness of your cheeks, the way his disheveled hair framed his face.

He pulled away, a smile playing on his lips. He mouthed something, but you were lost in a daze, barely registering that those plump, red lips were actually forming words.

"Y/n?" he called out, raising his voice to be heard over the music. "You got that?"

Blinking, you shook your head, dispelling the lingering traces of your thoughts. A smile curved on your lips as you replied, "Yup." 

You had no idea what he said, hadn't caught a word of what he was whispering in your ear. But at that moment, it didn't seem to matter. Internally, you chastised yourself— it's just the alcohol, that's all it is. After all, Cassian had always been attractive. You just happened to be drunk and noticed it a little bit more. Appreciating the beauty of your best friend, completely platonically. 

The bartender returned with your ordered drinks, placing them on the bar with a lingering gaze that hinted at an appreciation for more than just the cocktail he had crafted—one directed entirely at you. Your attention, however, was occupied by the lively atmosphere around you as you spared the bartender a quick glance, grabbing your drink. Cass, on the other hand, picked up on the admiration, staring at the bartender and tucking away the information in the back of his mind.

As you both turned to leave, Cassian's movements synchronized with yours and his arm rubbed against your own, sending a subtle brush of warmth through you. You paused for a beat. The warmth was still there. You hated it. A realization dawned – you needed more alcohol. 

With a silent determination, you gave Cassian a "one moment" gesture, holding up a finger. Cass watched as you turned back toward the bar, leaning forward to catch the bartender's attention. When he turned to face you, you placed your hand lightly over his. 

"Actually," you said with a smile, “Can we get two extra shots? Of your strongest." 

The bartender gave you a smile back and nodded in acknowledgment. In no time, two additional shots, robust and potent, joined the lineup, arranged neatly on the polished surface. Cassian frowned, flickering his gaze between you and the shots. You felt his presence as he leaned in and instinctively took a step back, not turning to look him in the eyes.

“We’re taking another round?” 

“Nope.” You said, popping the p. Without hesitation, you downed them both with a practiced ease. Finally, you looked up at him, making a face as the liquor made its way down your throat. “Those were for me.” Your voice came out in a croak.

Cassian raised an eyebrow in surprise, a playful smirk playing on his lips. 

“Someone is getting hammered tonight."

You simply nodded, a nonchalant "mhmm" escaping your lips. The alcohol ignited a warmth that spread through your veins, momentarily overshadowing any reservations. With the edge taken off, you were ready to rejoin your friends– with the exception of Amren, who was “too busy” to join tonight. 

Cassian led the way back to the booth, his hand finding its familiar place at the small of your back. Cass always did this when at Ritas, a gesture to ensure that you weren’t swept away by the sea of people. Yet, this time, it felt different. As he guided you through the lively crowd, you couldn't ignore the heat that radiated from his touch. Your heart quickened its pace. Its the alcohol-induced haze, you told yourself. Thats all. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Two hours later, Rita’s was still pulsating with energy and you were absolutely wasted. The vibrant atmosphere seemed to blend seamlessly with the warmth of your intoxication and everything around you seemed to echo with life.

You, Mor, and Feyre slowly returned to the booth for a much-needed break, hands interlaced with one another and glasses still full, waiting to be enjoyed. In your inebriated state, you teetered back and forth as you made your way to the booth, plopping down next to your best friend.

At your arrival, Cassian sat up right, waiting for you to do what you always did—lay your head on his shoulder. And, like clockwork, you fell into place, your head finding its familiar spot on Cassian's shoulder. 

"Look who decided to join the land of the living," Cassian teased as he nudged you gently. You felt him adjust his seating, his wings moving to accommodate your presence. The booths at Rita’s were large, the seats extra wide and spacious— for many reasons. You didn’t think too long about the ways people used the extra space. 

Instead, you chuckled at Cassian’s comment, the alcohol-infused haze making everything seem delightfully amusing. "Jus' exploring alternate universes on the danceflooooooor." 

The sound of your voice and the way you dragged out your words set Cassian into a small fit of laughter, a rich melody that blended with the music. The sound vibrated through his body and you felt his chest and his shoulders rise with it. The laughter resonated in your own as a result.

"Alternate universes, huh?” He asked, “That why you were grinding on Mor like a horned-up teenager?"

Craning your head slightly to look up at him, you gasped dramatically, feigning offense. He was already looking at you, his face tilted to the side to meet your eyes. There was a clear sense of amusement written into his face, the corners of his mouth turned up, a certain glow in his eyes. 

"I was not! How dare you judge me?" With a determined glint in your, now narrowed, eyes you added, "I never judge how you practically dry hump every woman you dance with."

Your best friend's lips curled into a grin, and his eyebrows lifted for a moment. There was a playful roll of his lips before he nodded, slightly chuckling. You got him there. 

"Okay, whatever."

You watched as he took a sip of his drink with his other hand, then lowered it to rest the glass on his knee. Leaning back a bit, a small giggle escaped your lips at nothing in particular. Then, you let out a laugh. 

"You're wasted." Cassian stated matter of factly, turning his head to look at where yours lay on his shoulder. Your laughter continued for a moment, ending with a sound of content. 

"Maybe." You replied as you leaned back a little, your head lolling backwards. Your eyes, framed by thick lashes, found Cassian's. You looked at him for a moment, taking in his face, his intense gaze focused on you.

"You're real attractive, Cass," you murmured, the words carrying a sincerity that caught him off guard.

Cassian didn't know why his heart leaped at your words. This wasn't something new. You had complimented him multiple times before. He knew he was attractive-- he knew you knew he was attractive. But there was something different this time, something in the way you bit your lip, gnawing at it with your teeth, the genuine look in your eyes.

"You think so?" he said. You wondered how his voice could be so soft, yet so husky. How was that possible?

You nodded lazily, not breaking the intense eye contact. "Mhm," you affirmed.

Cassian's gaze shifted, and suddenly he found himself studying your face. Your head tilted back, he took in the sight of your lips, the stunning makeup enhancing your features. You were gorgeous, he’d always known this-- everyone who saw you thought the same. But you were best friends, and the strength of your bond lessened the urge to explore thoughts of you that went farther than simple observation.

"You're not too bad yourself."

You perked up a bit.

"Yeah?" you asked eagerly.

Cassian gave a chuckle at your enthusiastic reply, noticing the way your eyes lit up behind their drunken haze. But before he could say anything more, Mor appeared, her hands outstretched, ready to pull you back onto the dancefloor.

"Y/n," She said, "Come danceeeee."

You looked up at her, your body slowly moving up right.

"But Cass and I-"

Mor whined.

"Feyre abandoned me for Rhys and Azriel is too busy being a gargoyle."

You snickered at her words, your gaze drifting over to where the Shadowsinger sat across the booth, a small grin on his mouth as he brought his cup to his lips. Then, you looked towards the dance floor, a sea of moving bodies with each person lost in the rhythm of the music. Sure enough, your gaze settled on Feyre and Rhysand, deeply entwined as they danced against one another, their bodies swaying together.

You returned your gaze to Mor, with her outstretched hands and a pouty face. You grinned, and she let out a small shriek of excitement at your wordless answer.

You placed a hand on Cassian's thigh, giving a small pat as you forced yourself up, the other hand in Mor's grasp. Cass held his hands up to stabilize you.

You turned to face him, your body slightly swaying.

"See ya later, Commander."

You gave him a drunken salute, the gesture slow and sloppy, before Mor whisked you away to the dance floor.

Cassian watched your figure as you retreated to the dance floor, unable to look away. He could still feel the lingering warmth on his thigh from where your hand had rested, as if an imprint of your touch had been left behind– he half-expected to undo his pants and find a charred handprint, a mirror image of yours. Your delicate hands, your soft skin, your slender fingers..... the thought sent a jolt of desire through him.

Stop it. Cassian's brain scolded him.

But still, his gaze drifted to where you were lost in the lively throng of bodies. The live music pulsed around you, guiding your movements as you moved with your usual demeanor of grace. The way you swayed to the rhythm, the fluidity of your gestures, it was mesmerizing. He couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to dance with you the way you were on Mor, without the barriers of friendship. To feel your body pressed against his, to lose himself in the rhythm and the heat that seemed to radiate from both of you.

His eyes trailed your body, taking in every curve and movement, and suddenly, he began to notice the way other males and females were doing the same. 

He felt a growing anger stir within him, an emotion he had never felt before, not when it came to you. It was a possessive rage, a primal instinct that told him he needed to protect you from these observers. The bodies around you, their gazes lingering on your body, only fueled the fire within him. They shouldn't be looking at you like that. They weren't worth your time--- weren't worthy of being able to admire you the way they were. He should do some-

His musings were abruptly interrupted by a chuckle from Azriel.

The sound jolted Cassian back to the present, and he turned to find his brother looking at him with an amused expression. Annoyance crept into Cassian's features as he asked,

"What?"

Az's amusement deepened, and he replied nonchalantly, "Nothing."

Although Azriel's response seemed innocent, there was a knowing glint in his eyes, a small smirk that he covered by bringing his cup to his lips. Cass was well aware that Az was hinting at something, but he was too lost in his own thoughts to care. All he could focus on was the uncomfortable heat in his stomach, feeling as if he was suffering from intense heartburn. But funnily enough, the feeling only grew heavier when he looked at you. 

Azriel down his drink before grabbing Cassian’s attention.

 "Let's get you another drink."

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

The night had surrendered to the early hours of the morning, casting a dreamlike glow over the city as you and your friends stumbled out of the vibrant chaos that was Rita's. The streets, now filled with the remnants of the night's revelry, echoed with the laughter and inebriated chatter of others who were also bidding farewell to a night spent well.

You walked alongside Cas and Mor, Feyre and Rhysand a few steps ahead. Azriel had left an hour prior; a smug expression adorned his face as he escorted a striking male with brown hair and green eyes-- the very one who had generously bought him drinks throughout the night.

You looked at the mated pair ahead of you, Rhysand's arm draped casually around Feyre’s shoulder. You watched as he leaned in, whispering something in her ear. Feyre suddenly stilled and turned around, an evident blush lingering on her cheeks. Rhysand looked at her with an amused twinkle in his eyes, then he turned his gaze toward your group, mirthful mischief etched across his face.

"We're not feeling that well, so we're going to go sleep." Rhysand declared, his words dripping with a level of unseriousness that made you want to laugh. But, not even Rhys could take himself seriously, the corners of his mouth soon turning up to form a pearly-white grin. 

Feyre playfully slapped his chest, but the grin on Rhysand’s face grew even wider, brightened by a child-like glee. With a final shared glance, the mated pair left. You smiled to yourself, thinking about how evident the couple’s love was and how much it made you want something similar. 

Before you knew it, only you and Cassian were left. Mor, who had been walking side by side with you both, had halted abruptly. A smile played on her lips. "I've got somewhere I want to go," she announced cryptically, winking before disappearing.

The intoxication in your veins rendered winnowing out of the question – too drunk to focus, and Cassian couldn't fly without risking an aerial mishap that involved either vomit or an unexpected plummet. Both options were less than ideal, so you both continued walking, the cool night air beginning to clear the remnants of your alcohol-induced hazes.

Cassian watched as you moved with a certain lightness, the effects of the drinks still lingering in your movements. Suddenly, you spun around, catching him off guard. His hands flew out instinctively, prepared to catch you if you lost your balance, but you paid no attention to the movement. Instead, you looked up at him with a small frown.

"Hey," you began, your words still slightly slurred. "How come everyone's getting some tonight, and here we are, feeling left out?"

He watched you for a moment, your stature, your slow blinks, how intensely you were staring at him. Cassian grinned. His eyes, veiled by a layer of playful charm, fixated on yours.

"Well, I'm right here,” He declared, “Say the word, and I'm all yours, allll night long.”

Cassain ensured that his words were delivered with a teasing tone, a tone he prayed masked the underlying desire he felt. You didn’t notice. All you could focus on was the burning in your chest, the way your heart tugged at his response. This was nothing out of the usual, Cassian flirted with you all the time. Cassian flirted with everyone.

So you let out a laugh, the sound echoing through the quiet night.

"Oh, please. You're such a pig," you retorted playfully, adding a mockingly dramatic eye roll.  Then you swallowed, forcing your next words out. "Never. Could you imagine?”

You didn’t want to see his face as he answered the question, too worried that it would hurt you in some way if he reacted appalled and disgusted. So, you turned yourself around and began walking again, focusing on the cobblestone road underneath your feet, at the cold air starting to bite at you. 

There was a quiet pause, and then you heard the small laughter of your best friend. He wouldn’t tell you where his mind wandered, now, when he thought of you, wouldn’t acknowledge the hurt that nestled itself quietly in the recesses of his thoughts.

“No. I couldn’t.”  

Another pause. Despite being out in the open, breathing in the fresh night air, you began to feel stuffy. A sense of discomfort wrapped itself around you. 

"How come you didn't go home with anyone?" You asked. You gnawed at your lip, waiting for his response, observing his reaction from the corner of your eye.

Cassian raised an eyebrow. He stopped to look at you, and you stilled, turning slightly to face him. When he gave you no response, you let out a small sigh.

"Y’know, like that one redhead giving you eyes back at the bar." 

You did your best to disguise the subtle irritation lingered in your tone, but beneath it, you felt a sense of bubbling jealousy. How was Cass so unaware? How come you were so aware?

Cassian's eyes widened slightly as he scrambled to recall the moment. Panic briefly flickered in his eyes as he realized he hadn't even noticed anyone else, his attention consumed by you. “Ohhh, her?” He finally responded, “Nah, tonight was just about hanging out with all of you. Y’know, family time.”

You felt a smile tugging at your cheeks. Family time didn’t stop Azriel, or Feyre and Rhysand. In your gut, you knew that it hadn’t stopped Mor either, the look on her face as she left screamed of a sudden lustful advance. Cassian’s answer deeply satisfied a part of you, for reasons you couldn't decipher at the moment. Your smile widened when he gave you a fond smile of his own. 

“Big ole’ sap.” You teased, affectionately nudging him with your shoulder.

You fell into another comfortable rhythm, walking alongside each other in silence as the echoes of night behind you slowly faded. Cassian could hear you humming faintly to yourself and a warmth filled his chest. You often hummed when you walked. When you were drunk, it was always a guarantee. Cass used to use it as a meter for your sobriety, detecting how drunk you were based on how horrible your humming was. Currently, it sounded angelic. But he wasn’t sure if he could trust his own judgment, not now, not when it came to you. Even as you walked side-by-side, he felt the urge to get you closer, made the effort to ensure your hands swung next to one another— that you bumped into his bicep every now and then as you walked. What was wrong with him? And why did you smell so good?

Cass cleared his throat, tilting his head down slightly to look at you.

“So, uh, speaking of people, why didn’t you go home with the bartender?”

You stopped abruptly, caught off guard by question. Cassian, too, halted in his tracks, a subtle maneuver to avoid colliding with your shoulder. Turning to face him, your eyes sought his in the dim light. "The bartender?" Confusion furrowed your brow.

His gaze, laden with an unspoken curiosity, met yours. He chuckled softly, shaking his head.  "Don’t tell me you didn’t notice.”

You paused, your thoughts weaving through the blurred memories of the night. Every image was muddled in your mind, a fusion of moving bodies and your hands picking up new drinks. God, how many did you take? You couldn’t remember. Your memory was hazy, unfocussed. There was only one thing in your mind that shone in perfect clarity– only one person. And it wasn’t the bartender. 

“Guess I didn’t.” You shrugged.

Cassian thought back to the bartender, a handsome male with short brown hair and blue eyes. The way he had stared at you, the way he had smiled. Cass’s mind found the memory of you reaching over the bar, your hand over the bartender’s, leaning in to request another drink. A flash of your smile. He fought the urge to make a face.

"Yup,” He said, “Gave you eyes the entire night. Half surprised they didn't fall out and follow you home."

He didn’t intend to sound bitter, didn’t mean for it to drip from the words he spoke. He couldn’t help it. But, by the look on your face, you hadn’t noticed. Yet again. Cassian let out a breath. It took a moment for his words to settle into your mind, and then you let out a snicker at the image painted by them. He grinned at the sound. 

"Well then, I'm really surprised I didn't notice." 

And you were. You were usually good at these things, at recognizing advances. You picked up on lingering gazes and touches that were one second too long. If Cassian was referring to the bartender you were thinking of, then he had been very attractive. On another night, you would have definitely noticed— and definitely taken the opportunity. But not tonight. Tonight was different, felt different. 

"Can't blame him," Cassian remarked, a touch of sincerity in his voice. "You are beautiful."

You blinked, your mouth parting slightly in shock. The words sent a flutter to your chest, and you could feel heat on your cheeks. You shook it off, letting out a sound of amusement and disbelief. It came out as a quiet snort.  "Shut up."

 "Not even mentioning all the males and females that were ogling you while you danced with Mor."

You opened your mouth to say something, but nothing came out. You were sure that the blush on your cheeks was on full display and only hoped that Cassian would assume it was caused by the chilly night air. You couldn't look at him. Instead, you shook your head, your eyes looking into the distance. Then, you rolled them and scoffed. "Oh, please. Now you’re just lying.”

You felt his eyes on you, still. You slowly moved your head to look at him once more, watching as his expression subtly shifted.

"No, seriously. It's like some couldn't keep their eyes off you." 

Cassian's gaze still lingered on you, unexpectedly soft and genuine. His features bathed in a tender glow, a small smile on his lips. His disheveled hair, tousled by the night's breeze, framed his face in a way that made you itch to rake your fingers through. For a moment, time seemed to pause as you stared at your best friend, your eyes tracing the contours of his shoulders and the majestic wings that adorned his back.

You found yourself taking him in for a minute too long, staring like he wasn’t right in front of you. The realization creeped up on you and you quickly looked away, finding somewhere, anywhere other than his gaze, to focus on. 

"Well, whatever," You muttered, turning yourself around to continue walking forward. You heard Cassian’s steps pick up behind you. “I’m over being casual. I’m tired of being with lame males who never make me finish, males who are so boring and entitled, males that are so stupid I begin to question my life decisions. All of it.”

Cassian's eyes widened in surprise, his mind racing as he tried to process what you had offhandedly mentioned. "Wait, what?" he said, his voice filled with confusion. "No one has ever made you finish?"

You weren’t paying full attention to what Cassian was saying, too caught up in your own thoughts and monologue about your new aversion to casual hookups. You waved him off, continuing to walk forward. 

Cassian's mind raced with thoughts of you and the males you had been with. He pictured you together, each of them trying their best to please you, their faces contorted with effort, their bodies moving in a frenzy. He pictured some outright ignoring your experience, jackknifing again and again, rutting into you like wild animals. But in his mind's eye, you remained distant, your face bored and vacant, making noises for show.

He wanted to growl. He could do better, could give you the pleasure and satisfaction that those males had failed to provide. The thought was intoxicating, and he couldn't help but imagine what it would be like to be with you, to make you feel the way you deserved. Had they truly not taken the time to worship you? To explore your body, pray to it like it was sacred?

His mind painted a picture of you together, your bodies entwined, a room filled with the smell of sex. He saw himself looking into your eyes, his focus on your pleasure. You moaning underneath him, wrapping your arms around his neck and whispering his name. Cassian. Cassian. The image was intoxicating— he felt a stirring in his cock, a longing that settled heavy in his stomach.

But it was short lived. Quickly, a sense of guilt washed through him, flooding through his veins. Here you were, talking about your life and feelings, and he was imagining you naked, underneath him, your face contorted in pleasure. He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t be thinking of this. He should be listening to you, his best friend, and giving you advice. He aggressively shoved his thoughts away, putting a lock on the visions of you that were manifesting in his mind. With a deep breath, he told his deteriorating self-discipline that he could think of those beautiful images later, when it was just him and his hand in the solace of his room.

He found himself grateful that you were walking ahead of him, that the night air provided a distraction, a physical discomfort that could dampen his desires. It was cold out now, the breeze seemingly more nippy. It sobered him up, ridding the effects of the alcohol in his veins and his drunken feelings of lust.

It was cold out. His eyes snapped up to you walking ahead of him, rubbing your arms absentmindedly. You were cold. How had he not realized?

Because you’re a horny prick who can’t seem to remember your place in her life. His mind screamed at him. He knew it was right. 

"I just want to find someone who can connect with me on a deeper level. Someone who sees me.” You said with a defeated sigh. You stopped for a minute, looking back as Cassian caught up to you, the war general having fallen behind, distracted by his own thoughts. 

Finally reaching you, he gave you a look that you’d never seen before, and you slightly frowned from being unable to read him. But soon, his face softened, and he put his hand on your arm. The touch was tender, despite his large, rough hands, and it sent a warmth throughout your body that combated the cool air. 

"Y'know, you could get anyone you wanted." 

His voice, sincere and quiet, took the breath out of your lungs. 

Well, not anyone. The thought flitted through your mind. You ignored it. 

He smiled at you, a warmth in his gaze that set your heart on fire. “Lets get you home.”

Cassian draped his arm around you, his hand rubbing your biceps as you instinctively leaned into the comforting gesture. When his wings flared out and curled around you both, you felt the flutter in your chest again, a faint warm glow. This time, you let it sit.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Cassian's ability to fly gradually returned with the waning effects of the alcohol, and the rest of the way home had been filled with comfortable silence. You felt the familiar comfort of home envelop you the minute you stepped foot inside, and your room called to you, to your aching body and pounding headache. 

As soon as you entered, you didn't waste a moment – walking straight to your bed and simply falling face flat, a groan escaping from your lips. You could feel the throbbing in your head, every movement causing a reaction in both your scalp and deep in your stomach, where a growing sense of nausea was brewing. 

"You're gonna be in pain in the morning." Cassian remarked with a chuckle, watching your less-than-graceful landing.

You groaned again, the sound muffled by your sheets. A moment passed, and you heard the sound of Cassian removing his shoes, soon followed by a dip in the bed as he settled in and made himself comfortable. He sighed.

"Gods. Your bed is so damn comfortable."

You lifted your head to look at him, his head leaning on your headboard as he breathed softly. He looked so peaceful, no tension in his face or his body, his eyes closed with the ghost of a content smile on his lips. 

“You can sleep here tonight,” You said, “If you’d like.” 

The offer felt charged with something you couldn’t quite name, and you felt vulnerable for proposing the idea. Sure, you and Cassian had slept in the same bed together before, but never when you were attracted to him, turned on by his lips touching your ear. Maybe it was a bad idea. You should send him on his way before he gets too comfortable... right?

Cassian's eyes opened, finding your own. "Really?"

Good ideas be damned.

You nodded. "Just don't hog the bed."

You watched as he smiled and settled himself in further, still clad in his button up and trousers. The pounding in your head had slowly calmed to a dull ache, a momentary relief that you knew was bound to end soon. Taking advantage of it, you made a move to push yourself up and get ready for bed, bracing yourself on your forearms. A wave of nausea ran through you again, and your mind began to conjure up images of every drink you had tonight. You groaned.

“Y/n?” 

You let out a deep breath. “Yes?” 

Cassian could hear the discomfort in your voice, and he sat up straighter, looking at where you lay at the edge of your bed, your head hanging, slightly tilted downwards towards your bed as your forehead resting on your hands. 

“Whats going on?” He said, moving closer to you on the bed. You could feel his body next to your head, his thighs rubbing against your forearms.

“Lots of drinks.” You responded, squeezing your eyes shut. “Too many.”

Cass gave a small chuckle, his hand moving to rest on your head. You felt him run his hand through your hair, felt it settle near your neck, right by your shoulders. He moved it in circular motions. 

“Let me help you.” His voice was calm and gentle. For a second, you wondered how he was perfectly fine, but then you remembered how well he could hold his alcohol and how quickly he could sober up, if needed. You felt grateful for the latter as you nodded against your hands. 

Cassian stood up and slowly wrapped his arm around your back, settling his hand on your shoulder. Then, with the other, he gently took a hold of your forearm, guiding you up from your hunched position. 

You didn’t think much as you let Cass guide you, you could feel him next to you, his arms stabilizing you as he helped you maneuver over to the other side of your bed. The whole world felt like it was moving too fast, as if you were the only thing in slow motion. You simultaneously cursed yourself for tonight while wishing you could teleport to four hours ago when you were wasted and the world was perfect.

“You think you can get out of your dress?” He asked you, as he helped you sit down on your bed.

You nodded, looking up at him with a faint smile. “Yeah. Can you…” 

Cassian turned to the armoire your outstretched finger pointed to. He nodded. You closed your eyes for a minute, taking another deep breath as you heard him open a drawer and then close it.

“Here.” His voice was still as smooth as before, calm and gentle. It sent a shiver through your body, and you found your heartbeat quickening. Not now, you scolded yourself, you’re on the verge of vomiting. You needed to get a grip. You grabbed the soft nightgown from his hand and Cassian quickly turned around, giving you some privacy. 

Your dress was easy to peel off, the small straps sliding off your shoulders with no resistance. You felt the cool air bite at your exposed chest, and quickly pulled the night stress over your head. Then, you carefully stood up, allowing your dress to slide down your legs, and your nightgown to fall properly on your body. 

You felt a blush rise to your cheeks as you looked at Cassian, his back facing to you, his beautiful wings flared out comfortably. A part of you felt so vulnerable with him now, with the way he was touching you, how you had looked at him tonight. Cassian always helped you when you were drunk, it was nothing new, but the feeling lingered nonetheless. You cleared your throat.

“Thank you,” You said, looking at Cass as he turned back around. He couldn’t help as his eyes surveyed your body, and he gave you a small grin. 

“Oh, how cute.” 

You gave him a small glare, smacking his chest with your hand. And then you slowly crawled into your bed, taking note of how Cassian’s hand hovered over your back until you were settled. He grabbed your covers for you, placing them on you.

“I feel like I’m taking care of a child.” He joked, and you let out a little scoff. He only laughed at your response. 

“Just take off your clothes and come sleep before I kick you out.” 

You could see the restraint in his face as he stifled his laughter. You could already hear it, a joke about you wanting him naked, a tease about taking him to dinner first. But, instead, Cassian let out a quiet laugh. “Okay.” 

You burrowed yourself into your bed, closing your eyes and embracing the warmth of the covers, how nice the soft mattress felt on your aching body. Behind you, you heard the sound of pants and a belt falling to the ground, and within seconds, there was a dip in the bed. Cassian’s smell filled your nose and you welcomed it in, a scent that reminded you of peaceful nights and crackling fires. 

“Cass?” You said, slowly turning yourself over to face him. You felt him shift, getting comfortable into the bed, and then he was turning to face you as well. 

“Yeah?” He whispered, his voice low.

“Thank you.”

You closed your eyes, your nose still filled with the smell of your best friend, his heat radiating onto your skin. You were out within seconds.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

The air was charged with the metallic tang of sweat and the rhythmic sounds of swords clashing. It was a sight to behold, truly. Azriel and Cassian were both incredibly skilled in combat and their sparring matches were always your favorite to watch. Not only was it beautiful to see, with their fluid motions and strong forms, but it helped you pick up on things you wanted to practice yourself— and any weaknesses you could exploit when you practiced with them. Today, you observed Cassian with a focused intensity as he moved gracefully through his training routine, each motion deliberate and powerful. You found yourself unable to look away, suddenly feeling drymouthed and distracted, swallowing hard. You brought your hand to your mouth, your thumb wiping at your lip as you watched. 

Were you attracted to Cassian? 

No. The sudden heat you were feeling was due to the heavy sun above you, the strong rays hitting you and your slight dehydration. It had nothing to do with the sweaty, built, and beautiful body of your best friend. It definitely wasn’t the way his muscles rippled as he moved, or the way his sweat lined his abs…

"Enjoying the show, babe?"

You let out a small gasp in surprise, turning your head to the side as Mor approached you, a grin on her red-painted lips.

“You scared the fuck out of me.” You said, bringing your hand to your chest in an attempt to calm the quickened beating of your heart.

“I’ve never been able to catch you so off guard,” She mused. “Guess they’re real entertaining today, huh?”

You pursed your lips and looked back over to the two males sparring. They took a step back from one another, taking a momentary break to catch their breaths. Cassian looked over at you, his half-bun had unraveled during the intense training session, with strands of his tousled hair clinging to his forehead, glistening with sweat.

As he caught your gaze, Cassian grinned, a playful glint in his eyes. With a wave of his hand, he gestured toward Azriel, attempting to convey his strategy for the upcoming sparring match. You felt a smile pull at your cheeks as Cassian switched between hovering his hands around his neck to mimic an action of strangulation, and gesturing towards Azriel. Az stood unamused, wiping his forehead with his wrist before taking a large sip of water.

Beside you, Mor observed the scene with a raised eyebrow, a hint of suspicion crossing her features. Her gaze flickered between you and Cassian, and a look of realization slowly went through her face. She turned towards you with a slight gasp, smacking your bicep playfully.

"Y/n! Did you two…?"

You turned your head fast to look at her at a speed so fast that you swore you gave yourself whiplash. You looked at her with narrow eyes. “Did we what?”

Mor's grin widened as she leaned in conspiratorially. "Did you and Cassian have a little training of your own, off the sparring mat?" She teased with a wink.

You scoffed, waving her off with a gesture of your hand. You could feel a blush on your cheeks and you prayed that Mor didn’t notice— or if she did, that she attributed it to the sweltering heat.

"No, Mor! We didn't.” You responded, then you made a face of disgust. “We’re talking about Cassian. I could never.”

Mor raised an eyebrow playfully. "Are you sure about that? Because, darling, you've been staring at him like he's a piece of prime meat, and you're a starved vegetarian about to crumble."

Your cheeks burned brighter.

“Such a beautiful image, Mor, thank you for that,” You murmured, rolling your eyes before looking at her. “But that is not what I was doing. I was just… watching his technique. That's all."

Mor's laughter rang through the air as she nudged you. "Sureeee. Whatever you say. But you might want to consider admitting it to yourself before the starved vegetarian inside you takes over completely."

Flustered and unsure of how to respond, you excused yourself with a mumbled, "I don't know what you're talking about," before hastily leaving the training arena, leaving Mor's laughter echoing behind you as she followed.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

You and Cass hadn’t had time together within the past week and a half. You were busy running off with Mor and Feyre, and when you weren’t with them, Amren took your attention. Cassian himself had been busy, too, but he couldn’t focus recently, not as well as usual. The last time he’d been able to properly see you, as you observed him and Azriel training, you left before he had a chance to talk to you. You hadn’t felt Cassian's eyes follow you as you left, didn’t notice the way he traced your figure. His gaze had stayed trained on you until you were out of his line of sight, and only then had he felt the presence of Az behind him. But he was too slow, and the Shadowsinger quickly disarmed him, flipping him onto his back with a loud thud.

Cassian had let out a groan followed by a string of obscenities aimed at his brother, who quickly made a comment about him being too distracted. Azriel was right. He was too distracted. His mind was completely and utterly obsessed with you. 

In fact, Cassian felt like a mad man. There was a deep ache that had settled in his chest, one that weaved itself through his ribs. He’d never felt so starved, so hungry. But his delusions, the dreams he’d been having, the fantasies that manifested in his brain, they weren’t sweet enough to satiate his hunger anymore. What he wanted was you. And he couldn’t stop picturing it, couldn't stop indulging in his thoughts. Not since that night at Rita’s. 

He’d fallen asleep with you after he’d helped you get into bed, closed his eyes after you thanked him. It was the best sleep he’d gotten in months, made even better when he woke up perfectly rested, rolling over in your comfortable bed to see you. He won’t admit how long he was staring at you, at your sleeping form, your hair fanned out across your pillow. Even with your makeup slightly smeared– a fact that made him feel guilty that he had forgotten to help you wash it off– you were breathtaking. He wondered why he never really noticed it this much before.

Cassian tried his best tonight, laying in his bed after the long day. Restless, he tossed and turned. At one point he considered getting ready and flying somewhere, going to train and practice, or finding some beautiful female to replace the thoughts he had of you. Both options sounded nauseating. So, instead, he pulled himself out of bed and slowly walked around, letting out a yawn and rubbing at his eyes. The hallways were quiet, illuminated by the moon in the night sky. 

When he rounded the corner to the kitchen, he stopped in his tracks, his heart quickly jumping. He blinked, letting his eyes adjust to the low lighting, and then readily took in the sight in front of him.

There you were, a vision of beauty, leaning gracefully into the fridge. The top part of your body concealed by the door, leaving Cassian with a tantalizing view of your legs. The silk set you wore clung to you in all the right places, the fabric catching the subtle glow of flickering faelight, accentuating the curves that commanded his attention.

Fuck. He couldn’t tell if this was a dream or a nightmare for him in his current state. 

As he stood there, silently observing, you straightened up. Your hands, adorned with an elegant grace, held onto something within the fridge as you turned to close it. You turned your head slightly and your eyes met his. A wave of warmth washed over Cassian. 

"Cass?" Your voice was quiet, the surprise in your eyes quickly replaced by recognition. For a moment, time seemed to stand still. You stood tall, a small plate of mixed berries in your hand. He wasn’t surprised, though, you always had such strange midnight cravings. Still slack-jawed and captivated, Cassian tried to find the words to break the silence. He watched as your face softened and your brows pulled together. “Cant sleep?” You asked.

He blinked. And then shook his head. “Nope.” He finally replied.

You smiled, a warm and inviting expression that made Cassian's heart skip a beat, and made a motion with your head to call him closer to you. You pulled yourself onto the counter, swinging your feet as they hung. Cassian settled next to you, leaning against the counter. The cold slight touch of the cold surface on his bare back sent a chill through his body. His wings nestled comfortably behind him.

Cassian watched you as you hummed quietly, bringing the berries to your mouth. He watched the way your lips wrapped around them, the way your throat moved as you swallowed. His thoughts went straight to his cock, feeling a stirring that had him fighting to maintain his composure.

Get it together. His mind echoed. He sorted through his thoughts, then he looked up at you.  “I’ve missed you this week.” He confessed.

You paused, bringing a strawberry away from your lips. Turning to look at him, you gave him a dimpled smile. "Well, you didn’t have to wait until the dead of the night to find me,” You responded. “I’ve missed you, too.”

Cassian mirrored your smile and then let out a deep breath. Despite fighting back his intrusive thoughts about you not even minutes ago, his heart was steady and calm. He could feel a sense of relief wash through his body as he stood next to you, watching you eat. The silence was comfortable— your presence was comfortable. Something warm, something familiar, something that felt like home. 

“Want one?” You offered, holding your plate towards him. He glanced at you, then at the plate, and then at you again. His eyebrow raised.

“C’monnnn,” You said, your voice light and amused, “Every healthy male needs to eat his fruits and vegetables.”

Cassian let out a chuckle. “At three in the morning?”

You shrugged casually. “I don’t think the time matters.” You popped a blueberry in your mouth, looking at him. Then you picked one up from the plate, reaching your hand out to his face, the fruit hovering in front of his lips. “They’re nice and fresh and cold.”

He couldn’t say no to you. Not when you were looking at him like that. 

With a reluctant smile, Cassian moved to take it from your outstretched hand, but you intervened, a softness in your eyes. "Allow me," you said. He responded with a subtle nod. Holding the berry delicately between your fingers, you brought it to his mouth. For a second, your finger brushed against his lips, a small fleeting touch, the ghost of a sensation. An unexpected surge of electricity coursed through him, leaving a tingling sensation in its wake as it moved throughout his body. 

His gaze locked onto yours, your attentive eyes and your mouth slightly parted. Like many other things, you’d done this before, had given Cassian food straight to his mouth. But in the stillness of the night, with the glow on your soft skin and your silk set, Cass struggled to breathe. 

A slight grin played on your lips as Cassian, still entranced, tasted the berry you had fed him. He chewed slowly, deliberately, and then swallowed. "See?" you said in a soft, teasing tone, “And it probably tasted better with me feeding you it like some God. You’re welcome.”

Cassian, still under the spell of your touch, let out a small breath. "You're always right, aren't you?"

You met his gaze, a quiet confidence in your eyes. "It's part of my charm," you replied, the words carrying a hint of playfulness. He watched as you returned your attention to your plate, finishing the last of the berries that adorned it. You looked over at him. "It's getting late," you said, dropping down from the counter. "I should probably get some sleep."

As you stood up and stretched, Cassian's eyes followed the movement, taking in the curve of your ass as you arched your back. Your silk set rode up slightly, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of your stomach. He felt a surge of desire that made him both embarrassed and excited, like he was a 16 year old again, ready to fuck anything near him. Cassian allowed his eyes to wander back up, taking in the sight of your chest, the way the silk set clung to your breasts, the subtle rise and fall of your breaths. He felt his mouth water.

You rolled your shoulders, turning to look at him with a subtle furrow in your brow.  

“You okay?”

Cassian cleared his throat, shaking off his thoughts. If he didn’t know any better, he would think that there was a blush rising to his cheeks, a heat he was suddenly aware of on his face. 

“Yeah,” He responded, his voice huskier than intended, “Just tired.”

You shot Cassian a mildly unconvinced look with a subtle raise of your eyebrows, but gave him a half-smile, anyways. “Get some rest, Cass,” You said softly, “See you tomorrow.”

Cassian stayed still, eerily still, as he watched you walk away, watched your legs move and the way the fabric of your clothes rippled as you walked. When you were out of eyesight, he let out a deep breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Then he titled his head and let out a groan at the ceiling. He took a minute to compose himself, to attempt to regulate the blood in his body– blood that was moving straight to the heat collecting like a pool in his chest. Rubbing his hands along his face, Cassian slowly headed for his room. The quiet of the night that once soothed him now felt like a void, one that yearned for your voice again, for you. 

By the time he made it to his room, Cassian’s mind was filled with images of you– of the silk material sliding across your skin, of the way your lips wrapped around the berries, of him bending you over the counter. Gods. Feeling the strain of his desire, Cassian reached down and started to stroke himself through his pants, the loose and thin material of his sweatpants doing little to buffer the friction from his palms. He felt a deep groan leave his mouth at the image of you in front of him, kneeling with your eyes wide and hungry, your lips parted, ready for him. 

He slid his hand into the waistband of his sweatpants, his fingers brushing against the sensitive skin of his cock. He pulled his pants and briefs down his legs, letting his throbbing length fall against his stomach as wrapped his hands around himself. Cassian worked himself in smooth strokes, swallowing every time his thumb grazed the head of his cock. He let his mouth fall open as he imagined you, imagined your body moving beneath him, your eyes locked on him as he took you. 

Closing his eyes, Cassian thought of the sound of your moans, fantasizing about how your breath would quicken, how your body would tremble with pleasure as he satisfied your desires. His hand moved faster, his grip tightening as the images in his mind grew more detailed— every sound you’ve emitted to him before, every laugh, every grunt as you trained, every soft sigh, all began to morph together into one beautiful melody. You’re moaning underneath him, desperate, all-consuming, so hungry for him that you’re forced to stifle your whimpers with the back of your hand.

Cassian felt the tension coiling in his body, the tightness in his balls, and the warmth spreading through his body. He imagined you writhing underneath him, your hips chasing his every thrust, your body arching beneath him, eyes filled with pleasure as he filled you with his seed. His orgasm hits him fast, his body trembling with the force of his release as he painted his stomach with the evidence of his desire.

Even after he’d cleaned himself off, after he’d submerged himself in a cold bath, Cassian’s mind still lingered on you, on your silk set, on your lips— on your laugh. And as he tossed and turned in bed once more, Cass realized he was completely fucked. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

"What's got you so flustered?" Mor asked, a playful smirk dancing on her lips.

Mor knew exactly why you were so flustered. Her, Amren, and Feyre had guessed it from the beginning— the subtle touching and lingering gazes. You liked Cassian, like-liked Cassian. And until now, you had refused to admit it. 

As you remembered the moment with Cassian a mere three nights ago, a blush crept onto your cheeks. You ran your hands down your face and let out a groan. Feyre and Mor exchanged amused glances. 

“He walked in shirtless!” You exclaimed, your voice still slightly covered by your hands running down your face. “Gods, I didn’t know what to do. I just kept shoving berries in my mouth. And then I kept trying to find a reason to touch him but I couldn’t.”

Feyre, who sat next to you with her legs to the side, comfortably nestled into the crook of the couch, leaned forward, looking at you with expectant eyes. “So what did you do?” She asked.

You shifted in your seat, avoiding eye contact by focusing on a loose thread on the couch. "I gave him a berry." Your voice was quiet. You spared Feyre a glance under your brow. When you saw her face crinkle in amusement, you quickly looked away, nervously twirling the thread between your fingers. It snapped quickly. 

From in front of you, Mor stared, her brows furrowed and mouth slightly parted. “You gave him… a berry?” She leaned back, a look of intrigue on her face.

You nodded slowly, aware of how lame it sounded. “Yes. I fed him a berry.” You said, looking up at her.

"And?" Feyre asked. 

You pursed your lips and glanced at her, and then bounced your vision around the room. There was a deep sense of embarrassment that bubbled in your stomach, a feeling that made you want to hide away. You were flustered, more than you had ever been, and it was due to your best friend shirtless in the kitchen. You felt like a schoolgirl with a crush— and it was humiliating. But looking at both of your friends, so eagerly sitting, you let out a breath and word-vomited them the truth. 

“And I’ve never been so aroused by someone's lips and the faint feeling of stubble! Gods, what do I do?” You lifted your hands up in exasperation, finding yourself sinking further into the couch. Crossing your arms, you huffed in frustration. Your cheeks flushed, and you could feel the heat radiating from them.

“I know what to do.”  Mor said, matter-of-factly. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You do?" Your hands dropped to your lap and you leaned forward.

"Yes. You need to get laid." Mor's tone was casual.

Your eyes widened. "W-What?" Your jaw dropped.

Mor only nodded her head affirmatively, jutting her chin out towards Feyre next to you. “She agrees.”

 You shot a look to Feyre, who stared at you with wide eyes. She gave you a sheepish smile. “I mean…” She trailed off, looking towards Mor for help. You followed her gaze and turned your head to the blonde once more. 

"We’re going to Ritas," Mor declared. She stood up, a confident sway to her hips as she moved towards the door.

"But we went last week," You protested. Mor stopped in her place and turned around to look at you with feigned innocence. 

"Oh, I’m sorry,” She said, bringing her delicate hand to her chest, “I didn’t realize it was illegal to go out two weekends in a row." 

You tilted your head and threw her an unamused look, but Mor only grinned at you. When you let out a defeated sigh and shook your head, she knew she had won and looked towards Feyre.

“Amren will come, too. It’ll be a girls night. Right, Fey?” 

Feyre smiled and turned to look at you, meeting your gaze. “Right.” She affirmed. She leaned forward, placing a soft hand on your bicep. “It’ll be fun.”

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

When the day began winding down, Mor returned from her apartment, arms heavy with dresses. She strolled into your room, Amren in tow, with the same grin from earlier. Looking towards where you and Feyre sat on your couch, she let out an excited squeal. “Tonight is going to be great.”

You glanced at Amren, who merely gave you a small quirk of her lips before planting herself down on the seat opposite of you, watching as Mor dumped her pile of clothes on your bed. 

You casted a glance at the pile of dresses, each with their own gorgeous vibrant color and delicate fabrics. You looked over at Mor. “Couldn’t decide on what to wear?” You mused. You pulled yourself up and walked towards her, examining the dresses on your bed. You brought the fabric of one between your fingers, feeling the delicate silk. 

Mor let out a laugh, bringing her hand to your arm. She looked at you with an amused glance. “Oh babe, these aren’t for me.” 

You frowned at her, and then your face fell. “Oh, these are for me?”

She nodded excitedly. Looking behind you towards Amren and Feyre. “Tell her how beautiful these would look on her.”

You didn’t look back, instead running your hands across the pile of elegant dresses. It wasn’t that you didn’t love them. Each dress was gorgeous in its own right, and if they belonged to Mor, you knew that they would look even better on– sexy, even. But you frowned slightly at the idea of dressing up to go to Rita’s with the goal of getting noticed. Unlike times before, it didn’t seem appealing. But perhaps you were overthinking. After all, the past two weeks had left you in your head too much. 

Feyre craned her head slightly, watching as you stared at the dresses. “They are beautiful, Y/n.” 

You let out a small sigh. This was good for you. Mor was right, you needed to get laid. You hadn’t fucked in a while. With all the tension and stress you’d been feeling, the worries about Koschei and impending doom, it made sense that your desires would manifest in someone familiar like Cassian, right? You nodded to yourself at the thought and then smiled. “Tell me which to try on first.”

You eyed the first dress Mor handed you. It was a stunning creation, soft and open, with a low neckline that hinted at just the right amount of allure. The fabric shimmered in the faelight of your room. As you slipped it on, the dress clung to your figure, accentuating curves you didn't always pay attention to. But it didn’t feel right. The straps felt a bit too loose, and as you turned to check yourself in the mirror, you realized the openness that had seemed so alluring was now making you uneasy.

Amren’s eyes narrowed. “No.” 

You nodded in agreement, tugging at the neckline. "Yeah, I think I’ll pass."

Feyre chimed in with a supportive smile. "Let's try the next one. Maybe it'll capture the right feeling. Yeah?” She turned her head to the side, motioning towards some dresses that Mor stood over as she sorted through them. Each dress was a different variation of red, Mor’s beautiful statement color and one that screamed confidence and grace. Surely Mor owned more than red, you thought. Why had she decided that you both were going to adorn her signature color tonight? You didn’t think too long about it, your gaze fixed on yourself in the mirror. 

After a few more desperate tries, and Amren’s decreasing confidence in Mor’s styling abilities, the blonde reached into the pile of dresses and pulled out a final dress that had you releasing a small gasp. The fabric was a deep, rich ruby red that seemed to absorb the light around it. As you slipped into the dress, the material clung to your curves, accentuating your silhouette. The neckline dipped low, revealing just enough to be tantalizing without feeling excessive, and you appreciated how naturally your breasts fell underneath it. The open back was a work of art, adorned with delicate jewels that cascaded down like a waterfall, drawing attention to the graceful curve of your spine.

You took a moment before looking at your friends. However, it was Amren specifically that you turned to for a decision, meeting her gaze. She let her eyes run down your figure before looking at you. The corners of her mouth tilted upwards as she gave you a small nod. “This is the one, girl.” 

Feyre and Mor watched as you turned to examine yourself in the mirror. The dress opened at the hips, showcasing your thighs and legs. The overall effect was breathtaking, a harmonious blend of elegance and desire. Mor's eyes lit up with satisfaction. "Gods, you look so sexy." 

You met Mor’s gaze in the mirror.  “No ones going to be able to take their eyes off you,” She gushed, “You’ll have your fair pick of females and males.” You let your mind drift off as Mor continued to babble, feeling Feyre’s hands running through your hair as she twirled the strands between her fingers, deciding how she wanted to help you style it. You took in your appearance in the mirror, eyes roaming over the dress once more, over how well it accentuated your body. It wasn’t until your gaze was drifting up that you noticed the figure in the doorway, your heart stopping. 

With a smirk playing on her lips, Amren’s voice rang out. "Hello, Cassian."

You, Feyre, and Mor turned in unison to the doorway, where Cassian stood  wide-eyed and still. He paled slightly and swallowed. You felt a flush creep up your neck, your hand flying to your collarbone in an anxious movement. Despite the confidence the perfect dress had given you moments ago, the presence of Cassian in the doorway had thrown you off balance. His eyes roamed your body, tracing where the dress fell at your feet up to its neckline, and all the skin it revealed. His wings twitched behind him, falling slightly. You rubbed at the spot that your hand lay at. 

Cassian, still caught off guard, stammered slightly. "I... uh, was just coming to see if you wanted to hang out." You felt your face soften, giving him a smile. Before you could respond, Mor waved him off dismissively.

 "Oh, sorry. She’s busy," she said with a tight smile. You casted a quick glance at her before giving your best friend an apologetic one. His gaze lingered on you, running up your figure once more– the heat in his gaze felt like it was lighting you on fire, and you bit the inside of your cheek. 

"I can see that.” He said. He cleared his throat. “So, uh, what's going on?" His eyes darted between the dresses thrown across your bed and to the girls surrounding you, each wearing beautiful, elegant gowns of their own. He didn’t miss the way Amren looked at him in amusement, or how her gaze trailed to you as she did so. 

Feyre looked between you two before answering. “It's girls night," she explained, “We’re going to Ritas.”

Mor, however, turned around with a large grin. "Y/n is getting laid tonight!" she announced with unabashed enthusiasm.

Cassian's eyes widened, and he blinked rapidly as if trying to process the information. A sizzling sense of jealousy formed in his chest and he breathed out from his nose. The room fell silent for a moment before he finally managed to sputter out “I thought you were over casual flings?” 

You bashfully stuttered, feeling a touch of awkwardness in the tense atmosphere, a small lump in the back of your throat, "Oh, well..." Your eyes searched for the right words, and you caught Mor's gaze, her curious stare making you feel a bit more exposed than you'd anticipated. "I don't know. We'll see." You shrugged slightly, giving him a close-mouthed smile. 

Feyre and Amren exchanged glances, their eyes bouncing between you and Cassian. You didn’t catch it. Mor wanted to laugh, but instead she pressed her lips together and circled you, taking in the image of you in the dress.  "I bet she'll have to fight off people tonight," she mused, casting a sly look in Cassian's direction. "Wouldn't you agree, Cassian?" Feyre’s head swung over to Mor and she gave her a tight look, her eyes widening slightly. Unaffected, the blonde looked back at her with an innocent face. What? She mouthed. 

Cass was staring at you, unmoving and chest rising rapidly. You took in his casual wear, how his hair hung loosely, some strands in front of his face. He was looking at you with an intensity in gaze that you’d never felt before, a heat that made you feel like you were on fire. You swallowed, and then bit your lip, watching as his eyes took in those movements too. Having not fully registered Mor's question, he stammered again, "I—uh, what?"

Mor's grin widened, and she feigned innocence. "Oh, nothing. I'm just saying that she looks so beautiful. Tell her how beautiful she looks."

Cassian casted a quick glance at Morrigan, but quickly his eyes settled back to the place they were at before– your face, your body, you. You blushed at Mor's pointed comment. His eyes ran down your figure once more, seeming to trace the lines of the dress. You continued to rub nervously at your collarbone, the heightened attention making you slightly self-conscious. 

Cassian, finally finding his words, cleared his throat. "You do look... incredible," he admitted, his eyes still fixed on you. You wondered if your friends were suddenly feeling smothered too, if something in the air was making it hard for them to breathe. Your heartbeat echoed in your ears. You resisted the urge to gulp down another nervous breath. Mor let out a small sound of agreement before she looked over at the illyrian male.

"Okay, thats enough gawking, Cassian. We all know Y/n is hot. Now leave us be. Go find Az or Rhys or something," she declared. Your eyes widened slightly, and Cassian shook his head, his mouth slightly parting. Caught between embarrassment and amusement, he took Mor's words in stride. “Right.” He responded with a smile.

He turned around to leave, but before fully retreating, he stole one last glance in your direction. You noticed the subtle, lingering look on his face—an admiring gaze, accompanied by a fleeting lick of his lips. There was a certain longing in his eyes that didn't go unnoticed. Then, you watched as a different expression overcame his features. He walked out before you had a chance to examine it further. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

You let out a small laugh as Mor continued to compliment you, talking over her shoulder as you, Feyre, and Amren followed her, approaching the main foyer. Your laughter died as Mor stopped in her tracks and frowned slightly. 

"What are you guys doing?" She asked, a mix of surprise and annoyance in her voice. As you caught up to where she stood, you were greeted with the unexpected sight of Cassian, Azriel, and Rhysand standing in front of the door, seemingly waiting for you. Dressed in impeccably tailored suits, each of them exuded a distinctive charm. The realization hit you—the look on Cassian’s face as he departed from your room earlier, the sense of determination, the lingering cue of playfulness. He had gone and convinced them both to join. 

You couldn't help but appreciate the attention to detail in how they looked, and Cassian, in particular, stood out. His wings, a symbol of his power and grace that you adored, were confidently spread, and his slicked-back hair added a touch of elegance to his rugged charm. He not only looked good, he looked absolutely delicious. You didn’t attempt to hide the look on your face as you took him in. 

Finally ripping your eyes from your best friend, you looked behind him, to where Azriel sat, his face donning its usual cool expression, but you could sense it- the hint of annoyance that laid underneath it. Meanwhile, next to him, Rhysand sported a large, confident grin. A grin that Cassian mirrored, but with a touch less confidence, his eyes flickering between you and the others. Amren, observing the situation with her usual detached demeanor, glanced at Rhysand and deadpanned, "You're coming with us."

Rhysand's grin widened, and he nodded enthusiastically. "Absolutely! Girls' night, right?" He threw his mate a wink. You heard her stifle some laughter. 

Cassian, scratching the back of his head, added with a sheepish smile, "Figured we'd join the fun. Tonight’s been a bit boring." He gestured around him. Then his gaze fell on you. For what felt like the millionth time tonight, his eyes raked over you and you blinked, catching his gaze when it fell on your face. “You don’t mind, do you?”

You didn’t mind.  Not one bit, you thought. If he kept looking at you like that, with those eyes and that heated gaze, you wouldn’t mind a thing he did. He could ask you for anything right now, and you’d say yes. Yes, yes, just keep staring at me like that. Like you see me, like you want me. 

Mor scoffed, "Yes, we do mind!" She turned to you, looking for support. "Tell them it's a girls night."

All eyes turned to you, and you felt a flutter of uncertainty. There was Cassian, his eyes locked onto yours, examining you, your every feature, your every move. The heat of his eyes had started to pooled down at your thighs. You clenched everything below your waist as you hesitated for a moment, still caught in the intensity of his gaze. Mor's impatience grew, and she raised an expectant eyebrow. "Well?"

You lingered on Cassian, and despite Mor's expectant face, you found yourself saying, "No, I don't mind."

Mor's expression shifted from annoyance to resignation, and she let out a dramatic sigh. "Fine."

Cassian's face brightened with a grin, "I promise, Mor, it'll be so fun." His attention turned towards you, walking to you with a soft, but charming grin. "Allow me." He extended his elbow, and without hesitation, you interlocked your hand with his. The touch was comforting and warm, and his scent enveloped you as he guided you towards the exit. You closed your eyes with a content sigh. 

The fragrance that clung to him was intoxicating. Maybe it was a bad idea to invite him tonight, to let him join you and the girls. The dress you were wearing gave you an inflated sense of confidence that you hadn’t felt for a while, and as you walked alongside Cassian, you wondered if it would truly be so bad to indulge in your thoughts of him. To think of his hands, the some ones with you right now, and how they would trace your body the way his eyes had this evening. You felt your arousal bubbling up at the thought of it. It was all in innocent fun, right? You could think of him, enjoy this touch, fantasize about him, as long as that's all it was— thoughts in your mind, away from reality, an idea that you never let come to fruition. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

You had to admit, Mor was right. Rita’s was definitely the move tonight. Somehow it was even more lively than last week, bustling with people and energy. You weren’t as intoxicated as last time, not anywhere near it, but you felt drunk all the same. And you weren’t ashamed to admit, now, that your drunken haze was all caused by one thing: your extremely attractive best friend. 

You and Cass had lost the rest of your group a while back, pulled into a drink off with a beautiful fae couple. Cassian and you had won every single round, leaving you standing at the bar now, celebrating with another round of shots. 

Cassian was standing next to you as you both faced the bar, your arms touching,  practically on top of one another. Cass craned his head to look at the crowd behind you, his hand wrapping around your waist as people drunkenly stumbled past you, making their way to the bar. On usual nights, Cassian’s hand would have dropped by now, returned to their position at his side, but not tonight. Instead, he kept his hand across your waist, keeping a heavy hold on you. You could feel the heat from his palm through the thin fabric of your dress, and you felt it as it moved straight to your core. You instinctively rubbed your thighs together in an attempt to ignore it, suddenly feeling grateful for the multitude of smells in Rita’s that covered your arousal. You turned your head to the side to look at Cassian, noticing that his gaze was on you, but not on your face. Instead, it seemed as if he was looking to where his hand rested on your hip.

“What?” You asked, your brows furrowing, leaning closer to him. He tilted his head slightly, and then you felt his hand lift. You felt a small tinge of disappointment, but it quickly dissipated when you felt his light touch hovering over your back, tracing where the delicate jewels of your dress cascaded down your spine like a waterfall. Your body shuddered. You watched him as his gaze deepended, as he took his lip between his teeth. His hands traced the ornate jewelry, landing at the base of your spine, where the fabric of your dress gathered. 

“I like this,” Cassian said, his voice low. His eyes flickered to yours, “Beautiful.”

Your chest fluttered at his words— was he complimenting the dress, or you? You couldn’t ask even if you wanted to, the air sucked out of your lungs with every lingering touch of his.  Your mouth parted slightly as he stared at you, as you ran your eyes along his face. You felt the brush of his fingers on your spine now. He wasn’t tracing the jewelry anymore, no, he was touching you. 

“Here you go,” A sudden voice pulled you out of the moment. Both you and Cassian turned your heads to the bartender placing two small shot glasses in front of you. You had forgotten you’d ordered another round, forgotten why you were at the bar in the first place, with your best friends hands over you. “I apologize for the wait.” The bartender said. 

You spared him a quick glance, a small graceful smile on your lips, “No worries,” you said. But then you looked at him once more, recognizing the smile he wore, the sound of his voice. This was the bartender Cassian was talking about. And from the way he looked at you, how he pushed your glass to your hand, lightly grazed your fingers, you knew Cass was right about his interest in you. 

“Thanks,” Cassian said, his voice rough. He grabbed both of the glasses in his hand, dragging them closer to your chests, his eyes trained on the bartender, whose smile faltered as he looked at your best friend. Cassian’s hand, which had fallen from your back at the interruption, found your hips again. “That’ll be it.” You didn’t need to look at the bartender to know that he shrunk away, intimated. You didn’t need to look because all you wanted to stare at was Cassian. Cassian, Cassian, Cassian. Something about his grip on you, on the way he’d pushed the bartender away, the way he’d touched your spine, all of it had you pooling at your core. 

“Here,” Cass said, pushing your glass towards you with his knuckle. He grabbed his in his hand. The other hand was still at your hip, unmoving— except for the occasional circular rub of his thumb. You tenderly took the shot, angling your body to twist slightly so you could better face him. The hand on you moved appropriately, still staying placed on your hip as you maneuvered. 

“Cheers.” You said, looking at him. You licked your lips as you held the shot up. Cassian met yours, the two glasses making a clink as they touched. “Cheers.” He responded. 

Tilting your head back, you welcomed the shot openly, letting the liquid coat your throat, feeling the warmth as it moved down. When you were done, you were met with Cassian’s gaze once more, watching you. His gaze followed the column of your throat as you swallowed. His hand moved to your face, his thumb wiping away a stray drop of whiskey on your chin. The touch itself sent a frenzy through your body, and you let out a small, quiet gasp. 

“Y/n.” He murmured.

“Yes?”

Your voice was barely above a whisper, your body still. He was closer to you now than a few moments ago, and it took everything in your power not to pull him even closer, to brush against him. 

“You can’t look at me like that.” Cassian finally replied. 

Your heart leaped, and you took a sharp intake of breath. How were you looking at him, you wondered? Mor’s words echoed in your mind: like he was a piece of meat and you were a starving vegetarian? She was right. Oh, so right. You wanted to taste him, to devour him, to have him ravish you in return. You swallowed and then whispered in response. 

“Like what?”

Cassian said nothing. He scanned your face and then his hand was moving again, brushing a stray strand of your hair from your face. When the hair still fell out of place, he gingerly grabbed it and tucked it behind your ear. You felt his finger trace the shell of your ear, falling as it reached your lobe, now on your cheek. You closed your eyes, leaning into the touch, pressing closer to him. His grasp at your hip tightened, and you felt as it moved up, his hands now grabbing the skin at your waist. 

When you opened your eyes, your gaze met his instantly. He was breathing heavily, his eyes filled with desire. "We should probably find our friends," he whispered, his voice hoarse. You nodded absentmindedly, feeling your chest tighten. Cassian’s palm slightly lifted from your cheek, the ghost of his touch lightly moving. His thumb found your lips, tugging at them slightly, you let your mouth fall open with the touch. He nearly let out a moan at the sight. 

“Or,” You whispered back, “We could go home.”

He nodded, the pad of his thumb still rubbing at your lip. “We could.”

You lifted your hand to grab his wrist softly, pulling it lower, to your chest. You felt the heat of his palm as it landed on your chest. “Cassian.” His cock pressed angrily against his zipper at the sound of his name falling from your lips so sensually, so softly. His hand trailed higher, and then he was wrapping it around your neck, his thumb running along your throat.  You savored the touch and bit your lip, looking at him through your lashes. The look was all he needed, any self-constraint quickly disappearing. 

“Let's go home.” He said, his thumb running alongside your lips once more. Then, he was spinning you both around, interlacing your fingers as he pulled you through the crowd. 

As Cassian led you out, you looked back, squinting at the mass of people. Your gaze landed on Feyre, who was already looking at you. You watched as she glanced between you and Cassian, and then she gave you a small smile, her brows slightly furrowed. Be careful. Her voice echoed in your brain, soft and gentle. You weren't sure what she was referring to, if she was talking about your trip home or the way you were entangled with your best friend. Either way it didn’t matter. You weren’t being careful, not now. You didn’t want to be. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

You weren’t quite sure what to do. You’d never been in this position with someone you loved so dearly— never been in the situation where you were about to fuck your best friend. 

The way home was a blur, the cold air as you both left Rita’s in a hurry, how Cass had wrapped his arms around you, how they had wandered and explored, but nowhere too vulnerable— not yet. You had made it a few minutes before you decided to winnow back, your ability fully functioning and, at the moment, incredibly convenient. Back at the house, you both had stared at each other, breathing hard, heavy-lidded eyes with lust. You could smell it on him. You didn’t doubt that you reeked of your own arousal. But Cass has stepped away from you, for a brief moment, biting his lips as his hands curled at his sides. Whatever you want, sweetheart, is what he had said. He wanted to give you an out, a chance to change your mind, to decide that this wasn’t a line you wanted to, or were ready to, cross. The realization hit you sweetly, and it only added to your arousal, the fact that he was so aware of you. 

You had looked at him, a small nod of your head towards the hallways, towards the corridors that led to your rooms. You hadn’t said anything, a heavy silence followed you, filled with longing and desperation, a hint of anxiety. You had waited, let Cassian take the next move. If he followed, you both knew what would happen. You had given him an out, too. 

You worried when some time had passed and you were still alone in your bedroom. You walked towards your mirror, taking in your appearance, the dress on you, the evident arousal on your face, in your stature. Then you heard him. His walking. You closed your eyes, hearing his heavy footsteps enter your room. You heard your door shut, and the footsteps grew louder until you felt him behind you, the warmth of his body enveloping you completely. You let out a small breath. 

“Cass,” You whispered, your eyes opening and meeting his in the mirror.

His hands found your hips, and he pulled you back into him. You felt his hard length against you, pressing against your exposed back, the heat of it alone causing you to let out a small, shaky breath. You leaned back into him, rubbing against him as his fingers tightened around you. Craning your head to the side, Cassian took advantage of your exposed neck, running his nose along it, inhaling your scent. He nudged the sweet spot behind your ears, your knees almost giving out as his lips trailed the shell of your ear, feeling his hot breath against your skin. 

His voice, rough as gravel, sent a wave through you of something you couldn’t name, but it was heavy, hot, and made you so incredibly horny. “Sweetheart, are you…” He trailed off. 

Sure? Sober? You had a feeling that sober is what his question seemed to probe at. You nodded, nodded frantically. Every shot you had taken tonight had no effect on your body, not anymore. You’d felt the last lingering effects of your final shot as you both came home, feeling as it slipped out of your system. And if he was asking if you were sure, that answer was yes, too. You were boldly, acutely, and fully aware of the moment, of each sensation in your body— fully aware of the ache in your legs, of how good Cassian smelled. “Yes, yes.” You whispered.

“Thank god,” He groaned– a guttural, animalistic sound. 

Before you could blink, Cassian was spinning you around. You let out a gasp, your view quickly taken up by the image of his face hovering over yours. He held your face in both of his hands, his thumbs swiping across your cheeks. His eyes scanned you in desperation, as if he was searching for something within the details of your features. Whatever he was looking for he seemed to find as he brought his lips to yours, giving in entirely with a soft moan of relief. His arms moved to wrap around your waist, and you moaned into him, flinging your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer. He kissed you harder. 

“You sure?” Cassian whispered, floating the question again. He slid his warm palm up and over your hips, to your waist, your ribs, and back down again. You let out a sigh at his touch, running your palms up to pull the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“Yes,” You said as he feathered kisses along your neck. “Are you?” 

You felt Cassian nod against you, a small breathless laugh left his lips as he came up for another kiss. “Fuck yes. I’ve been dreaming about this.” And then he placed another kiss on your lips, deep and sensual. Hunger radiated off him like a starved man. His words turned you to jelly and you swore you could feel your wetness running down your thighs. 

“This dress,” he breathed against your lips, “I wanted to rip it off you the minute I saw it.”

Before you can react, he reached out and gripped the fabric of your dress, yanking it downward with a force that left your heart racing. You gasped as the material was torn from your body, leaving you standing before him in nothing but your underwear. You watched in awe as he threw the torn fabric aside, a small sound emitting as the jewels made contact with the hard floor. The cold air immediately took the place of the warmth of your clothing, making you shiver with pleasure.

“That was Mor’s!” You managed to breathe out, looking at the discarded pile of fabric. Your words died in your throat the minute you caught Cassian’s gaze again. There was a predatory look in his eyes as he took you in, and you remembered now that you were completely naked now, save for a lacy pair of panties. Your nipples perked, hard and ready, in the cold air. Cassian, his gaze unmoving, simply grumbled back, “I’ll buy her a new one.” 

Cassian's eyes roamed over your naked body, his gaze heated as he took in the sight of you, completely at his mercy. His hands reached out, his fingers tracing a path down your arms, making you shake with anticipation. His hands moved to your hips, gripping you firmly as he pulled you closer. "You have no idea how beautiful you are," He said, "How much I've wanted this." You felt his erection, hard and ready, pressing against your stomach.

His lips found yours, his tongue plunging deep into your mouth as he kissed you with all the passion he'd been holding back. You felt the desire radiating from him, making you feel wanted and desired in a way that nothing else ever had. As he broke the kiss, his eyes locked on yours, filled with pure, unfiltered lust. "I'm going to make you come," he growled, his voice low and rough. "And when I do, you'll never forget the way I made you feel."

With that, he plunged his tongue back into your mouth, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you closer as you stand there, naked and vulnerable, your cunt throbbing with every word, every touch. Your hands gripped his hair, your fingers tangling in the strands as you pulled him closer, your bodies pressed together in a frenzy of passion.

Cassian broke away from you for a moment, his breath hot and heavy against your lips. "Jump," he murmured, his voice low and seductive. Without hesitation, you lifted yourself into his arms as he pulled you into him effortlessly. He wrapped himself around you, his hands gripping at your ass, fingers digging into your skin. You felt his erection pressing against you, underneath you, with desperate need.

He took a few steps before he carefully dropped you onto your bed with a bounce. You fell onto your back, your eyes wide with desire as you looked up at him. He took you in with his eyes, every detail of your body etched in his mind, hungrily saving the image of you for later.

Cassian's movements were hurried and frenzied as he removed his own shirt, discarding it carelessly on the floor near your--Mor's-- shredded dress. As he moved, you sat up from your supine position, your legs naturally falling to either side, finding yourself yourself in a kneeling position. You looked up at Cass. The sight of you like this, vulnerable and expectant, only intensified the hunger in his eyes, and he groaned.

You reached out to him and ran your fingertips along the waistband of his black pants, watching as his stomach muscles clenched in response to your touch. Cassian caught your wrists in his hands, looking down at you hungrily, he shook his hand. “Not yet, sweetheart. Let me savor this.”

You let out a small whimper, the sound shooting straight to his dick, causing the hardening length to throb in anticipation. But when he released your hands, you kept them at his waistband, bringing your hand to palm him through the fabric of his pants. 

“Please,” You whimpered, “I want to.”

And what kind of man would Cassian be to deny you? To say no to you as you looked up at him with those glossy eyes, your lips running along your lips? He moaned, feeling as if he could cum at the sight of you alone. This, you, were better than any of his fantasies— and he had come up with a lot within the past two weeks.  

You stared at him, at the way his muscles ripped under this golden skin, at the black tattoos curling around him, at the way his wings flared out openly, dominantly. You ached to be closer, to be able to touch the sensitive membrane. You licked your lips, taking in the curl of his biceps, the sharp dips of his hips, Gods, he was beautiful. He brought his right hand to your face, holding it tenderly before moving his hand to grab your hair at the back of your head. You took that as your invitation, leaning forward to undo his pants. With his buttons undone, you pulled the fabric down, Cassian’s hands aiding you to slide his underwear off with it. 

You let out a gasp at his length, at the girth, the veins pulsing on the underside of his cock. Red and hungry at the tip, leaking. You were watering at the sight. A deep sense of jealousy pooled into your stomach, images of every female he’d been with before, every female who had the pleasure of experiencing this before you. Mine. You thought. Mine. Pushing yourself closer to him, you kissed a line down his stomach.

You felt his muscles tense beneath your lips as you wrapped your fingers around him. He hissed as you rubbed your hands up his considerable length, the sound repeating when you spit on the head, a trail of saliva connecting your lips to his shaft.  You dragged the flat of your tongue upward, against the underside of his cock. Cassian’s reaction was instant, bucking into your grip with a breathless, raspy, moan that sent a wave of arousal down your body. You allowed your hand to follow the trail, spreading your saliva. Your mouth sunk down on him.  As you hollowed your cheeks, Cassian pushed himself harder, letting out a sinful groan as you welcomed him, taking him deeper in your throat.

“Gods,” Cassian tightened his jaw as he watched his cock disappear between your swollen lips with every bob of your head. “That pretty little mouth of yours.”

You swirled your tongue around the head of his cock, Cassian’s head falling backward as he moaned, his grip in your hair getting tighter. You moaned in response, the sound vibrating through him. You shifted on your thighs, rubbing them together in an attempt to relieve some of your own arousal.  With a wet pop, you released him from your mouth, looking directly up at him as he stared at you with naked lust. You greedily swallowed the taste of him that coated your tongue.

“Enough. My turn.” He said, his voice halfway between growl and purr, a feral sound from deep in his chest that reverberated through your core. Cassian’s hand found your chest, after a squeeze of your breasts, his palm settled above your ribs. With a soft push, you were flat on your back again. He leaned over you and you seized the opportunity to rock against his thigh, your pussy throbbing at every touch of his, desperate for friction. But he moved quickly, leaving you grasping for touch. “Cassian.” You moaned. You pulled him back up again, desperate to have him close, slotting your lips against him. 

He accepted another hungry, ravenous kiss from you before he moved down, trailing hard kisses down your jaw and across your collarbone. Your hands tugged at him,  roaming over the length of his shoulders and the plane of his back, you trailed your fingers along his wings, the sensitive and soft membrane. You felt him shudder at the touch, watched as those beautiful wings twitched. You needed more.

Cassian stopped, taking a moment to bite into the soft flesh at the base of your neck. You let out a moan, throwing your hands into his hair as he sucked on the tender skin, soothing the area with a swipe of his tongue. He removed his mouth, tilting his head to make slight eye contact with you, a cocky grin placed on his lips. 

“I’ll paint you in my marks, Y/n.”  He whispered, moving his head down to continue his trail of kisses, “Just to have evidence that I was lucky enough to be here.”

He brought one hand between your thighs, his large calloused fingers dancing over your sensitive flesh, his perfect mouth still exploring you, tasting your skin. Your moans tumbled from your mouth, outside of your control, flowing like a river. You tightened your grasp on his hair, your fingers raking his scalp, pelvis lifting into his touch. Your legs widened further to provide him better access, knees dropping to the side. 

“To feel this.” Cassian’s fingers pulled your underwear aside and ran themselves through the wetness at your core, through your sensitive folds. His finger delicately circled your clit, rubbing at it in a way that had you mewing at his touch.

You let out a gasp as one probed at your entrance, your warm core welcoming it greedily. You felt his finger curl, and then arched into him as he added another, working in and out of you. You could hear the squelch of your juices as he fingered you, could feel the way your essence dripped with each movement. 

A disappointed sigh left your lips when the warmth of his hand left you. But seconds later, as you looked down at him with your hands in his hair, he pulled himself up slightly– just enough to look at you. Just enough to make eye contact as he tilted his head and stuck his slick fingers into his mouth. He lapped at the wetness coating his fingers. 

“Fuck, you taste better than I imagined.” He said, moving down to drop to his knees at the edge of the bed, between your spread legs. You propped yourself up on your elbows to keep your gaze on him. He looked at you, heavy lidded, his mouth glistening with the remnants of your slick. “May I?”

Please, please. He didn’t need to ask, you thought. You wanted him everywhere, wanted him on you, in you, all over you. Whatever he wanted was what you wanted. You lazily nodded, your tongue darting out again to wet your lips. 

“Words, sweetheart,” Cassian murmured, placing hot and wet kissing along your thighs. His arms snaked under your thighs, hands reaching to grab your hips and pull you closer. He slowly peeled your drenched panties off your body. “I want to hear you.”

“Yes,” You finally managed to croak out. Your voice deep and needy. “Please, Cass.”

And then his tongue was on you, licking a stripe up your dripping sex. You let out a loud moan at the contact, at the feeling of his tongue. He flattened his tongue against your folds, dragging it slowly.  Your hands found his hair and gripped it roughly between your fingers, your body curling around him. Cassian’s tongue dipped into your hole, darting in, again and again.  Your legs trembled as stars began to cloud your vision. 

“Cassian,” You choked out, feeling the building pressure in your stomach. You tried bucking your hips, but Cassian kept your thighs still, steady in a position where you couldn’t escape his wicked mouth. His tongue alternated between teasing your clit and slipping into your entrance. Your spined bowed in pleasure, and you brought one hand to your breasts, rubbing them and pinching at your nipples as Cassian ravaged you.

“You’re delicious. So fucking delicious.” Cassian crooned as he pulled apart from your cunt. He took a minute to admire the sweet image of you dripping in front of him, and then he dove back in. He let out a moan, quiet but still audible, and you noticed his other hand had removed itself from your thigh, now hidden from your view. As you looked, you saw it visibly moving, frantically, desperately. Cassian was eating you out and rubbing his own cock at it, pleasuring himself as he lapped at you. You moaned at the idea alone. The noises you made were loud, loud enough that you knew your family would hear if they were home already. But you didn’t care, you had no shame. Let them hear.

Cassian was murmuring into your core; he repeated something, the words falling from him like a prayer from a dying man. You were barely able to hear his whispers over the sound of your own blood rushing through your ears. Cassian pulled back a little then, heedless of your firm hold on his hair, watching you with his jaw set, eyes dark and greedy.

“Oh, Y/n,” he said huskily. “I could feast on this beautiful pussy forever, you know that?”

As he withdrew his mouth, he replaced its presence with his fingers instead. His thumb resumed the stimulation on your clit while his fingers moved inside your. When he slid another finger into you, your hips jumped, moving to meet his fingers faster. He curled his fingers into you as you rutted down harder. He groaned as your walls clenched when he curled his fingers, hitting a spot that had you whining his name. Your face contorted in pleasure and you let your head fall back. Cassian’s hand gripped at your thigh, calling your attention back.

“Down here,” He hummed, “Keep those pretty eyes down here.”

You brought your head back up, supporting yourself with your elbows. Cassian’s eyes stayed on yours as he lowered himself to your sex again, nustling his nose against your clit before he licked a stripe up your cunt, bringing his mouth to suck on your clit. You felt his fingers enter you again– one, then two. They brushed against you as he lapped at your clit, drawing circles with his tongue. You could barely breathe, the air leaving your lungs as Cassian filled your body with sweet, suffocating ecstasy. Your right hand found itself in his hair again, grabbing, pulling. He let out a groan at the feeling, and continued to lap at you.

You felt it everywhere, felt him everywhere. Pleasure gushed through your body, every part of your body sensitive. You writhed under him, your vision of Cassian growing blurry as you felt your pleasure build, coiling deep in your belly, ready to explode. You’re weren't sure what was up or down, forgotten where you were completely. Nothing existed except you and Cassian and the way he fucked you with his fingers and his mouth, and Gods, the thought of your reality alone made you want to cum. You grinded against his mouth, feeling as he grabbed you, pulled you closer, harder, against him, completely smothering him. 

“Oh my Gods, yes, yes, yes.” The sounds you were emitting were music to his ears and Cassian continued. 

The mixture of your pleasure, of Cassian’s grunts, his smells, of the way his wings twitched with each of your moans, made it even sweeter when Cassian brought another finger to your entrance. That tight, hot, built-up coil in your stomach loosened and you shriled loudly, your back bowing off the bed beneath you. Your whole body quaked as your orgasm rippled through you.

Cassian was in heaven— he was sure of it. You were a vision, your cheeks flushed, your lips parted as you moaned out in pleasure, your hard grasp in his hair. He felt every sound from your lips, every whisper of his name falling straight to his aching cock. Cassian, fuck, Cassian. You chanted them like a prayer and he swallowed them all. You were something holy, something absolutely divine and he felt himself losing it. He wanted to worship you forever, to stay buried in your cunt and die a happy man. Every man before him hadn’t appreciated you enough. He wanted to make you his, his beautiful creature, his goddess. 

Cassian slowed his movements, but didn’t halter them completely as he let you work through the wave of your pleasure. Your hand had gone lax in his hair, and he took the opportunity to pepper kisses across your skin — across your legs, across your cunt, even the sweaty crook of your thigh, anywhere his lips could reach. The hand that once gripped your thighs so tightly softened. Cassian rubbed gentle circles around your skin. He waited, and only until your body stopped shaking and you let out a small content sigh between your ragged breaths did he remove his fingers from you. 

He gave your core a slight smack and you let out a gasp, the action sending a spark throughout your body, leaving you aching and throbbing more than you had been seconds before. Cassian gave you a smirk. 

“Holy fuck,” You breathed, looking at him with wide eyes. “Cassian…” You watched as he stood up, bringing his fingers to his mouth as he licked off your juices once more. Your gaze dropped to his chest, and then to his throbbing cock. He stroked it as he looked at you, and your core ached once more, clenching at the thought of him inside you. Cassian stared at you, lips parted, drinking the sight of you eagerly. You pushed yourself further up, scooting back enough to lie flat on the middle of your bed. 

“You are a vision. A godsdamn vision,” Cassian spoke, the words falling off his tongue in a breathless confession, “Thought about this for so long.” He walked over to you. 

You gulped at the admission, thinking back onto your own fantasies of him, of his hands, of his mouth. You blinked, watching as he braced his hands on the bed. “Yeah?” 

Cassian nodded, bringing his hand to rub alongside your legs, tracing the curves of your body. As he crawled onto the bed, he let his hands wander with every movement. “Yeah, sweetheart.” 

The nickname made your heart clench, and you felt your wetness building once again, your pussy still sensitive from your previous orgasm. “Tell me.” You whispered. He straightened himself, moving to hover over you. With one arm supporting his weight, Cassian rocked his hips against yours. He molded his other hand to your breasts, sucking in a deep, ragged breath. You arched into his touch, mewing for more. You felt your heart throb, a warmth enveloping your chest. You couldn’t breathe. All you wanted to feel was him, his hands, his skin, his touch. His touch cascaded down your body, grabbing at your thighs, pulling them closer to him. 

“Rubbed myself raw at the thought of you underneath me like this.” He placed a kiss to your chest, quickly turning it into a small love bite, sucking at the skin tenderly. He released your skin with a brush of his teeth, bringing his fingers to softly touch the bruised skin.  His fingers returned to your torso, teasing your nipples once more, bringing them between his fingers. He bent his head down and took one of your nipples into his mouth. You arched into him, letting out a sweet sound at the wet contact. Cass swirled his tongue around the hardened nub before gently tugging it with his teeth, causing you to let out a cry of pleasure that quickly turned into a whine when he lifted his head. He lightly blew on your nipple, eliciting a soft gasp of pleasure as your nipple peaked harder, responding to the contrast of his hot mouth and the cool air. He repeated the same motions with your other breast. 

You moaned as you felt him tease your entrance with the head of his cock, rubbing it against your clit and around your inner lips. You impatiently bucked your hips, trying to guide him where you wanted him, where you ached for him, but Cassian’s firm hand on your lower abdomen halted your movements.You looked up at him with frustration, frowning at the sly grin on his mouth. 

“Cass, please,” You pleaded with broken whimpers. Cassian said nothing, moving his head down to kiss alongside your neck, taking your earlobe between his teeth. He teased you more, and in a movement of exasperation, fueled by the swelling and throbbing of your heat, you pulled him towards you by his neck. You placed your forehead against his, looking at him through heavy eyes. “Cassian, please fuck me already.”

Cassian gave you a wolfish grin. “Since you asked so nicely,” he said, bringing you in for another kiss. You could taste yourself on his tongue, the kiss wet with desire and something more you couldn't place. Taking a breath and pulling apart, Cassian moved his hand to grab his cock, stroking it once, twice, before lining it up with your entrance. 

You let out a deep moan as he pushed into you, feeling yourself stretching around him. Your previous climax had left you sensitive, so sensitive that the first rock of Cassian’s hips left you gasping for air. Cass let out a guttural groan, leaning his forehead against yours as he bottomed out. His hair clung to his forehead. You looked up at him, at his mouth open in pleasure, and ran your hands alongside his face. 

“Fuck,” His breath fanned your face. He looked at you with that deep intensity in his gaze that stirred your heart. The next thrust was just as slow, Cassian pushing in as deep as your body would allow. “You, You feel fucking incredible.”

You closed your eyes, the sensations overwhelming you. But soon, Cassian’s voice snapped again, and you felt one hand grab your face, his hand holding your jaw, his thumb rubbing at your lips. “Look at me, beautiful.” He said, letting his thumb dip into your mouth. 

You spread legs spread open to the sides as he began to vigorously slam into you with no restraint, never breaking the eye contact he'd so quickly grown to love. He drank it all in: the clapping noises of flesh and your sensual screams, the sensation of your wet heat wrapped around him, the sopping sounds of your love making, and the way your nails dug into his arms as he told you how good you felt. 

You rolled your hips, pushing against his merciless rhythm of thrusts. Cassian looked down at where your bodies met, at where his cock filled you,  entranced by the way your hips subconsciously tilted at the intrusion, at how your hole welcomed him. With a growl, he lifted your legs over his shoulders, positioning you perfectly for his rough, relentless thrusts. Your breath caught in your throat as your watched him fuck you, your heart pounding in her chest. “Cass, Cassian.”

“Keep saying my name, baby.” The pet name fell from his lips so effortlessly, caressing you like another wave of heat. “Tell me how good it feels.”

As he continued to move inside you, your thoughts jumbled into a mess of pure pleasure. You let out a string of incoherent words, your mind drunk on the feeling of him stretching you, hitting spots you’d never experienced before. “S’Good.” You whimpered. You wrapped your arms tighter across his shoulders, reaching to touch the delicate membrane of his wings. They twitched under your fingertips, and you felt Cassian let out a moan before the sound registered in your ear. He snaked a hand where your bodies met, finding your swollen, aching clit, and began to rub circles around it. You gasped. 

“I wish I could be here forever,” Cassian groaned, his lips hovering over your ears, “Stay buried inside of your cunt. Fuck you like this for the rest of my life.” You didn't know if Cassian was aware of what he was saying, aware of what it implied, but you didn't care. It all felt so good, and his words made every stroke even more pleasurable. You wanted this, you wanted this for the rest of your life– you’d never experienced something this great, never known this level of pleasure could exist. 

“Please, Cass. Please.” You didn't know what you were begging for, but Cassian hushed you, peckering kisses all over you, his head fell in the crook of your shoulder, moving to bring his teeth to the sensitive skin at your neck. You moaned. “Yes, yes. Mark me. I’m yours.”

Your words seemed to hit a part of him, forcing him to pull away and stare at you with wide eyes. He stilled inside of you.  "Say that again," he commanded, his voice low and gravelly.

"I'm yours," you whispered, your voice trembling with anticipation. You brought your hands to his face, gently rubbing his cheeks. The tender, soft touch sent a shock straight to his cock, and he pulled you into a deep kiss. When you pulled apart for air, Cassian’s strokes began to pick up again, his forehead resting on yours. "Fuck me like I'm yours." You said to him, your voice filled with raw desire. 

Cassian’s mind shuffled through the past two weeks, the memories of the bartender hitting on you, of the men who never satisfied you. He felt a primal possessiveness, a need to take you faster, harder, deeper. His thrusts became more aggressive, more forceful, his wings caressing you as they wrapped around both of your bodies. You cried out in pleasure, your body arching beneath him, hands gripping the sheets as you took him deep inside you.

He watched you, admired your body sprawled on the bed before him, his hands on your hips, holding you at just the right angle. His mouth salivated at your beautiful face, flushed and red, and the way your breasts bounced in time with his thrusts. The noise of your fucking was obscene - the soft squeaks of your bed, the wet sounds of your bodies slapping together, the moans and curse words and harsh breathing. His grip on your hips tightened and his thrusts became more erratic. 

Cassian’s movements became faster than you could process– one moment, he was thrusting into you, and the next, he was picking you up, maneuvering you so that you were sitting on his thighs, looking at him as he leaned back. You gasped at the new angle, at the feeling of sinking onto him completely.  His eyes locked on yours as you straddled him and his hands guided you up and down his cock, your bodies slick with sweat and desire. 

"Fuck, you feel so good," he groaned, his hands gripping your ass, guiding you closer to him with each thrust. You could feel his cock swelling inside you, your pussy clenching around him as you rode him harder, faster, your body craving more. “Ride me just like that, sweetheart.” His voice rang in your head, making you dizzy. You arched forward towards him. One hand left your ass, going to grab one of your breasts, fondling with your nipple.  His eyes were dark with desire, his gaze never leaving yours as he watched you take him deep inside you.

As you sank down onto him, his hips bucked up to meet you, your bodies connecting with a primal force. You could feel his cock throbbing inside you, your pussy clenching around him as you moaned softly, your eyes closing in pleasure. But Cassian didn't want you to close your eyes. He wanted you to look at him, to see the raw fire in his eyes as he took you. He reached up, his hand wrapping around your throat, his fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp.

"Look at me," he growled, his voice rough like gravel. The sound itself made you clench around him as he fucked you. You opened your eyes, your breath catching in your throat as you met his gaze. His eyes were dark, filled with lust and possession, and you could feel your orgasm building as you looked at him. His hand tightened around your throat as he began to fuck you harder, his hips bucking up to meet you.

You felt his cock sliding deeper inside you, your pussy clenching around him, your body shaking with pleasure.

"Fuck, yes," he groaned, "Look at me. Let me see you fall apart on my cock."

As you felt the intensity of your orgasm building, he pulled you down, holding you to his chest, in place, as he continued to thrust into you. You moaned, your forehead resting against his, your eyes locked on his as he continued to fuck you, his cock sliding in and out of you. "Cassian, please, please, I'm so close," you whimpered, your voice hoarse. His hands gripped your ass roughly, pulling you closer to him, sliding deeper and deeper into you with each thrust. 

You felt his heart pounding beneath you, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he fucked you, his eyes never leaving yours.  He stared at you as he whispered, "I've got you, baby. I've got you."

Your body trembled, your moans grew louder, and soon your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave– your body shook with pleasure, your pussy clenching around him, milking him. You gasped his name, your body convulsing over him, your sensitivity consuming you completely. You felt him tense, his cock swelling even more, and you knew that he was close as well.

His thrusts were rough and hard, each one sending waves of warmth coursing through you. Your body responded to his movements, your cunt massaging him, clenching around him, making him groan in response. He increased his pace, his thrusts becoming even rougher, sloppy, and more urgent. His hips moved in a frenzy, each thrust driving him deeper into you, his cock sliding against your most sensitive spots, making you moan with pleasure. You felt his balls slapping against your ass, the sound and sensation driving you wild, your hands grasped at him, at his shoulders, at his neck, at his hair. 

You felt the tension building within him, his body tensing underneath you as he neared his climax. He gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your skin, holding you in place as he drove into you. You were certain he’d leave marks in their wake, that your hips, your thighs, your body would be bruised with the evidence of his touch. It made you feral. 

Cassian’s breaths were ragged as he bucked into you roughly, a string of curses falling from his lips. Finally, he let out a low, primal grunt, his face contorted with pleasure as he came, his cum spilling deep within you. You felt the warmth of his seed filling you, the sensation making you shiver with pleasure. His thrusts became slower, gentler, as he tried to catch his breath, his body still trembling from the intensity of his orgasm. His grip on you loosened, and his hands began to rub up and down your spine, gently, softly, lovingly. 

You both laid there for a moment, his cock still deep inside you. Pushing yourself up, you sat upright, Cassian letting out a groan at the feeling of him still inside you, your juices leaking between your legs and onto his skin. His hands rubbed at either of your thighs, both of you breathing heavily as you stared at one another— lips swollen, skin flushed, hair disheveled. You let out a deep breath and let your mouth fall open slightly. 

“You are incredible.” Cassian breathed out, looking up at you, still entranced in your beauty. He admired the marks on your body from his mouth, and felt a small smirk growing on his lips. You let out a small exhausted laugh, your hands coming to rest at his shoulders, rubbing your thumb absentmindedly on his skin. 

“So,” You said, still breathless, your voice raspy, “What now?”