#i didn’t even know they were masquerading as male at first

[queer-headcanons-archive]

Rei Batsubami from Kakegurui is genderfluid and lesbian! (headcanons?)

genderfluid — a person that does not have a fixed gender identity. their identity may shift and change

[obsessivevoidkitten]

Your Boyfriend Owen

Yandere Male x Gender Neutral Reader (CW: Noncon/dubcon, stalking, drugging, kidnapping, chaining, general yandere behavior, social awkwardness, creepy staring, mild scent kink.) Word Count: 2.5k (This was supposed to be a small couple hundred word drabble... oopsiedoodles...)

It was the first day of your last year in college.

At the end of class there was a student lingering at his desk. He was your age and of average build, maybe a bit on the skinny side, with disheveled medium length black hair that was a bit wet with sweat and glasses that were a bit crooked.

He seemed really distraught and panicky as he typed on his laptop.

You introduced yourself and asked him if he needed help with something.

He went silent and awkwardly stared at you for a moment before speaking.

“Uh… hi, I’m Owen.”

He was obviously not used to people approaching and talking to him.

I-I don’t know how to get assignments and submit them on this updated online portal we have this year! I just cannot figure it out!”

You leaned over his desk and took a look at his laptop, you happily showed him how to navigate the new system. You didn’t blame Owen for being so high strung, the classes were tough and this new portal was pretty confusing.

What you didn’t realize was that in this simple act of helping him you had made the biggest mistake of your life.

Owen was stunned that you were helping him. You must have liked him! No one was this nice to a random stranger.

As you leaned over his desk to use his laptop he noticed you smelled so nice.

If he hadn’t already been sweating from his previous issues with the student portal you may have noticed the blush that crept across his face.

When you finished he thanked you nervously before you left for your dorm.

There was plenty of foot traffic to and from the dorms, classes, and the food places on campus. It was very easy for Owen to go unseen as he followed you to your dorm.

He… just wanted to make sure you got there safely. And also wanted to see where you lived.

Over the course of the next few weeks Owen you constantly caught Owen staring at you in class and he never failed to greet you when you sat down or try to talk to you when you left. You were always polite but… it was a little creepy to be honest, but you ignored it because it was pretty harmless. He just had a crush on you.

It was far from harmless though, during the time of day that you had classes and he didn’t he would sneak into your dorm and take little “treasures” that he was sure you wouldn’t miss.

A used pair of underwear that still had your scent from the day before. Maybe a shirt if it wasn’t one of your favorites, he knew which ones you wore most often.

As far as he was concerned he was your boyfriend, even if you didn’t know it yet, and good boyfriends noticed small details like favorite clothes.

He also took note of super important information like what food seemed to be your favorite, wherever you ate lunch he was sure to be in the crowd watching you.

Things probably would have continued on like that for a lot longer, just a creepy stalker pining for you, but then one day you helped someone else in class.

They didn’t deserve to even breathe the same air as you! He was fuming, he clenched his hands so hard that his nails bruised his palms. To grace such a nobody with your assistance drove him beyond jealousy.

But that did not even compare to when he saw you the next day eating lunch with the slime ball.

Why would you do that to him? Surely you liked him, not this piece of shit. He must have forced himself into your space and you were just too sweet to push him away.

Owen had to do something before things escalated too far. And he didn’t have to wait too much longer to have his opportunity.

There was a huge Halloween party coming up and he knew for a fact you would be going.

He went with a masquerade ball costume, complete with an intricately decorated Venetian mask.

When you were at the party he waited for the perfect moment to make his move. He stared at you the entire time, not taking his eyes off of you for a moment. Even if he hadn’t been planning something he wouldn’t have been able to take his eyes off you. You had decided to go as a pale faced vampire, it made him wonder what your teeth on his neck would feel like.

When you were all alone, and after your judgment was a bit off from a few drinks Owen came over and introduced himself and started chatting you up before offering you a drink.

He was a bit of an oddball, but he was always nice right? What was the harm?

You accepted the drink and soon everything was a blur. You weren’t rendered entirely unconscious, just helpless, compliant, and a touch clingy.

Owen escorted you out of the party with you leaning on him heavily, his face was red beneath his mask, his darling was relying on him for support! Just how it should always be~

Not many people at the party knew you, and even if they had they wouldn’t have thought much of you leaving in this manner, you just appeared to be a little drunk and leaving with someone who you trusted.

Owen stroked your cheek gently and guided you gently into the passenger seat of his car.

It was really happening, he was taking his love home.

He lived with his parents, in the large basement of their house. He was the true epitome of a basement dwelling freak.

You clung to him and nuzzled into his neck as he brought you inside. You didn’t know why, but you felt so needy.

He sat you down softly on the bed, he had changed the color of the sheets to match yours. He wanted you to feel at home and get adjusted to being here as quickly as possible and thought it may make the transition easier.

To that end he had also hung copies of the same posters you had hanging in your dorm, had the bookshelf filled with every book that he had ever seen you reading, and while everyone else was at the party he had even managed to snag a few things from your room.

Most notably your Nintendo switch and your blankets. They were drenched in your scent~

In your drugged state you couldn’t quite make sense of your surroundings… it looked kinda similar to your room… but not…

“Wh-wherrre aare w-w-weee?” You couldn’t speak without slurring your words.

“We’re home! Th-this is where you live now!

That didn’t seem right… did it? It felt a bit off… But why would this nice man lie to you? He gave you a drink and a ride… home.

“You’ll live here with me and I will take good care of you!”

“That’sss sooo n-nice of you”

Owen smiled, he knew you may feel differently once the drugs wore off, but he had taken precautions just in case. What mattered was that you were here, you weren’t leaving, and you’d eventually admit that you liked him and wanted to be here with him.

He sat down beside you on the bed and wiped the pale makeup from your face gently, you leaned into his touch with a cute sigh that made his heart swell and his cock twitch.

You were so perfect. Eventually you would be like this without the drugs, he just needed to be patient and train you until you saw that you needed him as much as he needed you. He had wanted to wait until that point to make love with you.

But… you were acting so sweet and needy. So malleable. And he could tell that you really needed it, your face was flushed and you kept grinding your crotch slowly against your arm that you had between your legs.

You stared up at him in confusion as he began to peel away his clothing, his cock bouncing free. You couldn’t take your eyes off of it. Then he carefully took off what you were wearing, slowly. He wanted to savor the moment. The person he loved more than anything else in the entire world was about to be revealed completely to him.

“So p-perfect~”

“Whaaaa are you doooinnng?” You looked up at him while not even noticing you were already grinding into your arm again.

He rubbed your thighs gently before replying.

“I’m g-going to help you with this,” he said as he caressed your crotch.

You blushed and smiled, in that moment all you could think that Owen was just so nice. He had already taken you home and now he was going to help you with your arousal too!

You spread your legs to allow for easier access as he fumbled with the lube.

He was considerably more nervous than before.

“I-it’s my first time, I hope I’m okay~ I-if I’m not we can pr-practice until I get it right!”

Owen applied the slick fluid liberally to his cock, where it mixed with the precum that his cock was practically drooling, then he scooted you to the edge of the bed and knelt between your legs, using his tongue to get you nice and stimulated.

The scent and flavor of you was almost enough to make Owen cum almost immediately, he was more drugged by your smell than you were on actual drugs. He moaned loud, taking it all in.

Before he caused either of you to orgasm before the main event he managed to pry himself away and apply lube to your entrance, sliding in a couple of fingers and twirling them around inside you.

You bucked and moaned, desperate to have more inside you as the lube mixed with all the saliva he had deposited inside you.

“Neeed morrrre,” You started crying a bit, you were just so desperate. You were like a bitch in heat and nothing would take care of it except Owen’s cock.”

“S-so needy! Don’t cry honey bun, I will take care of you!”

You tried to get your sobbing under control as he kissed you deeply.

“Gosh, y-you’re pretty even when you’re crying…

Then he stood beside the bed and propped your legs up on his shoulders. He rubbed the tip around your hole a bit, wanting to ingrain this moment into his memory for the rest of his life, before grabbing your hips and plunging his entire length inside of you in one movement.

The two of you gasped in unison, finally you felt that yearning void in you start to fill and he was inside of you.

It was much better than he had imagined in the fantasies he had so fervently jerked off to.

The heat, the tightness, your insides were enveloping his cock in pure bliss. And the smell of your sweat mingled with his and the scent of sex was just indescribable.

He slid in and out rhythmically, bending down and biting your neck as he did so. Claiming it as he sped up faster and faster.

Owen couldn’t help not lasting too long, and luckily for him you couldn’t either in your drugged state.

You cried out as you came hard, the force of your climax shaking through your body, pushing Owen over the edge. He filled you with plenty of cum before wrapping his arms around you lovingly.

“I love you so much!”

Your intoxicated mind felt the perfect response to this was, “I looo-love youuu toooo.”

When you woke up you were clothed and all cleaned up, and you could scarcely remember a single thing after the party. You had an awful headache and it took you a few moments to realize that this was certainly not your bedroom.

You felt someone spooning you from behind.

Owen. Owen was spooning you!

You must have gotten black out drunk and hooked up with him.

The thought made you feel sick to your stomach.

You immediately jumped out of bed and went to put your shoes on when you finally saw it.

A long thick chain that led to a shackle around your ankle.

You screamed.

Owen woke up instantly and tried to console you. He had been worried this may be your reaction.

“C-calm down honey b-bun. Just let me expla-”

“Don’t call me honey bun you sick freak!” You shouted the words with as much venom as you could muster, with tears threatening to roll down your face at any moment.

“HELP! HELP PLEASE!! SOMEON-”

Owen grabbed you from behind and put his hand over your mouth, using his other hand to hold you close to his shirtless form.

You still yelled, but it was pretty muffled. You could only hope someone had heard your initial outburst.

“Shh baby, calm down, it will be okay I promise~”

He kissed the top of your head and you tried to shake him off but you were still weak from last night, and he was stronger than you had anticipated. You finally went still and silently cried, your voice too strained now to say much of anything.

Then you heard footsteps coming from above you, they got louder as they approached. Did he have roommates? Had they heard your plea for help? You allowed a spark of hope to ignite inside of you.

You couldn’t see it, but Owen was blushing deeply.

“O-oh jeez, I didn’t want you to meet my parents y-yet. Not until you felt b-better.”

A man and a woman came down the steps. They both had features that reminded you of Owen.

The woman spoke while the man stood behind her, “Just what the HELL is going on at this early hour!? The sun is barely out and I have to work later tod-”

She met your eyes, only just now realizing that her son had someone in his arms. You could see her gaze follow the chain that bound your leg to the wall.

Seeing your tear streaked face, red and puffy from crying, shaking from fear, she gave a look of sympathy. Your hope grew. Would she help you escape her loony son? Your sore throat strained to form words, but they only came out muted and garbled through Owen’s hand.

“Owen! You didn’t tell us you were dating! Honestly, with how awkward you are, I was a bit afraid you’d never take a liking to someone.”

Then she looked at you again.

“You’ll be okay, I know it’s hard at first, but you’ll settle right in.”

“I-i made sure the shackle was lined with something s-soft so it doesn’t hurt them. J-just like you told me how you did when y-you started dating dad!”

You saw the man bite his lip and gaze down sheepishly.

Owen was in his mid 20s, if his age was any indication… if he was conceived when his parents first met… then you were going to be here for a very long time.

[gl00mura11]

Do you perhaps do crossovers (like for example obey me x twst or sumn similar to that)?

If so, could you perhaps do the demon brothers or Diavolo with a Malleus!Male! Reader? Doesn't exactly have to look like Malleus (mainly just the horns and magic abilities, personality too if you wanna add that).

Maybe some fluff headcanons of Diavolo or the demon brothers just simply being around Malleus!reader and spending time with him, and Malleus!reader being somewhat shocked that they aren't really afraid of him?

I'm hope you have a wonderful day!

(Edit: After so long Ive realized that I never really went through with the ask and went with my own story. Im so sorry dude, i will fix my mistake and remake it in a bit)

TW: VERY small mentions of the event Glorious Masquerade in Levi’s Part, Mentions of hurting Belphegor during lesson 16 + small spoilers, let me know if more!

Malleus!Reader and the Brothers

Lucifer🦚

When you first came to the Devildom, his first concern him was your abilities, and of course, your appearance. Nothing could’ve really prepared him to see a tall man with large horns, especially one with the amount of power to actually harm them. Slightly though, I mean you couldn’t be compared to THEE Lucifer (is what he continued to tell himself for a long time).

Throughout the year Lucifer mostly left you alone. He had small concerns, but it was most likely just paperwork and his brothers stressing him out so he stayed in his room. You were kinda used to that kind of treatment though so you didn’t mention it much.

He eventually warmed up to you, and you did try to keep out of trouble so nothing much happened. His trust also kind of broke a bit when he saw you using magic on his younger brother, Belphegor during the whole… trying to kill you thing. He understood it was for defense purposes though.

When he learns that people tend to avoid you and are usually scared of you, he felt a bit bad. He likes spending time with you now, and isn’t that scared of you. Maybe a bit intimidated with your height but it isn’t a huge problem since the horns make up around 4-5 inches. He adores your love and interest for gargoyles, and is extremely impressed when he finds out what your power level. Nothing could really compare to the brothers though, not even Belphegor.

Mammon💸

He thought you were badass honestly. Maybe a bit intimidated since you were pretty tall compared to him (and also the fact that you just looked terrifying). You did kinda remind him of Lucifer though…

During the year though, you end up dealing with him like usual. Mammon would take all sorts of things from you and try to steal it, but it slowly stopped after a while (years). One night though, he decides to take your beloved Drago. I swear he’s never seen you so upset over some toy! Are you like Levi, all into those weird games? Didn’t seem like the type.

After explaining that it was given by someone special, he stops most of his teasing. You’d hear a whine or two about how you would just give away expensive items to fix it, but a small smile after it’s fixed immediately shuts him up.

Levi🐍

He was bored out of his mind when he was suddenly out of his little fantasy and he just sees this super scary guys that’s like, the exact replica of Lucifer! The horns, the glare, the terrifying but badass look that just screams “normie”! He couldn’t believe it, you were also an exact replica of the Lord of Corruption!

He pretty much avoided you but admired you after that meeting. He could compare you to so many anime characters! You really got his attention, he’d stare at you in class all day! And during breakfast, lunch, and dinner... He does get closer with you by the end of the year, you were eager to learn what he knew about TSL. Though, he called you “normie” a lot during his rant. Well, at least you were able to mention gargoyles. And he was completely fine with it! Unlike Azul and Idia who completely made a whole deal out of it during your trip to Noble Bell College… Though, you did think of Idia while Levi was ranting about TSL. Maybe they both would be friends?

(might get into writing again but oh well. This is probably just a spurt of energy after months of being done with everything.)

[impala-dreamer]

Pondering Fate While Ignoring The Obvious

A Ten Inch Hero Story

~Priestly has got it so bad for Tish that he can barely see past the end of her... well, her back end, anyway. He's love sick and forever rejected, constantly stuck inside his own head. When a new girl in town starts messing with him, he quickly loses his cool...~

Boaz Priestly x F!Reader

2,511 Words

Warnings: Nuttin' but fluff and banter. ;)

A/N: This is another square for my @jacklesversebingo card. The prompt is "Backhanded Compliment/Convenience Store/Sugar Addict"

Now listen- I've never written for this movie before, but I had so much fun doing it. If you've seen the movie, I think you'll love this. If you haven't seen it, you may not totally get it, but you'll still love it because it's cute and fluffy and I said so. Give it a chance ;)

Another day, another spicy Italian with no oil and no vinegar. How you could eat a hero dry was a question he could never quite grasp the answer to, but in the end, did another weird order really matter? He’d put a condom on the bun if they asked for it. Maybe not a used one, but then again, Tish was looking extra spicy herself today.

Tish. Goddamnit. There she goes flirting with every male in existence except him. There she is leaning over the counter in that not-so-sneaky way that pushes her tits up and out, giving everyone and their mother a look into the valley of the Promised Land. 

For fuck’s sake, if she’d only do that for him. 

Then again, nothin’ he hadn’t seen before. 

Fingers snapped in front of his face and Priestly blinked himself back into reality. 

“Can I help you?” he asked, still half dazed and half hard after staring so intently at his coworker. 

Piper sighed. “Yeah. You gotta make a run down the street.” 

He sighed harder. “You know, you ladies are capable of patronizing the convenience store now and then. It’s not really hard. You just pick out what you need and exchange it for cash.” 

The tiny blonde pouted and batted her lashes. “Please? My feet hurt from standing all day.” 

He scoffed. “And mine don't?” 

“I’m not used to it. I’m delicate.” 

Priestly scratched at the bright green spikes that sat atop his head for the day, masquerading as a hairstyle. He frowned but relented. “Fine. Gimme the list.” 

He saw her from the street. He wasn’t purposely peeping through the window like a stalker, but he felt like it all the same. It wasn’t his fault, not really. Things mostly stayed the same around town, so when something was different, when someone new showed up, it tended to stick out a bit. 

The new girl at the register was cute, not particularly daring in her style or makeup palette, but she was attractive. Probably the thing Priestly noticed first was the lollipop stick hanging from her painted lips. 

His entrance was announced by the jangling of bells and she looked up as he came in. She smiled around the pop and twirled the white paper stick between her fingers. 

“Welcome.” 

He looked back at her over his shoulder and nodded. “Hey.” 

Slowly, she pulled the treat from her mouth and licked the very tip. Her tongue was as red as the pop and Priestley was sure that his cheeks were turning the same shade. He cleared his throat quickly and turned back, going about his business. 

The store was otherwise empty except for Mr. Jacobson, the old man who never seemed to go anywhere but was always wherever you went. He was currently lingering at the end of the aisle, amazed at the sheer amount of chip flavors the new millennium had to offer. 

“Back in my day we had regular and salt & vinegar, and we were grateful!”

Priestly laughed under his breath and looked over the rack at the register. She was laughing softly as well, and when their eyes met, she didn’t shy away. 

He did; quickly tearing his gaze from the cherry pop and focusing on the aluminum foil instead. There was no use flirting with her anyway- she’d never go for him. She looked too normal, too pretty to fall for his shenanigans. Best not to even think about it. 

Arms fully stocked, he headed her way, keeping his eyes on the black and gray tiled floor and praying she wouldn’t make his heart race any faster. 

She sucked hard on the Blow Pop and then took a bite, making him jump. Sugar crackled between her teeth and she winked.

“I hope you overcharge them,” she said dryly, staring him down. 

Confusion took the place of shyness and Priestly’s face scrunched up. “What?” he snapped, jerking away from the counter. 

The girl rolled her eyes and went about ringing up his order without another word. 

Cash exchanged, Priestly thanked her and walked out, still wondering what the hell she was talking about. 

Monday. 

Priestly stared out the front window, wondering if the day was going to go his way or not. He knew he shouldn’t bother pondering the Fates, because they always seemed against him, but he liked to think he had some hope tucked away somewhere beneath the Manic Panic hair dye and all the metal sticking out of his head. If there was, he couldn’t find any today. 

Tish was late, as usual, probably rolling out of some strange guy’s arms and fishing for her bra underneath the bed. 

Someday… someday, that’d be his bed she was searching under. Someday, those would be his arms she rolled out of. He just had to keep hoping.

Or not. He really didn’t care. 

The sun was too bright, the grill was too hot. He hated everything. 

Except the sound of bubblegum popping behind him. He didn’t seem to hate that. 

With spatula in hand, he turned and startled just enough to make the bubblegum appear between coyly smiling pink lips. 

“Hey.” 

Priestley squinted. “You’re that chick from the store.” 

Annoyance crept onto her face. “And you’re that dude with too much eyeliner.” 

He laughed before realizing she was insulting him and ended up jolting up on his toes awkwardly, half a smile curled on his lip. 

He cleared his throat. “Priestly.”

She squinted. “Like Elvis?” 

He shrugged. “And you are?” 

“Hungry.” 

Slapping a five on the counter, she picked up her hero and spun away, heading toward the door. She turned to push it open with her backside and popped her gum again. 

Her eyes were glued to him and Priestly felt his stomach flip. He met her gaze and she smiled. 

“I always do.” 

He wanted to say something, to ask her what the hell she was talking about, but she was gone before the words reached his tongue. 

“Always do what?” 

Jen turned her head his way, but her eyes were still locked on the computer screen. “What’s up?” 

He sighed. “Nothing. Just a weird girl from…nothing.”

It was nothing. She was just the weird girl from down the street. And anyway, he was supposed to be hating everything today, not shifting his ponderance to the mystery of the gum chewing, pop crunching girl from the convenience store. 

“Nothing.”  

Blue hair; don’t care. 

Priestly cracked an egg on the grill and watched the edges sizzle. He wasn’t great at a lot of things, but cooking eggs was something he did exceptionally well. The butter bubbled around the perimeter, curling the whites just slightly, and he pushed the tip of his spatula against it. 

Not ready yet. 

The girls were, yet again, chatting about men, and he kept one ear on the sizzle and the other in their conversation. 

“I just don’t understand how hard it is to find. It’s right there.” Tish laughed and pushed a delicate hand back through her hair. “It’s a clit, not the Holy Grail.” 

Priestly raised a brow. “Some would call it that though,” he interjected. 

She rolled her eyes. “You would.”

Offended, he sucked in a quick breath. “Ya know something-” 

She turned, one hand on her hip, waiting. “Yeah?”  

His lips pursed and dejected, he turned back to the grill. “Forget it.” 

“Thought so,” she laughed. 

God, she was such a bitch sometimes. OK, most times, but still.

Tish went back to leaning on the counter and he took the opportunity to peek at her ass. 

Behind him, a throat was cleared. 

Priestly sighed, knowing what was waiting for him when he turned. Or, rather, who. 

“You again.” He batted his lashes. 

She smacked her lips. “Me again.” From her pocket, she withdrew a pink Starburst and fiddled with the wrapper. 

He eyed the candy and followed it to her mouth. Her lips were darker today and it reminded him of the cherry pop. “You eat too much sugar, you know that?”

She smiled gently. “And you dye your hair too much. That isn’t good for you. All those chemicals are gonna fry your brain.” 

“Joke’s on you, it’s already fried- shit!” Fried egg. Burnt to a crisp. “Damnit.” 

Sugar Girl swallowed a laugh and the Starburst. 

He turned around, annoyed at himself and her laughter. “Are you- do you want something?” 

“Yup.” She nodded and took her order from Piper, who was holding a small, paper-wrapped hero. “Thanks.” 

Green eyes narrowed on her smile. She was weird. Way too weird. And kinda rude. 

“You ever gonna tell me your name?” he asked, calling out as she pushed open the door. 

“Sure,” she replied, “Soon as I get my free sample.” 

“Huh?” 

Confusion always seemed to linger when she left, that and the smell of strawberries. Or cherries, or whatever she’d been sucking on. 

Sucking on…

His eyes flickered over to Tish and he wondered if she was as good at sucking things as she claimed.

It was raining and he was cranky. 

He’d missed his alarm, the car wouldn’t start, and a passing bus nearly drenched him head to toe. 

It wasn’t supposed to rain at the beach. It was practically against the law. Nature’s law, anyway. 

And to top it all off, Tish was bragging about the amazing night she’d had with a handsome stranger visiting from New York. 

“He’s just in town for a few days, so it’s nothing serious,” she explained to a wide-eyed Piper who was drinking down every word. “But man, I wouldn’t be mad if it was. He’s… tall and handsome and-” 

Priestly cleared his throat. “Ya know I’m pretty tall.” 

She clicked her tongue. “And?” 

His heart ached at her callousness. “And… just thought I’d remind you.”

Maybe she didn’t know what she was doing to him, but he thought his advances were fairly obvious. Maybe she was just a bitch.

Jen derailed his thought train with a shopping list she’d printed out. 

He shook his head. “No.” 

“Please?”

The shop on the corner was the last place he wanted to go. Nameless Sugar Girl was the last person he wanted to see. “Why do I always have to go?” He pouted and gestured to the window. “It’s pouring rain out there.” 

Jen looked up with puppy-dog eyes. “Which is why I’m asking you to please go.” 

A heavy sigh was his only reply. Priestly grabbed the paper from her hand, crumpling it beyond repair, and set out into the downpour. 

He was dripping by the time he made it down the street. He sneered at the water on his face, rolled his eyes at the welcome mat, swatted viciously at the bells as they rang above his head. 

“Rough morning?” she asked, watching his huffy entrance. 

He scowled. “You could say that.” 

A peppermint rolled on her tongue and the red and white stripes caught his eye. “Well, lemme know if you need any assistance.” 

Priestly ran a hand through his teal-tinted hair and shook out a puddle’s worth of rain. “Yeah. Thanks.” 

It took him a while to collect the goods, having trouble finding the right paper towels that would fit into the holder in the bathrooms. He’d never had any issues in the store before; seemed like someone had rearranged. 

Someone. 

He looked across the rows of sundries and wondered what her deal was. Hell, he still didn’t even know her name. Not that he wanted to, of course. 

Of course. 

Finally, and with much annoyance, he arrived at the register. 

She laughed softly as he unloaded his arms. 

He shook his head. “What?” 

“I… I shouldn’t even touch this one.” 

He had no clue what she was talking about, he never did, and he was at the end of his rope. 

His patience snapped. “What?”

She sat back, clearly hurt by his tone. “Your shirt.” 

She pointed at his chest and he looked down, reading the big black letters upside down. 

‘Save a tree, eat a beaver’

His shoulders fell. “Oh. Yeah. Whatever.” 

“Yeah,” she echoed, the sting heavy in her voice. “Whatever.” 

He couldn’t take it anymore. Dropping a can of coffee onto the counter, he slapped his palms down on either side of it and leaned in. 

“Ya know, everytime I see you, you’ve got something snarky to say.”

Her eyes went wide. “Snarky?” She frowned. “I thought I was flirting.” 

The fight drained out of him along with the blood in his cheeks. Confused once more. “Uh… what?” 

Pushing herself up off the stool, she mirrored his pose, hands falling dangerously close to his. “Flirting,” she said again. “It’s an ancient ritual in which a sexually interested party attempts to lure their prey into bed with witty and charming wordplay.”

He balked. “I know what flirting is!” 

She glared. “Then why haven’t you picked up on the fact that I’ve been trying to pick you up for weeks now?”

“I uh…” His elbows buckled and he stood up fully. “You have?” No way. She wasn’t…

Memories of the past month flooded his mind. Each time he’d seen her she was smiling at him, not being snarky. She was teasing him, answering the ridiculous sayings on his shirt. 

‘I sell crack for the CIA.’ … “I hope you overcharge them”

‘Surf naked.’ … “I always do.” 

‘Orgasm Donor - Ask for your free sample’ … “As soon as I get my free sample.”

It had been smacking him in the damned face and he hadn’t seen it. She had been playing with him the whole time, not trying to annoy him. She wanted him to notice her, but he was too busy dreaming of Tish, wondering when she’d notice him. 

He sucked in a stunned breath. “You have. Wow.”

A tiny smile returned to her cherry lips. “Come on, I know you’re not as dumb as your fashion sense implies.”

Priestly felt a dip in his gut, something fluttering around inside. He grinned. “Oh, I’m way dumber.” 

Reaching across the counter, she grabbed hold of his shirt and pulled him close. “Good.”

Her lips were soft, the kiss as sweet as the candy she was always eating. He breathed her in as her tongue swept over his.  He was stunned, confused but in a good way. Maybe he needed to push Tish aside and pay more attention to the world around him. Maybe this was a good thing. A really good thing. His eyebrows raised in surprise, his blood pressure raised even higher.

She pulled away slowly, her lips lingering on his. 

“You get it now?” 

She waited, blinking at him with the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen. He should have looked sooner, closer; should have given her a chance.  

“Yeah,” he whispered in a laugh. “I think I do.” 

Another kiss, a press of her hand at the nape of his neck. 

“You ever gonna tell me your name?” 

She smiled. “Y/N.”

He reached for her cheek; fingers landing lightly on her soft skin. 

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.” 

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[cto10121]

Romeo and Juliet’s Instalove Makes Sense, Actually: A Very Hot Take

So a big chunk of R&J clownery I constantly eat on this blog is the neverending bitching about R&J falling in love at first sight is unrealistic and based on lust because they don’t even know each other and how William Shakespeare totes meant it as satire and blah, blah, blah. Needless to say, love at first sight/instalove was a very popular trope in Shakespeare’s time, and Shakespeare himself used it constantly in his other plays. Occam’s Razor: He liked it. Also, er, it is very much a real-life phenomenon. If perhaps overrepresented in fiction.

But anti whinging aside, it does beg the question: What did attract R&J to each other in the first place? I’ve talked at length about their similarities and their compatibility personally, verbally, and socially, but the bulk of the evidence is largely after they have met. So it makes sense why R&J would stick together and even prefer shuffling off their mortal coil than not be together. But at first sight? Without knowing a thing about each other besides their appearances?

R&J obviously do value physical beauty, but that in and of itself doesn’t explain why they would be attracted to each other. Shakespeare makes it a point to tell us that Capulet invited all the hot women in Verona, including Romeo’s crush, Rosaline. Why didn’t Romeo fall for any of them, or simply pine for Rosaline from afar? Juliet was dancing with a knight when Romeo saw her, and there were at least boys her age and not related to her, including Mercutio and Benvolio. Why didn’t she prefer any of them? And then there is the underrated fact that they met during a masquerade ball at night.

My very hot take? Shakespeare kept the instalove of his source material because his R&J would, in fact, fall 100% in love with each other for reasons other than hotness, and it is plausible that they would do so. And I’ll prove it: through Y/N dynamics.

Romeo’s POV

You’re the son and heir of a lord, living in 15th century Italy. Good news—you got male privilege! You have been given a fine education (for the time) in Latin, Greek, rhetoric, and so forth. You know how to read and write and duel people with pointy sticks. You have been raised to lead, and thus people are predisposed to take you seriously. You can do whatever the fuck you want with whoever the fuck you want, within reason. So long as you conform to this role and not show any unruly womanish traits, you’re good to go.

That said, you live in a macho society that is 100% okay with killing other people with sharp pointy sticks because they said something rude to you. Not only that, but your family has revived a blood feud with another family who hate your guts. Hence, your chance of dying a bloody death is astronomically high. Despite this, you turn out to be a pretty cool and even-tempered guy—you don’t cause trouble in the slightest. Your dad’s enemy even acknowledges your sterling reputation as a “portly gentlemen” and a “well-governed youth.”

In fact, you’re so chill that your biggest problem is that this hot girl you like doesn’t like you back. Even worse, she refuses to have sex, period. Which means she won’t have sex with you. You are a teenage boy, and this is indeed the worst thing that has ever happened to you. Fuck your life.

That said…you are not really doing much to get Hot Chick Who Won’t Have Sex With You to change her mind about you sex, are you? All you’ve been doing so far is 1) sneaking off to weep beneath sycamore trees in the early morning and 2) bitching to the Friar about HCWWHS, and 3) bitching to your cousin about how HCWWHS won’t spread her thighs to receive your that sweet golden cum (yes, that is verbatim). And when you find out that HCWWHS is going to this party at your enemy’s house, you don’t exactly jump at the chance to see her, do you? Your cousin literally has to convince you to go. Your response? “Fine, but I won’t Like(tm) it.”

Sure enough, you don’t. In fact, halfway through, you tell your friends you want to turn around and go back home. Nah, you say. It’s not worth it. You had a dream/premonition and now the party has bad vibes. (HCWWHS who? Ngl, you kind of just forget about her). Your cool friend mocks you for taking a ~dream seriously, ffs, but honestly you don’t pay much attention to him. You decide to go anyway, not because of HCWWHS or your cool friend, but because you march to the beat of your own drum. Que será será.

So what do you really want out of romance? Clearly, you are interested in HCWWHS’s thighs, but not much else about her. Why are you so emo about her, then? Certainly, she’s smart and hot, per you. Possibly older. Perhaps you feel that being with a hot older chick who can smell horny teenage guy BS a mile away is exactly what you want, actually. Or what you think you want.

Because here’s the deal: You’re obviously an odd duck in this hateful medieval town. You’re too chill for this feud life, too smart to get into needless fights, too young to work (don’t have to), and too old for school (you had private tutors, but that was ages ago). You’re too young to shoulder the responsibilities of an heir, but too old to be kept at home. So what tf do you do? See a play???? Do archery???? Falconry???? Hang out with friends????

As you can see, it’s a little lonely. Your parents are the type to let you do whatever the fuck you want because you’re a ~man now, and you need your ~space. No rules or structure. And despite what pop culture adaptations of your story have told millions, you are actually a smart and fairly mature guy for your age. You love your independence, of course, you won’t ever complain about that. But independence alone does not equate to true freedom.

What you need (but you don’t know you do) is a girl who would, actually, ask things from you. Demand them, even. Someone who is not shy about telling you what she thinks and what she wants. Someone who is open to the idea of love and not be obsessed with either chaste perfection or violence. Someone whom you can relate the struggles of living this isolated, feud-stricken life to. Someone who is mature but closer to your own age. Someone who is about as ambivalent as you are about the status quo.

And then you see this beautiful, mature, sad-looking girl dancing with this random knight. Oh, you think. Oh, indeed.

Juliet’s POV

You are a young teenage girl living in 15th century Italy. Bad news—you’re fucked. So much so it’s honestly too depressing to relate here in its entirety. You yourself know it, very deep down. Some light in this darkness? You are the only daughter to a very rich and noble family. Does that make you better? It should, a little.

For one thing, you are protected from your very violent macho culture’s obsession with killing people with pointy sticks. You are a girl, and you don’t do that. Your only jobs are to learn to read, sew, and marry rich. Your parents are not what you’d call the progressive types. Your relationship with your mother is very formal and awkward; needless to say, she is not the warm, motherly type. That would be your Nurse, who was actually the one to raise you. Your father is fine until you contradict him even slightly. Then he turns red and shouty and blustery, and suddenly you are a saucy girl and his fingers start to itch.

Fortunately for you, you’re a good girl. Not only that, but you are a smart one. From a very early age, you have learned how to survive in this very dysfunctional family. You learn how to say the right things in the right way. You equivocate better than any lawyer. Through trial and error, you become an excellent liar. (Either that or your family is just too dumb to believe you could ever lie to them). But even this sucks, because plot twist: You dislike lying. So much so that most of your “lies” are really just truths cleverly edited into the PR speak your family will accept.

At the same time, though, your Nurse indulges you and has no filter. So you learn a lot from her, especially about sex and men. Perhaps you even listen in on your cousins’ gossip. Also, you’re a 13-year-old with a growing libido. Not that you think you will ever get laid, lol. Your cousins will literally kill any man who tried. Your cousin Tybalt in particular loves a chance to fight. It’s not just your virtue that you need to protect, it’s the poor guy too.

But you are still 13, so when your mother and Nurse start talking about this Count Paris who wants to marry you, your instinct is to shut down entirely. You keep your mouth shut and tell them what they want to hear to appease them. It works—now you can go back to your teen girl life in relative peace.

Except no. You actually do have to meet and most likely dance with Count Paris at your family’s party. Do you want to go? Not particularly, but you are the Heir of Capulet(tm), so refusing is not an option. Do you like dancing? Maybe, but it’s hard to let loose and shake that thang with your family and cousins around. Are you interested in marriage? Nah. Your parents are proof número uno that it is not something to look forward to. Nothing against marriage, but you feel it’s something for the very distant future.

So there you are, inwardly seething inside, perhaps having to dance with Count Paris and other men way older than you, surrounded by your family. At this point, you’re exhausted and want the night to be over already. All you what to do is sulk against the wall next to some torches, looking bored/pissed/depressed. And not dance.

And then you see a beautiful boy leaning against the wall next to some torches, looking bored/pissed/depressed. And not dancing. Oh, you think. Oh, indeed.

In Sum

So yeah. Dramatic necessity aside, R&J being instantly attracted to each other makes sense, actually. They’re both introverted/in a blah mood/reluctant to attend this party, both have ambivalent feelings towards their supposed love interests (Rosaline, Paris), and both just don’t seem to fit into Verona’s feud life as neatly as outward appearances would suggest.

They see what they actually need in each other, which is balance: Juliet has too little freedom and Romeo too much. And considering how much we find out they are alike personally, there is even a sense of recognition in their first meeting. Beyond the “bewitchèd by the charm of looks,” R&J had reasons for them falling in love.

[rev-wrath]

Romance Is Just A Story

Jason Todd x Reader

Prompt: “We were never meant to be.”

Summary: The end of yours and Jason’s relationship.

Info: Bittersweet angst. Male Reader. 0.7k words.

Notes: Originally called “Fairytales Are Just Tales”

This is the end. You don’t want it to be. He doesn’t want it to be. But it is. Things happen, things end. Practically everything does. But you’ve fought it, and you won’t let go without a fight either. Even if it’s kind of pathetic.

“So this is it? We just go our separate ways? Like you didn’t change my whole world for the better?” The tears can’t be helped, and you’re sure there’s snot on your face too.

“This is for the better. Ba-” He cuts off the endearment. Twisting the knives in both your hearts. Instead he says your name. “We can’t keep doing this.”

“But we’re good.”

“We are.” He agrees. “But, but we’re not right.” His own emerald eyes have a sheen to them.

You hate that he’s right. Friends at first, but later it changed, and then it changed again, ever so slowly. Hanging your head you mumble, “Why can’t we be?” Even if you both know it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to continue this game, this masquerade. It’s unfair to both of you to be held back.

Jason folds, pulling you into his arms and letting his tears slip. “I don’t know, sweetheart. I don’t know. We just weren’t meant to be.” Your sob hearts his heart and the whimper that follows.

“I hate this.” Your arms curl around him.

“I know, I know. I do too.” His hand lands on the back of your head, rubbing in a soothing motion. You know it’s the best thing, but you still hate it. There’s a moment where it’s just you and him there. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He murmurs, holding you.

Nearly a minute later you finally shake your head against him. “It’s not your fault.”

“I’m sorry I’m the one that had to do it.” He tries.

“One of us had to eventually.” You shakily inhale and exhale.

Jason exhales himself and slowly pulls back as you straighten out a little, pulling away from him. His hands end up catching yours somehow, holding them in between you.

“Still I don’t like hurting you.”

“You’re hurting too.” He hates how sad and broken you sound when you say that. The way you’re comforting him in some odd way.

He lets go of your hands. With a hollow and empty voice he says, “I’m going to go find somewhere else to crash.” It’d be better for both of you. He’ll have to see who’s available. Who he’s willing to be vulnerable with. You nod. “This doesn’t have to be goodbye, okay?”

“Just a see you in awhile?” A small, shaky smile stretches on your lips.

He nods. “Right. Talk to someone if you need, alright? You don’t need to hurt more.” Leaning his head down towards yours to half-catch your eyes.

“Yeah, okay.” You swallow. “Kiss me goodbye?” You ask, feeling so small and terrible. Goodbye, you said. It’s not a goodbye. It’s not.

Nodding again, he says. “One for the road.” Grabbing your chin, he pulls your head up. You meet in the middle. It is the most bittersweet thing you have ever experienced. Probably will ever experience. His hand on your chin and yours on his neck for a moment with your lips pressed against each other.

A shaky exhale leaves you both when you separate, eyes wet. Then he stands. “See you in awhile.”

It takes everything in you to make your voice somewhat firm. “See you in awhile.” The words still come out somewhat small, but at least not broken.

His footsteps move past you, the sound pausing as he opens the door. He stands there for a moment, pulling himself together to not look back. Then the door shuts behind him. And his footsteps fade away. Leaving everything behind, everything you two had become and for now, leaving you behind.

And you can’t help the pathetic sound that comes out of you. Or the tears.

You love Jason, you really do. And he loves you. Just not in the way either of you want. Neither of you could be blamed for mourning the loss of this, of the pieces of the other you’ll lose. Some things just aren’t meant to be. Not in the way you thought.

[singing-sorrowless]

So, it’s great you want to learn! I didn’t know much about drag queens until the past few years, and now I’m a drag performer! (That’s me in my pfp) First and foremost, drag is nothing to be scared of or intimidated by. It’s basically just playing dress up but focusing on exaggerated & extreme gender presentations, as a pastiche or caricature but also (sometimes) a kind of satire.

For some basic basic background info, the term “drag” as we use it now goes all the way back to Shakespeare’s time— back then, women were allowed to join acting troupes so all the female characters were played by male actors, wearing long dresses that dragged on the ground. For hundreds of years, underground queer communities in urban centers have thrown private “drag balls” where folks dressed up as the opposite gender, as a rebellion against laws at the time that made it a crime to wear clothes of the opposite gender in public (hmm sounds familiar). Sometimes there were judges and prizes were given out to the King and Queen of the ball! You can see where this is going.

Drag as we know it now was largely shaped by Harlem Renaissance era drag balls, costume balls, and masquerades (that were initially hosted by a black organization, for the black community, but became gentrified when white queers flooded in to get a taste of the Negro sexual revolution they’d read so much about in the papers, and then edged lower class black queers out of their own spaces…but i digress), and then later by the Harlem ballroom culture of the late 20th century (ALSO pioneered largely by black and Latino queers…noticing a pattern here…), which you can learn more about in the incredible 1990 documentary Paris is Burning. In all that time, drag queens have been generally understood to be “cis men wearing women’s clothes as a costume” but now we recognize that anyone of any gender can be a drag queen. Sometimes drag queens are trans women, or cis women (one can argue that Dolly Parton is a drag queen) or even trans men. And there’s drag kings, and drag Things as well!

What’s important to understand is that a drag persona is like an alter ego— when you put on that hair and makeup and outfit you become that character, just like how a Disneyworld cast member puts on a wig and becomes Ariel or Cinderella or whatever. So it’s pretty common for a drag queen’s pronouns for her stage persona to be different than what he uses in day to day life. (And we see that to some degree in Dimension 20 as well, like Kristen Applebees as a character uses she/her pronouns, and when we talk about stuff Ally did as Kristen in Fantasy High, we use she/her pronouns, even though irl Ally uses they/them) Generally, whatever they do under that persona’s name, folks usually use the persona’s pronouns to talk about it. Kinda like how Donald Glover is Donald Glover when he’s acting and directing, but he’s Childish Gambino when he’s making music? It’s like that but (frequently) with different pronouns too.

Dimension 20 even has a bit of an added complication, because not only are these performers portraying drag queens but the drag queens are portraying D&D characters who each have their OWN names and pronouns! It’s like a Russian nesting doll of personas! Hopefully this cheat sheet helps.

in light of the new Dimension 20 season being announced, i want to ask something: can someone explain drag queens? i've been part of the lgbtq community for a while but i grew up in a home where drag queens were never spoken about except to say something rude about them, so i barely know anything aside from bits and pieces i've seen on the internet. mainly i just want to know, in general, what's the pronoun situation? are there good/bad ways to refer to them? is there anything that's considered rude?

i hope i'm not the only one who knows nothing about drag queens aside from that they always have fantastic makeup looks, but if i'm going to be posting about this new amazing season then i don't want to refer to the players incorrectly or insensitively.

[sinfulspencer]

Enchanting, enchanted

Prompt: Spencer didn’t think he’d meet Rossi’s niece on Mischief Night at his mansion. And he didn’t think she’d be into him anyway. (Spoiler: she is.)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Rating: mature (18+, minors DNI)

Warnings: dom/sub undertones (sub!Spencer, softdom!Reader), adults with age gap (25/36), dirty talking, light degradation, hair pulling, oral sex (female receiving, implied male receiving), breeding kink, unprotected sex

Words:

A.N.: When October started, I had an idea: two Halloween fics with Spencer Reid being a submissive bitch and a dominant whore. @softreidx knows all about this - thank you for editing this piece. Love you.

Hope you enjoy this. x

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It’s not a secret Spencer Reid loves Halloween.

The cool thing about Halloween is that it's a uniquely American holiday. Despite its obvious origins in the Celtic festival of Samhain and the Christian “All Saints’ Day”, it really is a melting pot of various immigrants' traditions and beliefs.

It became a little more commercialized in the 1950 with “trick-or-treat”.

Today it rivals only Christmas in terms of popularity.

He said those notions so many times to the rest of his team-mates and made sure everyone knew how much he loved Halloween.

Spencer follows Emily inside Rossi’s house. “People would light bonfires and wear costumes to ward off ghosts. Isn’t that cool? How has fire always been a symbol of cleansing? Many people think of fire as an energetic reset button, a force that can burn through anything that no longer serves you or is there to help you!”

Emily takes off her long black coat, revealing a dark red dress she put on because apparently Rossi wanted to throw a masquerade party or something – Spencer was even more excited about that, because he put on his favourite costume.

An Edgar Allan Poe outfit that has been hidden in his closet since forever.

“Spencer, I appreciate your Halloween facts, but tonight I just want to have a drink and not think about ghosts.” – Emily tells him, patting him on the shoulder – “I promise you: tomorrow I’ll be all yours, you can tell me whatever you want.”

Spencer gives her a reassuring smile, nodding his head. “I’ll hold you to that.”

The rest of the team is already in Rossi’s backyard, no matter the low temperatures. Everyone is dressed up as monsters or book characters – Luke didn’t spend that much time thinking about his outfit, mainly because Roxy decided that his Frankenstein mask would be a delicious part of her dinner so he went with a simple vampire outfit.

Penelope, with her orange hair and pointy hat, is dressed up. Matt, with a lot of kids and a quite creative wife, ended up getting dressed as the Slender Man – long white sleeves with long white fingers, a tight black suit and that sparkly red tie around his neck.

Rossi didn’t dress up at all, no matter being the host who actually wanted this kind of party.. which bothered Spencer a little too much.

The young doctor, fixing the hat on top of his head, walks over to the owner of the house.

“Hey, why aren’t you dressed up? I thought we were going to have a Halloween party!”

Rossi looks at him up and down, crossing his arms to his chest. “Because I wouldn’t want to overshadow anyone, Spencer. You know my costume would be the best one here.”

Spencer can’t help, but chuckle at his colleague’s joke. “Ah, it’s a shame. I wanted to see your outfit!”

“Well, not today. I didn’t even come up with this dressed-up party anyway. My niece did.”

Spencer is puzzled. Did Rossi just admit he has a niece?

“Your niece?”

That’s the first time Rossi ever mentions the existence of a niece. At first Spencer thought he was talking about Joy’s children – maybe she had another baby! – but they’re not here, so it can’t be possible.

“Who mentioned me?”

Your voice echoes through the stairs as you climb down, making sure you don’t fall down on your own face. Your heels are high – they’re part of your outfit, which is why you’re not going to take them off unless it’s to go to bed.

However, you hate them right now. And you’re tempted to kick them away.

Spencer turns around and spots you, struggling to walk down while also holding the edge of your skirt so that you don’t trip on your own feet and the dress.

If he forgets how to breathe, it’s not a surprise.

You look absolutely breathtaking with your hair slightly pulled back, dark black makeup around your eyes and lips as red as blood.

Spencer doesn’t know what your outfit is about, but he doesn’t care; as long as he can admire you with it on, and hopefully without it on.

“Yes, niece. You.”

You hum, gripping David’s arm. “Oh, shut up. You told me that you were going to dress up but bailed on me last minute! And Krystall suggested throwing this party, I just sent the texts.”

Rossi rolls his eyes, patting your hand with a smile.

Spencer holds back a laugh, covering his mouth with his own hand. He doesn’t know who you are because he has never seen you before, but he’s definitely starting to like you or at least be slightly interested in you. You are so gorgeous, he’s not going to deny it, but you’re also incredibly bubbly.

And he has just seen you. What are you going to do to him in an hour? Or two?

“Young lady, you’re here because...”

“You missed me too much and you wanted me to come over to meet your team in hope I find myself a partner. I know!” – you exclaim, rolling your eyes before turning your head to look at the young man in front of you – “Ah, you must be Doctor Spencer Reid.”

David puts a hand on his forehead, shaking his head as he walks away. If he stays there, he’s going to witness Spencer melting into your bubbly personality – and he doesn’t really care about witnessing two people flirting with each other.

His plan is already working because he could see how Spencer kept staring at you. And you probably told Rossi that you might have looked up the cute Doctor in his team, which led him to make the decision to invite you over to his mansion to celebrate Halloween.

Maybe...

Maybe Dave’s plan was to actually get you and Spencer to like each other.

After all, he’s the only single in the team.

Luke is with Penelope, Matt is married just like JJ, Emily has a girlfriend and Tara is starting to reconcile with her ex girlfriend. They’re all taken but the young and pretty Doctor Reid – David thinks he’d be perfect for you.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Doctor Reid.” - you say with a huge smile on your face, holding out your hand before pulling it back - “Ah, wait. You don’t like shaking hands. My bad.”

Spencer can feel his cheeks heating up as soon as your eyes meet. David has probably talked to you about him many times - and he had, which made Spencer seem so incredibly attractive and interesting to you.

Usually Spencer is much more nervous around pretty girls like you, but he’s dressed up as Edgar Allan Poe and it’s Halloween night. He feels different, a little more blunt than usual.

Or maybe not, because he keeps fidgeting with his hands.

“I didn’t catch your name, sorry.”

“Y/N. I’m Y/N.”

Spencer bows his head down for a second, taking off his hat. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Y/N. I feel like I should bow to you because of your outfit.”

You giggle.

Spencer’s heart drops in his chest. He made you giggle and that sound was so heavenly, as if a God came down from the sky and caressed his cheeks.

“It’s just a little something I whipped out in a hurry. Unfortunately they lost my luggage at the airport. I had to borrow Krystall’s clothes.” - you mumble, straightening your dark skirt - “They’re comfortable, though! I should dress up like this on a daily basis.”

“They didn’t steal your makeup, though.”

You shake your head, stepping down the last stair. “Exactly! I was so relieved. I’ve spent much more money on makeup than all my clothes. It would’ve been a disaster to lose my beauty bag.”

Spencer stares at you in silence, taking in all of the details of your beauty.

Perfect lips, perfect hair, perfect eye shape, perfect voice, perfect in general.

There’s nothing he doesn’t like about you and it’s weird because he has just met you, but he can’t keep his eyes off you. You don’t mind at all, you like being admired, and you’re definitely hoping Spencer will admire you much closer than this - and not in front of anybody else.

“Wow, everyone is dressed up.” - you whisper, glancing at the rest of David’s team in his backyard - “I can’t believe I was so convincing with that text.”

“You used David’s phone for real?”

You shrug, running your fingers through your hair. “I may have done that. I’ve never celebrated Mischief Night before, so this was my chance to do so. And here we are! Look! You’re dressed as Edgar Allan Poe, I’m dressed as Lilith!”

Spencer doesn’t say anything, but his whole body is reacting positively to your answer. You know who Poe is, you know that Spencer has dressed up like this, you wanted to celebrate Mischief Night - which means you like that holiday, and probably Halloween as well.

Maybe Spencer has found his soulmate.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Spencer blinks, focusing on your face again. “Huh? Sorry, I was…”

You give him a smile, pointing to the backyard. “Let’s just go, I’m hungry and I want to show off my makeup. I didn’t spend two hours putting this makeup on just to stay locked inside of a room. I need to show it off!”

Each time you move around the living room, either to fill your glass with wine or have a smoke with David in his backyard, Spencer has his eyes on you. No one can blame him because you are absolutely adorable, with all of your interesting and fun anecdotes on your holidays in the Rossi’s mansion with Krystal, Joy and her son.

No one was expecting Rossi to have a “found niece” at all, if they had to be honest.

However you are a beautiful surprise and David is happy that he has finally introduced you to his whole team, because he could see how ecstatic and at ease you were for the whole dinner. You tried your best not to ask them what was the most wicked and naughty thing they saw while working on a case – you were hoping to have this discussion during another moment of the night, and not while you were eating, but you were too excited.

As JJ and Luke spoke about the last most gruesome case, Spencer couldn’t keep his eyes off you the whole time. You looked like you were having so much fun hearing about Emily or David being disgusted in front of remains or blood, because you never thought David was this sensitive over bodily fluids.

Either way, you listened to every single person in the team speaking about their most disgusting moment over the years and you laughed each time with all of them.

You felt like you were a part of this team, as if you knew them for your whole life.

It’s not easy to find people like these, people you can connect with in the blink of an eye. You feel proud of yourself for convincing David to throw this little party, because now you feel incredible.

Maybe it’s the wine...

Anyway, it doesn’t matter.

Penelope has already given you her number, which means you’ll get to hang out with her and gossip every single time about who-knows-what. Luke has found out that you are a dog lover, which means you’ll get to spend a few dinners at his place to play with Roxy and take her out for a walk whenever Luke will ask you to.

And since you love cats as well, Penelope will let you play with Sergio.

Spencer didn’t speak much throughout the dinner. You were expecting him to spit out more interesting facts about every single person’s costume at this table, but he kept his mouth shut and listened to the others talking.

At first you thought it was because of your presence right there at the table, but then Penelope kicked you with her shoes without the others seeing, and you noticed Spencer staring at you as if he was about to eat you.

You’d probably let him.

Before the whole party started, you were getting ready in the bathroom of the guest room when David came by to ask you how you were doing. You showed you all your makeup as he sat on the edge of the bed and you blabbed about how nervous you were to meet his colleagues, but also how excited you were to finally see Doctor Reid.

When David talked about him for the first time, you couldn’t believe a person like that could exist: a lover of nature and books, obsessed with coffee, graduated to a bunch of different things (you don’t know how he managed to study such a disgusting subject as physics!), a professor.

David talked about Spencer as if he was his son, with such a tenderness and kindness that he has shown to you over the years. You and Spencer were like his children, David loves both of you so dearly.

Which is exactly the reason why he thought it was a good idea for you to meet Spencer.

David didn’t tell you that he was planning on making you meet him because he wanted you to be with him, but he didn’t need to say that. He thought you’d be the perfect match for Spencer: no matter your hate for physics, you had a lot of things in common.

Both of you love books.

Both of you are professors.

Both of you are obsessed with Nature.

Both of you have a very dark apartment with books everywhere.

Both of you go stargazing whenever you can.

Both of you spend hours inside of a library just staring at books in order to pick one to take home.

Both of you love lavender scent candles or incense.

Both of you are quiet, but extremely endearing and adorable.

However, you’re an extrovert and Spencer is an introvert. You’re louder and you love going outside to meet new people no matter your quietness, while Spencer would rather stay at home and watch a Russian movie than meeting others.

It’s not like David wanted to change Spencer, absolutely not. He just thought you’d be his better half in a way to complete him, somehow. Everything he doesn’t have, you do. Everything you don’t have, he does.

It’s like the last two pieces of the same puzzle fitting together.

You didn’t know David’s plan at first, but you realised it as soon as you walked down the stairs to meet Spencer Reid’s chocolate eyes. You knew he was going to come over, which is why you made sure to be extra-perfect for the party, but you never thought you’d catch his eyes looking at you or your body the whole night.

Spencer doesn’t know that you were looking at him in the same exact way, with probably the same exact purpose: you want him more than anything and you’re determined to have him. It doesn’t matter where or when, you know you’ll have him however you want and wherever you want.

Maybe not tonight, maybe not tomorrow but you will someday.

“Why did you convince Dave to throw a little party the day before Halloween?”

Spencer’s smooth voice captures your attention, forcing you to turn around. You’re met with a pair of chocolate eyes that leave you completely breathless: he looks so fucking hot like this, with the first three buttons of his white shirt completely opened and the hat long forgotten.

His unruly curls look so soft, you wonder how it would feel to run your fingers through them.

He’s lingering on the doorstep, watching the grey smoke from your cigarette vanishing into thin air. You shrug with a little smile over your lips, putting your free hand over your hip.

“It’s Mischief Night, Spencer!”

His eyes brighten up. “You know what it is?”

You widen your eyes, nodding. “Of course I do! I don’t really celebrate it, but I thought it’d be nice to switch things up for me.”

“Did you know that the term ‘Mischief Night’ was first used in Britain and not here in the US? It didn’t mean October 30, it was actually the day before May Day. – Spencer explains, taking a step further and closing the door behind his back – Young people played practical jokes, such as switching shop signs, overturning water tubs and trapping people inside their houses.”

You let out a low chuckle, inhaling through your cigarette before blowing the grey smoke out. “That’s very interesting, Spencer. I used to play pranks on people all the time when I was a child. It wasn’t really a tradition for me, I thought it was normal because all the kids in my neighbourhood would do it.”

His eyes are not leaving yours. “Pranks?”

“Hm, yes. I used to throw eggs at my neighbour’s car, even though that wasn’t really a prank. I hated that man with every fibre in my body because his kid stole my dolls. I had to get back at him somehow, but then his kid moved away while the neighbour stayed behind.”

“Ouch, that’s pretty sad.” – the young doctor mumbles, pointing to the chair underneath the gazebo – How about we sit there?”

You don’t answer him, simply walking through the plastic curtains before sitting down on one of the chairs that were previously occupied by you and David.

“I wasn’t really nice at the time, it’s long gone.”

“I bet you’re not nice either now.”

You raise your brow, smirking. “Oh, I’m definitely still a bad girl.”

Spencer chuckles, shaking his head. He got you exactly where he was hoping to get you, but he doesn’t know that you’re a much better player than him.

When you want someone, you get them. And you get them begging, whining, moaning, panting, withering underneath you until they’re a weak, pathetic little mess that you love to play with.

You’re excited to see how Spencer will be by the end of the night, if something happens.

“Can’t wait to see that, honestly.”

His words throw you off track because you were not expecting them, and when you turn your head to look at him, you realise that he wasn’t expecting them either. His eyes are widened and his mouth is slightly opened, while his right hand is ready to cover it. You don’t know if he said that and now he’s acting weird because he wants to see your reaction or because he’s really shocked by his own behaviour, but you’re definitely amused.

Ah, this cute little man will be the death of you. You can’t wait.

“So eager to have me in your bed, aren’t you?” you roll your eyes

As much as you’re amused and you’re curious to see what he’s going to do, you want to push him just a little bit. Teasing someone and then leaving them hanging is the best, especially if you get to see their shocked expression on their face as you walk away while they need to cover their little problem.

Tonight you feel nice, though, so maybe you will help this someone with his problem.

“I, uh... I’m sure your bed is much more comfortable than mine.”

You crush the butt of your cigarette inside the ashtray. “Should we try it so we can compare them?”

You can see Spencer gulping, his eyes scanning your face as if he’s trying to understand whether you’re joking or not. You were just teasing him – or maybe not. Definitely not, because you’re quite curious to see how he’d react with your legs spread open just for him and your fingers playing with yourself while waiting for him. After all, you’re a Goddess tonight – which means he will need to worship you, kiss every inch of you and savour the taste of your skin.

“Or we can stay here and look each other in the eyes until someone gives in.”

You put your right hand underneath your chin and lean forward, staring into those beautiful eyes that immediately look away from you. You don’t know if he pulled away because you made him uncomfortable by being so close to him or by your words; either way, you feel bad because this wasn’t your intention. You were just playing, but maybe you played too rough with him.

After all, he’s the “baby genius” of the group – as David always said.

You wonder if Spencer could give you a baby genius.

The thought makes you smile.

“The others will hear me.”

His answer comes as quickly as the quick movements of your eyes on his face. Spencer is thinking about your proposition, which makes you squeeze your legs together.

“They won’t if I keep that sweet little mouth of yours occupied, don’t you think?”

Spencer struggles to look you in the eyes, terrified that you might see the desire flashing behind his and going straight to his groin. He has been trying to hide that little problem for the past hour. He thought that coming out here and talking to you innocently would’ve helped him stop thinking about you riding him, but it didn’t. Nothing helped.

“Do I have a sweet little mouth?”

You hum, chuckling at his blushing cheeks. “Of course you do. You have the prettiest lips I’ve ever seen. I bet they’re soft, too.”

Spencer lowers his eyes, blushing even more at your compliments. How can he react like this just because of a few words? You haven’t even touched him or told him how you’re going to want him to touch you, and he’s like this?

Hard and needy?

You find him adorable, but pathetic as well.

You’re going to break this boy down piece by piece and you’ll love it.

“I’m not going to kiss you right now because I probably won’t be able to stop.” – you mumble, placing a hand over his knee – “I’ll tell David I’m not feeling too well. You know where the guest room is.”

You stand up before he could open his mouth to answer you and you leave him outside, gently approaching your uncle. Placing your hands on his shoulder, you wait until he finishes talking about the last time he went to Italy and ended up taking the wrong train, with no money, no clean clothes.

You’ve heard that story so many times and it’s still so funny, because you were right there with him. You were the other person that lost their luggage on holiday and ended up having to buy everything inside of a supermarket, along with Krystall.

It was weird, but so worth it.

When David is done talking, you tap him on the shoulder and you lean forward. You whisper in his ear that you feel a bit lightheaded because of all the alcohol you have drank the whole night. He touches your hand, looking at you worried.

“I’m sorry, pumpkin. Do you need me to do something? Do you have your medicine?”

You nod your head, smiling softly. “Yes, thank you. I’ll come back when I feel better.”

Kissing his forehead, you tap his shoulders again and then you apologise to the rest of the guests, excusing yourself out of the room.

You don’t like to interrupt a party to announce that you’re not feeling well, especially if it’s a lie, but you’re not going to turn the chance of having Spencer all over you down. It’s what you’ve been waiting for since you saw him at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at you as if you were the most precious creation on Earth.

David glances at Spencer stepping inside the living room with his cheeks totally flushed and his eyes down on the floor. He doesn’t know what happened outside and, honestly, he doesn’t want to know, but he could see how you affected Spencer.

You weren’t the only one who noticed his hungry eyes on you the whole time.

The rest of the team, especially Penelope and David, did.

“Hey kid, are you alright?” Luke calls out

Spencer clears his throat, facing the rest of his team. “Hm? Oh yeah, everything’s fine. I was just looking for some, uh, water. I’m thirsty.”

Penelope holds back a laugh when David glares at her.

There’s no need to embarrass Spencer any further because he’ll be done as soon as he not-so-subtly asks if he can use the bathroom upstairs.

“Are you sure you don’t want a glass of wine?” Emily asks

Spencer shakes his head, heading to the kitchen. “No, I’m good with water. Thank you.”

Luke takes a sip of his wine, leaning against the chair. “What’s going on?”

Spencer ignores his question, opening the fridge inside the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. He needs it because his mouth is so dry due to his nerves. He knows he’s acting weird and the rest of the team probably understood what’s actually going on, while you don’t have a clue.

Upstairs, you’re taking off your shoes.

You wonder what Spencer has told the team to cause this silence and you start to get nervous, because maybe you shouldn’t have been so eager to have Spencer with you. You don’t want anybody to know what’s going to happen in your bedroom if he shows up, so you hope Spencer doesn’t mess things up for you.

You don’t really want David to give you the “you can’t have sex with my colleagues in my house” talk, even though he’ll probably say something tomorrow morning – or in the next few days you’ll stay right there.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Startled by the sound coming from the door, you almost drop your phone on the floor, but you manage to put it on your nightstand. It’s incredible how fast he was, but you don’t blame him: you’re as eager as him.

Straightening the skirt of your black dress, you head to the door. You hoped you’d have enough time to undress.

You open the door.

“Hi.”

Spencer stands in front of you, his eyes not leaving yours. “Hey.”

You grab him by the red tie around his neck, pulling him inside of your bedroom. He closes the door behind his back and his mouth immediately covers yours, making you stumble as you try to get back over to your bed.

Okay, you were definitely not expecting Spencer to be like this.

You were not expecting him to kiss you as soon as you opened the door, but you don’t complain. You wanted to do this when you were outside on the patio, so you’re grateful he has made the first move.

His hands slide down over to your thighs, gripping them as you gasp against his lips.

“We have to be quick, I told them I was going to the bathroom.”

You nod without interrupting the kiss, biting his bottom lip. You will be as quick as you can, hopefully he’ll be as well – you’re not sure if you’re going to have enough time to actually have sex with him right now, but there’s no rush.

“Then, let’s get to it.”

Spencer gets on his knees almost immediately, not giving you the time to enjoy the last kiss he gave you. The sight in front of you is just as hot as you thought it would be.

“Don’t make a sound.”

You roll your eyes, sitting on the edge of the bed. “So bossy.”

His eyes widen at your words, biting his bottom lip. He didn’t mean to make you mad – he’s terrified of you not giving him what he craves the most.

“I’m not, I just... don’t want the others to know what I’m doing.”

You run your fingers through his hair, gripping his curls. “They won’t, but put that mouth to use so it’ll be occupied.”

Spencer looks up at you for a few seconds, his lips parting as you speak to him in a tone of voice that sends shivers down his spine. You can feel and see the flashes of desire behind those beautiful lustful eyes, it’s incredibly hot.

“Go ahead, gorgeous. I’m waiting.”

His fingers slip underneath the skirt of your dress, exploring the soft skin of your thighs. You bite your bottom lip, staring at him as he makes his way under your dress to leave a trace of kisses from your knee up to your thighs.

You raise your leg and put it over his shoulders, keeping your right hand through his soft curls as you tug on them. You knew the sight was going to be delicious as soon as you met him, but this was incredibly hot – even hotter than before, when he was staring at you as if you were a painting.

Spencer is trying his best to not make a single sound, his mouth busy to kiss and worship your thighs.

You can’t really see his face from where you’re sitting so you lift your skirt, just enough to spot those beautiful pairs of eyes staring back at you.

“Hi.”

Spencer leaves another kiss on your inner thigh. “Hello Y/N.”

“Looking good over there.”

He lets out a soft chuckle, his fingers hooking up your panties before sliding them down your legs. You kick them away as soon as they reach your calves and you spread your legs, biting your bottom lip.

“Beautiful. Just as I thought.”

Blushing because of his compliments, you raise an eyebrow. “You thought about me like this?”

“Through the whole dinner.”

Spencer kisses down your inner thighs again, the gentle brush of his stubble against your skin setting it on fire. You know that your thighs will be covered in little nicks by tomorrow morning, but if this is the price to pay... you’re more than willing to spread your legs for him.

“You must have an incredible imagination, Doctor Reid.”

He worships you with his tongue, tracing it up to your inner thigh before sliding it over your clit. The sound that leaves your mouth will be forever imprinted in his mind, replaying over and over each time he’ll think about you.

“Fuck. An incredible tongue, too.” – you struggle to whisper, running your fingers through his curls before tugging on them – “Don’t stop.”

Spencer doesn’t plan to, closing his eyes and allowing his tongue to caress every inch of you and taste the sweetness of your heat. With his head buried between your thighs and your hands pulling his hair, Spencer thinks he just landed in Heaven – or where things are so perfect, a place he doesn’t want to run away from.

Normally, he would keep eye-contact with the person he’s ravishing, but today he knows he can’t do that. You probably wouldn’t mind, but Spencer wouldn’t be able to last at all – your eyes are magnetic.

It’s not even about the colour or the shape, it’s about the desire flashing behind them.

It’s a combination between your attitude, your confidence, your words... a dangerous mix that makes Spencer high alert on everything you do and say.

If he looks at you, he will come untouched. That’s it.

He can’t have that, he doesn’t want to disappoint you and no matter how quick his refractory period is, he doesn’t want to wait. He needs to be inside of you, he needs to orgasm because you want him to, he desperately craves to obey each one of your orders and watch you come undone before doing it himself.

Spencer wraps his lips around your clit, sucking it gently before you grip his hair. He knows you’re holding back those moans – the first one betrayed you, slipping out of your mouth before you could stop it. He wishes he’d be in another bedroom, maybe his; in another house, maybe his.

So you could be loud. So loud his neighbours would knock at his door and beg him to keep it quiet, which would make you and him way louder than you should be.

“Keep your eyes on me, Doctor Reid.” – you whisper, desire oozing from your voice as you move your hips against his face – “I want you to look at me while you eat me out.”

Spencer suppresses a frustrated whine, struggling to open his eyes, but managing to do as you wished. He doesn’t want to look at you, he doesn’t need you to see him completely wrecked just because of your salty taste.

You push a second pillow underneath your head, propping it high just enough so you can admire the amazing work Spencer is doing between your legs. And when you meet those chocolate eyes, you notice something strange.

His left hand is not on the bed.

“What are you doing with that hand, Doctor?”

Spencer stops his movements, pressing a soft kiss right above your clit in hope to distract you from the question you asked.

“Nothing you need to worry about.”

You raise your brow. “Are you touching yourself?”

Spencer doesn’t answer your question, burying his face between your legs again. His tongue delves deeper inside of you, making you shudder at the sensation. Your hands immediately fly right behind his head, pushing him right there where you want him the most.

He knew he was going to distract you.

He hoped so.

“You dirty little slut.” – you manage to speak, your voice broken by the pleasure amplifying more and more through your body – “Does this turn you on, Spencer? Are you hard because you’re eating me out?”

Spencer tightens his grip at the base of his cock, moving his hips slightly forward with his eyes still settled on your face. The hum he gives you in response to your question tells you that yes, he’s indeed turned on by all of this.

You don’t blame him.

Oral sex is one of the best act you could ever give or receive.

“Don’t stop.”

Spencer closes his eyes and savours your taste, gripping your thigh with his left hand and pushing your lower body towards his. You can feel yourself ready to topple over the edge, the pleasure tightening in your stomach as soon as his tongue slides up and down your clit.

You gasp and whimper at his movements, enjoying the wet sounds of his mouth devouring you.

“Spencer..”

You feel the tension snapping within you as you come, gripping his curls and tugging them even harder. Your back is arched and you don’t know for how long you’re going to be able to stay quiet, because this feels too fucking good.

Spencer doesn’t budge at your movements, his tongue relentlessly touching you, stimulating you to the point you can barely breathe.

Every cell in your body is on fire.

Then everything stops.

Spencer pulls away with his mouth and gets up on his feet, using his wet hand to touch himself. You’re dizzy and your legs are shaking because of the pleasure that ran through you, but as soon as you see him moving, you move.

“Do you want to come inside of me, darling?”

Spencer’s eyes snap wide open, staring at you with his parted lips. “Y-Yes.”

“Then fuck me.” - you mumble, gripping his tie - “Fuck me, but be quick. You don’t want the others to know what you’re doing, do you?”

He shakes his head, stroking his cock. “I don’t care.”

You giggle, sitting back up with your legs wide open. “Oh, you don’t? Do you want them to know how naughty you are? How hard are you because you ate my pussy?”

Spencer whines at your words, struggling to keep his eyes on you. “I… Please.”

“Please what, darling?”

“I don’t..” - he bites his bottom lip, pushing the head of his cock against your clit - “I can’t fuck you, I don’t have condoms.”

“Are you clean?”

You’ve never seen such a greedy man in front of you, silently begging you to let him fuck you and just come inside of you. Spencer looks incredibly beautiful, bent over towards you with his lips slightly parted and his right hand stroking his cock.

You feel your mouth water at the sight.

You lean forward, placing a hand underneath his. Spencer gasps.

“Yes! Yes, I’m clean.”

He’s so embarrassingly desperate.

“I’m clean as well.” - you tell him, grabbing his left hand - “Come on, fuck me.”

Spencer obeys, immediately pushing his length inside of you. His eyes close and he throws his head back, a soft moan echoing through the room as he finally feels the warmth of your walls tightening around him.

He didn’t even wait for you to be ready, he just wanted to get inside of you as quickly as possible.

So eager, so desperate.

It turns you on more than it should.

Spencer is glad you let him fuck you, because he wouldn’t have been able to stop thinking about it for the rest of the night. Waiting wouldn’t have been that merciful, now that you think about it.

“You feel so fucking good.”

Spencer moves his hips, lifting yours just enough to allow his cock to slide even deeper inside of you. You take all of him, adjusting to his size as you grip the bed sheets all around you.

“Fuck me, Spencer.”

He blinks, putting his hands underneath your thighs. He pushes your body closer to his, forcing you to close your legs around his waist. He doesn’t lift your whole body off the bed, but he lifts your hips.

And when the angle changes, you swear you’re in Heaven.

Spencer starts thrusting inside of you, his eyes never leaving your face because he wants to see you break down all over again. He needs to see you in pure bliss, he wants to push you off that edge again because that was the hottest thing he has ever seen in his whole life.

He didn’t think you’d let him fuck you right now.

He’ll forever be grateful for that.

“C-Close.”

You feel delicious all around him, tight enough. Spencer will dream about this for days, for weeks, for months - or until the next time he’ll be able to have you like this again.

He hopes it will be very soon.

You run your fingers through his hair, grabbing him by the tie with your other hand in order to have him closer. Spencer whines against your lips, kissing them feverishly.

“Come for me, darling.” - you whisper, the pleasure building rapidly behind your belly button again - “I want you to come inside of me, please. I need it so badly.”

You don’t know if what you’re saying makes sense, you’re too lost in your own pleasure and in the beauty of the man on top of you. The whole world stops as soon as his hands hold you down against the mattress, pinning you to the bed and preventing you from wiggling away.

You can’t do anything besides take all of him inside of you.

You wouldn’t change a thing.

Spencer doesn’t need to be told twice, feeling his tension getting tighter and tighter until it snaps, quick and hard. And he comes, painting your walls with his cum just as you follow off the cliff of pleasure with him.

It was quick, it was rough, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Spencer nurses your orgasm with slow thrust, riding his peak as well. Enjoying the tightness of your body all around him, he forces himself to keep his mouth shut when all he wants to do is praise you for being so fucking perfect.

He wants to do this all over again, until you can’t do anything but moan his name.

You’re still shaking because of your orgasm as Spencer collapses on top of you, his mouth attaching to your neck to nibble on it. You can feel his cock twitch inside of you and you wonder what Spencer would do if he saw the mess he has made between your legs.

It would be fun to force him to clean it up.

However, you can’t. Not now, at least.

He got hard because he ate you out, he’d probably get hard again. As much as you’re dying to have him in your mouth, you have to wait until the party's over and you can sneak out of your room to head to Spencer’s place.

Or his car.

You don’t care where you can have him again.

“Good boy, you did so good.” - you mutter in his ear, caressing his curls - “You’re incredible, Spence.”

He doesn’t want to pull away and pull out, he wants to be between your legs for the rest of the night. You feel too good right there, underneath his body with your hands touching him and caressing him.

And you smell so good.

“Thank you. You were so perfect.” - he starts to say - “So, so perfect… Wish I could have you every single day. Fuck, you felt so good.”

He keeps whispering praises to you, how much he loved fucking you and eating you out. You can see how relaxed he is now and you wonder if he’s alright, because you’ve never had someone be so dependent on you after sex.

It’s… interesting.

And fascinating.

“Thank you, darling.” - you tell him, tapping his chin - “Pull out now.”

Spencer obeys your order, immediately taking a step back and pulling out of your body. His come, mixed with your own arousal, drips out of your body, pooling right underneath you.

The sight makes him lick his bottom lip.

“Later, okay?” - you tell him, placing a hand between your legs - “Now go downstairs, yeah?”

Spencer lingers right in front of you for a whole good minute, staring at the mess he has made right between your legs. It’s incredible how just the sight gets him immediately on his knees, but you’re quicker than him.

You snap your fingers and you grab his arm, pushing him back up. “No. Not now, later. Wait for me in your car when all the others will leave, okay? I will find a way to sneak out.”

The young doctor stares at you before grabbing you by the face, immediately attacking his lips to yours. You close your eyes as you wrap your arms around his neck, standing up from the bed and feeling his come dripping down your thighs.

You hope he’s going to make another mess later.

“Okay, okay.” - Spencer says, sliding his hand down to your thighs - “I’ll wait for you.”

You don’t want to pull away from him, but you have to.

Walking him to the door, with your skirt completely raised up to your hip, you give him another peck on the lips. Spencer lingers again with his mouth on yours before opening the door, forcing you to take a step back.

You don’t want the others to see you.

“Clean up your face, darling. You look like someone who just ate some good pussy.”

You wink at him, pushing him out of the door.

It’s true, he had the chance to taste you and now he won’t think about anything else.

He should, because as soon as he gets down to the living room, everyone is looking at him.

Spencer washed his face and fixed his tie, making sure that there’s no trace of you on him. He doesn’t want the others to know that he got on his knees for you, that he buried his face between your legs, that he has just fucked you hard and fast until he had the chance to fill you up.

The thought makes him smile.

You felt so good all around him.

He loved watching you crumble along with him, because you were so tight and...

“Are you alright, Reid? Is Y/N okay?” Penelope asks

David rolls his eyes, lifting his right hand. “I don’t want to hear anything. She’s my niece!”

Spencer keeps his mouth shut, sitting beside Luke. “She’s... She’s really good.”

The party goes on for at least one more hour, then one by one, the rest of the team heads home. Spencer is the last one to leave Rossi’s mansion, not really sure whether to get out of the house and wait for you somewhere on the road or just come clean with David.

He’s a profiler, he knows exactly what is happening between you and Spencer.

Spencer made sure not to mention throughout the night, but he couldn’t stop thinking about how and how hard you kissed him. Everything you did, everything you said was so intoxicating – and it wasn’t just because you are extremely beautiful.

No, it’s just...

Everything.

Spencer can’t pinpoint exactly what he loves the most about you.

“Are you waiting for Y/N?”

Spencer blinks, turning to look at David. “Me? No, I was just...”

“Y/N!”

David calls out your name and Spencer’s heart drops to his chest, shocked by his action. He wasn’t expecting his colleague to yell your name, mostly because he was hoping no one downstairs understood what was happening just a floor up.

Apparently, they all did.

You open the door of your room, your head poking out at the top of the stairs. “Yes?”

“Spencer’s waiting for you.”

You look at him for a split second and Spencer waves at you, clearly embarrassed by what’s happening right now. You don’t blame him, you want to bury yourself with your bed sheets right now because you weren’t exactly planning on going out in the open with Spencer.

You don’t complain.

Hiding would’ve taken you minutes or at least an hour.

And you were starting to miss Spencer.

Hopping down the stairs in nothing, but a sweater and a pair of black leggings, you nod your head. You grab Spencer’s hand and place a kiss on his cheek, turning your head to look at David.

He’s not surprised.

Instead, he smiles.

“Ah, my new favourite couple.” – Krystall chimes in from behind, placing a hand over her heart – “Are you guys going out to celebrate Mischief Night all alone?”

Spencer feels like a guy who just arrived to pick up his girlfriend from prom. It’s not embarrassing, it’s just a bit unsettling so he turns to look at you – and when he does, and your eyes meet, he feels relaxed.

This is not that bad.

“Yes, there’s a Drive-In cinema not too far from here. I think we’ll go there and get to know each other.” – Spencer says, staring at you with a sheepish smile on his face – “Y/N is really interesting.”

You blush at his complement, gripping his elbow. “So charming.”

Krystall coos, nodding her head. “Alright! Have fun, guys. And enjoy Mischief Night! Be careful, there are kids egging cars around this neighbourhood.”

You yank Spencer by the elbow, running outside David’s house in silence. There’s no need to say anything, because if you open your mouth you will probably start laughing until you can even breathe anymore.

You were trying to be so secret... And it didn’t work.

It obviously didn’t work, you’re not as sneaky as you think you are.

Spencer opens the car door for you, closing it before jumping on his own seat.

“Oh my...”

He giggles first, covering his mouth.

You try your best to keep your mouth shut, not wanting to give in. This is not funny, this is quite embarrassing and you know you will never hear the end of it the day after. David’s not going to let you go so easily, and he’ll probably give you the whole speech about safe sex and how young you are compared to Spencer.

Thirteen years are not that much!

“We got caught.”

“I’m not surprised.” – Spencer says, turning to look at you as he leans forward – “I know a place we can go to be alone. No one will bother us, not even kids with their eggs.”

You nod your head, placing a hand on top of his. “So you can be as loud as you want while you watch me suck your pretty cock.”

The young doctor bites his bottom lip at your words, your hand immediately sliding from his to the bulge already forming between his legs.

He’s so easy to work up.

“Take me there.” – you tell him, placing a soft kiss over his lips – “Now.”

Spencer has never driven so fast to a place before in his life, dying to feel your mouth all over him like you just promised. He’s not going to hold back now, enjoying everything you can give him and giving you even more than he could do at David’s house.

If tomorrow your jaw is sore and your thighs are covered in little bite marks, you don’t complain. Maybe heading to that dark place with no one around and having the young doctor have his way with you was the best idea you’ve ever heard.

You hope to celebrate Mischief Night like this every single year.

Please consider liking, reblogging, or commenting on the fic if you are on the taglist. Otherwise, you are essentially asking me to take an extra step to include you while offering me absolutely NOTHING in exchange, which is a pretty shitty feeling.

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[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Fireleaf (Part Six)

Lucien Vanserra x Reader

Hiiii! Here's Part Six. Things are heating up! As always, I'm so, so grateful for all the help I get from @greeneyedivy...this chapter has been a long time in the making, and so much of her brilliant brain and time went into helping me with it! 🤣💋

Warnings: SMUT! 🌶️🌶️🌶️

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Russet eyes stared at the page, not wholly seeing the words.

The same page Lucien had been staring at for the past half an hour. He nibbled at the callused skin of his thumb, brows furrowing as he drank in the second paragraph. Again.

The tempered glow of moonlit skies

Sketched waltzes in his lover’s eyes

And no immortal heart did dance

The way his did, so thoroughly

He glared at the words. Breathed in. Out. And slammed the book shut.The Mother damn it. For once, he didn’t feel like reading. Didn’t feel like anything besides pummelling his fist into one of the nearby trees—

His eyes flickered up. Immediately found that tree, the dent in the bark and the faint smear of blood. He sighed at himself. Tried to rein his thoughts back in, away from straying in that — her — direction, again.

He didn’t know when he’d become so pathetic.

This wouldn’t do. Sitting and ruminating would not do. He’d managed to avoid running into her over the week that had passed since the masquerade; part of him wished he’d stayed in the Spring Court longer than one night. His thoughts were clearer there, the air not so tinged with…with fresh cotton and honeysuckle—

No. He pushed to his feet — kicked a smattering of leaves for good measure — and grabbed his book. Began to drag his feet back the way he’d come.

He could take the short route back, straight across the footpath — end up back inside the warmth of the estate quicker. But in the depths of the trees, the natural scents were stronger; most smells got buried beneath the aromas of pine and bark and earth, no matter how much those smells had shoved their way up Lucien’s nose and made a home there. So he stuck to the densest areas, nearer to the outskirts of the estate.

He heard them before he saw them.

Two pairs of feet, he thought. And Barric‘s voice — crisp and clear.

“One male has reportedly died,” His father’s advisor spoke quietly, gently. “Perhaps more — the fire hasn’t been contained yet.”

A soft, feminine noise came in response — one of distress — and Lucien knew, immediately, that the second pair of feet belonged to his mother. He frowned, not stopping to wonder why, in the damn Cauldron, his mother and Barric had sought such privacy to speak. He was already pushing through the brush, and beholding them where they’d stopped at a wide, towering tree.

“What’s this?” He demanded immediately.

The Lady of Autumn was the first to look up, her wide, brown eyes watery and her pale skin seeming ashen and wan. It made the stark red of her hair stand out even more.

Barric pivoted on the spot and studied Lucien. “You shouldn’t be snooping on conversations.”

Lucien cocked an eyebrow. “I’d hardly call a stroll through the trees snooping. What’s this about a fire?”

The Lady of Autumn wrapped her arms around her slender body; like she was trying to comfort herself. “The little hamlet an hour east — a fire broke out in the early hours of this morning. It seems as though it’s already ravaged half of the houses, and they can’t get it under control.”

Lucien felt his blood run cold. He knew that hamlet — had passed by it multiple times on his travels. A small community of the Lesser Fae lived there; good, hardworking people who didn’t have much to show for all their toil. And for the little they did have to be destroyed before their very eyes—

“We need to inform father,” He was ready, right then, to jump into action. To do…something. “We need to send aid right away. We can contain the fire with our magic, prevent any more loss of life—”

“Lucien.” His mother said softly. She was trembling, her hands shaking as she held herself. “Your father already knows.”

Barric nodded in confirmation. “He was informed. The decision has been made not to send aid.”

Lucien stopped dead. Stared between them. His mind was reeling too much, currently, to consider the anomalies right in front him. How unusual it was for Barric and his mother to be talking about this — and so privately, too. He felt anger flicker inside him as he drank in the timid sight of his mother. The set, unflinching sight of Barric — a male who was content with a decision made.

“Why the fuck not?” Lucien demanded. “If one person has already died—”

“The High Lord has decided not to get involved because the fire was started deliberately.” Barric said. “It’s said that there’s been some unrest throughout the area. Land disputes, or something. Your father is busy enough without having to involve himself in the petty squabbles between the Lesser Fae.”

And there it was. Lucien scoffed incredulously. Such blatant, cold disregard for the people the High Lord deemed beneath him, unworthy of him.

“Petty squabbles?” He gritted out between clenched teeth. “Their livelihoods are burning right before their eyes. They’ll need help. Our help.”

Barric didn’t so much as falter. “The High Lord’s decision is made.”

“Screw this.”

He turned, kicking through leaves and dirt, shoving through the thick brush. He’d kept quiet about his father’s prejudices for far too long, bitten his tongue too many times—

“Lucien.” His mother called behind him, soft, pleading. “What’re you going to do?”

“What he’s too much of a damn coward to do, mother.”

He didn’t give her a chance to call out one more word as he stormed through the trees and headed straight for his father’s office.

⤲

The two guards stationed outside his father’s office door were a sure indication of an important meeting being had inside.

Nox and Auster, their names were. Lucien knew most of his father’s staff by name — had grown particularly fond of these two, in fact. Good, honest young men.

Their faces were grave. Sallow. Nox’s in particular. A cold sheet of anger lay beneath the fear.

He’d grown up in that hamlet. Still had family living there.

“Is he in there?” Lucien nodded to the door, already knowing the answer.

Auster dipped his head. “He’s holding a meeting.” It seemed an effort for him to force out, “You know we can’t let you in.”

“You don’t need to let me. I’m his son.”

The fact that neither of the guards put up any real fight showed exactly how they were feeling right then — uncaring if Lucien did interrupt the High Lord’s meeting. Hopeful, in fact, that he would. He was the only Vanserra that had ever bothered to strike up conversation with them, to get to know them and ask questions. The anger they saw in his eyes, right then, was identical to their own.

They weren’t going to stop him from storming in there. Not really.

And they didn’t, as Lucien flung the door open, causing Beron to falter mid-sentence.

He sat at his desk — and in front of him, Lucien’s four brothers were each perched, listening to their father speak as though none of them had a damn care in the world.

Lucien didn’t care that he hadn’t been invited to whatever this meeting was. Didn’t care that his four brothers had turned in their seats to stare at him. He didn’t bother to glimpse Dion’s concerned expression, or Eris’s inquisitive one, or the glimmering flash of excitement on Jareth’s and Rian’s faces, like they eagerly anticipated a showdown.

He merely stepped into the room. Clenched his jaw and ground out, “Why aren’t you sending aid to the hamlet that is burning down as we speak?”

Beron’s dull eyes were liquid ire as he beheld his youngest son. “You’ve no right to burst in here—”

“Why. Aren’t. You. Sending. Aid.”

“Why should I?” The High Lord shrugged. “Why should I expend my resources and my staff and reward people for acting like brutes?”

“Saving lives is not rewarding people.” Lucien snapped. “They’ll be losing everything right now whilst you sit on your ass—”

“I urge you to watch your tone.” Beron’s voice rose. “If the common folk are unable to behave in a civilised manner, I refuse to get involved. They can sort it amongst themselves.”

The brutality — the utter malice of it…it damn near winded Lucien. Damn near choked the words from his throat. He’d always known that his father was a ruthless, spineless bastard, but to be so uncaring…

“There are children that live in those homes.” Lucien spat. “Innocent children.”

Beron sat back. So casual. So unbothered. “Well. Perhaps the brutes should have considered that before they decided to raze those homes to the ground. Are you done?”

Lucien’s eyes shot to Dion — the one brother he’d always had a quiet respect for. The one who had always seemed to care. “And you’re alright with this?”

Dion’s eyes seemed to flash with…something. But he merely swallowed. Inclined his head. “Father has made his decision.”

Lucien couldn’t…couldn’t stay in this office, this estate, any longer. Not without tearing the whole place apart. He turned on his feet, shaking with rage.

Beron merely called after him. “I’ll hear no more said on the matter, Lucien.”

Lucien didn’t bother with a response – because that was fine. He didn’t want to say anymore, either. He wanted to do – to act.

Whether his pathetic excuse for a father liked it or not.

⤲

He was halfway to the stables when he heard his name being called. He turned, finding both Nox and Auster hot on his trail.

“Don’t even bother to try and stop me.” He gritted his teeth at the two guards. “I respect both of you, and I don’t want to fight—”

“We’re not stopping you.” Nox fell into step with him. “We’re helping.”

Lucien stilled for just a moment. Stared between them. To not only abandon their posts, but to go against their High Lord’s word— “You’ll get into trouble.”

Auster shrugged, his expression fierce. “Then so be it. We trained as Guards with an intrinsic reflex to protect. That doesn’t discriminate. Even if you just need us to stand guard while you help…”

So sad, that the two of them had shown more courage in ten minutes than he’d ever seen from his father, his brothers, in his whole life. Lucien didn’t know why he was still surprised; he’d learned long ago that he, for some reason, seemed to be cut from a different cloth to the other males of his family.

He dipped his chin and nodded. “I’m going to contain the fire with my magic. I’ll need both of you helping with getting people out. With any potential injuries.”

The admiration — and gratitude — that shone in Nox’s eyes was almost too palpable for Lucien to look at. He was one of the newer guards, less hardened by years around brutality. And these were his people that Lucien was putting his neck on the line to save.

“Let’s go.” Lucien squeezed his shoulder. “We’ll do what we can.”

The three of them were nothing but steeled determination as they tore into the barn, damn near startling the stableboys out of their skin. There was no time for his usual pleasantries as Lucien readied his horse. Too much going inside his head. Too much to focus on.

Perhaps that was why, as they mounted their horses and set off like a brisk, relentless gust of wind, he didn’t notice that Dion’s horse was already gone.

⤲

The smell tinged the air from what felt like miles away. Smoke and heat and…something else. Pungent enough to sting all three of their noses. As they grew closer, thick, black smoke billowed up into the sky and shrouded above them like great, winged creatures.

Lucien dreaded considering what the sight of it might be like…such a tiny, modest area engulfed by flames. But they kept the horses galloping and schooled themselves into the calm they needed to face it.

There was no moving fast enough, every movement feeling sluggish as he considered how many more lives may have been lost, how much had already been destroyed. When the hamlet came into view, it was an effort not to stop and gape.

Half of it had been ravaged already. Cracking and popping and shouting rang through the air, and what had once been a home to a small community of hardworking people had been reduced to…to pure chaos. So many people running around, carrying children away from the danger, trying to move the injured, hauling buckets of water back and forth.

Lucien dismounted his horse. Tried to gather his thoughts. Nox and Auster followed suit.

“I need to get straight to the fire and stifle it with my magic,” He turned to the two guards. “Check in with the locals. Find out how many injured we have. And if there’s a healer on site.”

Nox nodded — but Auster was frowning. Frowning over Lucien’s shoulder, as though he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

Lucien clasped his shoulder. “I know it’s awful. But we need to keep our heads clear and—”

“That’s…” Auster peered past him. “…Is that Lady Y/N?”

Lucien whipped round so fast, he lost his footing.

His heart thudded an erratic tune as he took in the sight before him. And sure enough — there she was.

Dressed in a loose shirt and breeches, her hair ripping out of an untidy bun at the nape of her neck, she was coated in soot and sweat, her mouth barking stark demands at people as she hauled buckets of water back and forth. She didn’t hesitate – not even slightly – to charge towards the burning buildings, just about managing to keep the water contained in the bucket.

Lucien found himself running after her. Didn’t glance back at Nox or Auster even once as he raced in her direction. She was already disappearing out of sight, and he…his breath hitched as he pushed his legs faster, trying not to run straight into fleeing residents as he searched for where she’d dipped around the side of a building.

He reached the building just as she re-emerged – the bucket now empty – and ran straight into him. Her eyes were so wild, so panicked, that she didn’t seem to realise what she was seeing straight away.

That he, too, had gone against the grain – had decided to come here and help.

Panic was a surprising, feral thing inside of him. He found himself studying her, checking for burns, for anything untoward.

“What in the Cauldron are you doing here?” He blurted, the words emerging from him far angrier than he’d meant. “Are you out of your gods-damn mind?”

She seemed to blink – just for a second. And then she was sidestepping him, using her forearm to wipe sweat from her brow as she hefted the bucket beneath the other arm. “What does it look like I’m doing, Lucien? I’m helping to put out this damned fire!”

Her voice was croaky, raspy; Lucien wasn’t sure whether that was from shouting at the top of her lungs or coughing around the billowing smoke. She continued past him, and he was hot on her trail, making a grab for her arm.

“It’s dangerous.” He snarled.

“Get off your fucking high-horse,” She snapped, ripping away, “And grab a bucket, would you?”

She fell into a run, panting and glistening with sweat as she headed back towards the water pump at the top of the street. And Lucien…Lucien was trying to force his brain to work. Trying to tear his gaze from her. To stifle the bleating panic that was rising in him, urging him to grab her and get her far away from the danger.

He didn’t follow her. He pivoted on the spot, grimacing at the heat that breathed out at him. It seemed to speak to his fire magic, to coax him towards it, like calling to like. He didn’t need buckets of water to contain the flames ravaging the buildings. With one flicker of his magic, entirely self-taught, he could stifle them as easily as he could summon them. He zipped past the building, right towards the heart of the inferno–

“No!”

There were footsteps, a clattering sound – and arms were looping around his waist; arms that felt dainty against the broad expanse of his muscles. But they may as well have been an ironclad grip with the force with which they managed to move him, like he was no more than a light breeze. He was yanked backwards, and he just about managed to glimpse a discarded bucket of water spilling onto the street, and Y/N attempting to keep them both upright as he faltered and fell into her, the breath immediately being knocked out of her.

“Faebane,” She gasped, attempting to move from beneath him. She coughed, her voice sounding even more raw as she managed to choke out, “The fire is infused with Faebane. You can’t…you can’t use magic. Need water.”

“Fuck.” He hissed, hauling himself off of her. He yanked her up in one fluid motion, concerned eyes flicking over her.

So many things were warring in his mind. The first – to get the water; as much of it as possible. But Faebane…that had been the underlying scent mixed up in the smoke and ash that stung the air. He’d not identified it at the time, but…it seemed obvious, now. Its stark, cloying smell.

But not just anybody had Faebane. Certainly not the members of a Lesser Fae community who had zero power and barely two coins to rub together. The chemical was hard to come by, unless you were somebody untouchable. Somebody who could get what they wanted with a few sharp words.

Somebody knowledgeable enough to know that it rendered a person’s powers useless. Rendered them unable to quickly put out a fire before it caused too much destruction.

He shook his head. Tried to block the thoughts out. He couldn’t stand and speculate right now, not with him unable to use magic to help. It’d have to be the longer, harder way.

He was still holding onto her as he grabbed for the bucket and hurried to the water pump. Still gripping onto her hand.

He didn’t know why.

⤲

It was perhaps the most civil they’d ever been with each other.

There was no choice to be anything but as they worked together, hauling bucket after bucket back and forth, dousing the flames in water, helping trapped residents to freedom. Without the help of Lucien’s magic, hours passed by of the two of them working side-by-side, joined by Nox, Auster and the gathering of the hamlet’s residents who took orders and did whatever was needed of them. Day dwindled into evening, taking the light with it — along with their energy, their strength.

The sky was nearly darkened by the time only smouldering cinders remained. The smell in the air was still pungent — the Faebane seeming to be the strongest odour. And aside from the hissing that the burnt, sodden wood gave off, and the low murmur of bleak conversation between the owners of those homes…a heavy, eerie stillness settled through the hamlet that felt like a potent silence.

Lucien collapsed against one of the untouched buildings, scrubbing his hands over his face. He stared through tired eyes at the chaos that lay before them; the blackened, ashy remains of buildings and the smoke that still snaked out of them like shadows. The only mercy was that there were no more lives lost — a small glimmer of positivity that barely held up against the hammering of his weariness. Not just physical exhaustion, but…mental, too. There were a lot of things he needed to work through. A lot of things hammering his brain.

He didn’t like the panic he’d felt — panic over one person in particular. That panic couldn’t mean anything good.

That first glimpse of her earlier that day…when he’d seen her hauling the buckets of water and running towards the threat…he didn’t know how he hadn’t gone to his knees. Didn’t know that he was capable of such…cold anxiety spreading through him.

Even now, his gaze flicked over his surroundings in search of her — even though he was well aware that she was helping the healer with the injured in the inn at the top of the street. He still felt that itchy restlessness to make sure she was unharmed, that she wasn’t forgoing medical treatment that she may need, in favour of helping somebody else. Because she would — she absolutely would. He didn’t know why he hadn’t realised it sooner.

His eyes darted to Nox. Nox, who had shown an unflinching bravery in the face of such terror; something that Beron Vanserra had never done. Auster was currently standing over him, tending to a burn on his arm, and Lucien…Lucien understood the contained worry in Auster’s eyes. The panic over a realisation that it could have been far, far worse. Such a relief, that Nox’s entire family had gotten out safe.

He couldn’t stop himself watching as Auster clasped Nox’s face between his hands and pressed their foreheads together, his worried eyes fluttering shut. Couldn’t stop himself from watching the soft, gentle kiss that the two guards shared; the physical reassurance they needed from each other that they were both okay.

Lucien found his hands clenching at his sides. Like…like he needed that reassuring touch. Needed to know that she was absolutely—

“There would have been further casualties if you’d not come.” An exhausted voice ripped him from his thoughts. The male that stood before Lucien looked as though he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. He bowed his head. “You and the lady, and your guards. We cannot thank you enough.”

He’d been one of the residents that had taken orders and worked alongside them, even as the weight of exhaustion began to drag him down. One of the good, hardworking people that the High Lord looked down upon.

Lucien dipped his chin. “I only wish I could have come sooner.” He shook his head. “Is there any idea as to who would do this?”

The male’s eyes shot to the ground. “…I wouldn’t like to speculate…”

Something about his tone made Lucien bristle. He watched him — the clear indication that this was far bigger than land disputes, as Beron had claimed. “What is it?”

“…There was some…unrest…being rallied by the locals, after the Harvest Festival. People who didn’t appreciate your father’s…dismissal, of their hard work. There was a discussion of riots, and…well, it’s probably unrelated, but…”

But he didn’t need to finish the thought. Because Lucien wouldn’t put it past his father, for one second, to punish people for even thinking about revolting against him. His father, who Lucien knew had a hidden cache of Faebane.

Beron had probably known all along that Lucien would defy him and help those in need. Had probably wielded the Faebane to ensure that Lucien would be unable to quickly put the fires out — unable to limit the damage.

He felt himself go cold under his sweat-coated skin. Felt sickness unfurling inside of him—

But movement lurked in his periphery, and he looked up to find Y/N approaching. She looked just as downtrodden and exhausted as Lucien felt — worse, probably. She wrapped her arms around herself…as though she was trying to hold herself together.

“The healer has things under control.” She rasped, glancing between Lucien and the male. “What do we do now?”

“We—”

Every last one of them was too exhausted, too distracted — too done-in to sense the threat before an awful creaking sound broke through the night, of splintering, breaking wood.

Lucien wasn’t even thinking. He didn’t recall giving his body any direction before he was launching himself into Y/N and knocking her to the ground. The two of them rolled out of the way just as a wooden beam broke from a scorched building, falling right to the spot in which Y/N had stood seconds before.

She groaned — or maybe it was him — and he allowed his body to shield hers for a moment longer, just to check the coast was clear, before he hauled her up with him. Set her on her feet. Checked her over. Apart from having the air knocked right out her, and a streak of blood on her arm that may or may not have been hers, she seemed to be otherwise alright. Still, Lucien held her up.

She just stared at him. Swallowed. Wanted to thank him, to say…something—

“You’ve done quite enough.” The male behind them tore his weary gaze from the fallen beam, long enough to face them. “We can handle it from here — you need to rest. All of you.”

“I can stay.” Y/N stepped past Lucien. “Just tell me what you need, and—”

“Lady,” Boldy — so, so boldly, more than he ever would have dared before — the male grasped her hand in his own, “We’re grateful for your kindness. But the last thing we need is any of you collapsing from exhaustion. You’ve done more than we possibly could have asked. Rest.”

Y/N glanced up at the sky, dark and filling with stars above her. The prospect of washing the grit and grime off of her, of collapsing into bed…she almost went to her knees then and there. But to face the long journey home…what awaited her at home—

The male seemed to read that very thought on her face. “My lodgings are about two miles down the road. I’m staying here to help, but…by all means, the four of you are welcome to spend the night there. It’s the least I can offer you.”

She almost sagged with relief. Two miles — she could handle two miles. Probably.

Lucien stepped up beside her, dipping his chin. “Thank you. For your generosity.”

And the male’s eyes, as he met those of the youngest Vanserra, were entirely unguarded. Every grateful, admiring thought shone earnestly in them, and Y/N knew what he was thinking in that moment — that Lucien had behaved like a true High Lord.

“No, Lucien.” He inclined his head. “Thank you.”

⤲

The four of them turned out to be the two of them.

Nox and Auster insisted on staying, on securing any more buildings threatening collapse. And after, they’d said, they would return to the Vanserra Estate, no matter the hour. They wanted to face Beron’s wrath head-on.

And so it was just Lucien and Y/N alone who travelled the two miles silently on horseback, not even sharing a glance as they kept an eye out for the male’s lodgings.

The lodgings, it turned out, was a gamekeeper’s cottage tucked into the forest that outlined the sprawling landscape. Certainly private and secluded. Certainly a place for them to rest.

But a strange sting of tension had bloomed between them on their silent journey. Y/N could feel Lucien’s heavy, pressing gazes. Like he was trying to stop himself from saying something. How tightly he clutched at his horse’s reins, his knuckles turning white, was indication enough that he was biting his tongue. Gone, clearly, was the solidarity they’d shared during the day.

They didn’t utter a word as they secured the horses outside the cottage and traipsed inside. But both shared the same thought as they stopped, studying their home for the night.

It was…small. The barest necessities, Lucien supposed, for what a gamekeeper might need. One open-plan area with a bed, an armchair, a basic kitchenette and a fire. He could only assume that the one other door to his left led to a cramped bathing room.

“I’ll sleep in the armchair.” Lucien said tersely, before Y/N could speak. “You can have the bed.”

There was no room for arguing — that much was obvious, as she studied the way he avoided her gaze. He brushed past her, tying his hair back as he went.

“I’ll get the fire going.” He murmured.

She knew he was merely thinking aloud — not really talking to her — but she nodded, all the same. And found her eyes lingering on him, watching him, as he knelt before the hearth. It took her a moment to rip her eyes away.

She cleared her throat, striding over to the kitchenette and quietly muttering, “I’m thirsty.”

Lucien didn’t deign to respond. He poured every morsel of his concentration — what was left of it — into getting the fire going. Even though he wanted to snuff it straight back out — even though he’d seen enough fire, in one day, to last him a lifetime. It was far too cold a night for them to forego the heat it offered.

Only when it was breathing warmth into the room did he stand. He turned, eyes immediately landing on Y/N.

She stood at the sink, seeming deep in thought as she scrubbed her hands clean. Lucien could only stop. Stare.

There was blood on her arm — hers or somebody else’s, Lucien didn’t know; he felt his stomach twist, felt a deep impulse to stride over and inspect it. But he rooted his feet to the floor. Waited for her to finish. Why…he didn’t know.

He didn’t know anything, right then. Like why he couldn’t stop his eyes from travelling every inch of her. Her dirtied, crumpled clothing and her hunched shoulders. Her hair had come completely loose from the bun she’d thrown it into, once again falling around her face and forming a curtain that hid her expression. Still, Lucien stared.

He could feel it — the urge to stride over and brush that hair away. That hair that always looked so silken, so soft, be it tied up neatly or flowing about her shoulders. He’d found his eyes lingering on that hair one too many times. Found them lingering now.

And there was that tiny, little braid again — every damn day, she wore one single braid in her hair, no matter the style she’d opted for. He didn’t know why. He’d noticed it before — multiple times — namely when she’d helped him from the ground after their sword fight, when her hair had swayed towards him and pushed her honeysuckle scent to him. That single braid had dangled down, and he’d wondered what the little decoration would feel like between his fingers. How soft it might be as he fisted her hair in his hand whilst she panted into his mouth, his hips—

She swivelled to face him. Lucien blinked out of his thoughts, praying that the nature of them didn’t leave a dusting of pink on his skin. If the change in his scent was obvious…

She pressed her back against the wall. Stared at him. He stared back.

“Well?” She shrugged. “Out with it.”

Her tone was…strained. Confrontational. Had she sensed Lucien looking at her? Sensed, maybe, the direction of his thoughts?

His jaw ticked as he ground out, “What.”

“Whatever it is you’re dying to say.” Her arms folded across her chest. Wrapped around herself again — she seemed to do that a lot; a comfort mechanism. “You glared at me practically the whole way here. Pray, tell, what have I done now?”

He had glared at her. And she’d noticed. But hadn’t discerned that his tension, his ire, was made up entirely of concern. Worry. Panic.

His eyes darted to her arm. “You’re hurt.”

“I caught it on a piece of jutting wood.” She clasped a hand over the wound. “I’ll live.”

Gods, she was so fucking infuriating. So damn oblivious to what was at stake, what lay at her feet. Reckless and careless and stupid.

“If that’s all, I’m going to bed—”

“Why didn’t you come find me?” Lucien blurted. “When you learned of the fire. Why didn’t you come and ask for help instead of running off on your own?”

She blinked at him, her mouth falling slightly open. Pure incredulity showed on her face as she looked him up and down, and barked a humourless laugh.

“Why should I come and find you?” She demanded. “I did ask for help. I asked Dion, and he refused to go against your father’s word, so I took it into my own hands.”

Lucien clenched his teeth so hard, it was a wonder they didn’t break. He hated every damn bit of her response. The way she referred to him — merely as you, as though he was nothing. Dion’s gods-damn name on her tongue. Her recklessness—

“Even if nobody else would help,” He spat. “Surely you would have known that I—”

“Known what, Lucien?” She interrupted. “Known that you’re a good, noble male who would have dropped everything to offer your aid? You’ve been nothing but an asshole to me.”

“I—”

“No one at that gods-damn estate listens to me. I’ve been nothing but suffocated since I got there. And not by my own choosing, I might add.”

True. She was speaking such truth, and yet Lucien couldn’t bear to acknowledge it. Couldn’t bear to acknowledge that perhaps he’d got things so, so wrong. It was far easier to become the sneering asshole that she’d pegged him as.

And he did just that.

“You don’t seem,” he snarled, striding over to her, “to be complaining much about the luxuries my family’s estate affords you. You’ve had no problem embracing them.”

“See, there it is again!” She snapped back. “You know nothing about me, because you haven’t even deigned to step out of your privileged viewpoint and consider that we don’t all have the freedom of choice, Lucien. I was brought here as nothing more than a damn bargaining chip! I don’t have the freedom to speak my own mind, or to take a walk throughout the woods without an escort, or do anything I want to do, because from the moment I arrived at that fucking estate, my freedom was taken from me!”

Lucien had fallen so preternaturally still. He blinked at her, utterly stunned. Her words sinking in—

“Your assumptions about me have been entirely wrong and I’m sick of it,” She continued, shaking with her anger, her hands balling, “You assume I’m the privileged, stuck-up one. But you? You have it far easier. I don’t have the option to go and fuck someone against a bloody tree in the orchard or to be consumed by the passion, because the next person I’ll have to let touch me is your bro—”

Lucien struck.

He couldn’t stomach it. Couldn’t bear even the idea of anyone but him touching her. Couldn’t stand the thought of anyone tasting her the way he…the way he wanted to. He needed rid of that thought, to banish it—

He was nothing but pure, carnal need embodied as he grabbed her face between his hands and kissed her.

His lips slanted over hers, and he felt her gasp against him. That first taste of her threatened to undo him then and there. He’d thought about this taste, wondered about it. Fisted his cock and spilled all over his stomach as he imagined it — more than once. He groaned against her lips.

He wanted to taste her all over, to devour her—

She gripped onto his wrists. Pulled away. Blinked up at him. He blinked back.

Neither said a word. Their heavy breaths filled the space, and they stared at each other, wide-eyed. Lucien’s eyes fell to her lips once more. Hers fell to his.

They both surged forward again at the same, their mouths meeting once more.

⤲

It was a harder kiss, more brutal, a heady meeting of lips and teeth.

Lucien gripped onto you so hard, you knew — hoped — it would bruise. His hands fastened on your waist as he shoved you against the wall, pinned you there with his own hips, and slid his tongue into your mouth.

It wrapped around yours, teased the roof of your mouth, and your tastes invaded each other. You wanted this. Wanted him. Had wanted him from the first moment you’d seen him reading poems and sonnets beneath a tree. No taste would ever, ever be enough.

You bit down on his lip, fisting your hand in the loose ponytail his hair was tied into. You tugged, tugged hard, and Lucien groaned.

“You drive me mad,” He growled, his hands roaming your body. “Always, always on my mind.”

The words sent a thrill through you, but you didn’t stop to consider them. What they meant.

“Show me,” You gasped, kissing him hard. And said again, “Show me.”

You knew — and so did he — that there was no amount of restraint that existed to make him refuse. A delicious snarl ripped from his throat, sounding more animal than man, and his hands found their way to your breeches.

Too many buttons, too many laces. Pure, feral noises sounded from deep in his chest as he gripped the front of your breeches and tore them apart with his hands, the brutal action in itself causing wetness to pool between your legs. He shoved them to your feet, yanked your undergarments down, and then he was slanting his lips over yours again. His nostrils flared as your scent hit him.

“I need to be inside you.” His voice was guttural. “Now.”

“Yes.” Was all you managed to gasp out. “Yes.”

You were aware, as his mouth coasted your jaw, your neck, of the sound of his belt hitting the floor. He breathed heavily, his hands moving between you. And then he shoved his breeches down.

His cock sprang free, and there was no chance for you to so much as look as it as he gripped his length in his hand. Used the other to heft one of your legs up, around his waist.

You felt the head of his cock brush through your wetness. Felt it tease your entrance. You gripped his shoulders.

And then he was pushing into you.

The slight pinch of pain was delicious, incredible, as he thrust in. A moan fell from your lips as he filled you, and he swallowed it with a kiss, his lips once again finding yours.

He pulled out to the tip. Slammed back in to the hilt.

And then unleashed himself on you.

There was nothing slow or gentle about it. Not as he thrust and thrust and thrust into you, skin slapping skin, your breaths and moans the only sounds filling the space, alongside the relentless thud, thud, thud of your back hitting the wall.

Lucien tore his lips from yours, burying his face in the crook of your neck. A deep groan came from him as he reached up and grabbed your breast.

“Oh gods,” He gasped, squeezing hard. “Why does it feel like this? Feels too good, I can’t…”

Words failed him — and failed you, too. But words were unnecessary as your uncontrolled moans took over, your head falling back. Your fingernails dug into his shoulders, his back, and you knew you would leave marks as you gave over to the sensations in your body. As you became his pleasure, and he became yours.

“Fuck,” You manage to bite out. “Oh, gods.”

Never had you felt so damn good. His thrusts, somehow, picked up, the noises he emitted becoming deeper, gruffer, as he hit that sweet spot inside you. You could feel yourself clenching around him, feel yourself about to come undone completely.

And when he reached down and pressed his thumb to your clit once, you lost it.

Your scream caught in your throat as released barrelled through you, and you clenched around his cock hard. Lucien grunted, thrusting those capable hips again, again, again — and then he was following you straight into that release. Spilling inside you.

The feel of him, the warmth of him inside you…you couldn’t bear it. You went utterly weak against him, your gasped moans trailing off into soft, staggered noises.

Lucien had stilled against you. He didn’t move, his body still pressed to yours as his breaths slowly evened out.

And then he pulled his hand from your breast. Slid out of you. Stepped back.

He blinked at you. Studied you all over, like…like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Couldn’t believe what he’d just done.

He swallowed, russet eyes looking utterly shell shocked as he leaned down and yanked his breeches up. You’d never seen his golden skin so pale. Never seen him tremble like he did now, as he fastened the buttons on his breeches.

You needed to speak, to say something — anything. You opened your mouth—

Lucien turned on the spot — turned away from you. His shoulders were hunched as he stalked to the door.

He didn’t look back as he stepped out. As he left the cottage, left you alone, the door slamming behind him.

All you could do was stare at the door. Gape. You were still pressed against the wall, your trousers and underwear pooled at your feet. Your body still trembling. Lucien’s seed dripping out of you, down your legs.

You blinked. Touch your fingers to your lips. Your legs shook as you slowly pushed off the wall and pulled your breeches back up.

You couldn’t…you’d just fucked Lucien Vanserra.

Not the Vanserra you were marrying.

An iciness settled inside you as you moved towards the bed. It felt like wading through mud, pushing your body to co-operate.

You collapsed down onto the mattress. Blinked up at the ceiling. The silence was deafening.

Lucien had fucked you and left.

You’d had sex with Dion’s brother.

You couldn’t bear it…couldn’t allow one more thought to pass through your head. The day had been too much, too pressing.

You’d swapped a good deed with a terrible one.

A terrible one that had felt so, so brilliant.

You rolled over, burying your face into the pillow. And you wept.

⤲

You didn’t sleep, and Lucien didn’t return.

Where he’d spent the night, you had no clue. You tried not to think about it as you rose early the next morning and climbed straight into the bathtub. You’d scrubbed your skin until it was red-raw, smothering Lucien’s scent with so much soap, you were sore afterwards.

When you stepped out of the front door, his horse was gone. Just Dion’s horse — the one you’d taken — waited. Waited for you.

You were exhausted. Haggard. But you didn’t want to linger there a moment longer. Didn’t want to glance back at the wall that you’d been slammed against as Lucien thrust into you—

No. You needed to forget. To send it far, far from your mind.

And so you set off. Away from the gamekeeper’s cottage. Past the ruined remains of the hamlet. Your surroundings were nothing but a blur as you rode, only just keeping your wits about you enough to travel in the right direction. Back to the Vanserra Estate.

You felt…empty. Hollow. Exhausted.

Perhaps that was why you didn’t so much as flinch at the sight of the Vanserra manor. You knew Beron’s wrath awaited you inside, and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

You returned Dion’s horse to the stables. Scarcely managed a greeting to the staff you passed as you traipsed to the front door with heavy feet.

Dion was waiting for you at the top of the stone steps.

He was tense. Guarded. But his eyes swept over you once, and whatever he saw seemed to soften him slightly.

“You’re back.” He said, watching you carefully as you approached him. “I was getting worried…”

“It was too late to travel back, by the time the fires were out.” You didn’t recognise your own voice. “I take it your father wants to speak with me?”

Dion nodded, somewhat apologetically. “He does. I’ll come with you.”

“I don’t need a bodyguard.”

You brushed past him, into the house. He was hot on your trail as he fell into step with you and took your arm.

“I understand why you’re angry with me.” He lowered his voice, lest the servants hear. “But I couldn’t go against my father’s word.”

You stared forward. “Those people needed help, Dion.”

“I know. I know they did.”

You didn’t offer him another word as he led you through the manor. No sign of Lucien anywhere. You wondered if he’d returned, or if he was still out on the road—

You shook the thoughts from your head as you came to Beron’s office. You knocked once.

“Come in.” He said immediately, like he was expecting you right then.

You pushed into the room, Dion following you inside. He shut the door behind him, pressed his back against it.

You turned to Beron. Couldn’t muster anything but indifference onto your face.

He sat at his desk, wearing an expression of pure ice. His eyes flicked over you, a sneer curling his lip. You knew you must have looked awful.

You opened your mouth — to say what, you didn’t know. But he slammed his hand down on the desk, hard enough for it to jolt. You flinched.

“Do you have anything you’d like to say?” He hissed.

You stared at him with vacant eyes. Found yourself shrugging. “I like your paperweight.”

Behind you, Dion emitted a vague noise of distress. And Beron…Beron rose from his seat. Clenched the edges of his desk so hard, his knuckles turned white.

“Do you think it’s a joke,” he hissed, “to undermine me?”

You lowered your gaze to the floor. “Not a joke, no. But I did deem it necessary.”

“I am your High Lord. What I say is what goes.”

“You are their High Lord, also. Those people who just lost everything. They needed your help—”

“How dare you deign to tell me how I should run my own court? Do you truly believe I’ll take orders from a silly little girl?”

“I—”

“Father,” Dion cut in softly, gently. He came to stand beside you, lightly touching your arm. “Y/N didn’t mean anything by it. I don’t believe she meant any harm. She wouldn’t have realised she was doing anything wrong.”

You wanted to turn on him — on both of them — and argue that you knew full fucking well what you were doing, and none of it was wrong. But Dion met your eyes with a fierce look, a subtle shake of his head. And then Beron was stepping around the desk. Stalking slowly towards you.

You watched. Watched every one the High Lord’s movements as he stopped before you. Inches away.

His eyes were shards of ice as they stared down at you. His jaw clenched.

“You are the daughter of a good friend of mine.” He said quietly, dangerously. “And I do not wish to cause upset between our families. But let me make something very clear to you.”

You lifted your chin. Met his gaze. He hated every second of it.

“You are walking a very fine line, girl.” He murmured. “I’m willing to overlook this incident as an innocent error of judgement. But I will be watching you. And if you ever, ever undermine me or disrespect me again? I’ll make sure you regret it.” His eyes flicked over you. “Are we clear?”

You didn’t want to respond; didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. Your shoulders hunched, and you knew Dion was holding his breath beside you.

“Are we clear?” Beron snapped.

Dion nudged your arm with his own. A warning.

“Yes, High Lord.” You gritted out. “We’re clear.”

Beron appraised you again, disgust muddying his eyes. “Good. Now get out of my sight.”

Before you could say anything, land yourself in any more shit, Dion was gripping your arm and dragging you from the room. He shut the door behind him, turning to face you.

You didn’t care to hear a word he had to say — not right then. You were too mad, too disgusted — with him, with yourself, with Beron. If you didn’t walk away right now, you would lose it.

“Y/N.” He said, but you were already turning your back on him.

“I want to be alone, Dion.” You shot back. Every bit of your exhaustion showed in your voice.

Perhaps that was why he didn’t say another word as you walked away from him, and went to succumb to another onslaught of tears in your suite.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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[separatist-apologist]

A Fragile Little Flame

I know places we won't be found

Summary: Cassian has survived two wars and knows a thing or two about going up against a powerful adversary.

Nothing can prepare him for Nesta Archeron

my submission for @nessianweek

Read more on AO3

Warning: Dragons, mentions of past SA, human men

Mate. Mate. Mate. 

It was all Cassian thought of. Day and night, ever since he’d first been hit in the face by her iron poker. Cassian ate, slept, and breathed Nesta Archeron. He thought he’d still want her, even if she hadn’t been his mate—Nesta was terrifying and fierce, an unstoppable force of nature he had no ability—or interest—in controlling. 

He wanted her so badly it made his teeth ache. Nesta wasn’t like her sisters and Cassian likened her to a human General. There were rules she expected him to abide by and Cassian, by virtue of his birth and training, did as he was told. She wanted to be courted, to get to know him. And he came as often as he could with little gifts, hoping something might please his mate enough that she’d finally agree to let him mark her with his scales.

Nesta wasn’t the only thing Cassian was supposed to be thinking about. Five hundred years before, the humans wiped all dragons from the face of existence—or so they thought. He’d led one of the last battalions, had planned final last stand. There were enough to take down the humans, but not enough they’d last when the continent finally sent reinforcements.

And the king was dead, his son, too. Cassian’s friend. Rhysand. 

It had been an agonizing decision. Did he preserve their dwindling ranks, or did he exact retribution? In the end, Cassian retreated and ordered utter silence. Let the humans think them dead. Perhaps, he’d reasoned back then, things would calm. They would become more tolerant.

With Rhysand and his father gone, Cassian had picked up the helm. Windhaven became his domain and for those five hundred years, Cassian had ruled as best he could. He wasn’t built for it—he did it because he loved his home, his people.

To learn that Rhysand had been alive the entire time, masquerading as a human king—messing with their minds so they never realized the same monarch had been overseeing them—well, Cassian was struggling with his grief.

His anger. 

Rhysand wasn’t sorry. He offered no apology. He merely slaughtered his father and ordered Cassian to reassemble his army and fall into line. All of which Cassian had done. For him, it came at a massive personal cost. Some little piece of Cassian’s soul chipped away when he flew from Windhaven to Velaris. To Rhys, who merely embraced him. He couldn’t discuss it with Azriel, who was so wrapped up in his own mate he failed to see Cassian’s misery.

And not with Nesta, who resented him from taking her from that miserable estate when Eris Vanserra stole the continent's princess, risking outright war. Though Cassian was surrounded on all sides by people, he’d never felt more alone in his life. Cassian lay in bed, listening to Nesta down the hall pacing by the window like she always did. She was debating running away and he almost hoped she would. It would give him a reason to snap his teeth and snarl at something.

She settled but Cassian didn’t. And this night, he couldn’t force himself into sleep. He kicked off his blanket and dug out a pair of pants in the dark, hauling them over his hips and buttoning them just in case Nesta decided to peek into the hall. He’d heard her and Feyre talking about Rhysand’s nakedness and how off-putting it was. And he knew Nesta had been born to be some great lady.

A human males wife.

Not his mate. 

She didn’t want to see his cock no matter how badly he wanted to show it to her.  He’d done everything he thought he was supposed to. His whole life, Cassian acted with honor, with compassion and decency. For all the good it had done him, at any rate. Maybe he should have kidnapped her, too. Maybe he should have taken her up to his home hidden in the mountains, the place he went when he needed to think. 

Cassian thundered down the stairs, not stopping even when he heard her door creak open. She was listening just as surely as he was. He cocked his head while pushing into the inky night air. Crisp and cold and drenched in pine. Just as he liked it. Cassian wouldn’t go far. Frustrated or not, Nesta was still his mate and still defenseless. Terrifying as she was, Nesta was still fragile.

Still his.

Cassian shifted, huffing steam into the chill as he stretched his wings. He’d been about to propel himself into the night when the window overhead opened and Nesta leaned out. He turned his head when she called his name oh so softly, tall enough he could bump his nose against the glass.

Nesta reared back, her silvery blue eyes wide.

“Are you leaving?” 

He couldn’t respond. Cassian watched her. 

Ask me to stay. 

Nesta hesitated, a delicate hand on the latch of the window. Whatever war she fought with herself died abruptly. “Try not to be too loud when you return.” Cassian snarled at her words, his decision made when she tried to shut him out. No more. Either she rejected him or she accepted him. No more in between. Somewhere in the last vestiges of his rationality, Cassian knew he was venting his frustration over everything into his situation with Nesta. He couldn’t calm himself down, not as he all but destroyed the second floor of his home dragging a screaming Nesta into the cold. He held her tight, taking flight before someone could come investigate.

Az would know where he’d gone, would maybe even understand why he’d done this. 

“Cassian,” Nesta pleaded as he rose higher towards that crescent moon. He held her tight in his clawed foot, a truly terrifying way to fly. He knew if he set her on the ground she’d bolt and he’d have to shift to chase her down. 

“Cassian!” Nesta tried again, fingers gripping him roughly. “I’m sorry, just…please. Put me back down.”

He couldn’t. He could merely make this as painless as possible. His heart pounded erratically in his chest at the sound of her terror, her fear wafting towards him with every beat of his wings. They had to go higher still, to the highest mountain peak. Only he could take her down, unless she wanted to climb a winding, narrow staircase of ten thousand steps. He very much doubted it—Cassian had managed it on a few rare occasions he thought to try, burning his unrelenting anger on the stone until he was broken apart and reforged anew.

Technically, the mountain home is a palace. And if Cassian wanted to be even more technical, it belongs to Rhysand. He abandoned it five centuries ago, and Cassian moved in. If Rhys wanted it back, he could physically fight Cassian for it. Especially now, as Cassian landed on the open air bridge made of iridescent moonstone to drop Nesta onto the sleek black marble floor. She hit her hands and knees, panting desperately for a steady breath of air. 

Perched on the railing, Cassian bellowed out a warning to anyone who might have thought to come after him. Snarling a blast of burning fire, the scent would linger in the air for days. Come no closer.

His mate was here and for the first time since he’d met her, Cassian gave way to instinct. He was trying so hard to act as if he were one of the human males that she’d been bred for.

Nesta had been born for him. He was wasting his time trying to sell her on the merits of the two of them together because Cassian would always be a dragon.

He shifted, dropping to the ground beside her with a casual grace she lacked. Nesta rose to her feet, shoving him hard in the chest. He was unmoved, though he grabbed her wrists one after the other when she tried to slap him hard across the face. 

“Don’t,” he warned her.

“Take me back,” Nesta demanded. Little tendrils of her golden brown hair danced around her achingly lovely face. Cassian was tempted to do as she said. It wouldn’t make her any happier.

Dropping his hold on her before he pulled her closer and kissed her, Cassian shook his head.

“No.”

He turned his back to her, intending to let her follow him inside where he could show her to her room.

“I’ll reject the bond!” she yelled after his back. He went so utterly still, his heart splattering to his feet. 

Anger flared through him. “Do it,” he dared, turning to face her down. Nesta, with her iron spine, jutted her chin in the air as he approached. He wondered if it irritated her that she had to look up at him, head and shoulders shorter than him. “Say the words.”

“And you’ll take me back?” she asked, a distinct tremble in her voice. 

Cassian’s smile made him feel feral. It would kill him to do it. He thought he’d have to throw himself in the sea rather than live another five hundred years without her. He swallowed.

“I’ll deliver you to whichever human lord you desire,” he told her hatefully. “Is that what you’d prefer? A mortal male to lock you in another pretty estate? To breed you as he likes?”

“Compared to being locked in your pretty estate and bred by you?” she whispered in response. 

He exhaled a breath, stepping away from her. “If that’s what you think of me after everything, then I wish you would reject the bond.”

It was risky, turning his back on her. It went against every instinct and yet Cassian couldn’t stand another second in her presence. His legs trembled, his throat tight. He was seconds from throwing himself at her feet and begging forgiveness.

His words were no way to treat a mate. 

Cassian waited for those words— I reject the bond. I reject you. 

Instead, Cassian heard Nesta’s clipping steps behind him, all but jogging to catch up with his longer gait. Relief flooded through him. Angry or not, Nesta didn’t want to sever what existed between them.

Elain Archeron had told him she couldn’t feel the thread  her and Lucien shared until she agreed to complete the mating rite. Nesta couldn’t then, either. Cassian had always been so cognizant of that, so careful not to overstep. Hope bloomed warm in his chest all the same as he glanced down at her. Nesta’s cheeks were blotchy, stained red against her fair skin.

“This room,” he told her, taking her up a flight of stairs and down a marble floored hall. “It’s yours.”

“And yours?” she demanded, crossing her arms over her chest. Cassian opened his mouth to argue, but in truth, he wished it was. He merely shook his head.

“Downstairs,” he all but whispered. “If you need me…just yell.”

He thought she might reach out and touch him. Thought she might ask him to stay. Cassian would have done whatever she asked of him, even if it broke his heart. Nesta bit her bottom lip, nodding.

“I’ll need…I need my things, Cassian.”

He sighed. “I’ll get them for you.”

He turned his back not for the first time that night. He needed sleep and to reevaluate this entire plan. Needed to take her back before she stabbed him through the throat while he tried to sleep.

“Cassian?” Nesta called after his retreating back. He turned so fast the dark strands of his hair all but slapped him in the face.

“Yes?”

Her eyes flashed—not with anger, but hurt. 

“Don’t yell at me ever again.”

It was the way she spoke those words that made his body run cold. The fear that laced through those eyes, the way her shoulders slumped. Another male had harmed his mate.

“Tell me his name,” Cassian whispered, daring one step towards her.

Nesta slammed the door before he could come any closer.

Cassian would learn this. He would teach her she could trust him, he would mark her with his scales.

And then he’d punish every male who had ever put their unworthy hands on her.

All in that order.

NESTA: 

It wasn’t the first night she cried herself to sleep. Sometimes, Nesta thought she hadn’t stopped since her mother died, though she knew that wasn’t entirely true. She’d kept it together long enough to make sure Ferye and Elain were okay. Had taken over that miserable, crumbling estate when their father died, leaving no heir and no one but her to manage things. And she hadn’t let a crack show when Graysen had Elain dragged away in that cart, sacrificed to a monster she’d later married. 

She cried that night, though. She cried thinking about the anger in Cassian’s usually kind hazel eyes and the way he’d spat those words at her. He hadn’t raised his voice, hadn’t tried to strike her or grab her or any of the things Nesta expected. It was all on his face. His usual careful yearning was gone, blinked out and remade into something that hated her. 

And even though Nesta wasn’t sure if she wanted what Elain and Gwyn had, she was certain she never wanted Cassian to hate her.

She waited until she heard his heavy boots fade before she burrowed her face in the pillow and wept. She wasn’t sure why. For the first time in her life, Nesta didn’t feel the crushing weight of the world bearing down on her. She felt free and had ever since Cassian had insisted she join him in Windhaven.

Nesta didn’t understand why she was making things so difficult. Not just on him—Gwyn and Emerie didn’t trust her, either. Not entirely, anyway. They watched her with wary eyes even as they included her and Nesta couldn’t blame them. She’d spent so long willing herself to be made of ice that even when flames licked through her veins, it burned cold. 

She fell asleep to fraught dreams where Cassian made good on his promise. Where he took her back to Velaris.

Back to Tomas.

Nesta didn’t dare tell anyone what was waiting for her. Elain had been allowed to tell Graysen no  because their father died before a contract could ever be drawn up. Feyre had chosen Tamlin, poor match as he was. But Nesta had been gifted to Tomas, and only luck had kept her from fulfilling her end of things. Some nights, Nesta wondered if he and his horrible father hadn’t figured out that a dragon had snatched her away—more likely, they thought she’d run if they noticed her absence at all.

Tomas was supposed to keep his distance after the night in the garden. It had been Lord Graysen, of all people, who had answered her call for help. Elain had been gone by them, sacrificed to the beast and Nesta had been desperate. Tomas was her fiance and a lord to boot. She’d gone promising him anything in exchange to get Elain back.

Foolish. It hadn’t occurred to her he wouldn’t want money. Nesta had just barely escaped a fate her friend Gwyn had not, and it had been another villain who intercepted her. Lord Graysen, obsessed with their lands, had banished Tomas. He was dead, beheaded and buried. She’d watched Lucien do it from her bedroom window.

All the while wondering how long before Tomas came back.

He wouldn’t find her here but gods, she knew he’d try. She was just another pretty trinket for his collection. He would absorb the Archeron lands and then it would be just as Cassian had said. He’d breed her until there was nothing left of her. 

Nesta woke to hazy sunlight filtering through a gauzy curtained window. She was still in her dress from the night before, hair still braided in a crown around her head. She forced herself up, cracking her stiff joints as she made her way to the door. She needed something to wear and meant to cajole Cassian into taking her back.

As it turned out, there was no need. Her wooden trunk was placed right outside the door. Cassian had gone, just as he said he would. Why she doubted him, Nesta would never know. Cassian had honor, was a man of his word. Her chest ached thinking of his face from the night before.

So alive with rage.

Tell me his name. 

Nesta was so tempted. 

Instead, Nesta unwound her hair and bathed in a chamber big enough for a muscled man with wings, practically swimming in the bubbled water. It was the happiest she’d been in a while and when she emerged, hair damp from the towel, her body clad in a soft silver dress with buttons down the front, Nesta thought she might seek out Cassian and see what he was doing.

Needle him a little. His presence was soothing. 

As it turned out, Nesta didn’t need to. She pulled open the door, fingers sliding through her hair to rebraid it, and found Cassian waiting on the other side. His eyes widened at the sight of her unbound hair and too late, Nesta realized he’d never seen it. His own dark hair was half pulled from his ruggedly handsome face, the facial hair against his jaw neatly trimmed to stubble. She wondered, as she studied his face, what had given him the scar that cut through one of his eyebrows or the faint slice over the bridge of his nose. 

In broad hands, Cassian held a tray of breakfast food. He meant to feed her? Nesta blinked, suddenly unsure what to say to him.

“I…” he trailed off, nostrils flaring. “You look nice.”

She swallowed, drinking in the brown of his skin and how nicely it offset the hazel of his eyes. He wore a dark tunic and his fitted pants and was perhaps more casual than she’d ever seen. No weapons or strapped leathers. 

Just Cassian. 

She couldn’t tell him that, so instead, Nesta nodded. “Thank you,” hating how her voice sounded so clipped and bothered. It killed the softness in his eyes. Walls up. She saw the way his spine straightened when he handed her the tray, how he no longer tried to touch her hand with his fingers. Why did he even want her anymore? She’d been making courting so utterly miserable.

Any other man would have given up. There was nothing to gain from her—Tomas was set to take it all. All Cassian would get was her.

Nesta walked the tray to a little table facing the window, curious about their new arrangement. “Am I supposed to stay in here?”

“You may go wherever you like,” he replied softly from behind her. Practically pleading. She knew what he wanted and some small part of her wanted to give it to him. Nesta couldn’t be nie and she couldn’t be compliant. 

“But only in the house.”

She spun, catching the hard glint in his eyes. “There are ten thousand steps down the mountain, if you’d like to try your hand,” he replied. “Be my guest—”

“I still want to see Gwyn and Emerie,” she interrupted, cutting him off before he could say something they’d both regret. “Azriel promised to train me.”

“They can come here, then.”

“And my sister Feyre still needs my help with her wedding. I’m responsible for her dowry. You promised,” Nesta added, reminding him of what he’d said to convince her to come to Windhaven in the first place. His expression softened.

“I remember the agreement.”

“Do you?” she hissed, looking around the room. Cassian turned his back without a word, leaving her alone in that room, having made exactly no headway at all. Nesta sighed, arching her neck in an attempt to alleviate some of her stress. 

Tell me his name. 

She’d tell him and Cassian would kill Tomas and Feyre would lose what little standing she had left. Feyre and Tamlin were supposedly a love match. Feyre was already tainted by Elain’s association with a dragon. Two sisters mated to two dragons was intolerable and Nesta didn’t believe for a moment that Tamlin would stand beside her.

Especially if he learned Feyre technically had her own mate—the dragon king. 

Nesta ate what Cassian offered gratefully before making her way through what could only be described as a palace. The man himself was nowhere to be found which suited her just fine. She was still warring between confessing everything and just ending things entirely. She didn’t want to. Cassian was all wrong. The opposite of what she’d been trained for and yet Nesta wanted what he was offering, certain it would feel like peace. 

Nesta swallowed those feelings, just as she always had. Instead, she mapped out the palace. She found a large, empty dining room with a table big enough for twenty people. She wondered how often Cassian ate alone here. The image made her heart ache. 

Nesta found a pool on the lower level, steam curling as it overlooked the sloping mountainside. She could picture Cassian here, too. She could picture him everywhere—in the bedrooms, the study, the lounge and finally, the library. The library made Nesta reevaluate every harsh thing she’d ever said to Cassian. He couldn’t have known the comfort books offered her and yet he still had this large, two story space. 

Squashy, leather furniture draped with crocheted blankets broke up stacks that stretched floor to ceiling. A trailing staircase took her to the second level, the railing overlooking the bottom. There were books on every topic she could imagine—including Nestas favorite. 

Romance. 

She could remember sneaking her very first when she’d been ten years old and hiding it beneath her pillow. It had been too grown up—so many quivering bosoms and men’s appendages described as swords. And yet, it was all so thrilling to her, despite the sex. Stories of men willing to risk it all and women who were genuinely cared for. 

Loved.

That was not the future promised to her, which only made Nesta want it more. She wanted someone like the heroes in those stories. A man who loved her beyond reason, who would have done anything for her. And she wanted to be that kind of woman, too. Nesta felt fragile as she pulled down a stack of covers that seemed interesting to her before tucking herself beneath a blanket.

She spent the morning tucked into a chair, reading something new until she forgot where she was. It was Cassian’s boots on the floor that drew her back to reality. He pushed into the library, a little basket in hand. He cocked his head, his expression unreadable and she wondered if they were about to have another fight. 

“This is for you,” he murmured, striding into the library to offer her the basket. Nesta set the book face down on the arm of the chair, leaning forward to take the basket from his hands. It was her fingers that brushed his hand that time, touching the soft red scales that covered his wrist.

Cassian’s eyes fluttered shut.

“What is this?”

“For you,” he said gruffly, putting space between them. Nesta waited until he retreated before pulling aside the blanket atop the basket. Nestled inside was a fragile music box. Made of what she assumed had to be real silver, and shaped like a pretty, circular ball and when she slid her nails against the crease to open it, a familiar melody sang through the air.

How Cassian knew this was her favorite, Nesta would never know. She swallowed thickly, tears rising hot in her throat. How had he known? Who had told him? Holding it close to her chest, Nesta stormed from the library, her hurt threatening to spill out of her like a broken dam.

He wasn’t far. She found the general hovering just outside the door with a wary expression. 

“Who told?” she demanded. 

He huffed out a breath. “Are you angry with me?”

She was trembling. “Who told you, Cassian?”

“No one told me!” he snapped, closing the distance between them. Gripping her arms in his broad hands, Cassian stared down at her with the same overwhelming hurt that was all but drowning her. “I know you like I know myself.”

She shook her head. “You don’t know anything about me.”

Nesta wrenched from his grasp. She meant to give him back the music box, to make him regret having ever offered her this at all. She couldn’t do it. No one had ever given her such a thoughtful gift. Something for her, no strings attached. Cassian watched, that hurt softening into a wholly different emotion.

“Nes,” he whispered. She backed away, eyes burning.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Nes,” he tried again, watching her walk away from him. Nesta had to force herself to turn her back.

To walk away entirely.

CASSIAN: 

Cassian woke in the dead of the night to utter silence. His body was tense—tight, like a threat was looming in the dark. He sat up, trying to recall the dream he’d had. Maybe that was what had pulled him, he thought. Rubbing the heels of his hands against his eyes, Cassian forced himself to breathe, to relax.

It didn’t work. Instinct said something was wrong, was urging him to fight. He pushed himself out of bed, fumbling for a pair of pants. He’d just slung them up over his hips when he heard what must have pulled him from sleep the first time.

Loud, terrifying screams filled the air, reverberating off the vaulted ceilings. Nesta. His mate was screaming with fear, was calling him for help. Cassian reached for a curved blade on the edge of his nightstand before running from the room. She was a floor above him, an offering he’d made so she didn’t feel like he was hovering over her shoulder. 

It seemed like a mistake. What was in there? In the seconds it took him to reach her, every terrible scenario played out in quick succession in Cassian’s mind. Something had crawled through her window, was attacking her, was going to kill her—

He shoved open the door, blade outstretched, to find Nesta thrashing in her sheets. A sheen of sweat shone against her beautiful face, her too-thin body tangled in the blankets. He set his knife down when he realized the only foes she fought were in her mind. What haunted is mate? Who had harmed her so irrevocably that she was trapped in her own mind? 

Panting with anger and hatred, Cassian went to her. She still needed him, even if she didn’t want to. He knew she’d wake up and shove him away, would cut him into bloodied ribbons for the crime of seeing her so vulnerable. 

“Nesta,” he whispered, hauling her body up against his. Her cheek pressed to his bare chest, her arms sliding around his neck. “Nesta, you’re safe. Wake up.”

She clung to him, sharp nails slicing against his skin.

“Cassian?” she whispered, her voice so small. So fragile. He couldn’t stop himself from pressing a kiss against her unbound hair.

“I’m here,” he agreed, heart pounding. 

Don’t send me away. I love you. 

“Did I wake you up?” she asked, her voice wavering. Her whole body trembled against him. It might have been funny, had she not been so scared and sad.

“No,” he lied, thumb stroking over her cheek. “I was still up. What were you dreaming about?”

She stilled. “Nothing.”

Nesta reminded him of the wildlings out east. Of Lucien, even, from the forest. Alone and uncared for for so long, she didn’t know how to trust him. Maybe she had trusted a male once and he’d hurt her. 

She let him hold her, stroking her hair until her wild heart slowed. He knew he needed to go before she came to her senses. Before she realized he’d witnessed something vulnerable and meant to punish him for it. Cassian’s heart was already bruised when it came to Nesta—he couldn’t take any more rejection. 

Pressing one last kiss to her head, Cassian began untangling himself. 

Nesta grabbed his bare bicep. “Wait,” she whispered, her voice practically a whimper. It made his chest ache. What haunted her? 

Who hurt his mate?

“Yes?” he managed, his voice trembling. She looked up, those silvery blue eyes glowing in the dark. Beautiful—she was so stunningly beautiful, even when she was sad. Even when she hated him. Cassian still couldn’t believe she belonged to him at all. He couldn’t fathom what he’d ever done to deserve her. 

“Stay with me?” she asked, scooting on the bed to make room. “Please?”

“You…” he swallowed. “You do not need to beg me. I’ll do anything you ask.”

Her scent was everywhere, burning his nostrils. His body reacted and Cassian, terrified his cock would ruin this moment for him, settled on his back and drew her against his chest so there was no danger of anything touching her that shouldn’t. Nesta trembled even beneath the blanket, even with his body radiating heat.

Cassian stroked hair from her face. “What do you dream of?”

She said nothing. He supposed he should have expected that. He took a breath. “I dream of the first war.”

She twisted, arms resting on his chest. “The first war? You were alive for that?”

He nodded. “I was young…barely older than you are now, when they came. We weren’t prepared. I was lucky that day. I was up here with Rhysand…my mother was in Windhaven.”

“How did they get up here?”

“There used to be a path. It was crossable in the spring and summer months. We traded between us. It was tense at times…but peaceful during others.”

“What shifted?”

Cassian didn’t know, could only shrug his shoulders. “I think there was frustration brewing among the humans. It was a dry season—everyone was hungry. I suspect they were looking for someone to blame and were tired of resource sharing. They did not burn any of our crops but raided them instead.”

Nesta rubbed his chest soothingly. “You dream about that?”

He laughed humorlessly. “No. I merely think about it. I was too young to be in charge of anything back then. My mother still made dinner for me each night.” Gods, but how he missed her.

“I dream of the aftermath. Of the bodies of children and females…how they used to rip off our wings and staple them to posts in warning. How many we lost…and how I became general by default. It was my decision to back down. To hide.” 

He swallowed hard.

“I never wanted to have to make that decision.”

Nesta lowered her mouth, kissing his chest. It was the first kiss she’d ever offered him. Cassian had been so afraid to tell her that story, that she’d think less of him.

“You did what you had to do, Cassian. There are no good decisions in war.”

He blinked back his own tears, swallowing his regret. No one had ever told him that. Azriel had merely nodded tightly, falling in line obediently, though Cassian knew he hadn’t liked it. Azriel had wanted retribution.

Azriel didn’t want to lead. Rhysand chose to hide with his traitor father among the humans, biding their time for five hundred years. And Cassian was alone, shouldering the burden of those decisions silently. He resented it, though he was trying not to. Rhys expected him to fall back in line, but Rhys had lived in a palace.

Rhys had let those males send human females to die, appeasing their lust for blood and their hatred of their own kind. It had taken a human female to motivate the prince to finally act. Cassian had a lot of regret about that, too. He felt like a failure across the board—a failure to his people, a failure to his mate and her family, and maybe worst of all, a failure to himself and his own values.

“It’s not your fault, Cassian,” she whispered, drawing him back to the present. “You’re one man. You can’t be responsible for every decision someone else makes.”

“Someone has to,” he whispered. “Someone has to take care of them.”

Nesta exhaled warmly against his body. “And who takes care of you?”

He almost said his mate. He didn’t dare, not when he was holding on to her by a thread. At any moment, Nesta might quit altogether, might demand he release her. Take her back. Cassian took her wrist in his hand and pressed a kiss to her palm.

“Don’t worry about me,” he said.

Nesta swallowed, twisting so her cheek was back on his chest. “Cassian?” she whispered. 

He held her tighter, catching the quaver in her voice. 

“Yes?”

He could feel her heart pounding in her chest, thudding wildly with fear. She reeked of it. He was so desperate to know what scared his iron-spined mate. What could make his lovely female quake with fear? She’d stared him down with an iron poker, after all. She’d looked their king in the eye with nothing but disdain.

“Feyre is getting married,” she said, her lips dragging over his skin. Cassian forced himself not to react, to only hear the words coming out of her mouth.

“Perhaps,” he agreed. He very much doubted Rhysand would let his mate marry another male without some sort of fight.

“She loves him,” Nesta tried to explain. “He…he helped us, when Elain was taken. He kept Graysen from all but taking the estate. He’s…he’s decent enough.”

Hardly high praise, and yet Cassian didn’t argue. Nesta was working herself into something and he wanted to hear it. He merely stroked her back, waiting for her to continue. 

“Being here with you…being with you…it could ruin that marriage.”

His stomach splattered in his chest. “Oh.”

He didn’t know what else to say to her. Cassian needed to step away. He knew what was coming. She was going to reject him, reject their bond. He couldn’t even fault her for it—the reasoning was good. Compassionate. 

He pulled his arm from beneath her, sitting up. Nesta lunged, that scent of fear stronger than before. “Please don’t go,” she pleaded. 

“I can’t…” his voice was raw even to his own ears. “I’ll take you home in the morning.”

He swung his legs off the bed but Nesta was quicker, holding his bicep in both hands, her nails slicing against his flesh.

“Cassian, please listen.”

He paused, daring to look over at her. Her eyes glimmered with water, rimmed red from those unshed tears. Cassian swallowed his own grief and sat back on the bed. He still wanted to help her, despite his fractured heart.

“I’m listening.”

“I’m engaged.”

The world seemed to rip open. Blood roared through his ears, drowning out any sensible, rational words he might have said in response. She was his mate. He’d been courting her for months. How could she possibly be engaged to another male? 

“How could you not tell me?” he said, voicing his thoughts out loud.

Nesta let go of his arm, hugging her chest tightly. “I thought you’d leave.

Cassian was falling to pieces. “Leave my mate?”

“I didn’t understand! I just…a lot of men have courted—”

“You’re my mate,” he repeated. “That…engaged?”

“My father arranged it before he died and my fiance…our estate is worth a small fortune, Cassian. I’ve put him off, but…”

Cassian couldn’t stand it. It wasn’t her fault and still she was breaking his heart. He rose to his feet quickly. “You intend to marry him.”

“I have to marry him,” Nesta whispered. “I have no choice.”

He almost fell to his knees and begged her to let him kill the male. Kill his whole family, even. Cassian could spare her, he reasoned. Could fix this the only way he really knew how. And

Cassian understood that Nesta didn’t understand that Rhysand was going to have her sister one way or the other and her sacrifice would mean nothing. Her sisters would find happiness and she, it seemed, would doom herself to a small life with some human male. 

Cassian only wanted to know one thing.

“Is he kind?”

Nesta looked down at her hands. Cassian thought he could survive it if he knew she was being cared for. 

“Does he love you?”

She didn’t answer. The last pieces of his heart ground to dust, leaving him empty and wrecked. She couldn’t even lie to him. Couldn’t promise she’d find peace in this marriage. Cassian turned his back to hide his own sorrow.

“I’ll take you home tomorrow.”

He left her in her bed, all but running from that room. 

Cassian left his heart with her.

NESTA:

Nesta paced back and forth. She hadn’t expected Cassian to agree so easily. She’d hoped if she told him, he would offer to help her. Would think of some solution Nesta had missed, something that would preserve Ferye’s engagement while freeing her.

He’d just…let her go. And it angered her, at first. Filled Nesta with a rage so white hot and cold that she’d almost followed after him to scream in his face. Why didn’t he fight back? He said he wanted her and then he just…let her go. She wanted him to react, to refuse to send her back. That’s what Azriel would have done, she reasoned. 

The fire had banked to nothing by the time Nesta understood why Cassian walked away. He’d told her, hadn’t he? When he’d explained the war and what haunted him—all those decisions he’d made that he didn’t want to in service of some greater good.

Cassian was never going to force her to stay and she’d been too cowardly to tell him what she wanted. She needed to just ask him for his help.

No one had ever helped Nesta. Not her mother, who had often taken a switch to her knuckles when she spoke back—training Nesta to remain silent. To be obedient. And certainly not her father, who had never once cared if he made a decision on her behalf that hurt her. Her sisters were too young and Nesta had never put that burden on them. She’d merely been the shield. If someone needed to put their body in front of the firing squad, it ought to be her.

She knew where his room was without ever being told. She just knew. Nesta pushed open the door and found him standing in front of his window. Still shirtless, his golden brown skin edged with blood red scales. Cassian was beautiful. His hair was unbound, hanging in soft, dark waves that brushed over his shoulders. What would it feel like to run her fingers through it? 

He turned, his expression guarded again. She wanted to see him like he’d been in her bed. Vulnerable and open. 

She had to meet him somewhere, she reasoned.

“I don’t want to go back,” she whispered, closing his bedroom door quietly behind her. “Please don’t take me back.”

Cassian crossed the room in an instant, sweeping her off her feet to hold her against his chest. He fell into his bed, arms around her so tight it stole the breath right out of her lungs. He had his face pressed into her hair and his body shook silently. She didn’t dare look up to see if he cried or not. She merely let him hold her like she was something precious. Something he cherished.

Cassian got himself together with several loud gulps of air. “Tell me what you want, Nesta. Tell me what you need.”

“I can’t be responsible for ruining Ferye’s wedding,” she whispered. She didn’t believe for a moment that Rhysand would somehow scoop Ferye up at the last minute. He’d had several chances with Feyre—including a night where he’d been entirely naked—and Feyre remained unmoved. Ferye could be stubborn that way. 

Cassian tangled his fingers through her hair, tilting her head until she was looking at him. His expression all but smoldered, his eyes slightly reddened from the tears he’d shed. She reached up to caress his face.

“I can’t marry him.”

He lowered his mouth and Nesta didn’t stop him. Didn’t want to stop him. Cassian’s lips found her own, gentle and soft. A perfect rebuttal to the kiss Tomas had forced upon her. There was nothing disgusting about the moment and instead of fear and revulsion, Nesta felt undiluted want. 

She let herself run her fingers through his hair, let her nails graze against the neatly trimmed stubble of his jaw. He moaned softly, pressing his luck to let his neck kiss slide into the first. They were on dangerous ground. Attraction had never been their problem.

It was everything else. Nesta didn’t stop him even when she knew she ought to. Even when he shifted her so her legs straddled his lap and his hands held her hips firmly. She could feel his desire through his pants and her nightdress. She didn’t stop him when his tongue slid over her lips, begging to be let inside and certainly not when she did what he wanted.

Cassian tasted like the cold air smelled. It was Nesta’s turn to moan, to kiss him with that same frantic need. Nesta clung to him like a life raft, her own tongue finding his own to taste, to touch. Her body seemed to understand what to do instinctively, rolling against him in search of friction. An ache was building between her legs and no amount of rubbing against him would fix it. And while Nesta’s hands roamed over his skin, touching his scales, his muscles, his skin, Cassian kept his hands firmly on her face.

She understood why. She was carried away which meant he had to stay in control. But oh. How she thought she’d like to see him wild like he’d been when he’d come to rescue her. Cassian had been terrifying in his beast form, wings flared in defense of her. 

Cassian was the one who broke the kiss, gasping roughly as he held her face in both hands. “Nesta,” he panted, her name a prayer on his lips. “Nesta.”

She swallowed hard. No one spoke to her like that. Spoke about her like that. Cassian thumbs stroked her face, forehead resting against her own.

“Don’t leave me, Nes,” he whispered. 

She curled her arms around his neck, burying her face against him. Nesta didn’t want to leave him. She wanted a way out of her fathers mess. She didn’t know how long they sat there like that, wrapped up in the other. Holding each other like a lifeline. That’s what he was to her—Nesta’s head stayed above metaphorical water so long as she could count on Cassian. 

“Surely there is a way out,” Cassian finally murmured, kissing her temple. “Tomorrow, I’ll speak to Rhysand about it.”

That made her nervous. “If he interferes—”

“Do you trust me?”

The words robbed her of breath. That was what it all boiled down to, wasn’t it? Did she trust Cassian to uphold his word and help, or did she assume she’d have to do this by herself? It was so dangerous to be vulnerable, to risk getting hurt. He might disappoint her. Might hurt her. 

Nesta’s heart pounded erratically in her chest as anxiety rose in her throat. It was not in her nature to yield an ounce of control.

“I trust you,” she replied. Cassian’s eyes fluttered shit, his relief palpable. He kissed the corners of her mouth before sliding her out of his lap. Cassian pulled her into his bed, arms wrapped around her body, face nuzzling against her neck.

“I’ll keep you safe, Nesta.”

She turned to look at him. To ask him the same question she’d asked mere hours before. “And who takes care of you?”

The faintest hint of smile danced over his beautiful face.

“My mate.”

[cjsmalley]

Sam and Bruce's chat continued again:

And that, Bruce could understand.

His kids were his, not the charity cases most saw them as.

Each and every one of them were his, blood or not be damned and he had also adjusted his life for each.

From Dick Grayson needing stability and routine to Damian Fenton requiring a custody arrangement and never donning the Robin mantle.

From the tiny, everyday adjustments like Dick liking sugary cereal a tad too much to Damian needing unused candles and parchment to contact his other family during his visits when something important came up. From keeping an eye out for first editions for Jason to watching Tim’s caffeine intake closely to attending Cass’s ballet recitals.

From memorizing medical histories to knowing what sort of discipline worked best for each and what could cause traumatic flashbacks and regressions.

Sam smiled softly, knowing that he understood, before adding, “We made mistakes, of course. We still make mistakes. But we make new mistakes with each kid and we learn for the next time.”

“Your Majesty,” Bruce addressed her as the Queen and not just a fellow parent, “thank you.”

“For what?” she blinked.

“For everything you’ve done for Damian…for the rest of your children.”

“Oh,” she blushed lightly before shaking her head, “no thanks needed. They’re my children. Damian’s mine, couldn’t be more mine than if I birthed him myself.”

“And of his maternal family?”

Sam’s eyes seemed to glow briefly, backlit by some holy or unholy light, “If they every come near him again, without damned good reason and profuse apologies, groveling even, then we use the army to wipe out their little Cult-League.”

Bruce startled, “Wha—?"

“We did our research,” she said, “once we narrowed down where he came from dimensionally. We know what his grandfather is, Bruce. Turns out, those Pits of his are corrupted ectoplasmic pools.”

Bruce’s mind whirled.

“And his repeated use of them puts his entire bloodline into our jurisdiction,” she continued, smirking now, “he’s been misusing them, Bruce. Breaking the natural order of things. Selling Damian was just another mark against them. They step a single toe towards our boy and we will retaliate. We’re content to let things lie now, let the human world deal with them because they are still alive.”

Batman thought on that and found he couldn’t argue with their reasoning as much as he wanted to. They would destroy the League of Assassins and he couldn’t stop it. He would be punching far beyond his weight class if he tried and he had no right to even attempt it anyway.

Constantine and Zatanna had taught him enough to know not to even try to bend the Dead to his own Will without damned good reason. And saving a cult of killers was not a good enough reason.

Bruce didn’t want to stop it.  They had sold his son for being weak as a newborn. They hadn’t even tried contacting him and that miserable thing masquerading as a human worth a damn had sold a child, his own flesh and blood, his own precious male heir to extend his own wretched life yet again.

“We might give his biological mother a chance,” Sam mused aloud, “Danny said she seemed pretty abused herself, cowed. She was the one that named Damian, you know? But if she proves unsalvageable then she goes too. We’re not taking any chances with his safety.”

Talia had been abused by Ra’s most of her life, Bruce could agree to that; alternately spoiled as a princess and then cast aside for male heirs; brainwashed by her father into absolute loyalty despite his cruelty.

Had she even loved her son or had that ability been beaten out of her, sometimes literally? She had named the boy, apparently, the name they had discussed no less, but then had allowed him to be sold to an uncertain fate.

Batman had done his own research and the previous King would have no doubt used Damian as a sacrifice for Power, not treated, loved him as son.

Pariah Dark was infamous for a reason and his vanquisher warily watched for the same.

The Expansion of the Already Long Post

[frenchfrywrites]

Cam Boy Mammon

MINORS DNI

Warnings: reader uses he/him pronouns and is amab, cam boy mammon, you’re dense as hell, masturbation, toys (anal beads, squirting dildo), voyeurism, exhibitionism, overstimulation, edging, guilt

This fic is for the obey me male reader collab! Go check out the other submissions @obeyme-male💖

It’s a complete accident. Until this moment you were completely clueless, so it’s not like you went out looking for him. Honestly, you just happened to be browsing an amateur porn cam site, and all of sudden- Mammon.

It’s definitely him. He’s shirtless, though he's wearing pants, and he has contacts on- making his typically blue eyes a warm brown. Additionally, he’s donned in a white masquerade mask, for the purpose of hiding his identity.

You almost didn’t recognize him at first, and you suppose that’s the point, but you could always tell him apart from the rest. You’ve spent more than enough time taking in every bit of him- every angle, every perfection, every flaw. You know him like you know the back of your hand, like you know your favorite color, or food, or song, and on and on.

So, there’s that, and the fact that he’s in his bedroom. Not like you want to brag but you’ve been there so many times that you can make your way around it in the dark. (You try not to think about the fact that you were there only an hour ago, and were rushed out, evidently so he could do this.)

He is facing his camera away from any identifying features, but still the fact remains that you recognize both him and his room. On an amateur cam site.

You’re a bit dazed from the surrealness of it all.

Maybe you somehow passed out before you could jerk off, and this is some weird wet dream that came about from pathetically masturbating while thinking about Mammon one too many times before.

Dream or not you click on his stream. Of course you do, because he’s not even doing anything raunchy, so you reason that it’s okay now, that you’ll click away when he starts stuff, but for now you’re okay.

“-yeah my week’s been alright, how’s y’alls?” There's some soft background music playing, and he’s talking to his audience in a relaxed manner, like maybe this is a regular thing for him. Even though you just discovered him, by the looks of his camera and mic it seems like he’s been doing this for a while. He probably has a few regulars and everything. You wonder if anyone else has figured out who he is.

You watch his- now brown eyes, scan his screen, seemingly reading people's responses in the chat. Something must catch his attention because he sputters and coughs, backing away from the camera, covering his blushing face.

“Wha- I’m- you guys ’m not gonna talk ab- about my,” his voice lowers to a whisper, “my crush- again!” That gets you subconsciously leaning in, thoroughly intrigued.

It’s news to you that Mammon has a crush on anyone. Which kind of hurts because you thought you were close enough to share that kind of stuff with each other (also because you’re jealous of whoever captured Mammon’s heart, but you push that to the back of your brain). When you open the chat for context, perhaps a name if you’re lucky, all you find is that a majority of the viewers are telling him that his reaction was cute, and that he should talk more about the crush. It appears that he hasn’t said anything identifiable about whoever this person is.

A chime occurs and Mammon squeaks, “ah! Which one of ya paid for me to talk about him! Not fair!!” he whines, shifting around on his bed. “M’kay since y’all are so weirdly interested,” he pauses, tracing a shape mindlessly on his bedsheets, “things ‘re goin’ well. I’ve been ah, takin’ y’all’s advice n’ trying to be nicer to him… and I have a date with him next Saturday!” your eyes widen and you feel your heart stop. Who in the world could this guy be?!

Maybe you have it wrong. Maybe this isn’t even Mammon. That makes more sense considering Mammon is hanging out with you next Saturday. You just got ahead of yourself– maybe projecting (or wishing) it were him. This demon must just be a look-a-like.

A few minutes pass and then- with a larger than life sigh, you conclude that you can’t lie to yourself like this. You know, or at least are very very certain that this is Mammon. And that’s all the more reason to leave.

"Why don't you get off thinkin' about yer crush," Mammon is reading off what someone said in the chat- effectively snapping you out of your spiral. You stare in awe as Mammon begins to pull down his pants, "hm that ain't a bad idea, let's get this show on the road, yeah?" He smirks and you feel your dick twitch with interest.

Mammon takes off his pants slowly, revealing that underneath he’s wearing black lacy panties. The chat goes wild and he snickers at the things people are saying,

"Yeah these're new. I got them thanks to user DomDemon's generous donation last time," he explains, running his hands along his thighs, up to said panties.

You watch as he fondles himself a bit, remembering that you swore to yourself that you would click away once things started.

But you don’t.

You’re fully entranced and so horribly curious. It’s like watching a car crash- except far less morbid and far more horny.

So instead you get comfortable. Your guilty consensus will kick in later, you’re sure of it, but for now you’re just one of his many anonymous fans.

Mammon is pouting now, “aw I wanna get started,” he rubs the outline of his cock over his panties, “but I think I need some donations to motivate me.” A cacophony of chimes occur as his viewers respond accordingly, bringing a smile to Mammon’s face while he watches the grimm roll in.

His fingers play with the hem of his panties, “that’s more like it,” he grins wickedly as he slowly, teasingly pulls them off, his cock slapping against his groin.

You feel yourself salivating at the sight of him and your hand trails down to- no, you're not going to touch yourself, that's a step too far. So instead you grip your thighs, using all your strength to not give in.

Mammon’s dick is pretty. He’s not too big nor thick, but he’s got some piercings, and with a laugh you note that the carpets match the drapes, so to speak. Your laughter dies on your lips, and you catch yourself moaning softly when he pulls down his foreskin to reveal his head.

“What should we do tonight?”

The chat explodes while Mammon strokes himself off slowly. He makes soft hums as he reads the suggestions.

“M’kay, I like the idea of usin’ my beads first, then stuffin’ myself full with my squirtin’ dildo, how’s that sound?”

The chat devolves into various versions of “yes”, with some donations rolling in to show support of the idea- though there are some outliers who have the gall to reject the plan Mammon’s come up with.

“Cool, ‘m gonna go grab those things ‘n then I’ll be back,” he turns off his camera to rush about his room. You’re left with yourself for a moment. Your thoughts run a mile a minute going through the pros and cons of staying.

Then he’s back in front of the camera, grinning wildly as he holds up a string of simple black anal beads, and your brain turns into a horny mushy mess.

The toy in his hand starts small, but the last bead, which has a ring connected to it, is fairly large, maybe a bit smaller than a fist. Mammon also has a simple, though fairly large and thick, squirting dildo, and some lube set on his bed.

“These beads ‘re one of my favorite toys I own,” he tells his viewers, kissing the toy dramatically with a loud “mwah”. He then places them next to the dildo, and reaches for the lube. “Gotta stretch first,” Mammon mumbles, largely to himself though the mic picks it up. He gets into a position on his back, so he can touch himself easily, and so you can get a great view of him.

The straining of your cock against your pants is starting to get wildly uncomfortable. You reason that it’d be okay to take them off, only if you don’t touch yourself. So, while Mammon stretches himself open with three lubed up fingers, you try your best to take off your pants while not giving into the urge to stroke yourself in time to how he fingers himself.

A wave of paranoia makes you turn down the volume a bit as sweet moans begin to leave Mammon’s mouth. Your eyes are glued to the sight before you, he looks so pretty, and the desire to replace his fingers with yours is overwhelming.

The chat is encouraging him, yet gently reminding him that he should not cum from this. Mammon occasionally responds to a message or two- breathless and between moans, but largely he focuses on the task at hand.

“Whaddya think?” he removes his fingers and brings his other hand down to gape his hole for the audience, “am I stretched enough fer ya?” You catch yourself nodding, salivating at his words. Predictably the chat goes wild.

In turn, he giggles, grabbing the beads and lube again. He rambles a bit as he lathers them up, “ugh, I can’t wait to get these inside me, they feel s’good. Stretch me so nice.” He sighs softly, looking at the camera through his white lashes, “what’re you doin’? Are you fistin’ your cock fer me? Maybe yer humpin’ a pillow. Or do ya have a toy too?” he smirks, “ya got a fleshlight that yer pretendin’ is my hole? It’ll never feel as good as I do baby,” he teases.

You grit your teeth because you have nothing. You’re sitting here watching porn in your underwear, refusing to touch yourself so you don’t feel guilty about it later. It feels like some stupid punishment. And, worryingly, it’s starting to get harder to hold yourself to your made up terms and conditions.

Mammon has stopped talking and started moaning. You recenter your attention back to him to see that he’s begun pushing the beads in. He’s got a few in already, they slipped in easily due to how well he stretched himself. Though, they get more difficult to insert as the sizes increase. He pushes them slowly in, one by one, until he reaches the last, largest bead.

“Oh, this one- hah, it’s always the hardest fer me,” he explains. Your eyes are glued to his hole, watching it stretch to fit the bead inside. When it pops in Mammon whines, pre cum leaking from his cock. “Fuck, wow, they’re hah, all in,” he sounds a bit frenzied, his eyes wild as sweat drips down his bare chest.

The chat is flooded with praise for him, donations coming in left and right. Mammon beams, thanking the donors, breathing heavy. “Are ya proud of me?” he asks sweetly, sounding like he’s talking directly to you. You almost forget there’s an audience of others viewing the same sights as you (however what you can’t forget is the burning jealousy that comes with remembering that little fact).

Mammon reaches down to grip the ring connected to the bottom bead. He moves it around to shift the toy around within him. While he plays with the ring a bit his breath quickens and his eyes flutter closed. He looks blissed out, like he may cum soon. A second burst of pre cum leaks from his cock, further signaling he’s close.

A donation comes in, the chime causes Mammon to open his eyes, Mammon whines, “aw, fuck, c’mon,” he huffs, “‘m gonna cum if I, hah pull them out,” his words cause someone to make another donation, “yeah, I know, I won’t cum ‘til I get per- ooh, permission.” Mammon bites his lip, concentrating as he carefully tugs on the ring.

His hole is once again stretched as the beads come out one by one. He doesn’t cum, but you expect he got close with the way pre-cum pools onto his skin. He takes three times as long to take them out than it did for him to put them in. He twitches all over, panting, his brows furrowed as he concentrates on holding off his orgasm. You feel pre begin to stain your underwear.

“Mhmm,” he whines softly as the last bead leaves him. Now empty, his hole flutters around nothing. “Oh-okay next,” he sounds breathless as he gets to his knees, “I’m gonna ride the fuck outta this,” he holds up his dildo proudly, setting the beads elsewhere on the bed.

Mesmerized, you watch him lube it up, and realize how desperately you want his hands around your cock instead. You’re so hard it’s starting to hurt. So you hesitantly palm yourself over your underwear, immediately groaning at the feeling of relief wash over you. It’s like what those closeted guys always say: it’s not gay if you’re wearing socks… it’s not weird to touch yourself to your best friend and crush’s porn if you do it over your underwear, right? Plus, Mammon probably wouldn't want you to die of blue balls anyways.

Speaking of Mammon, he’s on his knees on the bed, hovering over the dildo. He rubs the tip against his hole, “how ‘bout a donation ‘fore I stuff myself full of this?” He sure knows how to work the crowd. Donations come in steady for a minute or two, and meanwhile Mammon teases himself, rocking against the toy. When they taper off he offers a wink then pops the tip in.

Mammon’s head falls back and a loud moan escapes him as he slowly sinks down onto the dildo, his slack jaw causing a bit of drool to escape from his mouth. He huffs and whimpers as he works himself down onto it inch by inch. You stroke yourself through your underwear, only slightly grimacing at the uncomfortable feel of fabric against your skin.

“Fuck, oh it’s filling me up suh-so much nnngh,” he whimpers, his grip tightening where his hands lay on his thighs.

After what feels like forever he reaches the base, jerking his hips up and down a bit to get adjusted to the intrusion. He strokes himself a bit with one hand, “mmm yeah that’s good,” he sounds a bit dazed, “are y’all feelin’ good too?”

You don’t look, too captured by the sight before you, but you know the chat is responding to him. Instead you slip yourself out of your underwear, uncaring of all the rules you’ve made up, too overcome with how horny you are. You stroke yourself in time with the slow pace Mammon’s started with.

“Ah, I’m not gonna last long,” Mammon warns. You feel similar, especially now that you’re touching your dick properly. His hands have returned to his thighs so he can slowly pull himself up and down the dildo, his cock bobbing slightly as he picks up the pace.

“I ah, think ‘m gonna cum suh- oh! Ungh, soon, close, close, close,” he babbles, chasing his orgasm. A chime makes his head snap up, “no, no please” he wails, “fuck, c’mon I’ve been a good boy, huh? Please,” his voice cracks as he continues at the pace he’s at, yet somehow successfully holds himself off. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes, pre drooling like a faucet from his dick at how close he is, “please, ple- ah, please, please,” his begging drives you crazy, and you have to bite your lip to not get carried away and cum prematurely. Another round of donations come in and you gather- as you watch the events following, that they were giving him permission. Mammon reads the screen, then as he slides down the dildo he cums with a gasp. You grab the base of your dick so you can take in his orgasm in full.

Mammon's eyes roll back, his thighs tense, his hands flexing open and closed as his hips jerk up and down erratically. His cum shoots up to paint his brown stomach and chest white. You imagine his hole is clenching around the dildo, trying to keep the plastic cock deep within him.

He winds down slowly, staying seated on the toy as he regains his composure. A series of donations come in, but Mammon seems oblivious to them. He’s pouting now, “fuck, I forgot to use the squirtin’ part of the squirtin’ dildo,” he huffs out a laugh, “oopsies, guess I should do that again.” Your jaw drops as you watch him begin to, very shakily and slowly ride the toy again.

Mammon’s breathing is heavy and labored, whining every once in a while as he works himself up again. “Ah, kinda hurts,” he comments, “feels good though,” he insists, like his dick twitching as it starts to swell again isn’t proof enough.

You watch, amazed and impressed, as Mammon gets himself hard once again in such a short amount of time, and brings himself to the pace he’d established the first time around. Now he holds the pump firmly in his hand, while the other plays with his chest.

“Oh, can’t wait tuh- hah, to be filled with ungh your cum, shit, gonna- ah, have’ta fuck me full’ve yer cum, yeah,” Mammon rambles breathlessly, spewing all sorts of things as he brings himself closer to a second climax. You barely register all the things he’s saying, feeling yourself reach the edge that you’ve been teetering on for so long. He starts begging to cum again and there’s something about how he sounds like he’s talking directly to you that makes you cum. You know you’re going to feel wildly guilty when you’re done so you try to stay in the moment of your climax as long as possible.

You’re nearing the end of your orgasm when Mammon cums for a second time, squealing your name– your name? You’re forcibly brought into post nut clarity upon registering that yeah, Mammon most definitely said your name as he came. You feel all sorts of emotions, unable to process many of them, but mostly you feel wildly caught off guard.

His viewers seem as confused as you are while Mammon comes down from his high, panting and twitching. When he gets back to functioning he reads the chat and flushes, sputtering incomprehensibly,

“Fuck! Shit!! My bad y’all, shit, it’s ‘cause you guys got me talkin’ about him earlier” he whines, “I mean... y’all said to get off thinkin’ ‘bout him, it’s not my fault I followed directions like a good boy.” The tone of the chat shifts to that of teasing and calling him cute while Mammon flushes and squirms. You, on the other hand, feel like your skin has caught aflame.

You’re the one he has a crush on.

The realization hits you like a ton of bricks. You have a crush on him, and he likes you, and you found out about it after watching him pump himself full of faux cum. You’ve found yourself in a very sticky situation. Both literally and figuratively.

You decide– watching Mammon go through aftercare steps, talking aimlessly to his viewers, that you’re going to go take a shower. And after that you’ll figure out how in the hell you’re going to tell him you’re madly in love with him and that you also stumbled upon his cam show. But first, that shower.

[usernamerenn]

masquerade

pairing — baji keisuke x f!reader

summary — when you overhear two guys talking about some idiot in their class, you soon realize that they’re talking about your boyfriend

note — spoilers, canon divergence. i had this story idea for a while now, so i decided to write it for baji’s birthday. happy birthday, baji! likes and reblogs are always appreciated

The university’s coffee shop was busy with various customers as some students stood in line to place their orders, while others occupied the table and socialized with their friends. Sitting alone at one of these tables, you grinned when you saw the text message from your boyfriend that told you he was now on his way to meet you. It was Baji’s birthday today, and you were excited to see his reaction to the gift you had gotten him.

Absentmindedly humming to yourself, you raised a curious eyebrow when happened to overhear the not-so-quiet conversation taking place at the table next to you. From what you could gather, the two guys were talking about one of their classmates, and although you and the other customers tried your best to ignore their loud complaints, you couldn’t help but frown as you listened to their disparaging and mean remarks.

“Yeah, we’re totally failing this project,” one of the guys stated with an annoyed sigh. “The dude’s a total idiot. You’d think we’d get a good mark with someone like him in our group, right?”

“Right,” his friend agreed with an amused smirk. “Have you seen his notes? The dude can’t even spell, yet he looks like a complete nerd. Talk about tragic.”

“Poor bastard,” the first guy commented before both men broke out into inconsiderately loud laughter, attracting more angry glares from some of the other customers.

Nerd? Couldn’t spell? Contemplating over their words, you furrowed your eyebrows in thought as someone rather familiar came to mind. The more you thought about it, the more you tried to convince yourself that it was just a coincidence. Surely, these guys couldn’t be talking about the same person, right?

“I’m going to talk to the professor about this. No way are we working with this Baji guy. He’s a fucking idiot. How’d he even graduate high school?”

With that comment, the sound of metal loudly grating against the floor echoed across the coffee shop as you suddenly stood up from your chair. You didn’t pay attention to any of the confused gazes directed toward you as you furiously marched over to the guys’ table with a look of absolute anger on your face.

“Excuse me,” you said sternly, scoffing when you noticed their eyes subtly scanning your figure.

“What can we do for you?” one of the guys asked flirtatiously as he leaned back in his chair in an attempt to look cool, yet this action only helped to add to your anger.

Who did these guys think they were, saying all those things about someone, let alone your Keisuke. Even if your boyfriend wasn’t the smartest academically, he always tried his best to keep up with his studies because he didn’t want to disappoint you or his kind mother. These guys didn’t know anything about Baji. They didn’t know about all the miserable hours he would spend studying for his exams, about how he would decline his friends’ invites in favour of studying with you, or about the proud smile on his face when he told you that he managed to get accepted to the same university as you. These guys didn’t know about any of this, so how dare they insult Baji like that?

“I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation, and I have to ask, what gives you the right to insult your classmate like that?” you questioned with a harsh glare, causing the two of them to stare at you in confusion.

“What’s your problem? You know this Baji guy or something?” the guy to your left asked before chuckling. “What? Is he your boyfriend?”

When you didn’t immediately deny his claim, the male blinked in surprise before he and his friend looked at one another and laughed as if you just told them an absolutely humorous joke. “No way! How much is he paying you?”

And while you were too busy trying to control your anger, you were unaware of the sound of approaching steps before you were soon pulled into a familiar and comforting embrace.

“You guys got a problem with my girlfriend?” a recognizable voice questioned.

“Keisuke!” you greeted happily, causing Baji to reply with a smile. While you were more than glad to see him, you still couldn’t help but quietly laugh at his comical get-up. To this day, you would never be able to understand how his friends managed to convince him that he’d be smarter by wearing those glasses.

“Oh, look who’s here,” one of the guys voiced with absolute sarcasm. “Listen, man. Tell your girlfriend to stop bothering us, would you?”

“Maybe. Only because I wouldn’t want her to waste her time dealing with you guys for any longer,” Baji responded tauntingly with a shrug.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” the guy’s friend snapped with a glare. “You want to fight or something?”

“Well,” Baji began to say, proceeding to remove his hair tie and glasses. “If you guys are looking for a fight, I wouldn’t be opposed.”

Smirking in amusement, you watched the arrogant confidence quickly fade from their eyes before being replaced with complete fear and terror. It was apparent to you that these guys didn’t expect your boyfriend to be the truly intimidating person that he really was. The real Baji Keisuke wasn’t some nerdy poindexter, he was Toman’s first division captain, and he was more than happy to resort to violence if he decided that he didn’t like someone.

“W-whatever, man,” one of the guys said nervously as he and his friend quickly gathered their belongings in order to leave. “Good luck working on the project by yourself! We’re going to talk to the professor about switching groups.”

Once both guys were out of sight, some of the coffee shop’s patrons quietly cheered and sent you an appreciative look, while you simply hurried to apologize to everyone for causing such a scene. After everything was dealt with, you and Baji were seated at your table, drinking the coffees you had previously ordered before his arrival.

“What a bunch of fucking morons,” Baji mumbled as you lovingly held his hand in an effort to calm his anger. “I already talked to the prof about switching groups. I swear, if I had to listen to them cry about not having dates for this weekend one more time, I was going to kill them.”

“And have your mom be angry at you?” you mused, chuckling when you saw Baji wince. Your boyfriend feared no one except for his own mother, an amusing yet adorable fact.

“Yeah, yeah,” Baji replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. “So, what did you want to tell me? You said it was important.”

With a sudden realization, you hurried to get the gift-wrapped present from your bag before happily giving it to Baji with an excited smile. “Happy birthday, Keisuke!”

“What the hell, woman?” Baji said with slight annoyance. “I thought I told you no gifts this year. Chifuyu’s already throwing me a party tonight with the gang.”

“I know, but I wanted to make you happy!” you proclaimed, choosing not to mention the subtle blush that now painted Baji’s cheeks in response to your words of affection. “Open your present!”

Baji only mumbled under his breath as he unwrapped his gift, staring in complete shock once he saw the necklace you had gotten him. You had previously noticed him looking at said necklace with interest during one of your dates in Shibuya before he pulled you away from the store with an arm around your waist. When you had asked him about it, Baji had told you not to waste your money because it was a rather high-end store, but you didn’t forget. Seeing your boyfriend now fail to contain his delighted smile simply told you that it had been more than worth it to save up for that necklace.

“Thanks, babe,” Baji said quietly yet sincerely, affectionately kissing the back of your hand before lacing his fingers with yours. “I love it. And I love you.”

“I love you, too. Happy birthday, poindexter,” you replied while trying not to laugh when you saw Baji’s extremely unimpressed reaction.

“Nevermind, I take it back. I don’t fucking love you.”

“Keisuke!”

[plus-size-reader]

Leverage

Magnus Bane x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 2107 words

Warnings: none

Summary: Magnus taking a special interest in you, Clary's human best friend who resembles a lover Magnus had centuries ago

Just a concept I was tossing around. Let me know what you think and If I should work on a mini-series based on this

—————————————————————————————————

“Just stay close and don’t say anything” Jace reminded, leading you and the rest of your party into Hardtail, his eyes focused on the surrounding crowd, constantly scanning for danger.

This whole thing should be easy.

All they had to do was find Magnus and get him to give Clary her memories back. All things considered, it should have been an in and out mission, something they had done a million times before.

...but they could never be too careful.

Especially considering that they had been forced to bring along some dead weight, in the form of you, as extra insurance.

Just in case the Warlock in question tried anything.

“This is a terrible idea” Alec grumbled, the words falling on mostly deaf ears, though by this point, even Clary was wondering if bringing you along had been the right call.

You were insistent, as soon as you found out that you could be of help but you weren’t blind. You knew that you were in over your head, heading into a downworlder bar with a couple of shadowhunters without any real idea what you were doing there.

Under any other circumstances, you would have turned tail and ran in the other direction, but this was for Clary.

If this ‘High Warlock of Brooklyn’ could give Clary her memories back, and help her figure out what their next step was, you were going to do anything you could to make that happen.

“We don’t even know if this will work-” he continued, earning an elbow to the side from Izzy, who knew exactly where he was going with that.

She knew what they should have already figured out, that once you found out why you were here, you were going to freak out for sure. After all, it wasn’t everyday that you found out that you bore a striking resemblance to someone else, long dead.

It wasn’t something you would be prepared to hear, so it would just be better if you could all get through this without you figuring out what you were actually doing here.

You took notice of the strange exchange between the Lightwoods but decided to ignore it.

The two of them were known to bicker, even to someone who had known them for a few short weeks, and you had more important matters at hand.

Like making sure you didn’t accidentally bump into a vampire or something as you made your way into the club.

“Keep your head down, and don’t go too far” Clary whispered, webbing her fingers with your own as you passed through the crowd, your grib unintentionally tightening as the reality of the situation set in.

Clary was built for this, it was in her blood, but you weren’t.

It wasn’t until you showed up to things like this that you realized just how far out of your depth that you were.

“I’m not going anywhere, trust me” you whispered back, focusing more on putting one foot in front of the other more than anything. Before now, you were sure that the correct answer to the question Jace asked you was yes.

Now that you were here though, you weren't so convinced.

You understood that getting Magnus to meet with you was a long shot in the first place, and you couldn't afford to mess it up, but you just weren’t sure why they needed you. Out of everyone here, you were the most out of place.

Anyone looking in on the scene in front of them would have seen just how much you didn’t belong. Not that anyone around you was all that concerned with you so far, all too focused on the music and lights.

As long as you did as you were told and kept your head down, everything would be fine.

All things considered, your job was easy.

You just had to stay out of the way, and hope that Jace and Alec didn’t need you for whatever it was they thought you could be useful for. Which could have been anything and you wouldn’t have known any better.

The Shadowhunters were so secretive, only telling you what they thought you needed to know, and even then, they always tended to leave out the important stuff.

It made working with them very difficult.

Still, you did what you were told and kept your head down, doing your best to blend in until something changed, which didn’t look like it was going to happen at first.

All in all, it looked to be a pretty standard conversation, though you couldn’t hear any of what they were saying from the distance you were at.

Of course, It wasn't until someone shot an arrow into some guy in the background that you realized just how wrong you were. Evidently, there had been an assassin in the crowd the entire time and no one noticed until Alec put him down.

Which, in turn, spooked the reclusive Warlock into nearly diving back into his wormhole.

He got his jewel, but from the looks on Jace and Clary’s faces, they didn’t get nearly as much as they were hoping for. The only thing that kept Magnus in place was the redhead’s grasp on his wrist, which likely wouldn’t be enough to hold him.

Clearly, they needed something else, which was exactly why they brought you.

You had inadvertently become the most important part of this mission just now, and that meant it was your time to shine, even if you didn’t exactly know what your part to play was.

Without missing a beat, Izzy shot over to whisper something in your ear, something that really didn’t seem like it would work. Though, by this point, you weren’t sure that you had any right to question any of the shadowhunters.

After all, you didn’t even know they existed until a couple weeks ago.

You shot Izzy one more questioning glance, just to make sure she was serious about this before she nodded, telling you to continue with the plan. If anything was going to get Magnus to stick around, it was this.

“Magnus, wait!” you called, doing your best to cut through all the noise that Alec’s arrow and subsequent murder had brought on, which worked surprisingly well.

As it would turn out, just because the Shadowhunters had neglected to tell you that you looked like the long lost love of his life didn’t mean that Magnus was going to. Even the sound of your voice was enough to ring alarms in his head.

He hadn’t heard that sound in so long.

Almost immediately, the Warlock spun around on his heels, his attention finding you immediately. It didn’t make sense, and there was no way that he could have explained it but there was no denying the truth.

Not when it was staring him right in the face.

It was you, and it didn’t matter how it had happened, not now. All he cared about in this moment was that you had come back to him, after all these years. . It was incredible, but even with as thrilled as Magnus was, staying here wasn’t safe. If Valentine managed to find him here, that meant that he likely already knew where the others were.

Every second he spent away was another second evil had to prevail.

Not to mention the fact that he couldn’t exactly trust the shadowhunters to tell him the truth. For all he knew, Magnus could have been looking at some glamour of sorts, and they were tricking him.

He was just having a hard time believing what he was looking at. After all this time, it didn't seem right to see you again.

“You always did like places like this” he hummed, that same far away look clouding his vision as had been this entire time.

No one had ever looked at you like that.

He was looking at you like the whole building could come crumbling down around you and it wouldn’t have mattered one bit. Like you had physically put the sun in the sky, and you barely knew who he was.

“I’ll be in touch”

...and with that, he was gone.

Though, the thought of walking away from you a second time was nearly enough to break his heart, he didn’t have a choice.

There would be no opportunity to talk to you if he was dead, besides, if they wanted to get Clary’s memories back, they were going to need his help.

~

“Who was he talking about? Who does Magnus Bane think I am?” you started, already asking all the questions that they should have seen coming but no one bothered to answer them.

They weren’t even sure they were going to need you when they asked you to tag along, and just because you had helped them out a little back there didn’t mean the Shadowhunters owed you anything.

You were still just some mundane.

The only reason you were still here was because of Clary, that and they needed you once Alec realized that they were going to have to meet up with Magnus in the first place.

Someone had to get him to agree to help.

“Don’t worry about it. All that matters is that he agreed to help us” Jace shrugged, ignoring you, which by this point was par for the course.

You were so tired of everyone acting like you weren’t here. .

“Come on. I did you a favor back there, can’t you at least tell me what I did?” you sighed, turning your attention to Izzy and Clary instead, because you already knew the males in your party couldn’t care less about what you’d done.

To them, you might as well not be here and you had come to terms with that. You just wanted to know who he thought you were, that was it.

In the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t even that big of a deal.

“The last partner Magnus had, she looked a lot like you” she allowed, recalling the photograph she’d seen, which might as well have been you a couple hundred years earlier.

You couldn’t believe it.

All this time, you were masquerading as someone else, someone that you didn’t even know existed, and everyone else knew all along.

It was ridiculous.

Though, before you could inform the surrounding Shadowhunters of just how ridiculous, Jace chimed in just enough to let you know that, even still, it wasn’t really your place to ask questions or have opinions.

“We were hoping to catch him off guard, we needed the upperhand” Jace shrugged, truly not seeing how wrong this whole thing was. Not only did they use you without bothering to tell you what was going on, but they exploited him too.

It wasn’t right.

“You should have told me!” you scoffed, thinking that at the very least someone would have had the decency to fill you in on the plan but it would appear that no one thought about that before now.

Jace didn’t even look all that interested in having this conversation at all.

“I would have helped even if you told me beforehand, you know? It would have just been nice to know what I was walking into” you continued, well aware that you were basically talking to yourself but not caring enough to stop.

You couldn’t be both the mundane they didn’t even care enough to address by name and a member of the team that they used when they needed help.

You could be one or the other, but not both, and certainly not at once.

“Well, now you know. Congratulations! Can we get going now?” Alec called, several paces ahead of all of you by now, and not stopping even still. He didn’t care at all about whatever little moral dilemma you were having.

He was much more interested in getting back to the institute before another assassin got the better of one of you.

“Thanks Alec, I appreciate that” you countered, not bothering to cover up the sarcasm flowing from your lips. If he could talk to you like that, there was no reason you couldn’t give it right back.

The truth was that it didn’t matter what they said or how much they pretended this wasn’t a big deal. What had happened back there with Magnus was a big deal, at least, it was a big deal for you.

After all, you just found out that you looked like some dead chick that was hooking up with one of the most powerful warlock’s of all time.

How was that not supposed to be a big deal?

[deadboyfriendd]

Time Traveler!Reader - Enchanted

This was so disgustingly self-entertaining but I miss writing about TT!Reader and her antics. I just KNOW Robin would love old Taylor and it should be a right of passage for every pre-teen girl to scream her lungs out to her at least once. It builds character.

Eddie Munson X TT!Fem!Reader

Twenty minutes. Twenty goddamned minutes. 

That’s all Eddie and Steve had been gone for, and it was also all of the time you needed to introduce every female counterpart within your vicinity to the modern wonders of early two-thousands, glittery, teenage angst, heartbroken Taylor Swift. Who were you to deny your younger female counterparts this right of holy feminine passage? 

That name rang in Eddie’s ears with the same viscosity as Blondie, yet somehow, Debbie Harry didn’t scratch at his eardrums with the same vigor as the three girls before him- singing with the anger of a thousand teenaged suns. 

The sheets on Max’s bed had clearly been ruffled, most likely from socked feet jumping up and down in the feminine masquerade. He could hear the thumping resonating underfoot from outside the trailer, hollow form absorbing abuse from every angle. But not as much abuse as Lucas, the only remaining male for the last twenty minutes, had to endure on his own. Eddie found him with his head against the kitchen counter. 

“What’s going on in there?” Steve asked him, eyebrows raised half in horror.

“I don’t even know man. Some music from her time has them in some weird chokehold. Max is mad at me and I don’t even think I did anything.” He said, index fingers reaching up to rub circles into his temples. 

“Do I dare ask?” Eddie asked, lugging in the last load of groceries behind Steve. 

“Some girly music from the future.”  Steve explained to him over the screaming still emulating from Max’s bedroom, his fingers coming up to wave sarcastic jazz hands around the words. Your bright and shiny Jetsons newness had tarnished rather quickly, considering they were used to far worse before then. 

“Like Wham! girly?” Eddie questioned, accurately attempting to gauge what he was dealing with. 

“Worse.” Lucas groaned back, folding his arms over his head. 

“How much worse are we talking?” Steve tried to analyze, but not before the gaggle before him spilled from the door of Max’s bedroom. 

“This is me praying that

This was the very first page

Not where the story line ends

My thoughts will echo your name, until I see you again.” Robin bounded down the hallway, screaming her own heartbreak out into a hairbrush. 

You reveled in your own breakthrough, feeling comfort in the way you had other girls to do these things with. You took comfort in this- something you hadn’t felt since you became stuck in this time. You had a hard time trying to get close to anyone.They didn’t understand your jokes or your references. Sometimes the music made you want to scoop your own eyes out with a spoon. To you, it was 80s music. To them, it was just music. 

And they had no idea how much better it got. Until now, at least. 

The excitement you felt pulsated through you, your own pre-teen heartbreak- though, you had barely been old enough to know the meaning of the word- energized you enough to propel yourself straight towards Eddie. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck, half-dragging him along to the music. 

“Jesus Christ” he groaned as you did so. 

“These are the words I held back, as I was leaving too soon

I was enchanted to meet you” You sang to him, fingers curling into the hair at the nape of his neck. He gripped your waist for balance due to the velocity in which you were dragging him around Max’s kitchen. You waited for the buildup of the song, nearly blindsiding him when you jumped on him, your legs wrapping around his waist. 

“Please don’t be in love with someone else

Please don’t have somebody waiting on you.”

[offbranddrpepsi]

Once upon a dream

Omega! Chamber x Alpha!M!Reader Reader has chameleon like powers, enjoy!

Song is Once upon a dream from sleeping beauty

Valorant Legion, Kingdom Industries, and ATLAS had put together a sort of gala to promote themselves. Rightfully all of their agents had been invited to attend with the more reluctant having their arms politely twisted. It was all a publicity stunt. Wealthy fans, investors, and anyone who could afford to pull together some coins were permitted to attend. All of the agents were dressed to the nines. Female agents either wore something cultural or something classy with small bits of flare. The male agents were decorated in various suits with adornments to personalize them. Vincent was in a crisp black suit with a rich gold undershirt. His signature color scheme stayed consistent with his outfit, gold cufflinks and all. Of course if this was just some glorified meet and greet it wouldn’t garner the attention their employers had hoped so there was a gimmick; It was a masquerade. Everyone wore masks that concealed most of if not all of their entire face. It gave a sense of mystery as well as hooked people due to the chance of dancing the night away with their favorite member of Valorant.

I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream

I know you, that look in your eyes is so familiar a gleam

Of course he was entirely against being here and would rather prefer not to be. Vincent hated such stunts, such gimmicks. It was demeaning to be flaunted around like a cut of meat to starving dogs, all of them hoping to just get a taste of him. He took some solace in the fact other agents shared his thoughts but none of them could act against their generous funders. The only thing that made this night worth it was that he had a rendezvous with a particular person scheduled. The event gave the perfect cover for such a meeting and would allow the two to enjoy themselves under the guise of forming business relations. If either of them were discovered the scandal would not only destroy their social lives but would destroy them. Two agents from different earths meeting on a moonlit night to dance was absurd, but was exactly what was happening. Chamber had met the other agent by chance almost a year ago. The other man was trying to infiltrate one of Omega Earth's secure facilities that Chamber had been stationed on temporarily. Bumping into each other led to a fight that left both bruised and broken as well as wanting answers. Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on how you looked at it, the Alpha agent would escape with Vincent not knowing his name or face. If it was the last time the two would meet then the risk happening tonight would have never occurred. Not even a month later he had been deployed to siphon more Radianite from the other earth. Out of the corner of his eye he had spotted him. A shimmer and change of face alerted the sharp shooter to who one of his enemies was. He gave chase of course and managed to corner the other man. Everything was perfect. Chamber had the advantage with the chameleon being out of ammo and hurting. Despite the end seeming straight forward he couldn’t bring himself to pull the trigger. He wanted answers about the radiants abilities, he needed them even. Even if it didn’t progress his life’s work he was still entirely too curious about the other man’s talents to toss them away so easily. So, instead of shooting him, he teleported away back to his team to help assist in planting the spike. That mission ended up being a wash as they had to swiftly return to their home, but it had cemented a connection. Over time the two would keep bumping into each other on missions until they finally would meet on equal terms without conflict. 

And I know it's true that visions are seldom all they seem

Things eventually would blossom between the two. At first it was strictly to use the Alpha agent for the skill set he provided. Chamber had even tempted him to help with some of his business ventures, using the chameleon-like powers to make himself seem more credible with investors or customers by snagging the faces of notable people. Despite his best efforts the time the two spent together became more valued than it should have been. They started growing close and over time became something, exactly what that was neither would say.  That is what had led to this moment. Multiple times the two had met with the other wearing someone else’s face so that they could share experiences and have dates. What was different tonight was that the masks allowed the two of them to come as they were, no disguises shared between them. So there Vincent Fabron stood, eyes scanning the room looking for his lover's eyes in the sea of masks.

But if I know you, I know what you'll do

You'll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream

Finally catching them he perked up. It took every bone in his body to not show his change in demeanor as excitement bubbled through him. Excusing himself politely he did his best to make his way to them, giving no inclination as to who he was or his purpose. His love seemed to notice and found a small space out of the main area of the room away from the clusters of people littering the hall. Upon coming together he once again had to hold back the urge to grab the other man right there and shower him in affection. Any slip up may be noticed, even with the masks, so he had to keep up the act regardless of his true feelings or desires. Taking the other man's hand he gave him a smile as he usually did with guests. His love’s hand gripped his own firmly and warmly, making it painful to pull away. 

“Would you care for a dance?” he knew the other man would accept, it was one of his favorite things after all. The music wasn’t what he preferred. It was more fanciful to fit the gimmick rather than proper music to dance to. Either way he would still enjoy the time spent with his partner.

But if I know you, I know what you'll do

You'll love me at once

The way you did once upon a dream

Taking the other man's hand, his arm finding his waist, they moved along the room. Others danced similarly while some only watched as they went by. For once not a single eye was on the two. The sea of masks disguised them well, making them practically nobodies compared to the other guests. As the music trailed on, they spent the night dancing and chatting away as if who they were and what they pledged allegiance to didn’t matter. Perhaps in another life at another time things would be different. Maybe they could be born to the same world and have their fated meeting not be cursed by a cosmic divide. Right now their ill fated union didn’t matter. All that mattered was the time spent together, both ignoring the inevitable disaster that would befall them one day. 

I know you

I walked with you once upon a dream

I know you

That gleam in your eyes is so familiar a gleam

And I know it's true that visions are seldom all they seem

But if I know you

I know what you'll do

You'll love me at once

The way you did once upon a dream