#now for my cursory talking in the tags for 30.minutes

[nomaishuttle]

bedtime i surpose.. i loves you all mwhamwhamaha. ok bye

[arinbelle]

So this is insane!!!! I literally never leave this app lol. I am also shooketh by the most popular posts I've had, and it's made me realize, I need to updae Suits like yesterday because...almost 400 notes?!?! Insane.And I will...eventually.

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My Top Posts in 2021

#5

Suits (Nessian AU)

Notes: Hello! This was an unexpected update. I didn’t think I’d ever finish this chapter, but lo and behold, it’s here! I don’t know much about law school and lawyer life, but I’ve been lovingly helped by @moodymelanist and @kingandfireheart and am very grateful for all of it. I’m also looking up a bunch of things and trying to stay as completely accurate as possible, but if you are a law student or lawyer and I mess something up, I’m sorry in advance. Anyways, I hope you all like this chpater. It’s not much “plot” mostly angst and vibes and setting up the background if nothing else.  Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist- I’m pretty sure I added everyone who asked to be added, but this was surprisingly a large taglist so if I missed anyone, please don’t hesitate to let me know. As always, I hope you enjoy and I’d love to hear about what you’re thinking when you’re done!

~*~

Chapter 2

5…4…3…2…1

Thank the Gods.

Nesta shot out of her seat as soon as the clock struck 9:30 AM. She was done. It was done. She could get the hell out of here, away from this cursed day and cursed building and cursed life and just-

“Alright everyone,” Cassian announced, glancing to the clock on his left. “That’s it for our first day. If you check your online modules, you’ll see the chapters that I’ve assigned for your reading. Be prepared for discussion next class. I’m not assigning write-ups because it’s your first week but you better not slack off on reading because of it.” 

People began filing out and Nesta, bag already ready to go, also began rising, hoping to shuffle out with the tide and avoid any interaction.

“Nesta Archeron?” Cassian called out.

Nesta froze in her path while the rest of the class began leaving. She looked at him but unlike her, Cassian seemed the picture of calm, collected and utterly aloof to the disaster happening in her head. In fact, he’d been completely normal throughout the entire class period. Nesta had almost hurled up her guts when they were ten minutes in.

“Nesta? Archeron?” Cassian looked around again until finally he saw where she’d stopped. A few feet from his desk, body stll angled towards the door as more students made their way out.

“Come here please," Cassian said to her.

"Come. One more time, baby. Come for me. I know you want to," Cassian had whispered to her as he'd pushed her through climax after climax after climax, and she'd become a boneless mess on his bed.

Nesta shook her head of the image of him dipping his head over and over between her legs. She didn't need her brain doing this to her. Not right now. Not as she came to stand right in front of him.

Nesta noted quite a few students still ambling out of the room, taking their time to likely listen to whatever Cassian wanted to talk about.

Busybodies.

Cassian cast a cursory glance behind her shoulder, noting the same thing and likely thinking the same as her too.

Cassian moved then, bringing his laptop and typing something in. Without looking up at her, Cassian said, "I got an email from the registrar that there's been an issue with your scheduling in this class. Can I please have your full name and student ID?"

Nesta hesitated, not sure if he was telling the truth or using it as an excuse to talk to her.

Nesta rattled off the student ID number she'd just memorized that morning, assuming she wouldn't need to but wanting to be careful either way.

"Nesta Katrina Archeron."

Cassian nodded as she spoke and typed a bit more.

"And what's your birthday?"

Nesta almost snarled, telling him it wasn't his business. But there were still two other students in the class that hadn't left yet.

"June 19."

Cassian didn't type anything in, and Nesta followed his gaze as it landed on the last of the stragglers exiting the room.

Almost like a switch flipping, that calm, professional demeanor that Cassian had adopted for all of class time, easily dissipated.

In it's place was a look of anger so deep, so cold, Nesta had no idea how to respond. She'd never dealt with Cassian's anger when it wasn't for something dumb that he could easily over. When it wasn't from a place of laughter and faked irritation. He was genuinely upset in this moment, and Nesta didn't know how to go about it.

"What. The. Hell?"

Nesta's lip curled back of its own accord.

"Don't you dare take that tone with me. I'm just as much fucked in this as you are."

Cassian opened his mouth to say something back, retort with just as much spite as she'd all but hissed at him. But then he stopped, reared back as if in shock, and sighed heavily, his shoulders sagging.

"I'm sorry," he apologized hoarsely, bracing his palms on the table between them, head hanging lowly. "I just don't get how this happened."

I do. We never told each other anything useful about ourselves.

But Nesta kept her mouth shut.

Cassian looked up after a few seconds of awkward silence. "You didn't tell me you got into law school."

Nesta swallowed, not wanting to meeting his hazel eyes in declaration of the painful truth. "I didn't tell anyone except for a few people," she admitted reluctantly. She hadn't even bothered with a phone call to her two sisters when she'd gotten the news. Just a text into their group chat and two "Congratulations" in quick succession had been the response she'd gotten to finally getting her life together. She wouldn't begrudge them for the behavior, even if it did hurt to be snubbed.

"You didn't even tell me you wanted to go to law school."

Nesta shot back her own grievance. "You didn't tell me you were a lawyer."

Cassian looked at her in confusion, brow furrowed, and Nesta resisted the urge to smooth it out with her fingers.

"I thought you knew."

"How the fuck would I know?"

Cassian flinched and his eyes darted around them again, in the empty room.

Right. She needed to stop panicking. Trying again, Nesta lowered her voice and stepped closer to the desk separating them. “Sorry. But how I would have known? You never said anything.”

Cassian opened his mouth and then shut it again, eyes widening in some sort of realization that he wasn’t about to share. Shuffling some papers into a stack, he muttered down at the floor. “I just thought you did.”

Nesta shook her head. Sighed. “Okay. I’m going to go speak to the registrar and get this class changed.”

“No. You can’t.”

Nesta scoffed. “I can and I will. It’s the first day. They can’t stop me.”

Cassian moved around the desk until they were properly face to face. Too close. This was too close for any respectable professor and student to be around each other. Nesta took a step back and Cassian seemed to realize his mistake, cringing slightly before also stepping back.

“Sorry,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “But they won’t let you drop the class. Crim law is a requirement here for every first year.”

“Surely there are other...teachers.” She wouldn’t say professor. That was too weird for her.

Cassian nodded. “Yeah, but Nolan's a piece of shit and known for being a hardass with his grading. You can't get higher than a B and that's if he tolerates you."

"I'll take my chances," Nesta snapped, turning on her heel and making her way towards the door. But a firm grip on her wrist pulled her back.

Nesta forced herself to calm her thoughts and emotions. Let the cool mask slip on that she’d mastered for so long. Let him see that version of her instead of the confused, heartbroken mess she had suddenly become inside the minute Cassian had put his name and “Professor” into the same sentence.

“What?” It was a biting question and Nesta knew that if it were any other man, they definitely would have flinched away from the stare she was leveling at him. 

But Cassian wasn’t like any other man that had been in Nesta’s life before. Not in the ways where it mattered at least. Where others would have realized just how dangerous a game they were already playing, Cassian seemed to be ignoring it. Pulling her just enough that she had to come closer. Had to feel his breath fan across her face one last time. Knew that this would be the true end to whatever they may or may not have become one day.

“Stay. Don’t drop this class. You need to do good this year.” His words were softly spoken. Almost coaxing her gently into acceptance, but Nesta heard the underlying meaning.

“I don’t want a good grade in this class because you fucked me,” Nesta retorted sharply.

That did get to him. Cassian jerked away, releasing his hold on her. His eyes turned cold and Nesta felt the animosity hit her like a slap. She knew all about slaps. And Cassian’s expression hurt her more than any of them before. She’d always known she’d push him away one day. Her indifference, her attitude, that callous cruelty of her mouth. But she hadn’t realized how much it would hurt to see his reaction to it. 

Cassian held her stare with a firmer one of his own. “You won’t. You’ll earn it just like everyone else in your class. But unlike with Nolan, you’ll earn what you get fairly. Don’t drop the class, Nesta. I won’t tell and if you choose not to either, well, nothing happened then. Nothing has to happen.”

Nesta knew then that later on she would replay his words over and over in her head until she may cry. Knew that they had left a profound impact on her in a way that she never wanted him to. 

Nothing happened.

Sure she’d kept it that way, with her rules and arrangement. But it clanged around in her mind, how Cassian saw what they’d been doing together as.

Nothing.

She was nothing. They were nothing. And that was all there was to it.

But Nesta wouldn’t do this in front of him. Lose her mind and have it be pointed out just what a crazy bitch she really was. Not by Cassian. She couldn’t bear that. And she sure as hell wouldn’t go and tell on him, even if he had spoken as if he were unsure about her decision.

Instead, Nesta squared her shoulders and nodded. 

“Nothing happens.”

Cassian hesitated, for a bare, fraction of a moment, but she saw it all the same. Then he nodded too.

“Nothing happens.”

~*~

Nesta leaned back against the chair, as Gwyn looked at her wide-eyed. She’d been overwhelmed by the fiasco of her first class. Had barely focused on anything the professor’s said throughout the rest of her day. She hadn’t even bothered to take out a pencil in the later afternoon classes and had fumbled around in her bag for one when an attendance sheet passed around in one of her smaller classes. Had it not been for the man sitting next to her who’d silently handed her a pencil with a small smile, she would have faced even more embarrassment on an already shitty day.

She’d seen him in a few other classes of hers, vaguely remembering his face from Cassian’s class as well. Nesta had sneaked a peek onto the sheet when he’d taken it after her, signing “Lucien” after impatiently pushing his red, waist-length hair out of his face. He’d given her another smile after he’d passed the sheet on and Nesta had returned it tentatively. She wasn’t one to smile at strangers. Barely did it with people she knew well too unless they were her friends or...Cassian.

So she’d called up her friends, praying to the Mother that they wouldn’t be too busy for her. Emerie had already graduated law school. Was already working for a legal clinic in the downtown area and loving every minute of it. Gwyn was usually always busy completing her postdoc program for psychology, but she too had made time for Nesta today. Had likely heard how rattled she sounded on the phone and had picked Emerie up on the way to their favorite bar to meet Nesta there.

"So..." Gwyn started, her eyes darting towards the bar for a second, "What do you call him?"

Nesta scoffed. "Nothing. I'm not going to talk to him or address him if I can help it. Just going to keep my head down, do my work, and get through the semester."

Emerie sat back down then, another margarita in hand and wordlessly handed it to Nesta, who accepted gratefully. She'd need another one soon with the topic at hand.

"Okay but valid question. What if you have a question? I know you're a genius or whatever, but you're going to raise your hand and talk. And either way, he’s going to cold call eventually. You can’t get away with not talking to him. So, what’s the plan to talk to him? Professor? Cassian?,” Emerie asked matter-of-factly.

But then with an evil smirk, she added in with a sultry tone, “Daddy?”

Nesta smacked her friend’s shoulder faster than Gwyn could stop her. Gwyn who was currently howling with her head thrown back, not a care in the world at everyone around them watching. Emerie rubbed the spot where Nesta had landed a hit with contempt but Nesta narrowed her eyes right back at her.

Gwyn eventually wiped tears from her eyes, slowly catching her breath from the laughing fit Nesta thought really wasn’t necessary.

It wasn’t that funny.

Gwyn placed a comforting hand on Nesta’s shoulder and Nesta leaned slightly into it. The last thing she needed to hear were jokes about this horrifying situation. Comfort was all she wanted.

“Leave her alone, Emerie,” Gwyn chided. “You don’t know what you’re talking about saying things like that.”

Nesta sighed in relief. “Thank you.”

Finally, someone understood how she felt.

Gwyn nodded. “No problem Nesta. I’m on your side don’t worry. You just need to keep your head down, avoid speaking as much as possible, and whenever you absolutely do need to talk, just call him Professor Daddy.”

“Bitch.”

Emerie joined Gwyn as they laughed even louder.

Nesta hissed, "You two are useless. I’m having a dilemma and here you two are cracking jokes about it.”

“Because it’s funny!,” Emerie insisted. “Who would have thought, Cassian, the guy you’ve been seeing, the one we haven’t even met yet by the way, is not only a lawyer, but your new professor. I mean honestly, it’s like a match made in heaven.”

Gwyn muttered under her breath. “Hell. It’s a match made in hell.”

Nesta went to smack her too but Gwyn nimbly got to her feet, announcing that she was going to go order their food.

“I can’t believe you didn’t know he was a lawyer. Goes to show just how smart miss perfect is going to be in school.” Emerie chuckled again and Nesta reigned in a mean comment that wouldn’t bode well.

Nesta rolled her eyes instead. “Fuck you. I’ll manage. And besides, it’s not like I didn’t Google him. I did.”

Emerie raised her brows, as if to say, “But did you really try hard?”

“I did!,” Nesta insisted. “I looked up Cassian and his address but I couldn’t find shit.”

Emerie furrowed her brows in confusion. “You just put in his first name. What about his last?”

Nesta shrank back in her seat. “I...um...I didn’t know his last name until today.”

Emerie didn’t show her surprise at that. Nor did she show any judgement. Both her and Gwyn knew that her and Cassian’s relationship was more based on sex and less on private and intimate details. She also didn’t say how pathetic that was of her, or how stupid considering this was someone Nesta had let into her house and her bed. 

Indeed, what if he had been a serial killer like Gwyn had warned about all those months ago?

Emerie pulled out her phone, flicking her eyes up at Nesta after putting in her password. “Okay what’s his full name?”

“Cassian Virin.”

Emerie looked like she was choking. A strange fizzing noise seemed to be coming from her lips but she looked more on the verge of screaming rather than laughing.

“You’re fucking with me right?”

Nesta glanced at Gwyn as she sat back down, putting away her credit card and the receipt of the meal she’d just ordered for them all. Nesta peeked at the bill. Tacos. Thank the Mother. Gwyn knew exactly what she needed in that moment.

Snapping her attention away from dinner, Nesta shook her head at Emerie, knowing she hadn't heard wrong when Cassian had spoken earlier that day.

“No. I heard him say it. Cassian. Virin. That’s his name.”

Emerie stared and stared and stared.

“What?” she finally snapped.

“What? What? What do you mean what? You don’t know who he is?”

Nesta stared blankly. Emerie let out a sound of exasperation before typing on her phone and shoving it towards Nesta.

On the screen were images of Cassian. Cassian with the men whose photos littered his home- his brothers most likely. Cassian with some leggy blonde who Nesta admitted secretly she hated on sight just for how close she was posing next to him. Cassian in picture after picture, article after article. 

Nesta’s eyes scanned impatiently over the words on the screen, devouring every news report and article until finally she realized what she’d missed completely. Cassian wasn’t just any lawyer. He was known as one of the best criminal defense attorneys in the state of Illinois.

“How did you not know this?,” Emerie demanded once Nesta explained her revelation.

Nesta was mildly affronted at that. “I...don’t really know. I’m not from here like you two are. I lived in California for most of my life. I wouldn’t have known anything about him. And it’s not like I went to law school for four years to figure out that he’s a celebrity,” Nesta added on, shooting a look at Emerie with her last sentence. 

Emerie leaned back in her chair, not at all affected. “Yeah I know. I keep forgetting since you’ve adapted so well.” Turning to Gwyn, Emerie asked, “Remember how she came here sounding like a Valley girl before.”

Nesta gave her the middle finger as Gwyn giggled. 

Nesta had met Gwyn and Emerie as a freshman in college during her first shift at a local bar. Gwyn had been a senior, well on her way to graduating with honors and starting her Masters program in Neuropsychology. Emerie had come from Evanston after her undergraduate years and was attending The University of Chicago Law School. Nesta still considered it fate that five years later, it ended up being the same school Nesta ended up being accepted to and attending. The two older girls had taken Nesta in, under their wing, and the friendship had been easy and safe. For the first time in Nesta’s life, she felt that she belonged somewhere. After her sophomore year, Nesta thought her life was almost close to perfect. Especially when she met-

No. Not going to think about that today.

Nesta ignored the dark train of thought her mind had almost taken her to and instead tuned back into the conversation that was happening around her. Gwyn was doing an impression of Nesta’s apparent valley girl accent and Emerie was doing a horrific, overexaggerated Chicago one, with both girls asserting that Nesta switched between the two of them all the time.

Nesta smacked them both before digging into her tacos.

Damned witches.

~*~

Nesta kept her head down as Cassian spoke to a student in the front row about the assigned case readings. Her previous night’s swagger had been kindly reduced to smithereens after she’d gone home and taken in the readings she needed to finish for Cassian’s class...

And every other class she had too.

Nesta had been ready to quit the night of, regretting the night out she’d stupidly had with Gwyn and Emerie, no matter how fun she’d found it to be. She’d powered through on spite alone at the thought of messing up on only the second day, in Cassian’s class no less. The rest of her work for her other classes had only been helped by espresso shots. Nesta was wired for the better part of early morning, but not the fatigue was finally beginning to catch up with her.

Nesta was writing down the spare few words that she was able to pick up on, but her sleep deprived brain could do little in terms of actually paying attention and creating concrete notes that would make sense if she revisited them. She’d definitely regret it whenever she sat down to study, but Gods she was so tired.

Nesta got a vague sensation of being stared at. Of being watched. But she ignored and continued writing nonsensical words onto her paper. A sharp jab in her side caught her attention. 

A panicked Lucien beside her whispered frantically to her, “He called on you twice already. Say something!”

Nesta was confused. She looked at Lucien for a little longer, his words still not quite processing with her. 

“Archeron.” Cassian’s voice cut through the fog in her head and she snapped her attention to the front of the room. Cassian was glowering at her and to Nesta’s horror, her feeling of being watched had been completely accurate. Everyone was staring at her.

“Yes?” Nesta cleared her throat, not liking how meek and disoriented she sounded.

Cassian sighed. “I asked you what you thought of your classmate’s response. Do you agree or not? And why?”

Fuck her. She hadn’t heard anything useful. Hadn’t been paying enough attention at all.

Nesta chanced a glance at Lucien sitting next to her, and he had what she thought to be a mirroring expression to her own on his face. Horror, panic and absolute embarrassment.

“I...I don’t know,” she finally admitted. Didn’t want to say she hadn’t been able to focus long enough on whatever he and the other student had been saying to even fake an answer. She simply didn’t know.

Cassian nodded a few times, more to himself than anyone else. “Do you have any opinion at all about what you were assigned to read last night?”

She did. Tons actually. But suddenly, Nesta felt the eyes on her narrow in scrutiny. Could practically hear their thoughts out loud.

Not good enough. Not smart.. Useless. Not worthy. 

You don’t belong anywhere, Nesta.

Nesta couldn’t bring herself to say no, knowing that admitting defeat rather than trying to overcome the nerves was the better option. It didn’t matter that she did know what was going on in class. Or that she wasn’t an idiot like it looked like to the entire class. Nesta simply shook her head, tightening the muscles in her face as tears began blurring her eyesight. She would not cry. Not like this.

Cassian’s face flickered with some sort of emotion, one she couldn’t place, but it was there and gone. 

“Disappointing,” he announced, stare still leveled on her. She could feel the tension crackle through the air. It would have been better if he’d yelled at her or kicked her out of the class. Instead, he’d all but called her a failure, and now she’d have to sit through the rest of the class with that hanging over her.

Which she did.

Painfully. Angrily. Upset and barely composed.

But she did it.

And as she began packing up her things at the end of the period, Lucien giving her a small pitiful smile that she barely returned, Nesta contemplated how quickly she could run out of the room without looking directly at Cassian.

Except, as fate would have it, she was not a favorite in the world by whatever Gods had created it.

“Nesta,” Cassian called out softly, just as she began walking by his desk in the front of the room.

Nesta steeled her spine, sighing in defeat as she made her way over to him. 

Cassian didn’t speak to her as she came to stand in front of his desk. Didn’t even look up from his computer screen, typing in Gods knew what. Nesta was about to leave, rules and proper manners be damned, but the last student finally walked out of the room. 

Finally Cassian looked at her.

“What was that?,” he asked lightly, crossing his arms across his chest.

Nesta decided to feign ignorance. “What was what?”

A sly smile played on his lips. “Cute. But not wise. Why couldn’t you answer today?”

“Because I didn’t know the answer.”

Cassian cocked his head a fraction, examining her. As if the entirety of her was wrong, not just her response to him.

“I hope you understand there was no right or wrong answer. It was a discussion to help orient your thought process and how you analyze the material. Which you would be able to participate in as long as you read what you were supposed to.”

“Well, I didn’t finish the readings.”

The lie sat and tasted bitter in her mouth. She hated it. Hated admitting weakness in such a horrible way. In a way that wasn’t even truthful, just to save face and not have to admit the profoundly large effect Cassian had ended up having on her.

Cassian chuckled. A dark, sinister thing that Nesta hadn’t been privy to witnessing ever. He walked around his desk until they were again closer. Again with far too little space between them. Again with those glinting hazel eyes peering down at her.

“Now that’s funny. Because it’s almost believable except you’re not the person that doesn’t do your homework. In fact, according to what I saw from your records and application, it’s not in your nature to do so.”

“You read my application?,” she demanded, furious with a touch of panic. "How did you even get it?”

Cassian scoffed. “One, I didn’t read all of it. I just saw your coursework, your grades, and your letters of recommendation. I didn’t read your personal statement, don’t worry. And two, all the professors have access to student records.”

Lie. That had to be a violation of some sort. He so didn’t have access to shit. What he did have, Nesta would begrudgingly admit, was a beautiful face and a great smile. and way too much charm for anyone to be oblivious to it.

Nesta didn’t respond, so Cassian continued. 

“Great grades. Stunning observations about your work ethic as a student and determination to come to class prepared by almost everyone who wrote you a letter. So, I don’t think you’d fuck around on your work. Especially not on the first week of classes.”

Nesta couldn't deny it any longer. “Fine,” she expelled in a quick breath. “I finished the readings.”

“All of them?” Cassian confirmed.

“Yes. All of them.”

“Then why not say something today?”

Nesta sighed in defeat. “Because I wasn’t paying enough attention the first time around with whatever you and that guy were talking about. And then everyone was staring at me and I...”

“You panicked and forgot what you had to say? And even if you did, you knew it would come out completely wrong and be mortifying?”

Nesta nodded miserably, looking at her shoes, biting her lip.

A cool set of fingers grasped her chin and tilted her face back up. Cassian forced her to look at him. Wouldn’t let her run away from it.

“it happens,” he said softly. “You’ll learn. You’ll be okay.”

She half wondered if he was telling her more for himself or for her. Nesta didn’t dwell on it, knowing full well how this was going to end. Carefully, she pulled back from him, from the hand that was still grasping her chin, and Cassian seemed to remember who they were and what they were doing. Or, what they weren’t supposed to be doing.

“Thank you,” she said awkwardly.

Cassian gave her a small smile and she returned it weakly.

“Well, I should go,” she announced after a few awkard seconds. 

“Of course. Don’t be late,” Cassian let out in a rush.

Nesta had almost made it to the door when Cassian called for her again.

“Yeah?”

Cassian looked at his laptop before glancing back at her again. 

“You did really well in your undergraduate years. Except for junior year, your grades were terrific. You took the LSATs on time too and you scored really well,” he summarized neatly. Nesta could feel bile climbing up her throat as Cassian added in quickly, “And you scored even higher than me!”

Nesta didn’t know what to say, knowing where the question was likely heading. 

“So why take a year in between college and law school? I saw that you worked as a paralegal, but with this application, I can tell you, you would have gotten in without it.”

She’d been right about what Cassian had been going to ask her. She also knew that this was not the question she would be answering today. Not today, not with him, and likely not ever. Nesta decided on a simple lie instead.

“I couldn’t afford the tuition. So I decided to wait the year, work more than I can ever do right now and get a head start on loans and saving money. It also helped me settle down into my apartment rather than a college dorm.”

“You’re still working?,” Cassian asked surprised, not commenting on what she’d revealed about her tuition. She could have handled it but that year had been nothing to do with money and everything to do with Nesta’s personal turmoils.

Nesta shook her head. “I quit once I got accepted, but looking at that bill every month is making me worry that it wasn’t smart to do that. So, not currently working, but I want to soon. Somewhere closer to school though. The other firm was too far away from here for me to make it work.”

Cassian’s brows raised slightly at the confession. “Most students aren’t advised to work during 1L. You can do it if you really need to, but it’s not a requirement and it makes classes horribly difficult to get through.”

Nesta thought about it. Knew he was right but that she didn’t exactly have a choice. “I’ll be fine,” she told him.

Cassian looked at her with a more pronounced smile than before. “Of course you will sweet-....um...Nesta. You’ll do great. Have a good rest of the day.”

“Thank you.” Nesta ignored his slip-up, his pet name for her that she’d acted irritated by but secretly loved. Ignored the pang in her chest as she turned away from him.

Nesta walked out of Cassian’s classroom, not sure if she felt lighter or heavier from the moment that she’d stepped back into it.

~*~

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262 notes • Posted 2021-07-02 05:32:10 GMT

#4

Scandalous

Nesta and Cassian one-shot, 4.9k words

A/N:Hello lovelies,

The other day @darklove9314-blog asked if there are any Nessian pregnancy fics and I remember thinking well yes I read a great one just the other day, but also, a fun new project for me? So I wrote this. Also, I have decided to begin finishing up half finished or almost finished fics so this is one that I can happily say is leaving the drafts box.

And please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed to my tag list.

Warnings: Blood, Violence

Tagging: @bookstantrash @duskandstarlight @moe8 @queenestarcheron @queenofbloodshed @vasudharaghavan @allilal @cassianscool @courtofjurdan @sjm-things @perseusannabeth @greerlunna @sayosdreams

Enjoy🤗

                                     -----------------------------

It was scandalous.

That's the first thing Nesta can think of. The entire situation is scandalous and if she were still a human woman, she'd be ostracized from high society. Not that she would have cared what other people thought of her. Especially not in that behemoth they called a home bought for them to keep their pretty silence from the High Lord who'd caged her sister. Nesta would have lived her human life in scandal without batting an eye given how wealthy she had been.

But here, somehow, it felt wrong. Nesta didn't think she'd ever find a place more traditional than the human lands. But then she'd come to Illyria. Part of it was misogyny. But it was also that the people were rooted in tradition.

There were superstitions she'd learned slowly, carefully. Sometimes painfully, when she did something not quite right and just enough wrong, and got scathing looks from people nearby who were now sure they'd end up with the wrath of a god smiting them. But with time she learned and never made those mistakes again.

The traditions, the culture, ran deep in Illyria. And it was beautiful. 

Nesta thought it to be at least. As a human, they didn’t have Gods or holidays or much tradition to fall back on. And while Nesta had hated it in the beginning, the holidays that weren’t hers, the decorations and food so unlike their own, illustrious as it may be, she began a slow acceptance of it. Not in Velaris, no never in that place. She couldn’t stand it anymore- court of dreams or not. 

But in Illyria, Solstice was unlike the awkward, dissonant celebration she’d been forced to go to at the behest of her baby sister. It was loud, and not in the way that Mor had been when she’d joked about Cassian’s gift to her. It was warm, even though it was freezing in the Steppes at that point in the year. It was natural- it wasn’t forced on her part, to enjoy the holiday with her friends and invite them over to the house for presents and dinner. And most of all, it was a choice. Cassian let her choose to have a party or not, choose to join him for a celebration in the town square or stay in the comfort of her room. And the choice, the decision of it all, was probably what made her love Solstice that second time around.

 She knew her sisters didn't have the same proclivity towards the Illyrian people as she did. Regardless of the fact that one of them wore the wings and marks the females were often stripped of even dreaming of having before they came of age. Regardless that the other remained cloistered away with the constant company of a male who hated his people so much for the faults of a select few.

Nesta didn't hate them for it, and they certainly weren't ill-willed in how they acted.

It was just...a disconnect. Feyre couldn't understand why after the war with the Queens ended, Nesta did not follow her back to Velaris. Elain couldn't fathom how Nesta could enjoy such "dangerous people" for constant company.

Nesta had simply lied and said she wished to learn more about her powers, and the few females of Illyria that still practiced witchcraft had happily agreed. Viciously agreed in fact, almost snapping their sharpened teeth at the Lady of Night who they didn’t like on principle. It wasn’t in Nesta to gossip about her sisters and their messy relationship, but it didn’t take much for them to figure out how much was wrong between them. How wrong they were for sending her here.

It wasn't all a lie. Nesta did train with the other witches, now more a leader than a student however. When their oldest Matron had passed after a millennium of life, she had named Nesta to be trained to take over one day.

Not that the one day had come soon. The training had been rigorous. Daunting. One didn't just become the Matron. It took blood, sweat, tears, and then a little bit more blood , preferably of someone who'd pissed you off that day. Nesta always threatened Cassian to be her victim if he displeased her too much. Cassian had once laughed and told her to pick Feyre instead, promptly shutting his mouth as soon as it out, realizing his mistake.

Her sisters never came here anymore. Sometimes Feyre would send a letter asking very politely if Nesta would come over to Velaris and join her and Elain for some tea. They always had so much tea together. Probably afraid to drink alcohol the entire lot of them constantly seemed to be drowned in. Because to drink alcohol in front of Nesta...

Nesta who'd been sober for years now. Who could now easily stick to a few light sips of wine at a dinner party or be wrecked alongside Emerie on hard liquor just because it was fun, and still not turn into an alcoholic mess. 

It was also almost scandalous how put together she was now. Almost. Nothing on her particular situation, but almost.

Cassian wouldn't be home yet. Still in Velaris for Mor's belated birthday celebration that Nesta hadn't even bothered to refuse the invitation to. That Cassian hadn't even bothered to bring up anymore. She wouldn't be going. Not after the fiasco of the previous year. And if Cassian didn't have Nesta insistent that she not be the wedge between him and his family, he wouldn't have gone either.

Oh she had her reasons for avoiding them all- the list too long, too detailed, too painful. She had never liked her sister's mate for one thing. Had found him too pretty. Not in looks, although he certainly had that going for him. Too pretty in how he acted. Like he was above it all. Like he was too good and his wife even more so when all he did was play foolish parts and masquerade as a villain that no one cared to refute.

But, she had been willing to try.

She'd sat at that dinner table where everyone in the Inner Circle and her sisters were gathered. Had quietly listened to their jokes and regales and tried to laugh when Elain and Feyre attempted to include her. She'd completely ignored the constant staring on Cassian's behalf, even though she knew he meant well. She was determined to get through it all without a fuss.

But then Feyre had gotten up unexpectedly, boasting of an announcement that needed to be made. That mate of hers had swept up with her, a hand wrapped around her waist as she raised her cup of juice and announced that she was pregnant.

And Nesta had nearly fallen over in the chaos of it all. The cruelty. The shock still silence that seemed to morph into ringing in her ears as everyone but her jumped up to scream their congratulations. Cassian had risen, barely whispering his words of kindness before sitting back down next to Nesta, eyes now unwaveringly trained onto her.

To her credit, she'd lasted an entire hour after Feyre's announcement. Had chugged two glasses of wine down without hesitation...but still. She'd lasted.

But then Feyre had told Cassian she couldn't wait for him to meet the baby and for the baby to meet Uncle Cass. And Nesta had felt the floor begin to shake so hard as she felt fissures in the ground crack open. Breaks that no one but Nesta seemed to feel apparently as everyone around her continued on like the world was fine.

But it wasn't fine. None of it was fine. It was a cruel, fucked up, joke. A conundrum. A mess of despair and broken dreams. And definitely not fine.

Which was exactly what she'd told her baby sister. I'm fine. Thank you for asking. No it's just some pain in my head. Yes I'll be fine. Of course I'll be fine. Enjoy your party.

And that was the end of it. Should have been the end of it.

Except the High Lord didn't think so. He’d snorted and muttered under his breath that of course she was leaving. Then he’d announced grandly that of course some people just can’t manage to be happy for their family, because it was easier to be selfish and hateful.

Feyre hadn't said a word at his insult. Nesta chalked it up to shock because the alternative was too painful to consider. But Cassian had stalked forward, snarling as he pushed Rhys into a wall. Nesta had scrambled to get in between, a palm on her lover's chest pushing slightly to get his attention.

"That's enough,” she had whispered into his neck. Cassian’s eyes had lowered a fraction down to hers, one hand still wrapped around Rhys’ throat.

But it was enough. Cassian had backed off instantly, much to everyone's surprise.

Nesta had told Cassian to enjoy the party, not even looking at the High Lord whose face had gone bone white at his brother’s threat. Told him she would sleep off her headache at home and hadn't given any room for argument. Her own issues aside, this was still his family.

As she left, Nesta didn't hesitate to kiss her sister on both cheeks, hug her for the first time in years, and whisper congratulations on the joyous news into her ear. 

Because it wasn’t selfishness or cruelty or hate that had stopped her from expressing her wishes sooner. It had been grief. One that she had no interest in explaining or sharing with anyone in the room who had judged her.

Feyre had nodded, mouth slightly agape, perhaps still consumed with her husband's accusations and Cassian's outburst. But she had known, some kind of bond that ran deep in their blood regardless of their jagged history. They were sisters after all. Feyre had figured it out to some extent, so she had simply hugged her tightly back and told her to go.

It wasn't even a full day later than Amren had come to Illyria without warning, knocking on her door for ten minutes at dawn until she’d had been woken by the noise. Nesta had snarled something unworldly as she threw open the door, only to find Amren completely unfazed. 

Not even a hint of remorse in those wicked eyes as she asked how far along Nesta had been when she'd lost her youngling.

Nesta didn't remember ever crying so much as she had done that day. Didn't know what came over Amren to cradle her head in her petite lap and stroke her hair softly as Nesta wept, and wept, and wept.

Cassian had found them there a few hours later, neither having moved, but Nesta a lot calmer albeit exhausted from all the tears.

She heard rumors that the High Lord and his second never got along again after that dinner party. And vicious as it was, a part of Nesta was glad for how fitting it sounded.

Nesta didn't know what this strange emotion tingling through her was though. She had been pregnant before. Even got far along enough to begin showing through her tops. Until she had lost her baby and her stomach had flattened back down, her breasts following suit not long after. The stretch marks on them could have made for glorious battle scars of motherhood if only for the fact that she had never gotten to hold her child in her hands.

But tradition in the Steppes was to wed before having younglings. Cassian hadn't cared the first time around, even though he was born of similar circumstances.

"It's not the same. I'm here with you. I'm not going to leave you to have a child on your own as an outcast. Rules be damned."

But then he'd also asked her if she wanted to get married anyways. A snort from her had answered that question.

Rules be damned indeed.

But this time...what was it this time?

Nesta realized that it was guilt when she climbed into their empty bed.

It was guilt she felt as she nestled down into the covers and ran her hand over the white sheets. Sheets that had once been stained with crimson that had run down her thighs in the middle of the night. Crimson that Nesta had screamed herself hoarse at when she'd seen it, screaming for Cassian who was on a mission at a rebel camp and couldn't hear her.

Everything after was a blur. Someone had heard her and called for a patrol of soldiers. A warrior had apparently flew to their bedroom window and seen her in the middle of the miscarriage, shattering the window with his Siphons and flying her over to the healer's barracks.

By the time Nesta came to, it was just her. No prominent bump left. No morning sickness. No beating heart in her womb that she would always listen for to soothe herself and fall asleep to. It was Nesta all alone again.

And it was guilt that Cassian hid well from her as well. Just not well enough. His absence wasn't his fault just as much as he said the loss of their babe wasn't hers. Half true. It was only half true in her mind and Nesta would likely never forgive herself for it.

So Nesta thought of the scandal at her having a second pregnancy, again out of wedlock, after losing her first. The ones that still hated her would say it was because she was a whore.

It was exactly what they'd said when she hadn't left her room for a month because listening to the Illyrian children laughing outside had been too painful to stomach. 

A whore who had fucked too many males in Velaris and ruined her chances of having a healthy womb. The healers assured her that wasn't the case, even if Nesta didn't quite believe it. And now, people would say that Nesta was a whore for getting knocked up again without a wedding band on her fingers, tempting fate to steal her second chance at joy by not unifying her bond at an altar with a priestess.

Nesta didn't need to be married to Cassian to know she was his wife. He didn't need to swear anything in front of anyone to know he was her husband.

They were lovers. They were equals. They shared a home. They shared a life. They were madly and hopelessly in love. It was all what spouses should be anyways.

They were mates and they were spouses and she was his and he was hers.

A piece of paper and chants in a temple didn't change any of that.

And then there was the scandal. The Illyrian scandal that hadn't happened yet but was just waiting to implode. As a human woman, she would have lost everything without the wealth they had if she'd been pregnant outside of marriage. It wasn't that this didn't hold true in Illyria, it was just that she was powerful here. Feared even more so. No one dared question the witch, even if she was spitting on the expectations they had of their females. It also helped that Cassian would likely murder anyone if the gossip she'd heard of herself actually reached his ears.

But in Illyria, she wasn't just having a child with a random soldier without being married to him. She was having Cassian's child.

The Commander's firstborn.

And the Commander's firstborn was always a male that could carry on the line of strong soldiers and multiple Siphons. She'd heard the soldiers talk of Vibasi, the third commander in Illyrian history. His firstborn had been a lovely little baby girl. A girl who'd mysteriously disappeared mere days after her birth. Her brother two decades later was called the firstborn and made into a formidable soldier by the sacrifice of a sister he didn't even know existed.

Speculation of course.

No one wanted to admit that while children were supposedly cherished amongst the Fae, given how rare they were, females and bastards didn't matter either way.

She thought about how fitting it would be then. The Commander's firstborn being a female. The child of a bastard General being a female and being celebrated. They'd be spitting on tradition two-fold.

If Cassian didn't mind that is. He might. She didn't know if he would care, she was assuming he wouldn't. Hoping. Praying actually. Because she loved him too much to think anything like that could matter to someone like him. Who woke up two hours earlier just to make sure the females were trained on par with the males. Who forced every single camp Lord to push for equality even when it required him to kill and take on the stain of death over and over. Nesta didn't think a male like Cassian could ever care that his firstborn was going to be a female.

Female according to the anxious healer who'd informed her in a hurried whisper and almost pushed her out of the barracks through the back door, urging her to keep it to herself as long as possible.

But Nesta didn't keep secrets from Cassian, or he from her. Not in years.

When she awoke again after a fitful sleep that hadn't endured through the night, it was early. Too early to get up but too late to do anything. For Nesta at least.

Cassian, from what she could hear, was already back to work in his office. Probably reading reports and signing documents that she always told him she could take care of for him.

When she decided to investigate, she was pleased to find she was right. Heaps of papers, a Faelight almost burned out, and Cassian scrutinizing a report like he would a battlefield. He didn't even bother to look up when she entered, extending an arm out instead, eyes trained on the parchment at hand.

She took the arm quietly. Let it wrap around her waist as he pulled her close, a wing rising up to curve behind her as well. It was all the invitation Nesta needed to crawl into his lap and nestle in closely, as he curved the arm and wing tighter around her.

Safe.

This was where she felt safest. Even with all the doubts of the unknown, the fears of where their future would lead, in this moment, she felt safe.

“Do you know about Vibasi?” she asked without warning. Not the best way to say she was pregnant perhaps, bringing up a murdering piece of-

“Yes. Vaguely. Why?” A knowing glint in his eyes that edged on teasing came to face her. “You’re not reading those strange history books again are you? I told you they aren’t accurate.”

No. She was going off of rumors she’d heard from soldiers sitting outside a bar and drinking, half drunk on absinthe and historical trivia. “No bat, I’m not. What do you know?”

Cassian put down the papers, and leaned back in his chair, taking her with him. He shrugged, likely not understanding Nesta’s strange curiosity into a male who’d been dead for thousands of years.

“Vibasi was the third commander in Illyria. He was mated to a female who remains unnamed as they did to all the wives during that time. Two children in his 800 years of life, both went on to be dangerous males on the battlefield.” A perfect recitation from whatever history book he had told her not to waste time reading. 

Nesta bit her lip, unsure of how to prompt anything further. “And the female?”

“His mate?”

Nesta shook her head, worry growing steadily greater. “No, the female...child. He had one supposedly. I was wondering what you knew about that.”

Understanding flashed in Cassian’s eyes along with the edge of something darker. So it was true. 

Cassian got a look of discomfort on his face, one she had never really seen before. “It’s not talked about much.” 

Clearly.

“Lots of historians say that the child existed and was murdered very quickly and discreetly afterwards. There were no records of her ever existing but you know how that works. Staff and servants are always aware, and you can’t buy off everyone.” Nesta nodded, very aware of the gossip that used to permeate her own estate when she’d been a human. Which stable hand was flirting with which maid when both were promised to other people. How much did the Lady who’d visited the other day give to the footman in shillings to tell her the name of her husband’s mistress. Gossip was quick, especially when the details of the crime grew in vulgarity.

“And is that...common?”

How do you feel about it? Will you be disappointed your firstborn isn’t a son? If she even lives to term? If my ruined body doesn't kill her first.

“Not if I have anything to do with it,” he growls, vicious and low in the back of his throat.

That’s all she needs. Confirmation.

And then she’s drowning in guilt all over again. 

How could she have questioned him? 

Cassian. This was Cassian. Not some misogynistic, cruel male. It was Cassian, her Cassian. How could she be so stupid to think that he would ever do such a thing? Could even be capable of the thought?

The sob gets stuck in her throat, but forces its own way out through her clenched teeth and pressed lips. Startles Cassian who had thought the conversation was over so that he could go back to work. 

“Nesta? What-”

“I’m sorry.” she gasped. “I didn’t mean to be so judgmental. Or even think so low of you. I was just worried, you know?” Cassian’s bewildered expression told her, no, he did not in fact know, because Nesta hadn’t explained anything. She’d just begun crying like the hormonal wreck she was, and scared Cassian into a panic.

It took half an hour for her hiccupping sobs to quiet, all while Cassian rubbed soothing circles in her back patiently. Much too patient considering it took another hour to stop the second bout of tears that happened after she began to explain herself, not getting very far at all after talking about the soldiers at the bar.

A jumbled mess of words sticking in her throat, all unnecessary details that Cassian really didn't need to know that she was sharing anyways. He didn't interrupt once.

When she finally, finally, manages to say it, she can't help but shudder. The words that tell him this is their second chance, a gift of possibility. Of healing.

If she carries to term. If the child doesn't die in her again. If her already unfortunate life doesn't manage to get worse, which for Nesta, isn't very likely. So many ifs, and not once does she tell Cassian about them.

There's no need.

He's remembering the first time too even if he's smiling and telling her he's so happy he doesn't have words. That his heart is so happy it hurts. That he's just simply happy. So happy he kisses her three times over and over and over. So happy that they don't talk about how it's going to be a girl because Nesta forgot to mention it in all the excitement and laughter and tears.

And then she's waking Cassian up after the rest he insists she needs, even though he's the one out like a rock. She's shaking and almost screaming at him to get up because he has to know. He has to know what's going to happen when their daughter comes into this world.

This world that's given her the love of her life but only after so much misery and misunderstanding between them. This world that has let her earn her peace but only after toiling for it with every ounce of ire in her bones. This world that has so much beauty if you have it in you to look and fight for it, but otherwise it's just cruel.

She wants him to know that she's going to bring a life into that world and it's not going to be easy for any of them. Not for Nesta, who is still seen as an outsider by some rare, few people in Illyria. Not for Cassian, whose enemies will use his daughter as a source of exploitation should they get the chance. And not for their daughter who will always be seen as second best where a son could have been better.

Cassian, the great beast of a male, understands right away when she whispers that it's a girl. Understands why she looks away concerned and puts two and two together on why she'd questioned Cassian's opinions on his predecessor's actions as a father. And Cassian, her heart, doesn't judge her for it. For questioning his integrity before revealing something she's scared he won't like.

She almost collapses into tears again as he brushes it off and asks her about names. She apologizes again, babbling about how it was unfair of her to assume something so horrific about him and also that she loves the name Nadyzva.

Cassian only brushes a forefinger over her cheek, ghosting over the threat of tears that may spill again while telling her that she'll make for a wonderful mother with how fierce and protective she's already being. That she should never apologize for putting the safety of her child first.

That safety comes in the form of trusting the Illyrian healers over the Velaris ones when it comes time to deliver. It comes in the form of just Cassian and her and the healer in the small delivery room. The only people she has been able to trust since she entered her final month of pregnancy and the instincts to protect surged and multiplied.

The pain is unimaginable, akin to how she felt when she was ripped apart from the inside out in the Cauldron. When she recalls it to her daughter years later, she will admit she doesn’t remember it well. It’s all fragmented pieces rather than a fully flowing story. Likely from the pain, or perhaps the analgesic, but her memory’s not the best when remembering the birth. She does remember the panic that happened halfway when it became too much to keep going. When this life she’d fought so hard to keep going after her first loss began to kill her slowly from the inside. She’d turned to Cassian, whose hand she’d shattered in her grip, and told him amidst great heaving sobs that she couldn’t do it.

“I can’t. I can’t Cassian, it’s too much. I’m sorry.”

But Cassian hadn’t hesitated to wrap the still broken hand around her and pull her back to his chest. To tell her she was the strongest person he knew in his whole life. And that to him, there was truly nothing Nesta couldn’t do if she wanted. 

He didn’t tell her that the healer had briefly looked at him from between Nesta’s legs, fear dilating her eyes so much that Cassian could only see black pupil. He didn’t tell her that the scent of her blood was overpowering the scent of her tears, because the hemorrhaging was too much and too fast and if she didn’t finish pushing soon, Nesta and the child would soon be dead. Which would likely kill Cassian too from the heartbreak not long after. He didn’t tell her that particular admission until years later. Didn’t admit that he would have died had he lost them both that day until their daughter finishes the Rite and appears back from Ramiel’s peak. Bloody and bruised in so many places, looking like the perfect mix of Cassian’s will and Nesta’s pride in something that can only be described as wholly triumphant.

Most of all though, Nesta remembered being scared. So, so scared because what if she's a horrible mother? What if...what if she's exactly like her mother? She couldn't stand the thought of raising a child so hateful and hurting like she had ended up. Like she could have avoided becoming had her mother been a tad less cold and her father heaps less of a coward.

But when her daughter comes screaming into the world that she is so very afraid of, everything washes away. At least for the moment, there is a silent peace with no other noise save for the infant who seems to have the lungs of a warrior as she screams and shrieks and declares that she is gloriously here.

Here in this world that could ruin her. That tried to ruin her mother even though she kicked and shouted and stomped against it until it left her be. But she is safe for now.

Nesta thinks so at least.

She is safe, nestled to her mother's breast, a wing curving over the two of them in the place of Cassian's arms that has always made Nesta feel safest. Now a place for her daughter to share in that safety too.

But out of all the things Nesta does or doesn’t remember from her delivery, as she watches her daughter receive her Siphons, all nine of them, Nesta remembers what she felt the moment her baby been placed in her arms. Something that has never once wavered or dissipated each time she looks at her daughter.

Joy.

311 notes • Posted 2021-01-21 18:21:10 GMT

#3

For They Were Gods

Nessian one-shot (NSFW) - 13k

Hello! This is my first post-ACOSF writing piece. It’s when Cassian and Nesta are on that mountain after she has the entire breakdown, and we got those two lines from her later how they...ahem...did the do for two days straight. Well I wanted to expand on this scene that we were robbed of. If there are typos, I’m sorry, I just can’t look at it again anymore. So many thanks to @bookstantrash who listened to my ramblings and musings as I wrote this fic. I’m so dramatic at times and she was supportive through it all. This was heavily inspired by all the hints of Cassian being Enalius reborn, and how Nesta is referred to as a queen so many times in the book.

I hope you enjoy!

                                                 ~***~

Nesta’s arms were aching by the time Cassian finally reached for the sword from her grip and told her they were done for the day. 

She felt drained. In all the best ways, but still, there was nothing but empty silence in and around her. Not in the way it had gone horribly quiet before she’d burst into tears on her knees, but in the way that only calm could do for her. 

Pure calm.

She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt such a way. Sure she had felt hints of it, in those moments when her body was ragged after training, or completely loose under Cassian’s ministrations. But it never lasted. That creeping dread always found a way into her heart, her mind, until all that sounded was that dark, raging fire of hers that she could never do much to quell the burn of.

This was not that. This was lightness, a burden lifted off of her shoulders. So many thoughts she’d had about her father, about herself, as a person, a daughter, a sister, a female. None of them good- not for her nor the people around her.

But this calm enveloped her tightly, as a mother would, if she’d ever had one that care enough to do so. Or perhaps a lover, if she had ever allowed him close enough to do that.

It held tight and it held firm and Nesta just breathed, breathed, breathed.

The air in the mountains was crisp, sharper, cleaner than even Velaris. She could feel something deep in the soil under her feet, or perhaps in the shimmering lake in front of her. Some sentience beyond her capability of understanding it- beyond time, beyond life as she knew it. Old and vast, rich with knowledge and understanding...whatever being had once walked here, or still did, Nesta could feel its presence warming her from the inside out.

“Take off your clothes and put them here before you go in,” Cassian called from behind her. She turned in shock at the statement as she saw him begin to undress, piling his jacket, then his shirt, onto the pack. The pack that was kept next to a...

Is that a sleeping bundle?

“You’ve had that this whole time?.” she asked, outraged at the soreness she could still feel from sleeping on hard ground for an entire week.

Cassian didn’t bother to reply though, smirking as he walked over to the lake, naked, and waded in.

Nesta did eventually relent when he didn’t turn around to call her in with him again. Why she needed him so much, she’d never know. She certainly wasn’t about to ask him.

Her clothes were filthy, and she knew she should wash them before going into the lake with Cassian. But that would mean crouching down on the bank, naked, and making a mess of the cloth and her hands.

It would also mean looking like an idiot in front of Cassian...no, she’d rather not.

The water was not cold as she’d expected it to be. Not warm either, but the cool lap of the gentle waves soothed her overheated skin, as well as her shot nerves.

Cassian seemed to be swimming small laps further into the circle of the body of water, but Nesta had no interest in taking part in whatever new game he’d created. She stuck to the edges, washing her body as best as she could with no soap or proper tub. Cassian let her be, content to swim his laps, circles really, not a care in the world that someone could see them in the still evening light should they walk by.

“Are you done primping yet?.” he mocked, finally turning around to look at her now wading in the rippling water.

Nesta flashed him a sweet smile. “Some of us don’t enjoy a week’s worth of dirt on our skin. It’s called hygiene.”

Cassian rolled his eyes. “It’s called primping.”

“Ass,” she muttered, but slowly made her way towards him, only to stop a few feet away. Cassian snickered but said nothing more, and she wondered if it came naturally to him to be so lighthearted. 

He looked calmer here too, in the wilds of the hills with the slowly setting sun behind him, sky turned crimson and violet all at once, and his skin gleamed copper against it. 

Radiant.

Beautiful.

She had no place next to him here. Here in the stilling perfection of the scenery and Cassian, Nesta did not fit.

Cassian seemed to realize the train of her thoughts, to some base extent at least, because he reached out a hand to her, water splashing as it rose from his side towards her. He was always holding out a hand for her to grasp, never once wavering in helping her. He always helped her, brought her up, brought her forward. 

What did she do for him? What could she do for him? 

“Don’t do that,” he said softly, moving a couple inches closer, hand still outreached. “Don’t get into your head. Just come here.”

She would only need to float forward slightly, and then her hand would easily intertwine with his own, where he would likely pull her away from any lingering grief and doubt haunting her mind. 

He always did.

“Come here Nes,” he coaxed again, gently.

She relented then, if only just this once after the storm of emotions that had ripped through her not too long ago. Sure the sword practice had helped, the tears had helped, but she needed more. She needed him.

Cassian’s hand was hot, callouses soothing across her own, and it was a gentle tug on her hand that got her pulled close to his chest, just like she knew he would do. She didn’t want to look into his eyes though, not that serene calm on his face with a hint of apprehension for her. She didn’t need to see it just yet. So Nesta focused on the view directly in front of her.

Tanned skin with tendrils of water running down the pectorals, circling in all directions over and on the whorls of tattoos on Cassian’s chest. It was instinct that had her hand rising up to trace them, to focus on him alone if only to calm the churning thoughts in her mind.

And Cassian let her. Held her waist with one arm to keep them wading above the surface, wings fluttering every so often behind him to do the work.

Cassian did not stop her, letting her trace and commit to memory each line, each curve and each lick of black ink that with every stroke of her fingers, brought her further away from what would happen when they returned to Velaris. What she would say to Feyre, if she even could speak-

Stop. Focus on Cassian. Don’t think of all that right now.

Only when the last rays of sunlight hit the horizon, and the world was aglow in the barest hints of the sun’s luminance, did Nesta stop her exploring on Cassian’s skin. It could have been hours, could have been days, even though her Fae senses told her it had only been a couple minutes since she’d gone to him. None of that mattered as she felt the calm return, stronger this time from when she’d waded into the lake and her horrible thoughts had attempted to resurface.

It was just Nesta and Cassian in this new perfect world, where they alone existed with each other. With no barriers to separate their skin or souls, she thought it to be the closest moment of perfection she’d ever gotten in her life. Even if this fantasy would quickly shatter as soon as they had to leave.

She could pretend for now.

So she locked her arms around his neck, pressing her front tighter to his muscled chest, and placed a soft kiss just where his neck began and his markings ended. Then another one higher up, where his pulse pounded like a war drum under her lips.

It was all the encouragement that Cassian needed before his hands circled her waist and quickly lifted her up to wrap her legs around his torso.

She was about to capture his lips with her own, but Cassian made to pull back.

Had she done something wrong? It certainly seemed so with the way his eyes scanned across her face, hazel eyes glinting with the full moon’s reflection, and body tensed to spring.

“Are you sure?” he asked gruffly. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

He’d never asked her like this before. There had never been a true need for it. Nesta didn’t need to voice anything to Cassian when it came to sex, he just knew by instinct what she needed from him- what she craved, what she lusted for. Sure they were coarse with their language the entire time, but she didn’t need to say anything about what she needed from him. Or if she was sure of him. 

She was always sure of him. That was never the problem.

Cassian blew out a soft breath, the warmth tickling her cheek as he pulled a centimeter closer. “I just don’t want you to feel like anything needs to happen right now. It doesn’t. We can just...swim.”

Nesta raised her brows at him, impatience getting the best of her. She pulled him closer, as best as she could given how she was almost hanging off of him, and nipped the bottom of his ear with just enough bite to get him groaning.

Nesta placed a soft kiss to the underside of his ear, and then nuzzled her nose across his neck, grounding herself with his scent. 

“I don’t want to swim,” she whispered low in his ear.

A shudder went through Cassian as he held her tighter, and a smug bit of satisfaction coursed through her that she’d affected him so. 

“What do you want then?,” he asked asked through gritted teeth.

Nesta smirked against his clavicle and then without warning, licked up the column of his throat, savoring the taste of his sweat and something else that was utterly Cassian. That had Cassian grunting and bucking his hips just a fraction up to her. Already she could feel his hardness poking into her stomach.

Nesta fixed her eyes on Cassian’s, challenge rife in both hazel and blue. But she would not bend this time, not even if she wanted to beg for him to fuck her and fuck her now. 

Cassian broke first anyways.

He gave up any restraint he was holding onto and plunged his hands into her hair, pulling her roughly towards him to join their mouths.

Stroke for stroke she met every single movement of his mouth on hers, and then just to remind him how she wanted this to go, she bit down hard on his bottom lip, drawing blood. He pulled back, hissing, and she wondered if he didn’t appreciate it. But then Cassian gave her a feral grin, and the blood droplet that had gathered on his now swelling lower lip fell down his chin. She licked that up, body brimming with heat as his scent and taste filled her mouth.

Tang and copper and salt, and yet, somehow it was better than sweet honey in her mouth.

“You’re a naughty little thing aren’t you?,” he whispered into her ear, tracing the shell of the arched point before lightly nipping the top. She couldn’t help the yelp that escaped her at that, and Cassian chuckled darkly before backing away.

Before she could snarl at him to pick up the pace, to get to the point before she could remember everything she was trying to forget, one of Cassian’s hands snaked down to part her folds, thumb stroking her sensitive nub lightly. Just that small, teasing touch, and a burn began to build all over her skin.

One arm remained tightly wrapped around her waist, and Nesta held onto his shoulders with a fiercer grip as he used his other hand to pleasure her leisurely under the water. 

But she needed more.

Nesta shifted her hips impatiently, as much as her position would allow her to do, desperately craving more friction between her core and Cassian’s fingers.

“Naughty,” Cassian murmured, still not giving her what she desired. “What do you want Nesta?,” he demanded roughly.

Nesta keened at that, the pure command in his tone, no longer teasing or lighthearted. This was the Commander, and he had asked her a serious question. No more playing around, thank the Gods.

“I want...oh,” she interrupted herself as Cassian plunged two fingers into her tight channel. She moaned low in her throat as he began scissoring his hands in and out of her, the scent of both their arousals rising to meet them in a heady pull. 

She should finish the thought, yes, she should tell him she wanted to...Gods above that was good. So utterly good as Cassian reached to his member and placed it against her bundle of nerves, rubbing his tip over it. It was exquisite as he slid his length through her folds, slowly grinding his hips against hers, and yet never entering.

A different kind of torture for sure because Nesta knew she was close to breaking if he kept with the teasing any longer.

“Please,” she whimpered as he drove his hips towards her for the fifth time, still not inside of her in the way she wanted so much.

Cassian looked at her then, tearing his gaze away from between their joined hips under the water, and she felt undone under the scrutiny of his gaze.

Nesta was about to ask again, beg really, pride and ego be damned. But Cassian didn’t keep her waiting longer as he slammed his hips against hers, his thick length stretching her as he entered.

Nesta might have screamed, she couldn’t tell from the way she temporarily lost all sensation in her body, save for the one between her legs. Perhaps from the slight pain mixed with pleasure, from the size that was just too large to ever really get used to. Not that she’d ever want it any other way. He was the only one that could make her feel-

“Better?,” he asked, driving deep into her again, removing his hand from between where they were now joined to cup her breast. 

Gods yes.

He palmed it roughly, scraping a fingernail over a peaked nipple that caused her to whimper almost embarrassingly loud. But Nesta was beyond caring. Not when Cassian adjusted her on his hips to drive deeper, higher up, hitting a spot inside her that was as toe-curling as it was brilliant. It was so good, so exquisite at how it hinted at the pleasure she could reach if only she had...

“More,” she moaned, her hands barely able to hold onto his wet shoulders as he drove up into her over and over again. “I want more.”

A plea she would likely regret as soon as this was all over, but she wanted to be screaming with pleasure. Drowning in it. 

Cassian stopped moving inside of her then, weighing what she’d asked for. His eyes scanned the water around them, probably thinking the same thing she had already figured out. No balance, not enough grip on anything underneath them, and no way to stay upright as they worked each other harder and harder- no, the lake would no longer do for the kind of fucking she wanted. The kind he wanted too if she’d guessed correctly on the predatory intent in his eyes that was mirroring her own.

Cassian pulled out of her in a fluid motion and she hissed at that too. At the slight sting as he left and then again when the current swirled under them to her too sensitive skin. Then without warning, his arms wrapped her up to his chest, and Cassian brought them out of the water.

He set her down on shaky legs, her body still ramped from the unfinished sex and skin chilled from being wet and bare on a mountaintop. Cassian was quick in pulling out a towel from his pack- one she had no idea he’d been carrying this whole time. After she handed back the towel to him, body still damp but no longer as wet and cold as before, Cassian pointed at the sleeping bundle and told her to get in. She listened without asking how he planned to make them both fit. She’d let him finish toweling off first.

Answers came in the form of a zip on the side of the fluffy contraption that she hadn’t noticed. As Cassian pulled it free, more cloth and filling fell out, and Nesta realized there was indeed enough room for them to share the pack. 

Joy at knowing she wouldn’t have to deal with the hard, ground floor at night almost made her forget why they were here in the first place. Why they had left the lake so quickly and interrupted from what would have been a most interesting joining. Almost, but not quite.

Not at all actually when Cassian looked over her again, at the breasts on display, and at the only part of her covered by the blanket from her waist down. Cassian’s look alone had her core growing hotter, aching with need as she felt her wetness grow.

Cassian smirked at her, no doubt scenting her arousal from that one look.

Smug bastard.

But he didn’t tease her as he eased himself in beside her, laying her down before climbing over her.

“How do you want it?,” he asked gruffly, lips brushing over her neck, her jaw, her too tight skin almost bursting with longing.

Words failed her at that moment though. How to voice her desire for him, just how much she ached to be filled with him, and not come off as completely undone. But she’d been undone by Cassian long before they’d shared a bed together. Long before he’d even kissed her and his lips had been like fire reignited against her skin.

Nesta had been undone and ruined for Cassian the moment he’d tasted the skin on her neck as a human woman, leaning close to the heat of the fireplace behind them, lust and something more snapping stronger between them. 

“Do whatever you want,” she breathed, still not quite sure how she could breathe so calmly with how close they were. Almost nose to nose that she could count out exactly eight flecks of amber in his left eye, seven in his right. Some of his hair was drying and a few strands fell over his face, brushing over his eyes and her cheek. Before she could tell herself not to, her hands were already rising up to tuck the silky black strands behind his ear.

Cassian stilled as her fingers grazed the underside of his jaw, still holding the bottom of his hair now looped behind an arched ear. Then, so slowly she almost cried out in anticipation, Cassian nudged his face a few inches, leaning into her palm and pressing a soft kiss to its middle. A barely there kiss, a phantom touch, but she felt it like lightning had struck her palm and traveled all the way down her arm, hitting straight into her chest.

It wasn’t often that they indulged in...that. That being the softness in between their joinings. The tenderness she did not allow herself to wield and him to bask in. Nesta realized though, in that moment, how much they both had needed it. Had craved it.

The sex was world imploding for her. Him too she knew. But she would be lying to herself if she didn’t admit she longed for more, even if she knew that could never be. And Cassian wasn’t the problem.

She was.

If she let him, Cassian would stay in her bed long after being spent on each other’s ecstasy. If she let him, he would hold her, gentle and soft in all the ways their couplings were the opposite. If...but she never would.

Cassian did not need Nesta in the way that Nesta needed Cassian. Cassian was all things good, all things right in the world, and Nesta’s world had always been anything but that. Gone were the days when she could fantasize about being a sweet princess who would be saved by a dashing knight to save her from the fearsome monster who’d made her his prey.

Nesta was the monster. Nesta did not need saving by Cassian.

Cassian needed saving from her.

But perhaps, here, in this rugged terrain with not another soul around them for miles she could pretend. She might let herself indulge in the fantasy a little while longer.

That she was not this wretched mess that Cassian was so sure would heal and one day not be broken. That she could let Cassian hold her and she could touch him with gentleness and not have him shrink away from her in horror. Here in this vast unknown, Nesta and Cassian could just be them, with no one to judge or condemn either of them for what they wanted deep in their hearts.

So Nesta let herself forget and raised her neck to kiss him softly. A gentle kiss if they’d ever shared one before. It might have been their first since he’d pressed his lips to hers on that battlefield almost two years ago.

To her shock Cassian gave in with a groan, soft and reverent as his mouth moved on hers, so delicately she could have cried from it.

“Answer me,” he finally whispered, a broken male’s plea against her swollen lips.

“I told you. Whatever you want.” It was an impatient demand, one she knew did not tell him what she needed. But she figured she would let Cassian do whatever he was in the mood for. As long as the end result was him deep inside of her, driving her to brink of collapse, she cared little for how he’d take her.

“You said that to me once before. And I told you that’s not very fun. Do you remember?” As if to remind her of that first time they’d slept together, at the palace atop the Court of Nightmares, Cassian drew a hand up to her breast. Pinching her nipple just as he’d done with her then, her back arching in want from the sting of the pull and the pleasure of the sensation.

She did remember. It had been world shattering for her then too, that first time, and she had known from that one time alone, nothing and no one would ever be enough for her again. But she had no intention of letting Cassian in on that. So she dragged her hand out of his hair, creeping down his chest, his flexed stomach, and made to grab-

Cassian was faster. Twisting just so to circle her wrist and pin it down behind her head.

“Nesta,” he growled out a warning. 

“Fine,” she relented, almost whining at how long this was taking for her to just get him inside of her. “Fuck me like you did when I told you that. Like you did at the palace. Do that.”

Cassian’s face beheld an amused smile and she almost shied away from how brazen a request it was. “Whatever Lady Death needs,” he finally said.

She could have rolled her eyes at that comment. Probably did show something like it on her face, because Cassian huffed a laugh as he let go of her wrist and snaked it across the planes of her stomach, down to the apex of her thighs.

A groan caught in his throat as he cupped her, and Nesta hips arced up slightly at the unexpected touch, only coming down as Cassian soothed her with idle strokes along her folds.

Soft, lazy, and not at all what she needed in that moment. So Nesta ground her hips up against his palm, only for Cassian to pull back completely, kneeling between her spread thighs as perhaps punishment for being too demanding.

“Greed will get you nowhere,” he admonished, his fingers tickling slowly up the underside of her thigh. 

“So what will?,” she challenged. Perhaps not the wisest decision as Cassian leveled her with a calculating stare, mapping her breasts and flushed skin as he would any battleground. How to conquer as swift as possible, how to ruin with each timed attack of his fingers. His tongue perhaps being the first break against her fortress until the rest of him could follow suit.

Cassian did not answer her though. Instead he went back to her core, sliding two fingers up along the outside of her folds, joining atop the hood of her sex but never quite touching it fully. It drove her absolutely mad as he did this over and over, taunting that arch of sensitive flesh but never giving her what she wanted.

“So beautiful. So fucking wet. Is this for me, Nesta?,” he rasped as he slid two fingers inside of her easily. Nesta held in the moan, biting her lip and squeezing her eyes shut as he brought his other hand to press and rub her swollen bud that had been pleading for his attention.

To answer truthfully would have repercussions- taunts and arrogant comments on how good he was making it for her. Not answering may mean he’d torture her longer and draw out the teasing to an unbearable degree.

“You know it is,” she finally admitted.

Oh he liked that. So much so that Cassian gave her a broad smile, teeth glinting white in only the moonlight, and the beauty of it nearly stole her breath away. 

And then he withdrew his fingers from her, bringing them up so that they could both see the wetness coating them. He was a fiend she decided then. An absolute, filthy fiend as he slid the two fingers against each other, testing her wetness and want, before lifting them to his mouth and tasting her on them.

“Well you certainly taste like it,” he finally said after he was done.

Nesta snarled at the audacity and would have started grabbing for him again if he didn’t fix her with a stare that was so heated, so tantalizing, it had chills running over her skin.

“Turn around then.”

The command alone could have sent her careening over into climax with all the promise it held. Cassian’s tone was dark, so sensual that she briefly forgot to move onto her front, so enraptured she was by the male kneeling before her. Thankfully Cassian seemed to pick up on it, hefting her up by the waist and gently spinning her onto her stomach for her.

She knew the view before him would be his own undoing, just as Cassian, sweaty, shirtless and panting in the middle of training was hers.

“Just like last time?,” he asked, kissing a path up from the bottom of her spine to the eight-pointed star that bound them together. He rested his lips there longer than he needed to before brushing aside her hair and pressing a final kiss to the nape of her neck.

Nesta didn’t know if she could keep the tremor out of her voice but she’d do her best. “Just like last time,” she affirmed.

Cassian growled in approval, lifting her hips off the bottom of the sleeping bag as he straddled her from behind. 

“But,” she started, and Cassian stopped as soon as he heard it. 

That he would end this all with even the slightest of hesitation on her part hit something deep in her heart. Memories she’d smothered long ago of traveling hands and ripping skirts that she didn’t want to recall in this moment.

Nesta tried again, ignoring the horror that had resurfaced unexpectedly in her mind. “But, don’t hold back like last time. I want all of you, unrestrained.”

Cassian let out a noise of shock, or perhaps it was arousal. She turned her head to look at him from behind her shoulder, and amusement shone on his face. 

“I would have hurt you last time,” he explained. He was right, she knew that. Larger than any male she’d ever taken, coupled with the fact that she was a lot smaller than him and he too thick for her, she knew it would have hurt her had he not prepared her body slowly that first time.

But this was no longer their first time together. And if Nesta let herself dare to wish, she would hope that they would never part, not just for sex, but for everything else between them that was still unfinished.

“Maybe,” she admitted, “but you won’t anymore. And besides, I’m not afraid of a little pain.”

That got his attention. “You like pain, Nes?,” he chuckled as he asked, palms roving over the smooth expanse of her back in deliberate strokes along the sides of her spine. Kneading and pressing in all the right spots that she moaned at the small massage instead of answering.

“Not like,” she amended herself, “but I don’t mind it.” And then, just to get his blood boiling for all the teasing she’d been put through, Nesta added, “But I can like it if it’s done right.” The last bit was both a confession from her and challenge to him.

Pain and pleasure mingling together in a heady blend always worked for Nesta to heighten her senses with whatever she was doing in the bedroom. She didn’t need it every time, certainly not when Cassian alone was more than enough to utterly break her apart with each climax he gave her. But she did like it to some degree, and she knew Cassian wouldn’t judge her for it.

Cassian seemed to appreciate the bait she’d dangled before him, promptly dropping his head down to bite her shoulder in a quick nip that left her hissing. When his tongue flicked out to soothe the reddened skin, she knew he understood her then. Knew he’d know exactly how to make it hurt and burn, with pleasure and pain, just for her.

She felt him grip his cock behind her, rubbing it between her folds before aligning himself to her drenched entrance. When he didn’t move further, Nesta wriggled her ass back into him, and one of his hands came down to slap against the cheek, holding her away in a rough grip that did little to soothe the sting of his palm.

Nesta couldn’t help it. She moaned, loud and only slightly smothered by the ground underneath her.

“Like that don’t you?,” he murmured, knowing she’d never answer yes.

Yes she’d liked that very much...too much. 

Cassian shifted his hips, lifting her own up slightly off the ground to meet him better, and then he surged forward until he was completely sheathed.

Nesta didn’t know how each time they joined it felt like the first time. New and good and unexpected. Every time she felt different, better, even if they were to do the exact same thing over and over. It felt perfect in those moments, those stilled barely there moments between him entering her and then starting to move.

That moment of just being joined, being one with each other, never ceased to take her breath away. As if they’d been forged of the same fire that licked over her skin and made her feel warm and aching all over. As if whatever Gods had crafted her, had kept him in mind. How well he would fit in her, how perfectly she would take him, and how easily she would lose herself in him.

Thoughts of perfection and destiny quickly faded from her mind though as Cassian began thrusting in earnest into her. He was letting go, just like she’d asked for- at least, as much as he was allowing himself be.

Garbled moans and half screams filled the night air amidst his own grunts as he hit deep into her walls. So intoxicating and yet...something was missing. He was still locked away, not fully taking her in the way she knew he could do if she gave him full permission.

But she had told him to let go completely and he hadn’t listened, so now Nesta would need to change tactics. She clenched her inner muscles around him once, twice, and Cassian snarled at her, hands tightening their grip on her hips as if that would stop her from teasing him.

It was an impressive attempt though, she’d give him that, and Nesta laughed softly as she clenched around him again for good measure.

“Witch,” he snarled again, “You’ll ruin it all if you keep doing that.”

“Fuck me harder and I’ll stop,” she shot back.

“You’ll get hurt,” he grunted, and to her irritation, slowed down his thrusts as if to prove a point. Nesta leaned up on her elbows and turned her head to look at him. 

He was panting lightly, not from exertion but perhaps restraint. On himself, she realized, for that was full blown lust in her eyes to a depth he’d never let her see before. His hair framed his face in a wild, wind torn way, and she knew it was from what they were doing, and not the still air around them. That air was charged with something heated and sharp as their eyes met. Understanding on her part and remorse in his own. And then he pulled out of her in one fluid motion and Nesta had to strangle the urge inside of her that was ready to beg from him to come back.

“I’m fine,” she told him softly, perhaps more for his sake than hers.

“I don’t think so,” he admitted, and before she could strike down the truth he’d spilled, “and that’s fine.”

“No one expects...” he stopped, and then amended before continuing on, “I don’t expect you to be fine. I’d be worried if you were. But I don’t want to take you too roughly right now if-”

“Stop,” she interjected, patience completely gone, “You don’t want? What about what I want? You don’t get to decide what is good for me and what isn’t, what I can handle and what I can’t. Only I can make those decisions.”

“Nesta,” he soothed, trying to calm her down. Only she was beyond listening to reason, beyond caring.

“Do you know what I want Cassian?,” she asked.

Not waiting for a reply, Nesta pushed up with the flat of her palms until her back hit his chest, and turned her neck to look up at him. Cassian’s hands glided over her bare skin, wrapping a solid vice of muscle across her stomach to hold her to him. Everything was too hot, too much as she really felt the warmth seeping into her body from his chest, from his arm over her stomach that just brushed the swell of her breasts. And his breath, light and warm as well, fanning over her cheek as he beheld her a few inches below his face, was almost enough to get her completely calmed down. 

Almost.

Nesta told him sharply, “I am not a doll. You never treated me like I was breakable. Not like everyone else I know did and I liked that. Don’t start now.”

Cassian sighed, his head dropping down to brush his lips across her shoulder in a solemn kiss. In apology. “I’m not trying to Nes, but you had a rough couple of days. A hell week really. I’m not saying you’re breakable,” and he fixed his stare resolutely on her. “I just want to make sure you’re alright.”

Nesta didn’t say anything to that, instead wrapping her arm behind his neck and pulling him towards her. The kiss was slow, burning, and everything their heated frenzy earlier had not been. How long had it been since she’d let herself enjoy just this? Just...kissing him. The simplicity of it all.

But then Cassian nipped at her lower lip and just like that, she was liquid in his arms. Warmth pooled more and more in her core and she extracted one of her hands from his hair down to his hardened length. Gripping the broad head of him, she ran a finger over the slit, eliciting a hiss from Cassian that skittered over her skin like she wanted his hands to do.

Nesta murmured against his neck as she continued stroking him, “Do you know what I want?,” she repeated.

Cassian groaned a deep sound in the back of his throat as she gripped him tighter, just enough to bank on that line between pleasure and pain that she herself loved to toe. A line she was willing to bet Cassian could wrap her up in and ruin her with.

“I want bruises,” she whispered into his skin. “I want to see them for days afterwards, everywhere you touched me, and remember everything you did and how you left your mark on me while you fucked me.”

Cassian stopped moving and stopped breathing as he let her words settle into him. She peeked up at his expression through her lashes, wondering if what she’d asked for was too forward, even for them.

It wasn’t.

Cassian pressed a bruising kiss to her lips without warning, more teeth than tongue but she didn’t mind. His hand came out to wrap across the back of her neck and then he was pushing her back down to lay on her stomach. Perhaps it was the knowledge that she’d get exactly what she’d asked for now, but suddenly the fabric under her breasts and navel felt too scratchy- it was teasing her sensitive skin with every little jostle she made.

Nesta felt his fingers ghost down over her spine, over their shared ink and then the swell of her backside, resting in between her legs to cup her from behind. She moaned into her arm, stifling the sound before she could embarrass herself any further.

Cassian crept over her then, situating the hard planes of his body over her back, hand still slowly caressing her core in lazy circles. Just when she thought he’d finally start with her, Cassian came up to her ear and whispered down to her.

“Who does this belong to Nesta?,” he asked, sliding two fingers into her sex.

She whimpered at the motion, the easy slickness that he was feeling around him.

“Answer,” the command came to her. It wasn’t often that she let males use that dominating tone on her, or even bothered to let herself bend to it without putting up a fight. But giving up control to Cassian was a different sort of release, as welcome as it was heady. “Answer or I’ll stop right now Nesta,” he lightly threatened.

“You,” she finally breathed out.

“Good girl,” he crooned, the praise going straight to her core, making her painfully aware of how wet and unfilled she still was. She got a kiss on her spine for her answer and if he hadn’t moved away so quickly, it could have been her lips too. But he was denying her, teasing her all over again.

“And this?,” he asked, rubbing her smoothly over her bundle of nerves. "Who does your pleasure belong to Nesta?”

“You,” she quietly revealed.

Finally, he pushed his cock to her entrance, not quite entering, but the head of him just starting to stretch her opening slightly.

“And who rides you hard enough to make you come Nesta?” His hands crept into her hair, tangling into a mess as he clenched around the roots.

“You.”

It was all he needed to move forward, sliding in and in and in until she was so filled she could have screamed. When his hips snapped, she knew she was done for.

Uninhibited, wild, and unchecked was all that Cassian had become then. All that he had made her become too with how vigorously he began pumping into her. Harder and harder he rammed into her, hands pulling back sharply on her hair until her back arched so much so that she could look up at him above her.

He slowed to leisurely thrusts as he let go of her hair, instead circling his hand across her throat. Not enough to make her cry out, but squeezing with just enough pressure to make her keen backwards into him, lifting her head up in a silent plea that he answered as he slanted his mouth down to hers.

He tasted like her, at least some part of him did since he’d put his fingers to his mouth while still coated with her essence. He also tasted like embers and mountain-kissed wind and Nesta knew even if she kissed him everyday for the rest of her immortal life, it would not be enough to sate the longing he’d awakened in her.

“Cassian,” she whispered raggedly, no longer able to form enough words with all the intoxicating pleasure erupting through her body.

Thankfully, Cassian had never needed Nesta’s words to know what she wanted from him. 

“I know. I know,” he murmured into her hair.

He didn’t let go of the hand circling her throat, even when he pushed her back to lay flat on her front again. This time, Cassian pressed his complete weight down on her, and damn it all but she had never felt more alive feeling pushed like that. His hand from under her closed tighter her around her neck and a broken sound escaped her lips. His other hand drifted down between her legs, pleasuring her as he pressed his weight at her back completely on her.

There was no part of them that wasn’t touching as he began to move again inside her. And he when he returned to the pace he’d left off at, hard enough for his balls to slap her skin as he pounded into her, his muscled chest heaving along her back, Nesta knew she’d come with his name screaming from her lips within minutes.

She had been right. 

Just as she’d felt Cassian’s breath begin to shutter, she knew he was close, and so did he, as he moved his fingers faster against her and began to coax a climax from her in time with his thrusts. Just the right angle timed with a rolling of her swollen bud had her crying out for him and only him, over and over until she crested into climax. It was so jarring she screamed into the night, the echo bouncing around the open mountain air the high wore on and on until she boneless under him.

It didn’t take long for him to follow her down, gasping her name in a chant as he spilled into her so forcefully with his thrusts, that some of it began to leak out onto her thighs long before he left her channel.

And then...true silence, save for their quiet panting as time began to speed back up to reality.

“Gods,” he gasped finally, pressing a chaste kiss over her tattoo, barely able to keep his weight off of her anymore. She wondered what he would say if she told him she wouldn’t care if he completely fell over her, just as long as they never stopped touching.

“I know,” she conceded quietly. And that was all she said, all she could say given how spent she’d become. 

They did not move for some time. Perhaps from the force of their climaxes that had left them weak or perhaps because they didn’t know who would move away first and declare that rift once more.

It was always Cassian who left her in her bedroom. But this was not her bedroom in the House of Wind and they no longer had the luxury of separate beds. Really, they didn’t have the luxury of a bed at all but who was really keeping track. Certainly not Nesta who could still feel the jagged edges of small rocks that she’d slept on top of for the past week aching in her muscles.

When Cassian rolled off of her, she almost pleaded at him to not, to stay against her forever, bare skin to bare skin, forever entwined.

She peeked a glance beside her, arm thrown over his forehead as his chest continued heaving, his skin now glistening lightly with a thin layer of sweat. She had to be in worse condition, hair likely frizzed from his pulling and lips swollen and flushed. She couldn’t find it in herself to care though. Not when it meant she had been marked in some way by him, even if the signs would eventually fade from her skin with time.

Nesta turned on her side if only to look at him properly. She’d get away with it too, considering his eyes were shut tight and he’d never catch her ogling. 

She wanted more though. Couldn’t get enough of him, of them, and she knew that it didn’t matter how roughly he’d just taken her, how hard she’d come, hard enough to see stars temporarily. It would never be enough.

Cassian opened his eyes unexpectedly and turned on his side too then, facing her. If he didn’t say a word, she would have been fine with it, would have been content to just stare into his eyes and get lost in the moss and amber that called to her like nothing ever had before.

“Are you alright?” A shadow of worry lingered on his face. “I wasn’t too rough was I?”

“I’m fine Cassian. Stop worrying about me.”

In fact, if you want to be worried about something, just fuck me again and I’ll feel loads better.

Cassian reached out a tentative hand to stroke along her neck and Nesta felt it then. The soreness from where he’d gripped her neck.

“You’re bruising,” he said, horror alight in his eyes.

“I asked for that,” she reminded him gently. But Cassian couldn’t stop being transfixed by her skin, and though she couldn’t see the light purple beginning to bloom, she could feel it’s tightness. A subtle ache which may have been upsetting for some, but for Nesta all it did was spur her desire into molten ore again, and just like that, she was ready for him. 

“Nesta...,” he began, clearly about to chide her and likely ask to examine her neck again.

He needed the distraction, clearly she thought, still not moving away from where he’d marked her. So Nesta sidled closer and tucked under his own neck, leaving him no room to fuss over her anymore. She pressed her lips softly to the hard knot at his throat and then an open mouthed kiss to his collarbone. 

“Mmm, that’s nice Nes, but let me just look.” He tried again, inching his hands to her neck, but she was quicker.

She deftly twisted his fingers with her own, interlacing them and moving them to rest at her waist. “If you want to use your hands so badly, I can think of better ways to put them to work,” she whispered against his skin, licking a tendril of black ink across his chest.

He peered down at her for that comment, and to her delight, it seemed to work as he let go of her hand to rest along her midriff. He then glided down over her navel, erupting gooseflesh all over her body, and then rested his hand firmly at the top of her sex, not quite down along the folds where she wanted him.

“You’re still soaked with me,” he sighed, pulling himself closer until she could slip one of her legs between his long, muscled ones.

Nesta smiled, still too cuddled up to his chest to look at him properly, knowing how handsome he’d look with the small smirk that would no doubt be playing along his lips.

“Is that a problem?,” she asked coyly, running a hand down his chiseled stomach, marveling at the muscle that flexed underneath.

“Fuck no,” he growled, finally teasing two fingers down her slit, gathering his seed and her essence from her opening and then slowly rubbing it along the apex of her sex. 

She mewled at the sensation, just this side of heaven until Cassian stopped and flick her sharply, eliciting a hiss from her at the small hurt. At the sting that bordered on pleasure, bunched into a lustful combination that had her canting her hips along his hand as he continued working her wetness. Nesta dug her hand deeper into his chest when Cassian slipped two fingers inside and curled upward. The shock at the feeling had her nails pushing sharply into his skin, so hard that she smelled blood in the air and could faintly make out arcs of red on his chest when she moved her hand away.

“I don’t mind,” he reassured her. And then with a savage grin he leaned close enough to brush his lips to hers, before adding, “I also like it when you mark me Nes. Hard enough so that I can see them days afterwards and remember how good you felt when I fucked you.”

Nesta couldn’t handle it anymore, this relentless teasing with his hand and his words pushing her closer to another climax. She grabbed his hand and moved it away from her thighs, pushing him back down from his side, careful of the wings underneath them. And then Nesta climbed over his powerful legs astride him in the way she’d been craving for since she’d entered the lake with him.

Cassian’s hands came up to rest on the tops of her thighs, digging into the supple flesh that she hoped he’d mark too.

“You didn’t even let me taste you,” he told her with a bemused pout.

Nesta laughed at that, gliding her nails softly down his chest, making sure to grind her lower half against his as she did so. Cassian’s hips bucked up to her, sending warmth pooling in her core at his hard, hot length brushed against her ass.

Cassian’s hands skittered over her stomach and Nesta fought for control to not squeal at how much it tickled. No doubt if Cassian ever found out, he’d never leave her alone. But thoughts of all that quickly fled her mind as he came to cup her breasts with both hands, a greedy look taking over his face. Kneading and tugging just how she liked it, Nesta groaned quietly at the sensation, grinding down harder on him as he canted up to her.

“I love seeing this,” he murmured before rising up at the waist to lock his mouth around her breast, caressing the nipple in small teasing licks that had her whining. 

“Seeing what?,” she managed to ask, almost lost to all reason except for how good he felt under her and how good his mouth felt on her pebbled skin.

Cassian switched to the other side of her chest, ignoring her question and lavishing all of his attention on her other breast. It left her wanting, so much so that she grabbed his hand and placed it brazenly on her other one. He chuckled at that but heeded her desire with a firm squeeze, the vibration around her nipple sending her gasping as she dove her hands into his snarled hair. Harder she tugged on the night black strands as he continued licking and kissing at her breasts, switching between them over and over until her skin was raw and reddened from his mouth. As were his lips which she hungrily captured to her own, savoring the taste of his skin mingled with the scent of her own.

“I love seeing you atop me, ready to ride me. It’s the perfect view. I can see your beautiful breasts,” he moaned, palming one of them roughly again. “You don’t know how much I loved these, from the moment I first saw you in your old home as a human. You don’t know what it did to me.”

Nesta had some idea, always catching his quick glances down that he thought he was being discreet about. She’d hated how men leered at her before- whether they were stupid boys or older men. She hated them all as they sized up her body like a prize to be taken. To hurt and touch without her permission.

But when Cassian would look at her...

Even without having ever taken a male to bed before, barely even enjoying kissing them, Nesta had lost all reason and propriety from the moment Cassian’s heated gaze had met her own. She had wanted his lips on her, his lips at her breasts, his mouth moving between her legs in the way that her romance novels regaled about. She wanted him, but more than that, she wanted him to want her. To take her over and over in every way she could tell he wanted to as well. But she had never let herself act on it, save for that moment of weakness when he’d come to deliver a letter for the human Queens. 

That day had been her undoing.

But this...what they were doing now. 

This was her unleashing.

“What did it do to you?,” she asked, breathless with the knowledge that his answer would likely shatter every ounce of control she was trying to keep, and she’d want to start riding him rather than letting him prolong his foreplay.

Cassian kissed fire up the column of her throat, sucking hard on the delicate skin above her pulse point. “I wanted to taste them, taste all of you. I wanted you on your knees, sucking me down your throat just how you do now, hard and deep, and then I wanted to see how perfect you’d look when I came all over them.” 

Mother above. So crude, and yet, she couldn’t help but relish in it. 

“Would you have let me?,” he whispered along her clavicle, pressing a chaste kiss to her shoulder.

Nesta thought about it for a few moments as he grazed his nose slowly along her throat, content to let him explore in a way she didn’t allow much back in Velaris. She would have, she decided. Even if she’d never been turned Fae, with the way he had flirted and fought back to her from their first day together, and the way she’d been enraptured by his presence, she’d have let him take her to his bed.

“Yes,” she said simply.

He backed up to face her properly with a small grin on his face that could only mean trouble. “You’re telling me,” he began incredulously, “that the woman who I met, as a human, who wore layers and layers of skirts, who hadn’t ever been with a male before, wouldn’t even let me kiss her, would have let me do all that?”

She snorted. “I would have let you kiss me. I just didn’t like your arrogance that day.” 

Then, just to play with his ego a little more, Nesta leaned forward and purred in his ear, “If you’d returned another day without the attitude, I’d have let you do anything you wanted with me.” 

“Anything?”

“Anything,” she confirmed.

Cassian gave her a wicked grin as he leaned back on the palms of his hands. “Would you have let me lift up those skirts and fuck you over your desk? What about these sweet, pretty lips?,” he traced a finger along the seam of her mouth and she darted out her tongue to swirl around it. “Would you have let me fuck them too? Swallow every drop I gave you?”

She shouldn’t have answered, not with the filth he was spewing that made her toes curl. But it couldn’t be helped- he’d see the truth in her eyes.

“I would,” she insisted. “I don’t know why you think I wouldn’t. If I hadn’t been taken by Hybern and turned-”

She stopped herself, realizing the mistake she’d made. How much she’d revealed about what lay in her heart. If he’d wanted to bed her as a human woman, she would have allowed it eagerly. If he’d wanted more, she would have wanted that too. But being turned by the Cauldron, coupled with Elain’s catatonic state and Feyre’s dangerous liaisons as spy in her former Court, had all left Nesta reeling. There had been no time for a relationship when her own head felt like it would burst with each day she lived in the strange Fae world of her youngest sister. She was just now beginning to acclimate to the new home.

There had been no time for Cassian, or so she told herself.

Cassian, of course, knew where she’d been going, but he didn’t push further, simply leaning forward to kiss her softly. She returned it with equal gentleness, ignoring the small voice in her head that was telling her to stop. That she’d set up their rules for a reason, to keep it only physical, and these lingering touches and kisses were not and should not be allowed.

“I wanted you so much after that day. I ached to have you,” he whispered raggedly against her lips. He didn’t need to tell her which day. The day she’d kneed him in the balls if only to emerge victorious from a situation where she wasn’t wholly sure who had won and who had lost by the end of it. The day she’d almost kissed him and would have gladly let him take her to bed, had reason and shock not been at the forefront of her mind.

“I did too,” she admitted quietly, before tangling her hands into his hair again, driving her tongue around his in a wicked, sensual dance.

“Did you think of me?,” he asked, grinding his hips into hers again, his hand coming to rest at her hip in a light grip. “Did you slip those lovely fingers in between your legs and fuck yourself with them, thinking about me? Did I make you wet Nesta?”

She moaned at the richness of his voice, at all the terrible, delicious things it was saying to her. All the things he was asking and being utterly right about. Her hand hadn’t been enough to forget him and his muscled body, that voice or those eyes, but she’d curved her fingers into herself each night afterwards hoping it would.

“That’s not an answer,” he reminded her, nipping at the tip of her pointed ears in punishment.

“Yes,” she murmured finally. “I was soaked every night thinking about you. And it didn’t matter how much I touched myself, it was never enough.”

There should have been shame, or at least some embarrassment at admitting something so personal. But Nesta could not find it in herself to summon any of it, and the opportunity left as soon as Cassian whispered that he too, just couldn’t be sated by his hand when he thought of her.

“We’re a sad pair aren’t we?,” Cassian finally said after they’d stared at each other for a few moments.

For so many reasons, yes, we are.

Cassian cleared his throat, realizing what he’d just said out loud. “I mean, I wanted you and you wanted me, and we never acted on it. Think of all the great sex we could have been having.”

A poor attempt at a cover up if she’d ever seen one, but she laughed anyways because he was right about that too. Things certainly would have been very different if she’d pursued anything at all with him as a human. Maybe the transition to becoming Fae would have been more palatable, more bearable.

“You’re disgusting, but you’re right. It would have been great. Such a shame really,” she teased laughingly. 

“I think we make up for it rather well though, don’t you?” There was a mischievous glint in his eyes, and the could have sworn she saw stars dance in them. He palmed her ass for good measure, as if to prove his point further.

There was no need. Nesta was already two steps ahead of him as she lightly pushed him to lay down, locking her legs tighter around his hips.

Cassian’s hands skimmed over her waist, drawing a rattled breath from her before they rested calmly at the curves of her hips. Nesta reached for his cock, eager and demanding behind her, and lifted herself up with Cassian’s help before impaling herself down on it.

A high-pitched gasp escaped her lips before she could gather her thoughts, check herself and her pounding heart to calm down. She’d done this so many times before, and yet, somehow it felt different. Freer. Perhaps it was where they were and the fact that they’d shared so much in the past couple hours than Nesta had ever shared with anyone in her entire life.

Cassian seemed to be struggling to keep calm in a similar predicament underneath her. His hands kept their grip loose around her hips, but his eyes were wild with desire. But that gentleness would not do for her. She laid her own hand atop his fingers, and pressed them in hard. 

“Bruises,” she reminded him lightly. This time though, he didn’t stop himself from digging painfully into her waist, and she thanked him secretly for giving into her convoluted desires.

Nesta laid her palms over his chest, a dark thrill racing along her spine as Cassian looked up at her in wonder. Wonder and something more that she didn’t want to linger too long on.

“Nesta,” he rasped. “Nesta.”

“I know,” she whispered back, rising up slightly and taking him deeper.

Nesta moved on Cassian slowly, slower than she’d ever bothered to do before, luxuriating in the slide of his thick cock stretching her with every flex of her hips.

Deeper.

Deeper.

She took him in all the way to the hilt, until she could feel him hit that elusive spot in her most innermost walls. Nesta hissed as the head of him brushed it, and sharp, shocking pleasure rippled through her core and her stomach. Cassian seemed to have caught onto what she’d felt, and she felt him adjust his legs and then begin ramming up into her as she came crashing down.

“Oh, Gods right there,” she gasped.  

Surely Nesta was leaving claw marks down his chest, the tang of his blood filling the small space of air between their slick bodies. But Nesta was too far gone to stop, grinding down on him harder as he bucked up into her, sharp snarls and breathy gasps punctuating the air in a seductive call and answer. For everything she threw at him, he gave her all of it back just as well. Better even. Harder. Rougher.

It was exactly what she needed. He had known. She hadn’t, but he had. Which was why he had let her take the reigns, literally, for this settling of her soul as she let out every tangled emotion from the week’s events. As she rode him harder, faster, the only sounds between them were his occasional grunt and her own pants, marked with every obscene sound of the slide of his cock in her wet heat. 

And Nesta knew, as she crested into another glorious climax, her world would never again be the same. Never again would another male be a good substitute in her bed for this male underneath her. Never again would her body crave and lust for anyone other than the warrior whose mouth tasted like heaven and body burned like hell. Not as she came with a cry of his name, back arched and nails gouging into his skin, as if his very lifeblood was the only thing left as further proof of how deeply enmeshed they had become. 

Cassian’s eyes were shut long after they’d come down from their high, his chest moving with his deep breaths against her. She would have thought him sleeping if his hand hadn’t been caressing her thigh in soft, deliberate circles. Nesta couldn’t find it in herself to say anything either though, so she didn’t do anything more than climb off of him and curl into his side.

For the heat. That was what she told herself. And when Cassian looped an arm under her waist and pulled her back to his chest, she said it to herself again.

Just body heat.

She didn’t know how long she stayed awake, pressed up against him, simply enjoying how right it felt. How many hours had passed, Nesta had no idea. She also didn’t know what they would become the moment they returned to Velaris. Perhaps it would be Nesta who would start the first argument in her goal to push him away. Maybe Cassian. But probably Nesta. If only to keep her pride intact and act as if he hadn’t fought closer into her heart this week. With how he’d stayed and listened through it all, and then held her so gently she thought she too may break in the way he seemed to fear she would.

Here though, was not Velaris. Here was peace, of a different sort. She did not bother to think of tomorrow in this place. Right now she just wanted to stay with Cassian in every way she’d denied herself back in the House of Wind. Let him wrap her up in-

“You’re supposed to be sleeping,” he spoke in a hushed tone into her shoulder. And then he dropped a quick kiss there too, for good measure, as if his words weren’t enough to garner her attention, so he’d switched to the physical touch they always seemed to work best with.

“I’m just thinking,” she admitted. 

All the things I shouldn’t be thinking about.

“Such as?,” he asked playfully, knocking his head against the crevice of her neck.

You. Always you.

“Nothing. Go to sleep.”

Cassian slid the hand curved under her to trace the underside of her breast with careful control. “I don’t want to sleep,” he told her in a low, deep voice that was enough to make her skin tighten. Her breasts ache. Her core pound with need, all over again.

She huffed a laugh. “Of course. What do you want then?”

Cassian didn’t answer, showing her instead. He unfurled the wing draped over her body and rose to loom over her. His wings, usually tucked in tight when she was with him, were flared out on both sides as he lifted himself over her body. Black as night, black as death itself maybe, they were beautiful. She’d been captivated by his wings from the moment they’d met, so powerful and yet delicate, they contradicted everything just by being. She met his hazel eyes, glowing like honeyed faelights, and did not balk from the stare that likely sent others scattering. The silky strand of hair falling over the scar on his eyebrow did little to lessen the command and raw sensuality of his gaze. 

A conquering lord of war. Her very own. Maybe not forever, maybe not even once the week was out. But for now...yes.

Hers.

Cassian’s kiss was rough and demanding and the compulsion to join so soon again beat between them like their pounding hearts. His hands trailed up the sides of her body, caressing her skin with callouses that soothed just as much as they incited desire. Those hands made their way to her hair, tangling gently as he continued kissing her. 

Nesta’s own hands couldn’t help but itch forward and clasp firmly behind his neck. Holding him to her as he was doing with her face as well, pulling lightly at the hair, just enough to make him growl against her lips.

But she swallowed his half snarl with a moan of her own as he ground his hips into her core. Slow, calculated, taunting undulations of his hips that he knew were the root of all the unfettered noises escaping from her mouth. He was making her wild, ravenous with a hunger she’d never known she could live without before him.

Cassian broke their kiss first, but his forehead was touched to her own in an almost bow. “I love those little sounds you make when I touch you,” he murmured over her jaw, dragging a hand down her neck and then lower to cup her breast. “So responsive.”

“Only to you,” she admitted. Recklessly admitted, because he hadn’t known that she was quiet with her previous bedmates save for a few cries here and there if they knew what they were doing. But Cassian was not a casual bedmate. Not a quick fuck. He was... a lover she supposed. She’d never had one before, never really contemplated if it was something she even wanted, but that was what they were, she realized.

Lovers.

Cassian drew back to take her in, take in the small confession, and something melted in his characteristically open expression. It paved the way for something even more tender, a look he rarely gave anyone, regardless of how affectionate he could be. And she just knew, it was only one she’d seen on him directed towards her. Something akin to a warm glow grew in her chest at the revelation.

And it was bliss.

Sheer, unadulterated, bliss when they joined again. Cassian had pulled her up, grasping her legs and placing them over his own with her back to his chest. She’d never ridden him this way, but from the first thrust up into her, Cassian’s hand banding across her stomach to keep her upright, she knew she may always take him like this from then on. It was a different sort of angle, a different sort of pleasure as he kept his thrusts shallow and drawn out. They moved as one, writhing along each other, Nesta’s hands tangling behind her head into his own locks.

If she pulled too hard for comfort, Cassian made no comments about it. In fact, they didn’t talk at all as Cassian’s lips were firmly attached to her neck, kissing, suckling, and leaving small bites and bruises just like she’d asked for. As he drove his hips up into hers again, dragging along a particular spot that she’d never paid attention to before, Nesta felt something tighten and burn inside of her. That pressure, unrelenting and intoxicating began to build, until it was almost unbearable for Nesta to do anything more than let Cassian buck up into her, her body almost limp with the pleasure that had built to a dizzying degree.

“Let go,” he whispered, dragging his hands down to rove over her legs, grasping the thighs that overlaid his own gently. “Let go Nesta.”

Nesta whimpered, as he did that thing again. Surging his cock upward against her walls, towards her front in a way he’d never tried before. “It’s too much,” she panted. “I can’t...I can’t.”

She could feel his smirk along her cheek, and Gods damn it all, but the arrogance alone made her grow even more wet. Cassian tilted her chin back and kissed her softly, the rhythm of his hips never faltering once. But that tenderness soon left them as the heat returned. As the passion erupted from her lips and into his, tongues clashing, and swallowed gasps in between.

He caught on quickly to what she wanted, this endless pursuit of pleasure, high as it made her feel, had grown too much and she needed an end. She needed  release from the precipice she’d been kept on by Cassian’s wicked intent. He’d drawn out her pleasure to such a degree that she’d come to nearly sobbing when he finally gave into her whims.

The sinews on his arms tightened as he draped his arm across her waist, firmly grasping her hip, while his other hand palmed her breast roughly. Nesta could only hold on tighter, clasping her hands behind his neck as he began to fuck her with abandon.

She broke their kiss, unable to think as he thrust faster, more and more of that fiery ecstasy flooding her veins, until all that was, all that could ever be, was her and him till the very end. The sounds coming from her had edged into something more carnal than she’d ever allowed herself to utter. Cassian too was a male undone, almost frantic as he fucked her harder, his own groans having dissolved into pleasure of a different sort, an animalistic sort.

“Oh god,” she choked out, “Cassian..."

Cassian chuckled, his brutal pace unwavering as he flicked out his tongue to the tipped shell of her ear. “God or Gods, Nesta?,” he crooned, “Seems you’re not in control of your words.”

Nesta could not answer, could not explain the slip of her tongue had been from how horribly wrecked she felt. How horribly wrecked he was making her feel.

Cassian laughed again. A dark, sinful rasp of a laugh that heated her blood and traveled down to her core. “Am I your God Nesta?”

Nesta would blame it on being on the brink of climax if he ever asked her about her answer again. She’d regret it and curse herself for humiliating herself in such a way later. Right now though...

“Yes,” she keened. “You are.”

Cassian husked low into her ear, “Shall you be my goddess queen then, Nesta?”

“Yes,” she breathed. She could be his goddess. And he her warrior god of bloodshed. “Yes, Cassian.”

“Then come for me, my queen.”

His words threw her violently into climax, and she clenched around his pulsing member, fluid releasing from her as she screamed his name over and over. It lasted longer than ever before as Cassian kept driving up into her, his own release spurting out and mingling with hers, making her rise higher and higher as it became a never-ending torrent unleashing from her.

She did not know anything then save for a small vestige of self and sanity. The rest of her was too consumed by this male against her, ripping her soul from her body and infusing only his name as replacement. All she knew was Cassian, all she felt was Cassian, and all she held close to her heart was Cassian. 

Nesta laid her head against Cassian’s shoulder as she caught her breath, his own breathing shuttered against her back. Eventually heat began to creep into her cheeks as she realized how wet everything was around them. She peeked down and beheld the liquid between her legs, smeared with his own seed and running all over his thighs as well.

“I’ve made a mess of you,” she remarked softly, remembering his own words to her once, now finally understanding what he’d meant.

Cassian stiffened, remembering too, but then he kissed her cheek lightly. “I like it,” he told her with a short laugh.

“We can’t sleep here tonight. It’s all...”

Wet, but she couldn’t say it. The sleeping bundle was utterly drenched in their release from this time, and scenting of their previous coupling as well. A beautiful, chaotic mess that they’d made which, as much as she enjoyed seeing, would not allow her to sleep soundly in.

Cassian groaned, lifting her off of him and softly placing her to his side. “There’s another one in the pack. Come on,” he said to her, getting up to his feet and reaching a hand down to haul her up.

They washed in the lake a second time that night, Cassian keeping his hands to himself and Nesta just barely restraining herself from tugging him close and kissing his lips. It wasn’t sex that she wanted again. No, she was perfectly sated now, and if the small tremors in her thigh were any indication, her body wouldn’t last another round anyways. She distracted her hands by washing their clothes in the lake, Cassian chuckling as he beheld her in only his spare shirt kneeling over the water and trying to get the dirt out.

His words wouldn’t stop replaying over and over in her head. Not when they crawled into the new sleeping bundle. Not when he kept as much distance in between their bodies as possible. Not when she gave into her weakness and pushed backwards into his side and not when he pulled her close, curling his body and wing over her.

He had said it like a prayer, like a hymn to only be uttered in a temple or perhaps a dais for a long forgotten deity. Yes, it had been when they were almost delirious on pleasure, and yes he hadn’t said it again.

But Nesta could not and would not forget the words he’d uttered to her, so gently his command had been as he’d ordered her to let herself fall into release for him. With him. 

The words blazed fiercely in her heart long after she’d fallen asleep against him. Long after the next two days as they trained and coupled, sometimes in a frenzy, sometimes languid and slow. They burned and flourished, day into night, and night back into day, even when they left the mountain and returned to Velaris.

My queen, he had called her.

He made her believe it too all those months later on Solstice Night. And when she was sure he’d fallen asleep, those golden threads still shimmering between them, gilded with love and understanding, Nesta whispered her promise back against his heart.

“Your queen.”

~***~

Tagging: @bookstantrash @my-mad-fan-diary, @onceupona-chaos, @loosingdreams  @duskandstarlight  @greerlunna @queenestarcheron @queenofbloodshed @cassianscool @sjm-things @perseusannabeth  @courtofjurdan @vasudharaghavan @sayosdreams @moe8  @arielle-reads @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @nahthanks @oversizedbats @swankii-art-teacher @inardour @rowaelinismyotp @starryblueskies7 @nestaarcher0n @vidalinav @nessiantrashh 

347 notes • Posted 2021-03-06 19:49:38 GMT

#2

I don’t see it as a romance, but I think Eris would be very protective of Elain. Like how Cassian and Azriel are for Feyre, I think Eris would be the brooding older brother for Elain that would always scare people away from her, especially if she visits the Autumn Court because people are mean there and he loves how sweet Elain is, like his mom, and he can’t stand anyone treating her poorly. And after everything with Jessminda, he vows to keep this woman safe for Lucien’s sake, in a way to make up for how he failed him the first time.

Damn I do be simping for Eris now too.

351 notes • Posted 2021-03-01 15:25:14 GMT

#1

Suits

Notes: I can't believe I actually did this. It started as a harmless post by @nessiansimp and here we are. I did not edit this much. I just wrote it non-stop for 3 hours because I couldn't not. Also, I know the title is basic. I don't care. I'm obsessed with Suits right now so that's what you're getting. Also, I know nothing about law school except for Legally Blonde, Suits, and Google searches. So I apologize in advance for all the stuff I portray incorrectly.

Summary: Nesta is stressed the day before her first day of classes in Law School. She calls up a familiar face to set herself at ease, not realizing just what trouble she's about to get into. A student/teacher fic. Everyone is an adult!

Warnings: NSFW, swearing

~*~

Nesta turned her phone on and off again, for the sixth time in a row. She needed to get her head straight.

She'd be starting school again tomorrow. Her first day of law school. Her first day of law school.

Fuck, she needed a drink. Or dick. Preferably both.

But there was no way he was awake at...she glanced at the clock. Way past midnight. No way in hell.

It won't hurt to try.

No it definitely wouldn't. The worst that could happen was he didn't pick up, and Nesta went to bed like she should have done 3 hours ago. But the nerves...

The nerves were going to end her if she didn't let herself loose a little.

Picking up her phone one more time, dialing the number from memory, she lifted it to her ear, listening to the ring and wondering if she'd hear something different.

"Yeah?"

The voice was deep and masculine and utterly perfect. At least, she'd found it to be, from the second she'd heard it.

"Can you come over?" Nesta didn't bother with trivial cover-ups. She needed to sleep and she had no plans of using alcohol to get it done. Not the day before classes started. Mindblowing sex would just have to do for the night.

Nesta couldn't see his face, but she knew the grin that'd be playing on his face at her request. He'd say yes. He always did. And within fifteen minutes, she heard the knock on her apartment door, telling her that she had been right to call him.

He hadn't let her down yet.

Cassian looked just as good at two in the morning as he did at any normal hour of the day. Shirt clinging to his muscled torso, a peek of black ink at his collar that she knew crept all over his chest, back and arms. And the telltale leather jacket that had made her want him in the first place. It was either that or the hair. Or the hazel eyes. Maybe it was just all of him. He was too beautiful for words on most days, and in her current sleep-deprived state, Cassian looked like a god.

A smirk played on his lips as he asked her, "Are you going to stare all day or can I at least come in first before you jump me?"

Nesta rolled her eyes but moved away from the doorway to let him in. He snuck in a quick glance at her own attire and she inwardly cringed at the fact that she was wearing only an oversized T-shirt and no pants. Not that it really mattered considering what they were about to go on to do. But, that stupid smirk on his face, the knowing look in his eyes, had her irritated.

Insufferable ass. That was why she'd kept it so casual with him. Gods knew they'd tear each other to pieces if it ever became more than just physical between them.

Cassian didn't go to her bedroom, instead stopping in her small kitchenette, drinking from her bottle in the fridge. It was almost domestic to see it happen, and Nesta almost laughed at it. Almost even smiled at him and the sight of him like this.

Almost.

"Let's go, I have an early morning tomorrow," she called from the hallway, knowing he'd follow. He knew the layout of her small but functional apartment. She knew all about his too considering she preferred to go over to his place rather than he come to her.

She didn't like to show the cheap secondhand furniture she'd purchased with Emerie and Gwyn's help from a thrift store. Or the fraying carpet and cramped hallways. It was home for her. At least for now. But that didn't mean she didn't feel slightly embarrassed by it each time Cassian visited.

She likely never would have felt so strongly about it, had she not gone home with him one night instead of the other way around.

Condo didn't seem like a good enough word. Cassian was rich. In all the ways that Nesta's family had been a long time ago. Maybe he was richer. She really didn't know nor was she going to ask. All she knew was that his bedsheets felt like heaven and everything in that damned apartment was a guilty pleasure. From the type of coffee he had to the stupid multiple settings in his showerhead.

Cassian entering the room behind her dragged her away from her thoughts on who had more money and better showerheads.

He'd taken off the leather jacket somewhere and Nesta took in the plain black button up that outlined the cord of muscles all over him. She wanted to tear it off of him.

Cassian began unbuttoning his shirt walking towards her. Nesta backed up, caught in his thrall, in the snare of his glinting eyes. When he reached her, the back of her legs had already hit the mattress of her bed. His shirt had already been discarded. Nesta raised a hand to his chest, to trace the tattoos, to maybe follow the outline with her tongue afterwards.

But Cassian caught her by the wrist, stopping her advances. He went for her shirt instead. Pulling it up above her waist and then her head as she lifted her arms to help him.

He growled as he took her in then. She hadn't bothered with a bra. Just a lacy black underwear she'd forgotten she owned until after Cassian had told her he was coming.

"That's a nice surprise," he muttered, ducking his head down towards her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, expecting a kiss.

Instead Cassian bypassed her lips, going straight for her peaked nipples.

The first flick of his tongue had her reeling. The hot and wet sensation had her keening into him for more. Looping her fingers into his belt and pulling his closer as he kissed a path up her chest and nuzzled her neck. Pressed a kiss to a spot under her ear that made her whimper and wetness to pool between her legs.

Then she got a hold of herself.

"Get on with it," she warned, breathless and not quite in any shape to be making demands. Cassian seemed to think the same thing because when he kissed her, he nipped just a touch harder than usual on her bottom lip. Just this side of pain and pleasure and enough to cause Nesta to moan into his mouth. He swallowed that moan up with a long, languorous drag of his tongue against hers.

Quicker than she'd expected, Cassian had wrapped a hand across her waist and she'd locked her legs behind his back as he put them both down on her bed.

Gasping for air, she broke their kiss and Cassian used it to drag his mouth lower. Lower. Lower...

"Yes," she hissed, as Cassian pushed the lace fabric to the side and dragged his tongue down her sex. She could feel how wet she already was, how wet he was making her with his tongue. With how good he was tasting her.

Cassian broke away from her skin, lips glistening as he smiled at her, and with her head still fogged up from a near orgasm, Nesta returned it. Never mind that she didn't like to show any softness like that to anyone to, especially not in these moments. But he'd broken down her defenses with that infuriatingly talented mouth of his. Had almost brought her to lay herself bare to him in ways that sex never had before.

Cassian hooked his fingers into the sides of her underwear and made to pull down.

"Lift up for me baby."

She did and the cool air hit her already warmed and wet skin, making the sensation all the more delicious when he fastened his mouth back onto her clit, and began all over again.

Cassian didn't take off his pants even when she'd asked him to. He'd made her come once with his mouth. She'd stayed there on bed, catching her breath for just a minute before reaching for his belt.

Cassian had denied her, catching her by the ankle and pressing a soft kiss to the skin there before working his way back up. Running his lips over her calves, her knees, the insides of her thighs. And then he'd eaten her out again, much to her protest in the beginning. But she'd quickly forgotten that she'd asked him here to fuck her when he dipped his tongue inside of her, curling upwards while she cried out his name over and over. Until her climax had been wrung out of her in an almost dizzying finale.

Then and only then had he let her undo the buckle at his hips, a cool, wicked smile dancing on his face at her eagerness. She'd opened the zip and almost slipped her hand in to palm him right then and there, but Cassian had laughed at that and pulled away. Moving off the bed to discard his pants himself before joining her again.

Nesta's mouth had dried as she'd taken him in. Naked. Hard. His cock already dripping with moisture at the tip. She wanted him in her mouth. Wanted to taste him. Feel him along her tongue, along her lips until she could take him deep in her throat.

"What are you doing?," Cassian asked with a laugh, grabbing her wrists again and hauling her under him.

Nesta huffed. "What did it look like I was doing? I was going to suck your-"

Cassian silenced her with a kiss.

"That mouth will be the death of me," he muttered, kissing her again and she couldnt help but twine her fingers into his hair. And pull slightly.

"Maybe you should fuck it and make it better," she whispered, dragging her tongue along his jaw and down his neck. Biting at the delicate skin there. Cassian didn't even flinch at the teeth marks she'd left behind beside the tattoo along the column of his throat.

Cassian chuckled darkly at her antics. "Maybe I'll just fuck you instead."

"It would be about time," she shot back, not at all caring how he'd take it. How he'd make her beg for being so mouthy.

Cassian seemed to even consider it. She could practically hear the thoughts in his head. But in the end, Cassian instead settled on leaning back until he rested on his knees before her. Kneeling he grabbed her legs, hauling her closer as he pulled them up until their undersides rested on his chest. Her feet hooked over his shoulders as her hips became flush with his own. With the hard demanding press of his cock against her sex, Nesta couldn't help but writhe desperately, craving any friction she could get.

Cassian didn't enter her right away, choosing instead to take his two fingers and place them at her mouth. Nesta took them in, swirled her tongue over them as she bobbed her head like she was sucking him off instead.

"You look perfect like that," he breathed, when she let his fingers go with a pop. Nesta didn't respond to the compliment. Not when he dragged those fingers through her folds, smearing her wetness around her clit until a soft, glowing pleasure began to build.

He entered her slowly. Much too slowly for her to take it well. Stretching and filling, in and in and in he sank. Deeper in until there was no more room for him to go. It was always too much for her. In those initial moments that he entered her. Nesta swore she stopped breathing every time he filled her up. Swore he'd filled her to a breaking point, no matter how burning and good it felt. But he'd always done it so fast, the moment of breathlessness was there and gone. A moment barely captured in the sharp intake of air she took.

But today, he'd gone slow. Had given her time to adjust although, with his size, it didn't really matter how fast or slow he went. He'd always be a touch too large for her. Just this side of stretching pain, which she loved even if she never admitted it to him.

And when he fucked her, it wasn't their characteristic way of doing so. There was no savage pounding of him into her, so hard and rough she could only scream most of the time. There was no dragging of nails across skin that sometimes drew blood. Nor any bites or bruises that she often loved to look over when he was long gone.

She couldn't lie and say this slower, almost romantic way of fucking didn't have her heart pounding for a different reason.

Because it did.

Almost as if he were making love to her. Something they'd never bothered with before. She supposed something in her had told him she was upset. That she'd needed the reassurance of his body in more than just their casual fucking ways.

As he drove his hips upward into her over and over, rocking on his knees as he held her legs tight against him, Nesta couldn't help but let the tumble of cries and moans fall out of her mouth. Not when he went faster, hit that spot deep inside her that had her on the verge of screaming her throat raw. Not when she came in a glorious crest that made everything bad go away from her mind. In that stilted moment stuck between reality and forever, Nesta had felt peace. Had forgotten her worries and troubles and the whole reason behind why she'd called Cassian over in the first place. Instead, she let it go through her until she was boneless and spent, Cassian now no longer thrusting into her, but his hard cock still inside.

He'd made her come first. Had made sure she'd come at least three times tonight with not one care at all for himself. It shouldn't have bothered her so much. After all, they just fucked. It wasn't a serious relationship. Yet it bothered her enough that when she caught her breath, Nesta unhooked her legs from his shoulders and pushed him down to where she'd been.

Climbed over him and sank down without a moment's hesitation, causing Cassian to groan aloud at the sheer ecstasy she too was witnessing.

That second time, she made sure he became unchecked and wild. No matter that she rode him. Nesta had circled his wrists and placed his powerful hands at her hips.

"Fuck me as hard as you want," she told him, leaving his hands tightening at her hips. "I want to feel it when I move tomorrow," she added salaciously.

Cassian seemed to appreciate that. When he thrust up into her those final times, Nesta swore she saw stars dance across her vision with her head thrown back. When she came to, pleasure slowly leaving her body, Cassian was panting just as hard underneath her, softening inside her and leaking out.

It had been his climax, the moan he'd let out as he'd reached that precarious precipice, so close to falling off, that had made Nesta come. She'd known how close he was, and so she'd flexed her inner muscles once, twice, and the sound of his moaning her name had had her tightening involuntarily as her orgasm crashed through her. He'd followed not long after and she'd cried out his name along with an incoherent mess of sounds she'd deny he'd ever gotten out of her.

Cassian had let himself take a minute to recover, and then he was pulling her off of him, walking over to the bathroom joined to her room. She'd heard the run of water and soon he returned with a warm, wet washcloth to clean between her thighs. It was moments like this where she was glad of being with Cassian, even if it was just for sex. Her past whatever they should be called weren't very good in bed. And they weren't very good out of it either. Nesta had opted for condoms then, when she'd hated having to waddle over to the bathroom, some stranger man's release dripping out of her.

It wasn't until after she'd fully caught her breath, gotten up to pee because she'd be damned if she got a UTI tonight, and taken a long swig of her water bottle that Cassian had brought over, that Nesta settled down. Pulled the covers up to her breasts, not bothering to get dressed, and just breathed.

Cassian had pulled his boxer briefs back on, but that was all. His clothes still lay discarded haphazardly around her room, although that was the deal for most things in her room anyways, so she shouldn't be surprised. Cassian seemed to think the same thing as he looked up from typing something on his phone, surveying the room around him with a hint of distaste on his face.

Her hackles began rising. No she didn't like her place that much either when remembering the type of place Cassian lived in. But that didn't mean she'd take shit from him about it.

Before she could say anything though, Cassian turned his attention to her, "Who lives like this?"

"I beg your pardon," she spluttered, not expecting that as his first comment on the state of her home.

"I mean," he gestured around them, "why is it so messy? Have you never cleaned up your room?"

Nesta snorted. "What am I a child and you my mom? It's my place. I'll keep my room as tidy or not as I like."

Gods knew she'd earned it after the way she'd been living before.

"Very mature," Cassian remarked, shaking his head in disbelief as he went back to whatever was going on in his phone.

"I think so," she added, rather coldly if were being honest with herself.

Cassian was older than her. Not old enough for it to be creepy or gross, but old enough for Nesta to know he no longer ate ramen for dinner because he was behind on student loans. Old enough to keep things like bourbon and whiskey and other really old bottles of liquor he often poured for her when she went over. It was a stark contrast to the refreshments she could offer. Hard lemonade or coke was about it in terms of choices.

Cassian had flicked his eyes up at her from her sudden change in tone but had decided not to comment, going back to whatever business he was attending to. Or texting to, whichever it was.

She had no idea what he did. Just that he was rich, gorgeous, drove a really fast, really expensive car, and that he could fuck her silly.

She'd seen the college diploma in a wall in his living room in passing. A few family photos with two other men that looked like him in the way people from the same country often did. He'd mentioned his foster brothers to her a few times. Nothing about foster care itself, and she hadn't felt it right to pry. Not when she wasn't sure what exactly they were.

They weren't supposed to be anything anyways if she really thought about it. She'd run into him in a club of all places. He'd been with his brothers- she'd found out months later- and hadn't wanted to be there. She'd been dragged along by Emerie and Gwyn for Gwyn's 21st birthday celebration. Nesta who was already 22, hadn't been as excited to go to a club when she'd been sneaking into them since she was 16. But Gwyn was her best friend so she had relented. Once Gwyn had come across some handsome tall stranger on the dance floor, Nesta had been left behind. Emerie finding her own dance partner in the form of a petite, curly haired woman named Maria hadn't helped Nesta's situation.

In her haste to go home, or at least take a breather from the stuffy nightclub, Nesta had run into a very large, very solid mass of some sort.

It had been Cassian. With his infuriating smile, disarming charm, that leather jacket and those fucking tattoos. She'd chewed him out for not watching where he was going.

Then she'd let him fuck her in front seat of his car. Or, she'd fucked him. It didn't really matter to her anymore. It had been the best sex of her life and when he called her up a few days later, Nesta hadn't hesitated to let him come over to her apartment.

Gwyn had been horrified when she'd found out. Emerie had warned her about bringing home a serial killer. But it had already been done and Nesta had known deep down, she'd never be the same again. Her friends didn't really get it. Their entire situation, but Nesta didn't really care about that either.

Cassian was easy. Easy to he around. Easy to talk to. There were no expectations. No rules and no limitations either. He just...was.

And he let Nesta breathe in a way she hadn't thought she would in a long time.

So what if she didn't tell him that she'd gotten into law school after working her ass off in her last year of undergrad? After the hell her junior year had been for her, he was lucky she told him where she had even gone to college. After graduating, Nesta also hadn't told him where she worked. Nothing about the paralegal job, the name of the firm, or the application she'd put into law schools.

She couldn't risk whatever tenuous normalcy she'd finally reached if Cassian did indeed end up becoming a problem for her as Gwyn and Emerie were worried about. Definitely not after she'd worked so hard to get where she was.

In that spirit, Nesta didn't ask about his own life either. Not outside of anything he offered her, which also wasn't much.

She liked that too. No expectations. For all he knew, she was a part-time hooker. But he never asked.

Eventually, Nesta had ended up crawling over to where Cassian had sprawled out on her bed, and tucked herself against his chest as he'd continued typing away. No matter that the blanket had become a bunched mess underneath her or that they never did this. He'd stayed longer than he ever had before and Nesta didn't care if she admitted to herself that she hadn't cuddled with anyone in a long time. Certainly not with anyone worth the effort.

Cassian hadn't seemed miffed at all. Running a hand down her hair as she'd tucked closer, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. Nesta had soon fallen asleep to the sound of his beating heart.

When she came to, Nesta awoke alone. It wasn't the first time. In fact, she'd never not woken up alone after Cassian visited. And yet, after last night, she'd felt some sort of change between them. Had sworn Cassian could too. Which was why his disappearance seemed to harp on her so strongly. Why his text that he'd talk to her later but that he'd had to run to work had left her feeling empty. And when she entered her first class of the day, after barely finding it, and only being on time because she'd come earlier, thoughts of Cassian still swirled around in her mind. More than she ever should have allowed herself to.

Nesta turned on her laptop, taking in the students filing in around her. It was a full class. She'd taken the class on a whim, seeing that it was a seminar that discussed criminal cases, taught by a professor Emerie had said was an easy A if you showed up and talked a few times. Easy enough. Nesta had no plans of messing up her first class of her first day in her first step towards a better life and better future. She'd do the best. Be the best. It was what she'd lived on for most of her life anyways.

As more students filed in, Nesta wondered where the professor was. Emerie had mentioned he was old, sort of deaf, but a softie if you talked to him enough. Yet, everyone looked to be around the same age in the room. No sign of a professor anywhere.

The clock struck 8:00 AM, and as she typed in her password, she saw a figure get up from the front row and make their way to the board.

What idiot was already playing pranks on the still absent professor, on a first day no less, Nesta had no idea. She wanted no part in it though, she knew that much.

"Alright everyone, good morning. I'm sure some of you are wondering where Professor Jackson is. He's unfortunately going through some medical problems and I was asked to step in for him. Now, Professor Jackson taught me, in this very same classroom, in the very same way that he planned to teach all of you. And I'm going to, hopefully, be just as great and inspiring as he was." The man laughed and added, "Hopefully," earning him a round of chuckles scattered across the room.

But Nesta had frozen. Hadn't moved from the moment she'd heard his voice. Because she knew that voice, could pick it out from anywhere. It had been a voice that greeted her with teasing jests every time she glowered at him and his antics. A voice that whispered sweet nothings and the most filthy delicious promises to her when his body pressed her deep into the mattress.

As she stared transfixed in horror towards the front of the room, Cassian smiled brightly towards the class, scanning the room as he opened his mouth.

"My name is Cassian Virin and you can call me either Professor or just Cassian. Either is fine. I'm a practicing attorney at Solis and Vanserra. It's a firm in this city that I'm sure many of you have heard of." More chuckles arose because who the hell hadn't heard of Solis and Vanserra.

"I'm going to be here just for this semester while I also work on some pro bono cases at my firm, and-"

Cassian stopped talking as he finally saw her. She was sure the same panic was evident on her own face that she mirrored in his own. Except Cassian mastered himself faster than she ever could in such a fucked up situation.

Not breaking eye contact with her, Cassian finished his sentence. "And I'll be your teacher this semester for this class. Welcome to Criminal Law.

Taglist:

@bookstantrash @duskandstarlight @greerlunna @queenestarcheron  @nessiansimp @cassianscool  @sjm-things  @perseusannabeth   @courtofjurdan  @vasudharaghavan  @sayosdreams  @moe8  @arielle-reads  @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter  @nahthanks  @oversizedbats  @swankii-art-teacher  @inardour  @rowaelinismyotp  @starryblueskies7  @nestaarcher0n  @vidalinav  @nessiantrashh  @lanyjoy-13  @iwastoowildinthe70s  @nessianlordandladyofillyria @ladygabrielli1997 @moonlitchandeliers

399 notes • Posted 2021-06-25 07:51:51 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Here to Misbehave (Pt. 3 | S.R.)

Summary: Spencer decides to return to a previous tryst. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Dom!Spencer, handcuffs, hair pulling, oral, fingering, penetrative sex, rough sex Word Count: 9k

MASTERLIST | Series Masterlist

—————————————————

It was a Saturday night and I had nothing to do. My roommate had gone home for the weekend and all my other friends were at bars. I could've joined them, but it just didn't seem worth it. The last time had been so perfect, I just couldn't imagine that anything else could compare.

I'd tried going back to the same area a few times, but I never saw him again. Then again, seeing me back there might just piss him off. Then again, that would've been okay, too. He was pretty cute when he was mad.

But I wasn't looking at a cute boy that night. No, I was just sitting in my apartment, staring at the textbook that I wasn't even interested in reading. Wishing that something could save me from the boring limbo I had found myself in.

Then, like magic, my phone stirred to life beside me.

Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt.

I looked down at the LED, fully expecting it to just be someone tagging me in a picture of a cat. But it wasn't. The number was one I had saved in my phone, hoping that I would see it pop up again one day.

It had been almost a month. I didn't think it would ever happen. But there it was; a text message from Dr. Reid himself.

"Hey (y/n)."

When I slid the message open, I saw he was still typing.

"Long time no talk," was his second message.

That was an understatement.

"Hey yourself."

It was a cursory response. I wanted him to sweat a bit. He'd made me wait, so now he had to deal with the consequences. But then I changed my mind and immediately followed with a second text of, "Texting isn't talking you know."

"You never called. Why should I?" His response was so quick I swore he'd planned this all out in his head. He was playing me like a chess board. Bet he was good at that, too.

"It takes two to tango, Dr. Reid," I jokingly replied.

He read the message, but he didn't answer.

Getting nervous that he was losing interest, I continued typing.

"I figured you wouldn't want to see me again after I made you late. Are those marks still there?"

I smiled at the memory, because I knew he wasn't there to call me out for it. By the time he'd finally made it down to his ride, I had covered his neck in petechiae and his back was equally marked with scratches.

I'd wanted him to remember me.

It'd worked, too.

He'd been typing for a while and I was getting anxious. It had been a bold message to send, and I didn't really think it through.

Was he trying to let me down easy? No, that didn't make any sense. Who the fuck texts a one night stand at 10:30 PM on a Saturday after not speaking for a month just to end things?

He responded.

"Sadly, no. And I wouldn't be so quick to assume I don't want to see you because of that... Revenge is a powerful motivator."

That was the cheeky bastard I wanted to see. I could be cheeky, too.

"Is it?" I asked.

"Where are you tonight?"

His answers were starting to make my heart race. I had to get ready, because he was definitely about to ask me to be his booty call and I was definitely going to do it. Closing my textbook, I shot back another teasing reply.

"Not a club. I'm being a good girl tonight. All by my lonesome."

Thank god my roommate wasn't here and I had somehow been bored enough to clean today. I pulled out my make up and turned the light on my mirror on. As I started to apply it, I got a message that immediately solidified my answer to his inevitable proposition.

"Do you want to change that?"

'God, yes, I do.'

I waited another minute, wanting to be able to finish at least the bare minimum before he saw me. I knew he wasn't a superficial guy, but the last time he'd seen me I had gone full out.

"Which part?" I responded, already knowing his answer.

"Both."

So unpredictable in the most satisfying way.

I took a deep breath and a pause, tapping back a confident reply.

"Are you trying to entrap me, Agent?"

His reply was within seconds, and I was immediately reminded of how incredibly clever this man was. He knew exactly what to say to make me melt.

"Is that what you want?"

I wanted to pick up the phone, dial, and scream yes. But I didn't, opting instead for a calm and composed, "That would certainly be exciting."

My application grew significantly quicker, and I was already eyeing the special drawer I had for these exact situations. My mind was running through my collection of sheer fabrics and lace details, trying to decide what would work best.

Then he said the magic words:

"Send me your address."

Spencer was coming over, and it wasn't a dream. I was going to have that strange, brilliant, beautiful man back in my arms and I wasn't going to fuck it up. With shaking hands, I thumbed out my address with no other commentary. In a few seconds, I would know how long I had until Spencer Reid was in my apartment.

"I'll be there in 20 minutes."

Thank god. It was time enough to prepare.

—————————————————

Spencer Reid was going to be at my door at any minute, and I was suddenly terrified that he'd be disappointed. Convinced that I'd done everything wrong.

We'd had a good time before, right? I'd played over and over again in my head ever since it happened. I was reminded of the soft way he'd touched me in the morning, the childish laughs we'd shared, and the smell of his cologne on the sheets.

God, I hoped he wouldn't be disappointed.

Knock Knock Knock.

When I heard the sound, I immediately tried to fix my appearance in the mirror despite having spent the last 20 minutes doing whatever I could given the time. I had opted for one of my easier-to-remove loungewear pieces. A simple white lace negligee. He seemed like he'd like simple. The little hint of purity, however silly, would also probably appeal to him.

Slowly exhaling, I composed myself before opening the door.

"Hello, Dr. Reid."

He looked as handsome as ever, although I did have the distinct impression that it had been awhile since he had a full nights sleep. I wondered why, but decided not to dwell on it. 

"Hello yourself," he responded, his eyes ravaging my figure the very moment I stepped out from behind the door. He waited for me to take a step back and fully open the door before he walked in, and I watched the way he scanned my apartment.

I wondered what he saw.

"How can I help you, Agent?"

It was a tease, and based the look on his face when he finally turned to me, it took him a moment to figure it out. He was too much in his work brain. I could feel it. I'd never seen him at work, but I could tell.

"You seem tense," I spoke coyly, stepping closer and running my hands up his chest and onto his shoulders.

He didn't speak; instead his gaze bored into me, like he was going to lose his composure any second. But he held himself back. 

"Can I help you with that?"

That dark shine in his eyes was getting stronger.

"That depends."

As he spoke the words, he finally touched me, a sneaky hand finding its way to my hip. I gasped at the sensation and my eyes fluttered shut. He always had this immediate intoxicating effect on me that I just couldn't explain. I didn't care to, either. I just wanted to keep feeling it.

"Hmm... On what?" I murmured.

I tried to keep track of his hand as it sneaked to my lower back before pulling me closer. I tilted my head to look up at him as I opened my eyes. I just wanted to see that look again. That starved, possessive stare that made me feel like the most beautiful girl in the world.

Although he appeared stoic, I knew there was something brewing. I knew that he was reveling in the effect he had on me.

Such a quiet, peculiar mind.

"What do you have in mind?" he asked, and I recognized the question as something deeper.

He was asking me for my limits. He wanted me to tell him what he was allowed to do. I didn't know how to tell him that I would do anything for him.

How could he not already know my answer? Perhaps it was just his attempt at being a gentleman. But I didn't need him to do all of that tonight. I'd much rather see something more... feral.

"Whatever you need," I answered as sweetly as I could. 

I heard his soft chuckle. It brought a smile to both of our lips, and he used his free hand to stroke the side of my face. I quickly leaned into his touch, trying to prolong the contact for as long as I could. 

"Is that so?"

Yes, I thought before saying, "Anything."

His thumb glided over my cheek and to my lips, gently separating them as he stared at me with a morbid curiosity. He was wondering how far he could actually push me. So was I.

In lieu of an answer, I slipped his thumb into my mouth, running my tongue up it before closing around it. The gentle sucking was mixed with soft rotations of my tongue. His breathing rate increased as he stepped forward and pressed his body flush against mine.

"And if you change your mind?"

What a gentleman.

I wouldn't change my mind, but I chose to indulge him with the proper form. I released his thumb and held my mouth open for a second before biting down on my bottom lip.

"Hmmm," I hummed as I thought about what I might be able to say to set him off.

I needed a safe word that would drive him wild. The thing was, I only knew a few of his interests. But I did know enough.

"Starship," I giggled, a little nod to the enterprise we'd already bonded over.

The effect the word had on him was immediate. His hand shifted to hold my chin. He used that grip to push me against the wall to the side of us, and our mouths connected just as harshly.

What a ridiculously sexy nerd.

The impact of my back against the wall was nothing compared to the fire coursing through my veins. My hands scrambled to grab onto his belt buckle, already trying to unwrap the present meant just for me tonight.

Once I'd gotten the metal separated, I smiled into the sloppy, heated kiss. He stopped, pulling away just enough to look down at my satisfied grin. He didn't say anything.

"What's that look for?" I said with half-veiled bashfulness.

Had he noticed something strange that I hadn't intended to display? Was I going too fast?

"Nothing. It's just..."

'Please don't be something I did wrong.'

"You're so cute when you think you're in charge."

I couldn't control the way my hips rolled against the front of him as he spoke, and I licked my lips before concluding, "I am in charge."

I don't know how Spencer was so fast, but he was. Within seconds, he had both of my wrists pinned against the wall behind me. Just as quickly, he shifted so he could hold them both up with one hand, the other lifting the side of negligee so he could touch the skin of my hip. I wasn't wearing anything underneath.

"Adorable," he whispered to me.

Naturally, my body reacted by trying to regain control, to touch him more somehow. He knew this, which is why he took a step back, letting go of my wrists and watching them fall back to my control.

"Are you challenging me, Dr. Reid?"

He gave a content, sarcastic smile before shrugging.

"No, I'm not, actually. It's not a challenge if I already know I'm going to win."

I could barely notice the way I puffed out my own chest in response, ready to give him the challenge he was so clearly begging for.

"Fine."

I put my hands in the air in surrender, turning and strutting my fine ass down the hallway in front of him. I didn't turn around, and I didn't tell him to follow. He would. I was confident in that.

I took a seat on the side of my bed, crossing my legs over the other and looking down at my nails with a bored expression. Before I knew it, he was crossing the threshold into my room. He walked up to me, his hands in his pockets and a voice filled with too much confidence.

"I know what you're doing."

He had something up his sleeve. I could feel it.

"What am I doing, Dr. Reid?"

The way he approached me reminded me of a hunt. The cautious, quiet strides toward me were purposeful. He stopped just in front of me, with my foot resting against his shin.

"I thought I already warned you what would happen if you did this."

"Do what?" I feigned innocence, raising my hand to my neck before perching my chin on it and leaning forward.

"Tease me."

That time when his hand made contact, it was on the top of my head. He ran a gentle hand over my hand, and the feather light touches almost tricked me. I'd almost thought he just wanted to appease me. To end my temper tantrum. But shortly after he had gripped the back of my hair in his hand and used the new grip to roughly tilt my head back to him.

"I thought you said you were going to be a good girl tonight?"

I bit down harshly on my lip to stifle my giggle as he tightened his grip.

"Oops," I said with a smile.

Suppressing my laughs enough to string together a sentence, I pressed my hands against his chest while he maintained his grip on my hair.

"I guess if you really want me to be a good girl, Dr. Reid... You'll have to make me."

That instruction was what I needed to break the man in front of me. It was the command he'd been waiting for; the bait for him to finally take what he came for.

Before I knew it, he had spun me around. He abruptly yanked my arms behind me at the same time he bent me over the side of the bed. An unfamiliar, harsh, and fucking freezing material on my wrists told me all I needed to know. The clanking of the short chain when he released my hands was music to my ears.

That beautiful son of a bitch actually brought his handcuffs.

"At least one of us follows orders," I joked, happily remaining on display for the man behind me.

I'm sure he noticed earlier that there wasn't anything blocking him from taking what he wanted underneath the negligee. But he didn't take it. Instead, he pulled me up by the chain, letting me teeter onto my feet before he twirled me back to face him.

"Get ready to learn."

Spencer slowly began removing his tie from his neck while he watched me squirm. His threat raised the tension in the room, but he gave me no clue as to what he was about to make me do.

I couldn't wait.

Once he had removed his tie, he unbuttoned his shirt. It was infuriating not being able to touch him, and I was quickly becoming impatient. It was shocking that it somehow wasn't awkward. I guess I just liked him that much. My thighs were pressed together, and the friction from rubbing them back and forth was the only stimulation I could find right now.

He raised his eyebrows as he noticed, shooting me a warning glance that I knew meant to stop. I did, but only because I was worried he would make me wait even longer if I didn't.

"Get on your knees."

I swayed back and forth, prying my hands apart to shake the chain holding my hands back.

"I can't," I said with a pout.

Spencer seemed to be entertained, and for a moment I thought he might give in.

He leaned over, a quiet breath in my ear as he gave a few words of caution.

"Get on your knees or I will bend you over mine."

My legs shook at the way his breath felt on my ear, and the words made me want to melt. As always, he knew exactly how to get me to do what he wanted.

Deciding that I didn't want to be a full on brat right off the bat, I gradually lowered down to my knees and threw him yet another pout from my new position.

"I want to touch you," I whined before tugging at the chain again.

He must have known it was a test. I had been so open to the hand cuffs being on before, and I still was. I just wanted to see how much power my pout had. Judging from his response, my puppy dog eyes didn't have very much power at all.

"You don't need your hands for that."

In a twisted sort of way, I was glad. I wanted him to do whatever he needed. I wanted to be what he needed. I would be the fight he could always win.

So, when he finally pulled his pants down and let them fall to the ground in front of me, I leaned forward to reach him.

I was quickly stopped by stern hand fisting my hair once more, leaving me hanging in front of him with nothing fun to show for it. He didn't say anything, just watching me as I returned soft whines and rubbing my legs together again.

"For a brat, you're very eager. You don't even realize you're challenging my authority, do you?"

Per usual, he was right. Even on my knees and handcuffed before him, I was trying to take back my control. He at least offered me the control over my neck again, though. He released my hair, smoothing it over the top of my head as he licked his lips. I couldn't take my eyes off them.

"Maybe I shouldn't. Maybe I should just let you beg."

I bounced on my knees, trying to express what I wanted without resorting to outright begging. Not yet.

"I'll listen to you, I promise." 

"Good," he acknowledged. "Open your mouth."

I obeyed, as I'd just said I would, opening my mouth wide with my tongue forward to receive him. As he pushed into my mouth, he would only give me a couple inches before retreating. He continued this pattern until he had gotten over half of it into my mouth.

That time, he paused, granting me a pleased groan as he let his head fall back. I responded in earnest, continuing to move forward as my tongue swiped over whatever it could reach. When I pulled back, I barely released any of him before going even further forward. I looked up at his face to see if he was impressed.

He was.

Shortly after, I choked as he hit the back of my throat. I receded enough to take a deep breath through my nose. I wished I could use my hands, but I appreciated the novelty of the cuffs for at least this one time.

I swore he heard my thoughts. Because after I finished my breath, his hands found the back of my head and pulled me even further onto him. If my hands were busy, he would just use his own.

That time as I choked, I swallowed. I could feel him slip further down my throat, blocking the air supply just for a second. When he pulled me back, I knew this was just the beginning.

Once he knew what I was capable of, he was ready to take control for good.

Sure enough, he set a moderate pace of thrusting into my throat, keeping direct eye contact with me as he did so. I paid all my attention on making sure I timed my breath, feeling tears prick the inside of my eyes as I let him take over.

He was so beautiful like this. I thought about what it must be like for him at his job, that I was the first thing he came to. I decided right then, that he would never feel powerless with me. I would be anything he needed.

Suddenly, his pace slowed down, eventually coming to a stop. He slipped himself out of my mouth, and the strings of spit snapped onto my chin. I couldn't do anything to stop the running make up or saliva with both of my hands behind my back.

I was certain I looked like an absolute mess. My knees were weak from the position, and Spencer had never looked so pleased. Bending over, he grabbed me under my arms and helped haul me  up onto the bed.

His hands casually wiped the tears from my cheeks, and he used the back of his hand to clean the area around my mouth.

"You are so beautiful," he uttered.

'Oh my god, I think I might love him.'

"You're not bad yourself," I croaked, my voice hoarse from what we'd just done.

"Tell me what you want," he dared me, his hand dropping from my hand down to my lap.

"Whatever you want."

It was the answer I had already promised him. I'd meant it before, and I'd meant it then.

He had still maintained eye contact, staring directly into my soul as he slipped his hand between my thighs. The lack of underwear made his job so much simpler, and I was thanking myself for not putting another barrier between the two of us.

Because as much as I wanted to be patient for him, I was growing desperate. Which is why when he finally touched me, his finger slid into my heat with ease. The slickness that had pooled was more than even I expected from the complete lack of stimulation I had received.

His finger wasn't there for long. He briskly removed it and held it up to my face before rubbing them together. He smiled as I struggled to breathe through the teasing.

"I've barely touched you... And yet..." he taunted, causing me to roll my hips, trying to get to something wholly out of my reach.

I was ready to start begging.

"Please, Spencer."

"Please what? Use your words."

He was loving it. He knew damn well that I had absolutely no control over what I wanted. I couldn't grab him, and I couldn't touch myself. All I could do was beg.

"Fuck me. Please."

It was as straightforward as I could possibly be.

"Still so impatient... so needy," he laughed, his hand returning to its place between my thighs.

I wailed as he began thumbing my clit. It was mind-numbing. He knew that I desperately wanted to be filled, and he was doing the exact opposite.

"Yes," I panted. "I need you. I need you to fuck me. Please."

Spencer didn't stop, continuing to stroke the bundle of nerves with quick, repetitive motions.

"Not yet, little girl," he growled in my ear.

It didn't take long for my cries to pick up, my hips rocking furiously as he drove me into my first orgasm. A steady flow of pants and cries were mixed with mangled attempts to call his name. He still didn't stop, refusing to touch me anywhere but the one spot until I finally ceased shaking.

I almost fell backwards, but he caught me with an arm around the waist. I could barely see straight, and ever such a gentleman, he held my delirious body upright for a moment. I could tell he was wondering if I was alright.

The concern mixed with overwhelming desire was too much. Even as he tortured me with pleasure, I could see what an incredibly kind man he was.

That was the only way this would work, I thought. I had to trust him. And I did. I trusted him with my life.

"Tell me what you want," he uttered, offering me a guilt-free retreat that I would not take.

"You," I purred. "I want you, Spencer."

Finally allowing himself to give in to both of our desires, Spencer turned me onto my stomach one more time. When I heard the crumpling noise of foil as he tore the condom wrapper open, I raised my hips into the air. I stood on my tip toes and rested my head and chest against the bed.

He didn't say anything else, lazily rubbing the head against my sex. A trembling, relieved sigh escaped my lips as I felt him breach my opening. He took his time inching into me, savoring the way I clenched around him as he stretched me open. I wished I could see the look on his face, but I could barely keep my eyes open as the rapture overtook me.

Once he was fully in me, he paused, grabbing hold of my locked wrists as yet another reminder that he was the one in charge. I

wasn't going to fight him if he kept it up, that was for sure.

Almost pulling himself entirely out, he jerked me back at the same time that he snapped his hips forward and bottomed out inside me. I yelled out at the sensation, which clearly urged him on. His pace went from composed to frenetic in a matter of seconds, and each time he would slam into me, I couldn't stop the loud moans and cries from spilling out of my mouth.

He didn't let them dissuade him. I was pretty sure that he very much enjoyed the fact that I couldn't control myself. That he was the one doing that to me. But, in typical, sympathetic Spencer fashion, he leaned over me from behind and wrapped a hand over my mouth to stifle the noises.

Didn't want to alert anyone of what was happening behind closed doors, after all.

I could barely breathe as he fucked me into the bed, my feet lifting off the ground from the sheer force he used in each thrust. I let him take out all his pent up frustration on me, enjoying the harsh sting as his skin slapped against mine.

I wasn't going to last much longer. We both knew that we were riding dangerously close to the edge. As much as I didn't want it to end, I was ready to fall off that cliff with him.

His thrusts became jagged and stunted, and my thighs tensed tightly together. I chanted his name into his hand, unable to control myself as I felt my muscles flutter around his cock, urging him to finish with me. He happily obliged, pulling me roughly back to him one more time. Our hips violently collided and he held me down as far as he could onto him before emptying himself into the latex.

I could feel the soft twitching of his cock, and I started to wonder things you're not supposed to wonder about a booty call. I'd come back to that later.

A booty call. A one-night-stand.

Were we still just that? I wasn't going to ask... yet.

It felt so cold when he peeled himself off my back and slowly removed all of himself from me. I whined at the friction following the overstimulation. My legs shook terribly as my feet scrambled to touch the floor.

I couldn't see him, but I heard him throwing the condom in the trash before going through his clothes. Soon after, his hands were gingerly repositioning mine, granting him access to remove the cuffs. Once he'd slipped them off, I realized just how numb my arms had gone. They flopped uselessly to my sides, and I struggled to move my fingers.

Spencer's arms were around me before I knew what was going on. Delicately, he turned me onto my back despite my protesting groans. His touch was so gentle in a way I can't explain. He was acting like I would shatter at his fingertips.

"Wait here," he spoke in a hushed voice, placing a gentle kiss against my cheek.

I would wait anywhere for him.

While I did just that, I moved just enough that my entire body was on the bed. I inched up to the pillows and waited to regain my strength. My wrists were irritated and dented, but I couldn't really care. If anything, it would serve as proof that this night wasn't just a wild fever dream.

I saw Spencer out of the corner of my eyes, carrying an assortment of items that I couldn't help but laugh at.

"I come bearing gifts," he snickered before gracelessly dropping two bottles of Gatorade, a bottle of Advil, and lotion onto my bed.

"My hero," I spoke through the daze as I watched him pull his underwear back on. Understanding that the Advil was to stop my wrists from hurting, I took a couple quickly before I couldn't help but snicker at the sight before me.

"Awwe. I like the way you look without them, though," I teased, motioning to bottom half. "You have a cute butt."

He just chuckled, sitting down next to me and pumping lotion into a hand before motioning for me to give him my wrist.

I turned onto my side and presented him with my hand. Once he started to work the tired, abused muscles, I watched his face. The way he carefully admired the muscles while he worked, like he was trying to rebuild my wrist to the way he found it. He was so careful.

After a few moments, he held out his hand to switch, to which I also obliged.

I muttered a soft, "Thank you."

He only gave me a fleeting glance before returning to our hands.

"It's the least I can do. After what you let me do."

It was a bit of a joke, but also very genuine. He didn't call it aftercare, but that's what this was. I was familiar with it.

He was good at it.

Once he was satisfied that my wrists were going to be okay, he turned to his side to look at me. I looked up at him and wondered if he noticed that I saw the world in his eyes. I wondered if he could sense the overwhelming joy that flowed between us. I wondered if it was just in my mind that it was going both ways.

"I hope you know that I really do appreciate you," he said with a surprisingly serious tone.

My heart fluttered in my chest in a very inappropriate manner.

"Is there anything you need from me?" he asked.

Yes, I wanted to answer. Everything.

I wanted to kiss him, but I couldn't.

This doesn't mean anything, I reminded myself. He was just doing what he had to.

"No," I lied, instead. 

I think he knew I was lying. Of course he knew. Nonetheless, he draped an arm over me and scooted closer to me until my head rested against his arm. He gave my forehead a chaste kiss, and moved his fingers unhurriedly against the bare skin of my back.

I could've fallen asleep just like that, but I didn't want to. I wanted to feel that close to him forever. The freedom and happiness flowing through me was so intoxicating that I'd started to think about my previous thoughts I had during sex.

He was about that age men started to want kids and...

"Do you want kids, Spencer?"

'Oh, fuck, did I say that out loud?'

He looked as surprised as me to hear the question, and for a moment his hands stopped clean in their tracks.

'Oh no.'

"Uhh," He cleared his throat, "Yeah, I do. Wh-Why do you ask?"

Although he continued to drag his fingers across my back, it was different now. He was suddenly much more distant. Because seriously, why the hell would he not? We barely knew each other, and I definitely sounded like a crazy person.

"I was just wondering. You're good at taking care of people."

It was true. If he noticed I was covering my ass, he didn't say anything about it. Thank god.

"I'm not actually too sure about that. Right now you just think I'm good at it because your body is coursing with endorphins and adrenaline. The chemical process of love is extremely finicky and easily mimicked. Especially post-orgasm. Once that goes away, you might find you feel differently about me."

I doubted it.

Still, I shifted away from him, backing up so I could see his face again.

He continued, "You know, almost half of women surveyed said they felt anxiety and overwhelming sadness after sex. They even coined a term for it, aside from the typical sub-drop discussed in communities of more extreme sex. 'Post-coital dysphoria.' It's a shame really, that the idea of reassurance after sex isn't more mainstream."

Sometimes it was easy for me to forget he was some kind of genius. I always saw him at his most confident, which happened to also be his most quiet. As he taught me about things that I definitely should have been taught in high school sex education (but was not), I was not filled with anxiety or sadness.

In fact, I was happy.

I didn't really know him that well yet, but I wanted to.

"I can see why people mistake sex for love sometimes, then," I mumbled, not realizing the weight behind my words. It seemed obvious to me in the moment that he wouldn't think I was talking about us.

But then he pulled his hand back, running it through his hair and clearing his throat again.

"Yeah," he agreed, nonetheless, "It's pretty common."

I took a deep breath, panicking on how to pull him back to me. I lightly stretched, shifting to sit up and put some literal distance between us before the figurative distance was too far.

"Well, no worries here, Dr. Reid. I can confidently say I am not in love with you."

I could feel his eyes following me. I said I was confident, because I was. I was not in love with him.

Was I falling in love with him? It was a different question. I didn't know the answer to that one.

I excused myself for a moment to go to the bathroom and freak out in isolation. I could not believe I was somehow incapable of controlling my words around him. He just had this face that made you want to spill your heart out to him.

Did he know that? Whatever. It was easier to blame him for being so damn cute.

When I made it back to the bed, he was already half-asleep. He looked so peaceful and unassuming compared to the dominating personality I had seen not even ten minutes ago. As quietly as I could, I sneaked into my side of the bed. He began to stir, so I came up behind him and wrapped an arm over his waist.

"You know, they say it's dangerous to stay the night after a one-night-stand," I whispered, resting my face on his shoulder. "People might get attached."

"Technically this would be a two night-stand, so I don't think the same rules apply," he grumbled before placing his hand over mine on his stomach.

"Well, if you really  want to get technical, we are a one-night-stand plus a booty call," I corrected, earning a playful scoff from the man beside me.

"Pretty sure those are mutually exclusive."

I tried to repeat to myself that he was just trying to be nice. He was doing what all people are supposed  to do after sex. It didn't mean anything, I tried to convince myself.

It didn't mean anything.

"You're right."

I still tried to convince myself. It still wasn't working.

Fuck it.

"We could be something more. If you want to," I suggested. I'd sounded absolutely bored by the idea on purpose, but it still hadn't been enough to convince him that I wasn't out here proposing marriage to a fucking bootycall. 

His entire body tensed under my touch, like my words had inflicted pain. From my position half on top of him I felt his chest stop moving as he held his breath.

I shouldn't have said it. It was easy to say that in hindsight. But the truth was, I wasn't the only one blaring sirens of my growing attached to the kindhearted man who'd just massaged my wrists. Spencer had always been the one to be blatantly affectionate with me. It was him who had wanted to make this a recurring habit in the first place.

He was the one that always chose to stay the night. He was the one who initiated it. It wasn't just me who wanted something more, but he had to be a stupid, proud man like the rest of them.

"(Y/n) I—"

I knew that tone. I'd heard it before. He was going to tell me he couldn't be with me. We couldn't 'date,' or whatever he'd convinced himself the mature version was of the juvenile phrase.

But I already knew that. He was a fucking FBI agent and he was 10 years older than me. I barely knew anything about him. Had he ever even had a girlfriend? Did he have one now? I didn't even know, and that wasn't what I'd asked. 

Still, he was struggling to come up with a way to let me down easy, and I didn't want to hear it. It was going to be a lie, anyway. So, I covered his mouth with my hand and stopped him before he ended things for good.

"Friends, Spencer. I meant we can be friends."

Suddenly, we could both breathe again.

"I'd like that."

The tension melted from the room, but only so much. There was still a wall between us. I wasn't sure if it'd ever go away, but that was a problem for another day. 

"Me too," I lied.

I didn't want to be friends. I was scared what 'friends' meant. I was nervous that what I'd done was give him an out to never talk to me again. I was petrified that he'd lose the ability to see me as anything more than a collection of mistakes he'd made.

I didn't tell him any of that. If he noticed, which I'm positive he did, he didn't say anything about it. I was sure he wouldn't. Because even though he was about to shut me down, I knew part of him was craving the intimacy I was willing to offer him. I figured I'd just have to do it quietly for the time being. Wouldn't be the first time a woman took responsibility for a man's feelings.

At least the sex was worth it.

I tried to pretend like that's all it was. After a minute of listening to his heart beating rhythmically underneath me, though, he rolled over once more. Unable to leave him behind just yet, I joined him. I turned so he could pull me as close to him as he wanted.

There was never a barrier between us when the words were removed. My body fit next to his like it had been molded for that purpose. I curled into the warmth and I savored the quiet moments that I was convinced could never come often enough.

As I drifted off into sleep in his arms, our legs tangled together like we were part of the same two headed beast.

My last thought of the night was the one I'd been trying to avoid.

I don't want to be friends, because friends don't do this.

—————————————————  

Waking up next to Spencer in my bed that morning was somehow even more ethereal than before. Although I'd shifted several times in my sleep, he'd found me in the darkness each time so that he could cling to me again.

I didn't want to move. I was worried I would wake him and we'd return to our previous lives like this had never happened. I thought back to how tired he had looked when he first got here. I still wasn't totally certain what a profiler is, but the haunted look in his eyes and the tension in his muscles told me it wasn't easy.

I ghosted my fingers over his hand splayed out on my stomach, and the touch only served to make him pull me closer to him.

He was like a child with his favorite toy, desperately seeking out the comfort only I could provide him. I continued to run my hands along his, eventually going up his arm and quietly giggling at the goosebumps that formed. I didn't want him to wake up, but I also didn't want him to be awoken with another notice that he had to leave.

I wondered what the morning would be like without a time limit.

When Spencer began to stir, the first thing he did was bury his face between my shoulder and neck. I giggled at the tickling sensation of his breath, and he responded by peppering the area with short, light kisses.

It was my favorite way to say good morning.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," I said through the laughter. 

He didn't speak, just humming back contentedly as his kisses became more involved.

"Now who's the needy one?" I teased, tilting my head to grant him more access.

"Still you," he sighed against my skin.

"You know what I really need?" I began, starting the impossible task of turning onto my back while he refused to let go of his hold on me. "Coffee."

I couldn't help but laugh at the playful groan he released in response. He clearly agreed, and even followed the joyful sound with, "And they say the perfect woman doesn't exist."

It didn't mean anything, I warned my heart as it began to race. It was just a joke.

"Well, I didn't for the first ten years of your life. But don't worry, Dr. Reid. You have me now."

The brag, paired with the reminder of our age gap, earned me my release from his embrace. I was sad to lose it, but I'd also been scared of the effect it had on me.

"Your humility is my favorite part," he said in jest as he watched me squirm out from under his arm.

I stuck out my tongue, and he spoke again.

"Wait, never mind. I forgot about that part. That's my favorite part."

My face burned as I sucked it back in before pouting and climbing out of the bed. Grateful that I still had on my negligee, I stopped to pick up his clothes and tossed them onto the bed.

"Come on, lazy bones. I don't know how you like your coffee."

He just smiled, that gentle yet goofy look that told me he was enjoying himself. I didn't stay to watch him get dressed, deciding he deserved his privacy, despite the fact that I had shoved his dick down my throat the night before.

When he got to the kitchen, the pot was already on. I was leaning forward against the counter, half asleep on my propped up hand. He didn't take a seat at the table. He positioned himself directly behind me and wrapped an arm around my chest.

The man just couldn't keep his hands to himself. I wasn't complaining.

He slipped a hand beneath the front of my negligee, becoming more daring as he gently kneaded my breast and his mouth continued to mark my neck.

"What did I do to deserve all this attention now, Dr. Reid?"

It was a serious question. I had literally just been standing there. I had just woken up. I hadn't even cleaned my face.

"Nothing. You just exist."

I both chuckled and scoffed at the answer. So much for not wanting things to be emotional. Being the more responsible of the two of us, I focused on the way his tongue devilishly drew different sounds from me.

He suckled gently on the side of my neck, and his fingers began to tweak my nipple. A moan was ripped from the back of my throat as I jutted my hips backwards against him.

"God, when you react like that I can't help but think you want me to fuck you over this counter."

He was right. I did. Men weren't the only ones who had to deal with illicit thoughts in the morning. I figured he knew as much.

"Please," I begged, moving my arms so I could brace myself against the ceramic.

"Only because you asked nicely."

He withdrew from my neck. I heard as he drew familiar, crinkly foil from his pocket and I giggled at the anticipation. At the knowledge that he'd clearly pulled one from his wallet before he ever left the bedroom.

Soon enough, his fingers were trailing up my inner thighs, quickly encountering my very wet center that was still affected by the night before. Upon realizing I didn't need any preparation, he skipped it entirely. Slowly and with purpose, he slipped inside of me. I let out another loud moan as he filled my sore heat.

"Fuck," I heard him mutter under his breath.

I loved to know he couldn't entirely control himself with me. I wanted to know how I made him feel. It wasn't like the other times. There was no battle for dominance; I submitted to him immediately and freely. He was not rushed or driven by high emotions. His thrusts were slow, deep, and intimate. One of his hands returned to my chest, paying special attention to the breast that had been ignored before.

I leaned forward into his hand, my back arching to provide him with whatever relief he was looking for inside me. I panted out his name as my own version of a Sunday morning prayer.

It went on like that for a while. He took his time with me, like he was memorizing each nook and crevice he could reach. My legs were beginning to shake from his intrusion and also from my impending orgasm.

"Spencer..." I whispered his name differently this time, and his hands withdrew. I whimpered at the loss. But my disappointment was short lived, as his hand found its way down to where our bodies met. I gasped at the contact.

"What, (y/n)?" he asked with the utmost concern, beginning to make soft circles around my clit while he continued to fuck me from behind.

"I-I'm going to..."

I couldn't finish my sentence, collapsing forward as the stimulation became too much to bare. As it usually did, his other hand grabbed hold of my hair, clutching it tightly to pull me back up to him.

"Then do it."

His statement was a demand, but also its own beg. He wanted to feel me finish before him. I couldn't fight it even if I wanted to. The way he commanded control of my body was a force that could not be ignored. The ever tightening coil inside of me snapped, causing twitches and spasms to rack my body.  My mouth tried to call his name, but my voice didn't come out.

I tried to grip the ceramic when he began to pick up his pace, fucking me harder as my orgasm went on. I knew how much he loved to feel me come undone from the inside. But he held on, continuing his brutal pace until even after I had devolved into a panting, dripping mess underneath him.

My soft mewls from the sensation of being fucked through peaked bliss were still not enough.

"What do you want, little girl?" he growled in my ear as he leaned forward, somehow thrusting harder. Another moan was bubbling up my throat as my feet left the ground with each impact.

"I want... I want you to cum. Inside me."

It was a beg laced with pants and high pitched whines. It was what he wanted to hear.

He grabbed one of my hands, guiding it to my lower abdomen and holding it there. I didn't realize why until the next thrust, when I felt a bump form as he moved within me. I hadn't even considered how deep within me he was. He was showing me how much of me belonged to him.

I'd already known, but the reminder was nice. 

With a few more rough, deep thrusts, he had buried himself inside of me, and I could feel it against my hand. From within me I could feel him spilling into the condom.

I remembered my question about children. I remembered his answer.

That beautiful, sneaky bastard was imagining what it would be like to make me pregnant, whether or not he would admit it. I had put the thought in his mind. I just wasn't expecting it to have that profound of effect on him. I was more turned on by that than I'd like to admit.

I had said that I'd do anything for him.

He didn't say anything else. He released my hair and pulled out of me. He left me to prop myself up on the counter the best I could while my body trembled from the loss. 

At some point, the coffee pot had finished. I figured there were worse ways to pass the time.

Spencer was gone when I turned around. I figured he had gone to the bathroom to clean up, and I tried not to think anything of it. I poured two cups of coffee and pulled out the cream and sugar.

When he came back, he'd come with his phone. He sat down at the table and silently read through messages from the past hours he spent with me. I watched him prepare his drink, immediately downing some of the contents despite its temperature.

"Good lord, do you even have feeling in your throat?" I asked, laughing as I continued to stir my cup.

"Interesting you would be the one to ask me that. After last night, I wondered the same about you."

Touché.

"Did you get any interesting messages? Is the ever-so-busy Special Agent Dr. Reid going to be whisked away from me without a proper goodbye again?"

The words were laced with only a little bit of bitterness. He ignored it.

"I don't know if I would classify our goodbye last time as improper. At least, not in the sense you're using the term."

He was avoiding an answer. I figured he had to go. Or, well, he wanted to.

That's fine, I told myself. He can go. Even though I didn't want him to.

I watched him, the way he continued to nurse his drink with one hand and look at his phone with the other. I tried to suppress the hearts forming in my eyes.

"When will I get to see you again?" I asked, my tone full of trepidation.

"I'm not sure," was his honest answer, given without ever looking up at me.

"We should do something fun."

That made him look up, with a sly grin forming on his face.

"Not like that, you perverted old man," I laughed.

He raised his eyebrows, choosing not to reply outright to my taunt just yet.

"As much fun as we have in bedrooms, I don't know much about you. I'd like to change that," I explained. 

He watched me carefully, his eyes shifting away as he began to overthink it. I could see the cogs of paranoia turning in his mind. I think even he knew he was being sort of ridiculous.

"As friends, Spencer," I reminded with a gentle smile. "Let's do something fun. As friends."

The reserved half smile he gave would be good enough for me.

"Sure," he conceded, which filled me with a bubbly happiness I tried (and failed) to conceal. "I do have to go now, though. If for no other reason than wanting to change."

An understandable concern. I was fine with him leaving if I knew I would see him again this time. But still, something about him leaving so soon hurt a deeper part of me. I wondered if it was that dysphoria he was talking about, but decided not to question it, lest he tell me it was something more worrisome. Something like infatuation. 

I nodded, leaving my coffee on the table as I took his already empty cup. He stood up, waiting for me to return before the both of us walked over to the door. Something about his hesitation resonated in me. My puppy dog eyes were out in full force as I stared up at him.

I wasn't able to smile as he left.

"I'll see you again soon. As soon as I can," he assured me.

I wanted to believe him, but I hated that I didn't know when that would be.

He reached a hand down, brushing loose hairs from my face and commanding my attention that I so readily gave. 

"Don't look so sad," he instructed. "It makes it hard to leave."

My chest swelled with anxiety and adoration. I wasn't sure how to combat it. I hugged myself with one arm, and Spencer shook his head with a laugh.

"Still not following directions."

He didn't seem to mind all that much, though. He leaned forward and cupped my face in his hand. Our lips pressed against each other with a tenderness that made my head spin. We kissed each other in a way that was carelessly romantic.

When he pulled away, he stared into my eyes for a second too long. And when he waved goodbye and walked out of my door, I couldn't get the thought out of my mind.

Friends don't do this.

—————————————————  

| Part 4 |

[steve0discusses]

S5 Ep5: Female Friends

So I was up hella late because of Daylight Savings screwing my sleep schedule, and I was on Twitch and one of the people I follow was speedrunning a Yugioh game (I think it was called Forbidden Memories like it was some Romance YA novel) and I was like “that’s a thing?” And I watched about 15 minutes of just complete nonsense. Like this game makes no sense when your scrubbing through 30 minutes of gameplay, but when a whole game takes 45 seconds and they have mechanics using like planets and astrology symbols? What?

What?

Y’all, I’m a little concerned your card game ain’t real. Like this is some ploy by knowing adults and this is some sort of Santa Claus situation where everyone else knows that this game ain’t real, but I’m the last person alive who’s like... “it is real though, right?” Hoping that I haven’t been played all of these years, despite having literally no empirical evidence that it is.

Just saying, I’m on to you, Yugioh.

Thanks dub.

I am pretty convinced (could be wrong) but pretty convinced that Grandpa was probably just normal horny in this scene. Like it just kinda matches what I know about horny grandpa tropes (that and Vivian is really talked up to be this hot stuff although she’s just youknow...some girl who exists.)

He immediately falls over. Like immediately, and I don’t know what’s up with Grandpa’s weird slipped disc, but luckily this is the one thing that Mokuba is prepared to deal with as a park manager.

Or what was his job again, Master of Ceremonies? That was the name of Mokuba’s actual chosen job that a 12-13 yo would choose?

Only Mokuba would have the choice to choose “a literal astronaut” and not choose an astronaut. This kid probably hates space though, with his family’s countless war machines now currently flying through the void.

The amount of times that the Kaibas have had to call a doctor for these guys.

(read more under the cut)

Bro was like “So Hawkins paid Grandpa to pretend to fall down so they could ditch Rebecca’s duel, right?” and youknow...probably. It was a pretty boring duel. They got off scott free.

Rex and Weevil do cartoon antics that actually feel like cartoon antics--which feels so weird for this show. Of course, it also has this Vivian plotline that is a little sus for a children’s show?

OK, show. You keep throwing women at Yugi Muto, and I get it’s a joke because he’s the world’s most undateable boy but there is a line of plausibility that even for a kid’s cartoon show it’s like “eh, probably not.”

Anyway, Vivian has Cho Chang energy of “I’m here for a problematic romantic conflict that never needed to happen and hamfisted diversity and uhhhhhh that’s it! I won’t exist after book 5!”

What a step down from dueling on top of the train, right? Like this whole time you could have just dueled next to it? What? In this show?

The rest of the party show up to the train station, where there’s really no other audience watching. Like where are Rebecca’s adoring fans who were asking for her autograph like 3 episodes back?

Card culture is brutal, y’all.

Vivian is not drawn like a 16 yo, being real. I was pretty surprised that she was under 25 according to a cursory Google search. Course, Joey Wheeler is drawn like a built adult, too, so I think the only convincing teenage child on this show is Pharaoh because at least he’s short. Just ignore how sometimes he’s got muscles on his arms that have no right to be there at the age of 16. (17?)

Then we had like a little Season Zero vibes where everyone just picks on Yugi for a hot minute.

And so Tea’s character development comes full circle as she realizes that this whole time, the Female Friend she needed was already here in the form of that small child who has a crush on her kinda boyfriend.

This was such an episode written by a bunch of dudes.

But at least Rebecca and Tea found something in common, although I really wish it wasn’t Yugi, considering how little on screen development he has with either of them. Where’s the reward for me as the viewer? If I cared about either of this love pentagon at all (well, hexagon...Bakura’s still in there.) there will never be a payout. You very well may be waiting forever for a relationship the writers clearly had never any intention to ever write except to act as a foil for our protagonists instead of like...a relationship.

And the show seems a little inconsistent with the relationship between Rebecca and Tea, too. They hang out a lot as the girls on the sideline, and appear to get along a lot of the time--but then they hate eachother a lot of the time as well because of jealousy? It’s just so weird.

I feel like TV shows in general have a really hard time approaching girl friendships, and speaking as a girl, I wish TV and books recognized more that our female friendships don’t have to be so freakin serious. We just act friendly and that’s freakin it.

That and these girls are going to go right back to hating eachother half the time after this is over because the main problem--Yugi not piping up and telling one of them to back the hell off--has never been addressed and never will be because Yugi is a broken, broken wet blanket.

Back at the base, Seto is also making up his own problems to be upset about in the absence of any apocalypses happening on screen.

Unless that hacker is Noah Kaiba, you’re probably fine. I really haven’t had too much of a reason to feel any fear over Zigfried von Schroeder. And maybe it’s because his character design was pretty complicated so no one wanted to draw it.

This was a ‘who’s on first’ joke but still.

...why do cards have to be like this?

Also, I didn’t see anything about this nonsense in the speedrun I watched the other night so, guys, this game ain’t real.

Anyway, Rebecca won.

We find out a little more of what happens to other duelists. Our Cowboy lost to a Sherlock Holmes boy, and I was very happy that I don’t have to come up with jokes about country music because I have none other than like...Taylor Swift jokes? Does she still count as country? I have no idea what’s going on in the country music scene.

On other side of the park, Yugioh decide to pay another tribute to the creative crotch shot with one of these:

Rex and Weevil are off to fight the big bad, and when you think “OK, we’re gonna get a wacky duel battle with these two balancing on top of eachother,” they kinda whiffed it before they made it to the stage.

And then I kind of whiffed it when I realized that Mokuba and Weevil have never spoken in the same place before and they have the same exact font color so fml.

The fact that Mokuba didn’t realize anything was wrong until they fell and revealed they were two small adults in a trench coat says a lot about most of the competitors in this duel.

It is incredible how both the Battle City Tournament and the Kaiba Corp Tourney (s that it’s name?) are both poorly managed, but in a different way. The Battle City Tourney unfortunately had a bunch of murderers in it. This tournament, no one is killing eachother, but they are still kind of sneaking in through the back door and being chronically late to everything.

(and I just want to point out that after the last match Mokuba oversaw that had Joey nearly miss the appointment, Mokuba decided to set this one in front of a Giant Clock just to get his point across)

So Zigfried has some sort of flying horse card that wiped them out right away, which makes you wonder........

.............why use any other cards?

Kaiba makes these cards, right????

Like he should be the last person who’s surprised????

Anyway, Zigfried top-decked a horse, and the guy who spends about 15 minutes getting ready his big ol blue eyes dragons every match he’s ever played was like “Yo I have GOT to get into speedrunning!”

And yes, the speedrun I was watching did not use Blue Eyes White Dragons. They were using a bunch of other stuff that I tried to look up just now and the art is completely different from what I recall so...unfortunately that means that your game is fake. Pretty sure it’s fake and you have no way to prove to me this is real.

Anyway, that’s it for now, not much to say since we’re still at the beginning of the arc. Next week I guess we’ll find out if Seto ever removes his ass from this chair.

https://steve0discusses.tumblr.com/tagged/yugioh/chrono

[nerdy-bookworm-1998]

I’ll Be Home For Christmas

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader Words: 1607 Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Drugging, Mentions of assassinations, Implied human trafficking, one swear word A/N: This is part of my 25 Days of Christmas Writing Challenge. For those that are interested, I still have 18 request spots available. Just send me a request for what you would like me to write along with the character. I will write for Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Tony Stark, Peter Parker, Legolas, Thranduil, and Kili. Feedback and reblogs are appreciated. If you want to be tagged in future works, just drop me an ask.

With less than a week left until Christmas Eve, the compound is silent. Steve had been gone on a recon mission in Stuttgart since just after Thanksgiving. The rest of the team were all spending time with their loved ones all over the country. I had just settled in for a Game of Thrones binge-session when Friday announces that my presence is required in the briefing room.

With a long-suffering sigh, I haul myself up from the couch and shuffle over to the elevators that would take me out of the living quarters and to the floor where all the offices, interrogation, and conference rooms are. After a short ride and even shorter stroll, I reach the right door and enter without bothering to knock.

At the front of the room stands Maria Hil, Tony, and Nick Fury. They all look up from where they are bent over a hologram when I enter. "Agent 19, you're right on time. Please, have a seat," Nick says, pointing to the chairs around the table. I take the one closest to the front.

"What is this about?" I enquire.

"What do you know about Kevin Ivanovich?" Maria asks, getting straight to the point.

"He's a former KGB operative working out of Moscow. He's responsible for the assassination of over 30 SHIELD agents, but we've never been able to catch him," I recall from the stories Nat and Clint had told me.

"We've received a tip-off from local intelligence that Mr. Ivanovich will be crawling out of his hiding place for a holiday gala hosted by Borris and Elena Makaveli. It also just so happens to be a cover for a silent auction on everything from advanced weaponry to enhanced individuals. We already have agents in place to take down the auction. But Ivanovich is known for escaping the net, no matter how tight it is. Which is where you come in," Maria explains as she hands me the folder with all relevant information. "We need you to go to Moscow, posing as the daughter and heir of a wealthy American arms-dealer, standing in for her father at the auction. We need you to charm him, get him to trust you by helping him escape the party, let his guard down. Once it is, we need you to drug him and take him to the American embassy, where I will be waiting to transport him to the Raft. Do you have any questions?"

"Yeah, I have a few questions. What is the name of my alias? How am I getting to Russia? How am I getting into the party? And when do I leave?" I ask, crossing my legs.

"The informant sent over an invitation for you. I'm loaning you a private jet with a crew that will take you directly to Moscow Sheremetyevo International Airport, where a car and driver will be waiting for you. You leave in the next two hours. We thought you could pick out your alias yourself," Tony answers with his usual flamboyancy.

Once the meeting is over, I head directly to my room. I pick a large suitcase to store my clothing, toiletries, and accessories for the trip. I choose a smaller, matching case to hold my favorite knives and guns. Finally, I go to the safe in the back of my closet. Inside are several manilla envelopes with the names of my various aliases written on top. After several moments of contemplation, I take out the envelope bearing the name Alexandra Gilbert and toss it onto my bed before going back into my closet to change.

A pair of white-washed skinny jeans, a red cashmere sweater, knee-high black leather boots trimmed with faux fur, and a faux fur coat later, I'm mission ready.

A short car ride, a nine-hour-long flight, and another car ride through peak-hour traffic, I am checked into a luxurious suite at the St. Regis hotel (generously paid for by Stark Industries).

The next evening, after a day of tourist-related activities, I am dressed in a burgundy colored evening gown with golden stilettos and accessories as I ascend the steps of the Bolshoi Theatre. The guards at the entrance take a cursory glance at my invitation before directing me on where to go.

Once inside, it is easy enough to find my mark and strut over to where he is seated at the bar. After ordering a drink and an hour of flirting, one of Ivanovich's men walks over to whisper in his ear. He gives a short nod before turning back to me with a simpering smile. "It would seem the main attraction of the evening is about to start. Would you like me to escort you, gorgeous?" he asks in his thick Russian accent.

"I would be honored, handsome," I answer with a coy smile, hooking my arm through his as he leads me across the room and to a side door, hidden behind a curtain. We walk down a long hallway, my heels clicking on the polished marble floor until we reach a large, dome-shaped room filled with people dressed in their finest suits and dresses milling about the room as they peruse the items up for auction.

We had already circled the room twice when a guard bursts in shouting that SHIELD was on their way just before a flashbang went off and people dressed in black tactical gear flooded into the room.

"Follow me!" I yell at Ivanovich, pulling him behind me to the hidden door along the wall closest to us, then through another series of hallways until we reach outside of the building where a car was waiting for us.

Once in the car, I hand him a glass of vodka, which he downs immediately. Barely five minutes have passed before he is slumped over in his seat, snoring loudly. I direct the driver to turn around and drive to the American Embassy while I put Ivanovich in a pair of vibranium handcuffs, then turn to look out at the snowstorm raging outside the window.

After Maria had taken custody of the Raft's newest guest, I head back to my hotel room to change clothes, pick up my bags, and make for the airport. I had called ahead to tell the captain to get the plane ready for departure. However, when I get to the airport, all flights had been delayed indefinitely due to the storm.

With a disheartened sigh, I find a cafè and buy myself a large hot chocolate and a croissant. Sitting at a small table in the corner, I take out my phone and unlock it, staring at the picture of Steve and I with our arms wrapped around each other at Tony's Halloween party last year. We had gone as Little Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf. I briefly contemplate calling him to let him know I probably wouldn't be back in time for Christmas before a voice opposite me draws my attention.

"Excuse me, miss, but is this seat taken?" says the one voice I would recognize anywhere. Whipping my head up, I'm face to face with Steve. He looks angelic, bundled up in a blue and white sweater with a white t-shirt and light wash jeans with boots, his cheeks, and nose a rosy red from the cold wind outside.

"Steve!" I squeal as I hop out of my seat to throw myself into his arms.

"Hey, gorgeous," he grins as he wraps his arms around me, burying his face in my hair. "Fuck, I missed you so much," he mumbles.

"Language, cap," I tease while burying my face in his chest, breathing in the smell of home. After several long moments of just quietly standing together, I hesitantly pull back far enough to see his face. "I don't understand what are you doing in Russia of all places? I thought you would be home by now."

"Well, by the time the mission was over, the storm had already closed down the airport where I was supposed to take off. The guy at the office told me I might have better luck getting a flight at a larger airport. I was planning on grabbing a coffee before trying my luck at one of the airline desks when I saw you sitting here. What are you doing here?" he asks, delicately cupping my cheek as if to check that I'm real.

"I had a mission here. I was supposed to be a tourist, so Tony let me borrow one of his private jets. I was about to go home, but the plane was grounded because of the storm," I explain.

Over the next few hours, we sit in the cafè, sipping hot chocolate and just talking while we wait for the storm to pass. It's nearly midnight when I get a call from the pilot that they had been cleared to fly. Grabbing our luggage, Steve and I make a mad dash for the plane. Once we're on board, the stewardess closes the door and helps us get settled before telling the pilot that everything is ready for takeoff.

We reach New York just as the sun is starting to set. Happy is at the airstrip to pick us up and take us back to the compound, where the rest of the team and their loved ones are already gathered, for dinner.

When we stroll into the dining room hand in hand, Tony cheers, "The lovebirds are back! Now Capsicle can carve the turkey so we can eat," he grins while the rest laugh, and we take our seats at the table filled with our family.

Tags:

@mcdesij @spiderrrling @arrow-guy @interestedbystanderwrites @caplanreads @gwendelerynan @here2have-fun @bookscoffeeandracoons @bambamwolf87 @loricameback @rockrchick51 @love-nakamura @baebeepeach @timelordy-fangirl2 @jewelofwinter @caramell0w @jewels2876 @ladysergeantbarnes @notawritergettingtherethough @patzammit @fanfictionjunkie1112 @lumar014 @kirstie-evans-writes @robertdowneyhiddlesbatch @lil-lex1 @dragonrosegardens @bookgirlunicorn @shadymidge @kaithezaftig @that-place-called-middle-earth @marshyrebelcloud @rebekahdawkins

[themadamelibrarian]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Supernatural Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Dean Winchester/Human!impala Characters: Human!Impala, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Meg Masters (Demon) Additional Tags: First Time, Fluff and Crack, Vaginal Sex, Transformation, Puns & Word Play, Oral Sex, Sentient Impala (Supernatural), Dean Winchester Loves The Impala, Magic, Human Female Impala (Supernatural), Loss of Virginity Series: Part 34 of One-Shots & Reader Inserts Summary: Dean has been wishing really, really hard lately.

Note: This work was inspired by an RP. Thank you to everyone who played this out with me. Without Sam, Meg, and Baby this piece would not have been possible.

Forgive any grammar or other spelling errors. It's not a 100% beta'd.

Share this story and show support for the creator!

To say that he was shocked when he stopped in front of the coffee shop would have been an understatement. What Dean Winchester was experiencing made him doubt his ability to drink large amounts of alcohol. It had started off as such a pleasant day.

Sam was off in the next town picking up some rare book that Dean didn't care to remember the title of. His brother swore that the bunker didn't have it in the extensive library, so that left Dean to his own devices after their latest hunt. So, he had spent the day doing some needed maintenance and giving his "Baby" a thorough cleaning. Cleaning himself up afterward, he headed to a bar not far away to shoot some pool, drink some beer and maybe find some company.

After a few hours of fun, he left the bar and made his way out to the parking lot where he'd left the car, only to find that it was gone. With a yell of frustration and enough swearing to make a sailor blush, he started walking down the street in hopes of locating his car and beating the hell out of her thief. That was until he reached the coffee shop.

As he passed by he didn't register any movement until he heard a feminine squeal of delight.

"DEAN!" was the last thing he heard before he had a girl wrapped around his neck hugging him for all she was worth. When he didn’t immediately respond she pulled back and looked at him with a thousand-watt smile. “It’s me. Baby.”

“SONOFABITCH! Baby?” he asks with a tone of total disbelief. She nods vigorously and once again pulls him into a shoulder crushing hug. Not knowing what else to do, he wraps his arms around her waist. As he holds the car made human, he sees Meg standing behind her with a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. He removes Baby from his shoulders and moves so that he is between the two women. “What did you do to my car?” he growls at the demon.

Meg points to her own chest “What did I do? I didn’t do a damn thing but help her out when she wandered into the store searching for you.” she finishes with a wave of her hand to indicate the couple standing in front of her. Dean takes a step forward with every intention of choking the life out of the demonic bitch in front of him when Baby grabs his bicep.

“No Dean, it’s true. I was lost and couldn’t find you, but she was going to help me. Where were you?” Baby sounded truly distressed as she explained but Dean just couldn’t believe that Meg had nothing to do with this sudden transformation of his precious Impala. It must have shown on his face because Meg came forward with her hands up level with her chest in a gesture of surrender.

“Look, I really do want to help. I’m tired of being a Demon with all the torture and evil plots. I just wanted a chance to redeem myself, to do a good deed for once.” she says on the verge of tears.

Dean looked between the two women, trying to figure out all the angles when he realized he didn’t have enough sleep or alcohol to deal with this. “Ok, you wanna help Meg, then you're gonna help me find out who did this. No tricks, no bullshit. Are we clear?”

“Crystal clear.” Meg answers.

“Good, you go see what you can dig up. I’m gonna take her back to the hotel and call Sam,” he tells Meg. Then he turns to Baby and takes her hand and leads her away from the storefront “We’ll figure this out.” At the mention of his brother's name, Baby becomes excited.

“Oh Sammy, where is he? Is he here?” she says with a slight bounce in her step.

“No, he’s the next town over getting books,” Dean says with as much patience as he can muster. Baby doesn’t say anything but she looks at the ground in disappointment. They continue to walk down the street, past the bar, towards the motel when Dean’s phone begins to ring. Taking his hand out of Baby’s he reaches into his jacket pocket and answers. “Yea?”

“Hey, I’m on my way back. Man, you should have seen that collection of books. Not just supernatural stuff either.” Dean rolled his eyes as his brother, Sam, babbled into the phone about his trip.

Dean interrupted his verbal flow. “Sammy, that’s great you could get your nerd on, but I’ve got a situation here. So haul ass back to the motel.”

“Why what’s going on? You okay?” Sam asked with an edge of panic in his voice.

“No, yea I’m not in danger, at the moment, but ..Man I don’t even know how to explain this…” Just as Dean was gathering his thoughts Baby starts jumping up and down beside him with a grin.

“HI SAMMY!!” she yells loud enough for Sam to hear over the line. Dean watches the exciting display and for the first time noticing that the girl next to him is cute..in fact, she’s better than cute. With those clear blue eyes and dark hair and legs that...’stop that’ he chastises himself and comes back to the phone conversation just in time to hear Sam going on about not speeding down the highway to help him “take out the trash”. Baby having heard Sam’s comment over the phone looks like she’s about to burst into tears.

Dean continues to argue with Sam over the phone “No, Sam she’s not someone I picked up. It’s ..dammit. It’s the Impala, someone or thing turned her into a girl..a really hot girl. And I need your help to figure this shit out because man..this is fucked up.. beyond fucked up...I just ..just get here fast.”

“Fine Dean, I’ll be there in 30 minutes.” Sam disconnects the call and Dean pockets his phone after texting Sam his location. Seeing Meg rubbing circles over Baby’s shoulders as she leans on her shoulder. Running his hand over the two-day-old stubble on his chin he lets out a huff and continues to walk to the motel.

“I’m not trash, am I? she asks Dean. He looks into her clear blue eyes and a little part of him breaks. Sam is so going to get his ass kicked for that comment later.

They entered the hotel room and are greeted by the site of Crowley standing in the middle of the room. “Hello, Squirrel.” Dean is tempted to draw his gun as the King of Hell gives Baby standing near the door a cursory glance, but Crowley continues to talk. “So, do you like it?”

“Do I like what?” Dean asks

“Her of course.” Crowley points to Baby.

“You did this? Why did you turn my car into a woman?” Dean just can’t fathom why Hell’s Monarch would go to such trouble.

“We all know what an attachment you have with your vehicle, it’s almost obscene. I have my reasons but all you have to do is say thank you.” Crowley says with a smirk.

“Turn her back, now.” The hunter decides that he’s had quite enough of the whole situation and just wants this whole weird day to end with him waking up tomorrow morning with the Impala in the parking lot.

Baby approaches the men and stands just behind Dean “But, I don’t want to go back.” He stares at her trying to get a grip on the anger he was feeling at the whole mess Crowley had created, but when he looks into her eyes and saw the pleading look she held, he knew he was screwed.

“Are you sure?” she is asked and when she emphatically nods, Dean drops his head with a sigh

“Hear that Squirrel? It sounds like the lady has decided.” Crowley smugly replies.

Rounding on the Crossroads Demon, Dean squares up his shoulders and stares Crowley down. “Listen up, if she wants to stay human for a few days, then fine. But the minute she says she wants to turn back, you get your ass up here and do it. You understand me?”

“Perfectly. Until then.” Then the king is gone without another word. Dean knew he would have to find out the reason behind all this. But like he said before, one issue at a time. He turns around and finds Baby beaming her smile at him.

He walks over to the other side of the room and goes to sit on his bed. Baby waits until he is comfortable and sits down beside him. “Thank you for not making him change me back,” she says as she leans her head on his shoulder. He looks down at her and is just about to respond when he hears her stomach growl. She looks down and puts a hand to her abdomen. “I think my tank is on empty.”

He smiles at that. He can’t help it really she’s just too damned cute for her own good. Or for his. “Well, we can’t have that. We should go get you something to eat. Come on."

Just as the two of them are getting ready to leave, there is a knock on the door. Dean goes over and looks through the peephole, the opens the door. “Hi, Sammy.” The youngest brother comes barrelling in but stops short when he sees Baby.

“Dean, who is that,” he asked his brother as he looked between the two of them.

Before Dean can start to explain Baby shouts “Sammy!!” and runs forward throwing her arms around him. He looks back at his older brother with a panicked look at the slight girl hangs off his neck.

“Sammy meet Baby. She likes to hug.” Dean explains with a shrug and a smile at his brother’s discomfort.

Baby lets go of Sam and look at him with sad puppy look that could rival his own. “Do you really think I’m trash?”

“Yea, Sammy do you think my Baby is trash?” Dean says as he crosses his arms with a shit eating grin. Sam looks between his brother and the woman in front of him, too stunned to say anything. After letting his brother suffer for another minute, Dean takes pity and pulls Baby away from him. “Don’t worry Baby, Sammy loves you. Now let's go get you a burger and pie.”

Sam gives his brother a look of disgust as they leave the room, muttering “Jerk” as he walks by.

When they reach the bar, Dean finds them a booth while he goes to the bar to find a waitress to come to take their orders. When he gets back he finds Baby settled in one side of the booth with Sam seated next to her showing her the menu. It wasn’t until he saw his brother paying attention to the woman that he felt an ugly tendril of jealousy trying to worm its way into his mind. He squashes the feeling, reminding himself that the woman in question was his car. A really hot woman who used to be his car.

Just as Dean’s seated himself in the booth across from Baby, Meg approaches the table and sits beside him. Dean looks at her and says “It was Crowley.” She’s about to respond when she sees Sam glaring at her.

“What the hell are you doing here?” the youngest Winchester asks.

Meg looks at him, stunned at the amount of venom in the question. “I’m helping.”

“Sure you are. Dean, why is she here?” Sam says turning his glare to this brother.

Dean looks over at Meg. “She’s helping.”

“Like hell she is.” Sam spits, glaring daggers at her. “What are you really doing here?”

“I wanted to help” Meg defeatedly explains. Sam scoffed as he got up and walked out of the bar. Meg sighed and followed after him, trying to get his attention. “Sam wait!”

Dean watches them leave the table and is torn as to what to do. He can’t leave Baby behind, but he’s not entirely comfortable with letting Sam confront a demon, even one who wants to not be evil, alone. With a final glance at the woman across the table from him, he gets up and puts a couple of twenties on the table. “Baby, don’t go anywhere I’ll be right back.

Outside, Sam is trying to put as much distance between himself and Meg as possible.“No, get away from me, Meg!” She runs up to him and grabs his arm, turning him towards her.

“Sam, please! Listen to me, I am trying to do good here and I am trying to redeem myself okay?”

“Bullshit, Meg. Why should I trust you? You’ve possessed me, kidnapped me, and tried to kill me!” He said as glared back at her.

“Fine, don’t trust me?” She pulls out a demon blade and hands it to him, then raises her arms up. “Then kill me, Sam! You got the knife, and here I am.”

“It’s not that easy,” he said as he looked between the blade and her. Just as Meg was going to speak, Dean came running out to where they were standing.

“Whoa, what the hell is going on,” he said as he eyed the blade that Sam had been holding.

“Nothing,” Sam said, just as Dean’s phone had begun to ring.

“Yeah,” he answered the phone, only to hear Baby’s voice on the other side.

“Dean, there’s a man here and he wanted to buy me a drink,” Baby said as a scruffy looking “redneck” guy was rubbing his hand up her thigh. “And he wants to know if I taste as sweet as I look?”

“Dammit,” Dean muttered to himself. “Baby, tell him no. Don’t let him do anything to you, okay? I’ll be right there.”

The guy had taken the phone from Baby and smirked as he talked to Dean. “Dean, you left her all alone and I think she needs some company. So, I’m happy to oblige.”

“You listen to me you redneck asshole, she’s mine you got that. MINE! You lay one finger on her and I will end you.” Dean growls into the phone. All he heard on the other end was the guy laughing as the line is disconnected. “DAMMIT. Sammy, I gotta go back. Some neandertal is trying to pick up Baby.” he explains before he turns on his heel and rushes back to the bar.

After Dean turned back to go to the bar, Sam glared Meg down, following his brother. Meg sighs in exasperation and followed them back. When Dean entered the bar he saw the guy tight in Baby’s personal space and all he saw was red. Without saying a word he charged over to the table, grabbed the guy and proceeded to toss him to the ground. When the larger set man attempted to get up Dean gave him several swift kicks to the ribs and gut, waiting for him to get up again. The man moved like he was going to come up swinging, but Dean simply opened his jacket to flash the handle of his gun and gave the man on the ground a look that let him know that if he tried to come at him, he just might not get up again. Eyes widening at the implications of what he saw in the eyes of Dean, was enough for him to turn tail and run.

Sam let his brother take care of the problem patron, but kept a close eye on the situation in case it got too out of hand. When the fight had ended, Sam resumed his seat next to Baby and Dean sat next to Meg across from him. Picking up her menu, Meg tries to take small glances up at Sam without letting him see her do so. Baby’s stomach growling broke the silence and everyone looked over at her.

“I think my tank is running low,” she rubbed her stomach as if trying to get the rumbling to stop. Dean waved down the waitress to take their orders. Sam refrained from ordering from the waitress and instead stood up, sighing as he walked over to the bar. The waitress completed writing in her pad and with a nod went back to the kitchen, placing the order.

Several minutes later the waitress comes back with the food and Baby dives in with zeal, making almost pornographic sounds with every bite. Dean watches her eat, barely touching his own food, trying not to react to the noises she makes. Clearing his throat he decides talking is better than fantasizing about being the straw she sucks her drink through. "So Meg, you sure you're ready to live as a human again? It's been a while since you've had to deal with all the mechanics of being one of us."

She shrugs as she takes a drink of her whiskey. "At least I won't be able to be exorcized. You don't realize just how uncomfortable that really is."

"But you'll be mortal and all the fun that comes with that," Dean says wryly.

"At this point Dean-o, it'll be worth it to me." She goes back to studying her drink until Sam comes back to the table with his drink and sits down. Dean notices that he appears calmer than before, but he knows that his brother can bury his emotions just as well as he can if needed. The waitress brings the check just as Baby finishes the last of her milkshake. Letting out another moan of satisfaction, she leans her head on Sam's shoulder and closes her eyes.

"I think my battery is running low. I can't seem to have the power to move." She explains into Sam's shoulder. Sam chuckles at the way of this new creature explains things.

Turning his head he says something to low for Dean to hear over the ambient noise of the bar. She nods in response and before he realizes what is going on, Sam is pulling her towards the edge of the seat and then scoops her up into his arms. Dean makes sure that enough money is on the table to cover the check and he and Meg start to follow them out. As Sam is carrying her out the door he hears her ask if Meg can come back with them. He can see Sam tense up and the question then nods. When he looks back at the demon he notices that she’s carrying two whiskey bottles and he doesn’t even want to know where they came from. As they walk back to the motel he watches Baby nuzzle into Sam’s neck and that’s when he feels it. That nagging feeling of jealousy. He shakes his head trying to push the thoughts of ‘mine..my baby’ out of his head, but it doesn’t work. With a sigh, he speeds up so he can pass his brother and open the motel room door.

Entering the room, Sam lays Baby out on the bed and Dean couldn’t contain himself any longer. “Sammy, I got this,” he says gruffly as he moves to the bed. Sam recognizing that his brother was in a strange mood, so he backs off rather than start a fight.

Dean watches him back up and then turns to Baby who’s curling up on the bed. “Come on Baby, you can’t sleep in those clothes.” she rolls over and looks at him with sleepy eyes.

“Can I sleep without my clothes?” she asks as she stands up with a stretch. Dean almost chokes on his own saliva at her matter of fact question and tries not to stare at the bit of midriff that flashes during the stretch.

“Um...no. Not with Sammy and Meg in the room,” he says turning to grab his duffel to find clothes for her to sleep in. Baby walks up beside him, leans in and whispers. “But I could if it were just you in the room?”

Dean chances a glance at Sam and sees him trying not to laugh. “Oh shut it Sammy.” he snaps before grabbing Baby’s hand and leading her into the bathroom and slamming the door.

Meg looked at Sam as he sighed and turned to look at her. “What are you doing here?”

“Baby wanted me here. What’s your problem?”

“You’re my problem,” Sam scoffed as he got up and left the motel room, heading towards the office. Meg sighed as she quickly got up, and chased after him.

“Sam! Will you stop and just talk to me?” she shouted as she kept walking behind him.

“Leave me alone, Meg!” Sam shouted at her as he got the key from the office and went to the hotel room, hurrying inside. Meg had popped inside, without him knowing, and stood there with her arms crossed. Sam sighed but then turned around only to be met my Meg. “Dammit!”

“Sam! Please just hear me out,” she said as she took a small step forward.

Sam sighed and finally gave in. “Fine. Explain, then leave.” Meg took a seat on the end of the bed.

“Can you sit down, please? I can’t explain with you like that,” she said. Sam stopped, not realizing he was pacing. He then grabbed the desk chair and sat in it backward, in front of her. “Thank you.”

Meg took a deep breath before looking at Sam “I am so sorry. I know how much I’ve hurt you and so many others. I followed blindly behind a man I call my father.”

“Go on,” Sam said, not buying anything Meg was saying.

“Sam for two thousand years I have been a demon, and I am so tired of it. I constantly have to sit there and make sure I am not going to flip my switch.”

“I have a feeling you’re holding something back,” he said as he crossed his arms on the chair.

“I want your help. I don’t want to be a human anymore, Sam. I want to be human again.”

“How do I know this isn’t a trick?”

“I’m tired, Sam. I just want to be happy.”

“Fine, but we’ll get to the bunker tomorrow and I’ll help you. I’m gonna take a shower,” Sam said before disappearing into the bathroom. Meg stood up and looked around the room, and made her way to the bathroom door.

Meg knocked on the door and leaned against it. “Sam? Do you mind if I stay here?” When she didn’t get an answer, she shrugged and laid on the spare bed.

A few minutes later, Sam walked out of the bathroom, barely covered by the towel. He took a step back and looked at Meg in surprise. “Oh, I thought you would have been gone by now.”

“I asked you if I could stay. You probably couldn’t hear me,” she said as she sat up a bit. “Do you want me to go?”

Sam sighed and shook his head as he grabbed his clothes and went back in the bathroom to change. When Sam came back, Meg stood up and took off her ripped leather jacket and looked down at her shirt that was covered in blood.

“Do you, by chance, have clothes I can borrow? I kinda have blood all over my mine”

“Uh, yeah. Here,” Sam said as he walked over to his duffle and grabbed a shirt and handed it to her.

“Thanks,” she whispered as she walked to the bathroom and stripped off her clothes, and took a quick shower, rinsing herself off.

As she was in the shower, Sam laid back on the bed and started checking his phone for any messages. A few minutes later, Meg walked out of the bathroom, with slightly damp hair, and Sam’s shirt, which swallowed her completely.

Sam looked up from his phone and took in the sight of Meg. Sam hadn't thought of Meg as anything but a bitch-ass demon, but at this moment, he looked at her with something else.

Meg tucked a strand of damp hair behind her ear before slightly bending over to pull the blankets off the bed. Sam couldn't help but look at her and her exposed skin. Meg laid on the bed, and looked over at Sam, just as he looked away.

"Do you think it's going to hurt?"

Sam cleared his throat and moved a bit before looking back at her, "yeah, it's going to hurt a lot." Meg nodded before sighing and resting her arm behind her head.

Sam had kept his eyes on her legs and thought to himself 'Damn she is so-, No Sam. She is demon remember?' Sam shook his head and looks back at her 'screw it.'

Sam stood up and walked to Meg's bed as she looked up at him. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, I, uh, I gotta try something," he said before sitting beside her and kissing her, full of passion.

Caught by surprise, Meg's eyes widen, before closing, and started moving her lips with his. When Sam pulled away and looked down at her, she looked up at him, full of thirst, and pulled him into a much deeper kiss.

Sam moved on top of her and began running his hands up her legs. Meg reached up, wrapping her hands around his neck and grinding up against him.

Sam let out a small moan as he became hard at the touch of his cock against her naked skin. Sam reached down and slipped the borrowed shirt off her and ran his hands up her body as she laid there, looking up at him and biting her lip.

Sam leaned down and started kissing her neck roughly as he slipped his hand down to her clit, and began rubbing gently in circles. Meg moaned out a sweet moan as she arched her back, and tilting her head to the side. Sam took his free hand and slipped down, undressing out of his shorts, revealing his hard cock.

"Are you sure," Sam asked as he rubbed his cock against her opening.

"Yes, Sam please," Meg begged as Sam smirked and slipping his large cock inside of her.

"Oh damn Meg! You're so tight," Sam said as he started out slowly, then started picking up the speed.

Meg began moaning louder and louder the deeper that he had went. She arched her back and began digging her nails into his back.

Sam flipped the two of them over and smirked up at her. "Ride me, baby."

Meg bit her lip as she began riding him slowly, knowing it would tease him. Sam groaned out in pleasure and started thrusting his hips up into her, making her throw her head back and moan out loudly.

Sam had gripped Meg's waist and slammed his cock into her soaking wet heat. Meg screamed out a moan and rolled her hips in circles, hoping to make him hit his climax since she was so close to hers.

"I'm going to cum," she moaned out as she moved against him faster.

"Look at me, baby. Cum for me," Sam said as he slammed into her harder. Meg looked down at him and screamed out a moan as she hit her climax and came around his throbbing cock.

"Oh shit," Sam yelled out as he climaxes shortly after, and slowed down to a stop.

Meg pulled Sam's cock out of her and laid on the bed beside him, panting. ************* Dean had no clue that his brother had left the room because he was too preoccupied with the fact that as soon as the bathroom door shut, Baby began stripping off her clothes. He tried to avert his eyes but he found them drawn back to her with each layer she removed until she was down to nothing but a pair of panties. He finds it very difficult to think of anything other than kissing the woman in front of him, even though he knows she was a car not more than five hours ago, but ‘damn’ was she gorgeous. The battle continued inside his mind until he was snapped out of it by her calling his name. “Dean, are you okay?” she asks with her eyes wide in concern.

“I’m fi..fine.” he stammers slightly. He watches her smile as she reaches for the shirt in his hands and before he knows it he’s stepping into her space, taking ahold of her shoulders and pressing his lips to hers. At first, he was afraid that he’d made a mistake when she didn’t immediately return the kiss and he was about to disengage to apologize when she grabbed him by the shirt and deepened the contact. He revels in the feel of her soft lips slowly caressing his when he remembers his brothers just on the other side of the door. He reluctantly pulls back from the kiss. “Baby, we can’t do this. Sammy’s just outside.” Baby tilts her head to the side as if listening.

“No, he isn’t. I heard them leave just as we came in here,” she says matter of factly. Dean gives her a confused look and then opens the door to peek out. She was right, there’s no sign of his brother. He turns back to Baby with a grin before he pulls her in by her hips and once again kisses her. Not content to taste just her lips he moves along her jaw as he sucks wet kisses into her skin while his hands skim over her sides until he gently cups a breast in his hand, lightly rubbing circles to the soft flesh around her nipples. Baby moans loudly, then just as quickly she lets out a shocked gasp. Thinking that he’s hurt her in some way he leans back to look her in the eye.

“What happened? I didn’t hurt you did I?” he asks trying to contain the edge of panic starting to creep up on him.

“I don’t think so. It’s just that I feel strange.” she glances down and Dean follows her line of sight. Seeing that she was indicating that the feeling was coming from south of her waistband, a devilish smirk plays over his lips as he reaches down slowly and runs a finger over her cloth covered mound. A moan releases from her that sounds so close to the rumble of the Impala on idle that it takes Dean back for a moment before he leans forward and whispers into her ear "I always loved that noise.”

Bending down he scoops her up into his arms and carries her out of the bathroom to his bed. Setting her down on the edge of the mattress he steps back and begins to strip off his clothing. Baby’s eyes widen as he stands before her naked, his cock fully erect and jutting out proudly from his pubic hair. He sees the look on her face and looks down at himself. “What’s wrong?”

“Will that fit?” she asks with worry in her voice.

He chuckles as he shakes his head. “Don’t worry, I always get parts that fit my Baby.”

Before he had a chance to join her on the bed, Sam comes barging into the room “I forgot my bag.” Sam looks horrified at the scene before him and then it suddenly turns into a look of barely contained laughter. At the sight of Sam standing there, Baby lets out a squeak and pulls the blankets over her body. Storming over to Sam’s bed fully naked, he grabs his brothers duffle. “GET OUT!” Sam catches the bag and heads out of the room but not before points to the lock. After he shuts the door Dean can hear him laughing as he walks away. Dean makes sure that the door gets locked and then turns back to the bed.

Seeing her hiding under the covers he stretches out beside her. “What are you doing under there?” he asks as he pulls a corner of the blanket down.

“That was embarrassing,” she says as a pink blush paints her cheeks.

He smiles softly as he lays a small kiss to her nose. “Nothing to be embarrassed about Baby Girl. Sam’s just an asshat.”

She gives him a smile and slides the cover from her body. “It’s just, Sammy and I aren’t as close as you and I are. You know me better than he does than anyone does. You know every single inch of my body.” She takes his hand in hers, gently stroking his fingers “You can build me with your bare hands.”

He strokes the side of her face before he dives in giving her a hungry kiss, sweeping his tongue into her mouth savoring the taste. Moaning into the kiss he wraps her arms around his neck pulling him closer and begins to run her hands across his back. Dean continues to massage her mouth with his as he runs his hand down her stomach, sliding his hand underneath to stroke the outer lips of her pussy. With each pass of his fingers, he draws out rumbles and moans until he pushes deeper and presses against her clit. “Dean...Dean... I think I’m leaking.”

“That’s okay, I’ll clean it up,” he says as he kisses along her jaw. She gives him a confused look as he winks at her before nipping and kissing his way down her stomach. Peeling her panties off as his lips reach her hips. Baby leans up on her elbows to see what he’s about to do. He places his hands on her knees and slowly spreads them apart, causing her to tilt her head. With a quick smile, he leans forward and runs his tongue from the bottom of her slit to the top, stopping to flick his tongue against her clit.

Baby falls flat to the bed “OH MY CHEVY!”

At her exclamation he licked her again, repeating the same motions as before, gathering the taste of her on his tongue. Moaning in pleasure he wraps his lips around her clit and begins alternating between sucking and flicking the bud. Baby begins to moan louder as she feels pleasure pulsing up her spine. “Dean...Dean... I feel...” she pants. Knowing that she must be getting close, he slowly inserts a finger inside of her wet cunt, twisting his wrist until his palm facing up so that he could move his finger in a 'come here' motion over her sweet spot. As soon as he pressed upward into her g spot she let out a cry that Dean would have sworn could have been heard in the next state, let alone the next room. He continued to piston his finger into her pussy, making sure to hit that spot as often as possible until she was a writhing panting mess.

“D...Dean..something is happening.” she cried out.

“I know Baby, just relax and let it happen,” he says before returning his mouth to her clit. As he feels her walls start to flutter around his finger he flattens his tongue and presses hard against her button. That was all she needed to be pushed over the precipice of her climb. Her orgasm crashed over her causing her to bow off the bed screaming Dean’s name. He rides out the waves of her aftershocks and when she’s stopped shaking he climbs back onto the bed and kisses her.

She breaks from the kiss and looks at him with an almost shy appearance. “Am I as sweet as I look?”

Dean runs his thumb across her bottom lip. “Sweeter Baby. You taste so good, it's better than pie”

Baby grins happily at the admission and kisses him deeply. She runs a hand down his chest, hesitating at his navel before taking his cock in her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. Dean moans loudly at the feel of her warm hand around him “Damn Baby Girl.” Giving him a few tentative strokes she relinquishes her grip to push him onto his back and straddle him. Pressing her sex against his erection and grinding her clit against him. "Mmmm...Deeaann... I think I have a part missing..."

He settles onto his back and thrusts his hips forward seeking more friction."I have just the thing.” Dean takes hold of her hips, lifting her up and then taking hold of his cock, he gently rubs his tip against her opening. "Are you ready to take me for a ride"

Baby smirks down at him. "You sure? It feels like I'm missing...a cylinder maybe?" When he nudges against her opening she glances down and nods. "I'm gonna ride you like a highway."

"I have no problem with that." He says as he pulls her down, slowly pushing his length into her. Baby closes her eyes as she sinks down onto his cock. A higher pitched moan leaves her mouth as she takes the rest of him in all. She kisses him and smirks. "It's a perfect fit."

Dean groans loudly as the tight, wet heat encompasses him. "I told you I always get parts that fit." He says with a huff as he thrusts upwards, encouraging her to move with his hand on her hip. She rumbles at his words and starts to meet his thrusts. She starts a little off, but soon she finds herself in a glorious rhythm. Sliding his hand up her side he grasps her breast, alternating between massaging it and rolling the nipple between his fingers. His thrusts become stronger and deeper as she finds her rhythm. "God, you feel so good. Are you ready to cum again Baby Girl?" He pants as he trailed his hand back down to her clit, running his thumb over the bud.

Baby shifts and moans at the new angle Meeting his thrusts hard, using his chest as leverage. "YES! DEAN please!" She starts to feel her second orgasm quickly approaching. "Ohmychev...Dean, I'm so close!"

Dean leans up on his elbow and thrusts faster as he rubs Baby's clit. "Come on Baby, give it to me. Cum on my cock. Let me feel you squeeze me." Bringing his finger down to meet his thumb, he gives her clit a slight pinch as he continues to egg her on with words.

That was all she needed to send her over the edge. She came harder the second time than she did the first. Squeezing and clenching around his cock hard. She screamed his name and her eyes shone like headlights. “There you go Baby, ride me good. Ride your highway.” he groans at the feeling of her spasming around him with such ferocity that it brings him crashing over the edge. Spilling his seed inside of her as she rides out the waves of her orgasm. "BAABYY!" He roared as he met his completion.

As they come down he gathers her into his arms, letting her rest on his chest, catching their breath. Baby kisses his chest and pants. "Dean...that was...amazing..."

Dean chuckles "damn straight it was. I'm glad you liked it, cuz I thought it was awesome"

Baby gently rolls off of him, letting out a soft moan as he slipped out of her and laid next to him. "I think you nailed my tune-up." “Nothing but the best oil changes for my Baby." He says as he tucks her against his chest and pulls the covers over them. " Now, let's get some sleep."

Nuzzling up against him she softly whispers. "Dean...did you mean it when you said you were going to be with me until the end?"

Dean smooths his hand down her side before wrapping his arm around her waist. Kissing her head he mumbles into her hair "I Love you, Baby, you’re with me until the end of it all.”

She smiles against his skin. "Till the end of the highway." She closes her eyes. "Love you too," she mumbled before falling asleep.

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@copperseraphim

[beauvoyr]

My Friend, Mr Noctgar | 2

EPISODE II | rich

Pairings: Noctis/Reader Genre: Romance Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Alpha/Beta/Omega, no beta we die like men, Humour, Angst, Fluff, Size Kink, Size Difference, Short Reader, Self-Indulgent Characters: Older Noctis, Older Chocobros, 30-year-old Ravus Nox Fleuret, Ardyn Izunia, Aranea, Loqi Tummelt, Lunafreya Nox Fleuret, Homeless (?) Noctis Chapter Rating: T Crossposted on: ao3 Summary: Transferring from Gralea to Insomnia’s already hard enough for an Omega like you. Luckily your new friend Mr Noctgar, a homeless Alpha who’s always skulking around Sagefire, is there to brighten your dreary days ahead. And he’s always there to teach you the best spots in Insomnia, among other things.

Another day, another trial by fire in NT.

“We are going to the Citadel,” Ravus announces one fine morning when he summoned you into his office. “Mind your manners, we will be dealing with royalty.”

Your automatic response at the R word? An exasperated groan. “Oh god. Royalty, just my favourite kind of people.”

Ravus raises a slim brow.

You might or might not have forgotten that he, too, is royalty. Uh. “My bad. Just had really bad experience with them. Well,” you hastily amend the longer Ravus stares, “that’s just how it was in Niflheim. Aranea hated dealing with Emperor Iedolas’ council and the rest of the nobilities when they have internal feud. Guy A doesn’t wanna sit beside Guy B because they terminated their friendship over golf, so we gotta find a way for Guy A to sit with Guy C, but Guy C is BFFs with Guy D and doesn’t want to sit with Guy A because Guy A’s Beta son is trying to marry his Alpha daughter so—“ you inhale deeply once the tragic tale reaches its climax, “—yeah, internal politics is a pain when we’re trying to do their seating.”

Even if your story is as cunning as Harry Potter, Ravus appears entirely unmoved at the appeal of it. Unfazed, his expression does not break, not even once. “This is an informal meeting, at most.” He unhooks his legs and circles his table, grabbing his blazer as you whirl around to follow his movement. “Be rest assured we won’t face any complications regarding seating arrangements,” he casts a lingering glance at you, “seeing how I’m not picky about it.”

‘Because he’s royalty, right.’ That’s how it goes. A part of you sends swift thanks to the Astrals because Ravus won’t have any issues seated together with the unknown at the Citadel—not that you know what sort of place it is, or what sort of crowd you’ll be facing at this ‘informal’ meeting. Scratching your cheek, you shrug at his insistent stare. “That’s cool, I guess.”

Your superior slips on his blazer and smoothens the front, eliciting a jangle of keys. With how the fabric frames his perfect Alpha physique in ways only a clothing can be illegal of, you can’t deny that you’re staring a bit too hard. That explains why his gear consists of another undeniably bespoke suit with notched lapels in muted grey, oxfords and all. This Citadel place must really be something—that or Ravus affords dressing to the nines daily just because he’s the prince with maids to do his morning ironing.

The Alpha only throws you a cursory glance when you’re fumbling to your feet, switching off the lights. “Pack your necessities and meet me at the front lobby in ten minutes. Be sharp.”

“Yessire.”

One final check of your reflection tells you you’re good to go. A hand flattens your hair to oppress flyaways, palms are skimming over your shirt, blazer and pencil skirt to free unsavoury wrinkles and knots, and you adjust your lanyard to put your tag on clear display. A quick inventory inside your handbag ensures you’ve got your tablet and smart phone all readied alongside a small diary for your daily jottings. Freshening up your overall appearance with another smudge of lipstick and a tug to your nondescript collar, you do a once-over before you nod, feasibly satisfied with your appearance.

NT’s lobby is all clear-cut glass with sunlight slanting on white marble, silver steel architecture with dabs of greens in decorative pots scattered here and there. You’re lucky the lobby and the lounge are within close proximity; at least you could rest on these grand cabrioles prepared near the reception area while waiting for Ravus to arrive. Glass sliding doors slip open every now and then, permitting entry to fellow Techies and visitors alike. Your eyes catch on the way hulking Alphas swagger out of their rides at the pick-up drop-off zone, presumably here to conduct some business with a part of NT that you haven’t encountered.

Staring at the crowd of Techies filing into a lift, you give a little sigh and turn your sight to the empty drop-off zone again. There’s a Bentley rolling up, a glossy grey with impressively tinted windows, giving you no leeway to make out the passenger within. Rich people and their fancy rides, that’s one way to look at it. You’re pretty sure selling your innards at the black market won’t pay off that car in one sitting. Trying to mind your own business, you almost drop your gaze to your hands if it weren’t for the fact that the window’s rolling down, revealing an Alpha in the driver’s seat.

‘Of course it has to be an Alpha because only Alphas can afford monsters like that,’ you gripe, only to have your griping cut short because it’s not just any Alpha—it’s Ravus. You don’t even need to look that hard to see him glaring straight at you from the window, thin lips pressed in displeasure. ‘Yep, time to go.’

Like Ramuh singed your ass with a karmic bolt for dissing their godlike Alphas, you smother all your belongings into a death hug as you scrambled to the exit. You would’ve yanked the door open if this were a Toyota but no, because it’s a Bentley and you don’t want to lose an arm in case your nails nick its paintjob, you dip your hand into the handle and carefully nudged it open. Sliding into the leather seat, you take a moment to marvel because woah this is an expensive car and double woah, you better not damage any part of its patterned dashboard, so you best sit still. The custom interior is a medley of tri-tone leather done in quilted diamonds, offering a sporty outlook contrasting its sleek build. Hard to believe you’re strapped in a ride costing more than your entire existence, but reality is a strange place when your superior is the prince. Better thank your lucky stars for this once-in-a-lifetime chance to lay your ass on posh leather.

The moment Ravus ensures you’re properly belted in and begins to weave into the Insomnian traffic, you chance a glance at his stoic profile. “I didn’t know we could afford a Bentley as our company car. We only had Hyundai MPVs back in Gralea,” you muse, comparing the glaring differences between Niflheim Technologies Gralea (NTG) and Niflheim Technologies Insomnia (NTI). “NTI must be doing really great if you guys could buy this stuff.”

Long fingers flick the blinker as he effortlessly exits left. “Don’t be asinine. It’s mine.”

Considering he is the Prince of Tenebrae, it makes sense for him to own a fancy car befitting his status. You can’t really imagine him chugging along in NTG’s decaying Hyundai when it’s so not him. “Uh, wow…nice ride, Ravus.”

He doesn’t dignify your compliment with any sort of reply. Not that he has to, just that it’s awkward to sit in here without making any small talk. For starters, you don’t know if he’ll bite your hand if you ask for his permission to switch on the radio. (He doesn’t seem like a Billboard Top 20 guy anyway. Not even close to a Spotify playlist for the Classic Romantic either.) And you don’t know if he’ll appreciate it if you start swatching fingerprints all over the window because the expressway Ravus takes hangs between ornate skyscrapers that seem to disappear into the clouds, something dull Gralean architecture could learn from.

As the engine hums in silence, your eyes gravitate to your peripheral vision again. “So, what’re we doing at the Citadel, boss?”

Ravus exhales, long and laborious, like he tires of your questions but he can’t exactly toss you out when he’s traveling at 110 mph and not make it seem like premeditated murder. “There is much to be discussed regarding matters of C3, Caelum Conglomerate, and Niflheim Technologies, seeing how this CSR involves two continents,” he offers without as much as a blink of his eyes, still fixed on the road. “In hindsight, TAFFY is merely a front for repairing political ties between Niflheim and Lucis. Despite the war ending a decade ago, public sentiments are still in the negatives regarding Niflheim.”

You scrunch your nose. If this is how he talks, he’s definitely the kind of guy who’d text in large chunks compared to you, since you’re the sort who’d machine-gun one sentence after another in an influx of spam. Talk about two opposite ends of the world. Shaking your head, you stare at a blurry Insomnia, fingers fiddling in your lap.

Back when you first interned at NTG, CSR sounded like another episode of Crime Scene Investigation (CSI). It was Aranea who took you by the hand and taught you the mumbo-jumbo needed to excel at the job. By the time three months flew by and you had to wrap up your internship for reporting at National Niflheim University, Aranea herself rang you up and gauged your interest in continuing at NTG. Being a fresh grad with 0 Gil to your name in this shitty economy and receiving Aranea’s offer was enough for the Alpha to earn her status as your Guardian Angel in Leather™. Your reminiscing tugs at your lips in the form of a downtrodden smile, sighing. “Well…I guess it makes sense why NTI would have to handle all these stuffs since NTG is too far from Lucis to handle CSR like this. We only did small things like greener factories and charity with the homeless.”

“Indeed.” Ravus inclines his head, exiting into an interconnecting highway winding through stained glass delicately wrapping a tunnel. Its domed archway fractures colours in intervals all over your skin. “C3 recently rebranded from Lucis University to reflect itself as an institution that accepts not only Lucians now, but talented Niflheimians as well. This is why joint efforts between Niflheim and Lucis are integral to mend the wounds of the past.”

You internally nod. He’s definitely the kind of guy who’d text a paragraph, that’s for sure. Though something’s still niggling the back of your head. “Is it okay that we’re not taking the team along though?”

Now, heterochromatic eyes have found a home on your face, if only for a brief moment. His brow is an elegant arch following his survey. “Meaning?”

“Well, you’re only taking me along—and I get that since I’m the senior and a freshie too,” you shrug, hands drawing abstract clouds in the air. “But back in NTG, Aranea’d usually grab Mr Biggs—ah, he’s our photographer guy,” you add when you catch a ghost of uncertainty appear on his face at the name, “and Mr Wedge to drive us around since he’s a pro at it. Are you sure we don’t need other people tagging along? Like… I dunno, Loqi? Or our team photographer, if we have any?”

“We don’t,” Ravus returns with a resolute answer. Large hands that are wrapped around the steering wheel look like they’d rather be wrapped around your neck. “Like I said, this is an informal meeting.”

Unfortunately, curiosity is a very nosy cat that reincarnated into an Omega. You squint at him. “How informal is informal?”

His grasp tightens. You think he’ll only need a hand to pin your wrists together. “(y/n)?”

“Yessire?” You perk up.

Ravus sweeps over your hopeful expression, grinding down on the gas pedal.“…you talk too much.”

And so you wilt. “…sorry. I’ll shut up.”

Apparently, nobody told you that the Citadel is a modern codename for a gigantic building right in the heart of Insomnia. ‘Should’ve known that C in the Citadel stands for Castle.’ Because it is indeed a castle, much like how fairy tales made a huge deal of kings and princes living in castles among the clouds, just that this is M.E. 766 and they don’t live in fortresses surrounded by rivers anymore, they’ve got Audis substituting prized chocobos too. You’re sure you look like one of those touristy figures here because it’s a little hard to tap into your professional façade when two titanic marble Messengers guard the doorway and your jaw won’t stop hanging at the sheer opulence this place is. Ravus seems mildly peeved when you’re busy being floored by the size of those pantheon columns decked in gold and black, red ropes cordoning restricted areas, and redder carpets running in multiple directions.

Stepping into the foyer, you’re a little thankful for Ravus’ scent for making it easier for you to track him down. When you’re starstruck by the decadence of pearl-lined banisters leading up to a floor elsewhere, you just have to scent out for a muted musk of wildflowers and earthy herbs to find Ravus awaiting you somewhere, monitoring your incredulity with the faintest tug to his lips. You just have to return to him, walk a few more meters, get distracted by a lavish oil painting depicting The Story of the Six, before Ravus’ scent beckons you to be by his side again. Rinse and repeat, all the way past the readily welcoming Concierge Committee and into the fanciest lift ride you’ve ever been in your whole entire life, one Niflheim couldn’t compare to. An acrylic painting of The Story of the Stars edged in gold and ruby commands your attention, hung as a centrepiece in the lift for all its occupants to admire; it is a faint reminder that while Niflheim once saw Lucis as a puny kingdom unworthy of an Astral-bestowed prosperity, they certainly couldn’t stow Lucis’ rich history.

Once it dings off, you follow Ravus from behind, carefully coming to a halt at a broad hallway accented by retro marbling. Standing before a double door situated between two vases of lilies are three figures of varying heights, like a stairway going down. From left to right, Ravus gestures at them as he bends to murmur into your ear. “Argentum. Aurum. Andronicus.”

“Ooh,” you nod in understanding, “like triple A batteries?”

The look Ravus gives you is one of silence as he straightens up.

You take it that he can’t crack your joke. “Y’know, AAA batteries?” you try again. “Because Argentum, Aurum, and Andronicus?”

In retrospect, Ravus could’ve killed you with his bare hands if it weren’t for an animated blond waving madly in the distance. The cheerful joy in his voice echoes throughout the waiting room. “Hi there, Highness!”

In today’s episode of I Shouldn’t Be Alive, you should be thanking your lucky stars yet again for that untimely rescue. Your superior wastes your joke by not laughing and merely stands in attention when the three stooges stroll over—well, the tallest blond is doing a small jog, a buxom blonde saunters like this is the next episode of Gralea’s Next Top Model, while the smallest woman is drowning under her hefty robes, dragging it all over the carpet. When they finally crowd around Ravus, your superior nods in counter-clockwise.

“Argentum. Aurum. Andronicus,” he repeats, his gaze lowering by fractions according to height. “We meet again.”

You take a moment to scan each face he mentioned.

Argentum, being the first guy introduced to you, is a wildly grinning blond sporting a sweeping updo resembling that of a chocobo’s…butt. It’s a cute butt, nonetheless. Butt—and there’s your puntastic side making an appearance—if there’s any guy who should sport a chocobo’s butt on his hair, it’s definitely Argentum because he makes it into a work of art. You find yourself instantly drawn to his fetching smile that sets you at ease; his hair and eyes are the golden sun setting on Galdin waters, and you like how he radiates sunshine with every inch of his existence. In slacks and a simple shirt, he shoulders a canvas camera bag like it’s an indispensable extension of his limbs, keeping a caring hand on the buckled flap.

The second blonde, Aurum, is a busty beauty whose hefty breasts demand release behind the constraints of her button-up. You kind of sympathise the buttons a little; they’re doing a great job manning the fort from exploding. That and she’s hot, smoking hot under her shirt and skirt combo sans jacket. She has the face of a country sweetheart who’s the pride and joy of a village, an Omega through and through. The high rise of her shirt couldn’t cover the rim of an Omegan collar in loud orange, not that you couldn’t scent it from her. She’s a potpourri of contradictions—like ripe tangerines and intoxicating gasoline, though you don’t know why.

The last A goes by Andronicus and you are instantly magnetised by how she openly showcases her bare neck with nary a collar on it. Unmarked. Another Omega, but one who openly disregards the law. Those openly disregarding the law only do so because they know they are above it. She is the image of crushed pomegranates seeping scarlet; only, you don’t know if it’s juices or blood—and that’s terrifying as all hells. While you are two parts intrigued by her courage and eight parts terrified at the whiff of metal in her scent, you avoid staring into her hollow eyes and returned her curiosity with your PR smile.

Decorated in a garb fashioned from stiff leathers, two tiers of heavy brocades flare past her frame like the wings of a crow when she walks up. You try not to flinch when she quietly breathes in your scent, praying to the Astrals that she won’t surface as tonight’s nightmare. “Good day,” she intones, a flat sound bordering utter apathy. As a fellow emotionally constipated human, she levels her unwavering gaze at her second fellow emotionally constipated friend. “It’s nice seeing you again, Ravus.”

“Nice to see you again, big guy,” Argentum dares to wink, finger gunning his way. “We didn’t see your car when we arrived so we were betting when you’d come.”

“An’ from the looks of it, I won the bet,” Aurum pipes up in thick accent with a certain twang in her lilt. “Dinner’s on you, Prompto. Thanks for arrivin’ fourty-three secs later, y’all.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Argentum—Prompto is all shrugs, and that’s the happiest guy right there if you’ve ever seen one. “Dinner with Cindy tonight, here I come! Thanks for coming late, you guys!”

Ravus, of course, seems to share a certain connection with Andronicus since he unanimously ignored the blond duo and says, “I see your butler has finally learnt to give you some freedom.”

“Oh my, I certainly never pegged you the type to be missing me badly. I’m flattered by your advances.”

You almost jump out of your skin at the sharp tang of a knife on your tongue when another Alpha saunters into view. It’s a sentiment echoed by Prompto who openly leapt inches above the ground, clutching his camera bag for his dear life, while Cindy whips around to catch a mess of white flanking Andronicus’ side. From the looks of it, you could tell he’s the source of the metallic tinge to her scent—from spending an eternity with one another. He bends to gift her a kiss on her hairline while, undisturbed by the blatant display of affection, Andronicus merely scratches her cheek.

“Unfortunately not,” she monotones, shrugging. “He’s my shadow.”

Ravus only narrows his eyes at the albino Alpha who’s come to play with his ruddy eyes slanting catlike, all dressed up in his white three-piece suit. Yet your superior says no further on the matter when Prompto smacks said butler in the forearm with a livid, “Dude! Quit that! You tryna give me a heart attack!?”

“A heart attack is a symbol of love, seeing that it is a heart attack,” he quips merrily, smiling a too-wide smile that never reached his eyes. “It’s nice seeing you again, Prompto, Miss Aurum, and,” he pauses, observing and quite openly scenting you, “Miss (y/n).”

You jaw would’ve dropped if you hadn’t locked it tight. ‘Holy shit, his eyesight’s crazy good if he could read my nametag this far.’ If Ravus is the textbook staple of a terrifyingly tall Alpha, Butler Man™ definitely embodies the terrifying part to a tee. You clear your throat to shake yourself out of shock and stride forward to offer Prompto, Cindy, Andronicus, and Butler Man™ a handshake each. “Senior Corporate Communications Executive, (y/n) at your service. Thank you for having me here today.”

“Cindy Aurum, Caelum Conglomerate’s Media Relations Exec,” she receives your shake with two quick ones, her beatific smile gracing glittering green eyes. Caelum Conglomerate (CC) sure is blessed to have such stunner in their circle. “Nice to meetcha, fellow Omega.”

“And I’m Prompto Argentum,” Prompto comes up with a bold grin. “CC’s best photographer working with Cindy right here, and six-time champ of Meteor Publishing’s Photographer of the Year. Nice to meet you too.”

You don’t know what Meteor Publishing is, but it sure sounds impressive since he looks like he had certainly wielded a camera as a weapon at some point of his life. Plus, six-time champion? That’s some mad skills right there. For a Beta, that is. Or is he an Alpha? You can’t tell, not when you can’t pick up a distinct scent from him. He’s all fuzzy like he’s got one of those scent-blocking patches on him how one uses a mosquito patch to ward those pesky bloodsuckers. Still, you contain yourself from letting your curiosity pique, eyes darting away when he seeks yours.

Ravus has a hand on his chin when he talks to Cindy. “Teulle couldn’t make it?”

The blonde droops visibly and shakes her head, twisting curls bobbing about. “Holly’s at Lestallum again, doin’ a piece on the plant. Word has it that they’re generatin’ enough power for the whole kingdom soon enough. She’s doin’ field work to check ‘er out.”

Ravus dignifies her statement with an appropriate, “Ah.”

And strangely, Cindy didn’t take it to heart, granting him one of her smashing smiles. She probably got used to this guy who’d either text a whole paragraph or give one word replies to her story. Her smashing smile, on the other hand, held adverse effects to Prompto. Blinded, you’d say, because he’s as gone as one could be at death. It’s cute how this guy probably has a crush on his colleague the size of the meteor—but then again, considering how gorgeous Cindy is, obvious complications in terms of rivals would prove to be Prompto’s biggest obstacle. No matter though, you find yourself rooting for him internally. Office romance can be such a fickle fling if it’s not done the right way; of course, you’re only basing this on the serial horrors depicted in NTG involving a beta colleague caught flirting with another acquaintance when he’d been intimately involved with another beta next door, and that’s another tragedy altogether.

Unfortunately, the terrifying Butler Man™ takes centre stage once more when he gestures Andronicus’ way. This time, his introduction comes with a genuine smile—almost like a proud father introducing his daughter, funnily enough. “This is Lady Andronicus, Lucian Royal Council’s Military Strategist and Lucis University’s Pro-Chancellor.”

Interconnecting chains dangling from her shoulder ended in rings on each middle finger, emanating a chilling sound when her hand flicks to stop him. “…Byron?”

Butler Man™, whose name is apparently Byron, tilts his head with excessive cuteness in the gesture. It’s eerie how he imitated a teenage anime girl right down to the starry eyes with such perfection. “Yes, milady?”

“…It’s Crown City Campus now,” she sighs, shoulders sagging. “C3, Byron, C3.”

“My sincerest apologies, it must’ve slipped my mind again,” he offers his apology, but oddly, he doesn’t sound sorry at all—almost as if it was done on purpose. You find it rather disturbing how he’s smiling too much to be normal as he dramatically murmurs, “Being old is taking a toll on me, it’s my age that’s catching up.”

“Can it,” Prompto stuffs his face in his hand, groaning at Byron’s melodrama and countering it with his own brand of melodrama. “You’re not the only thirty-something around here, you know. Ugh, I seriously need to get a life.”

“I feel old too,” Andronicus offers her half-hearted sympathy—or is it full sympathy? You can’t tell, not when her face doesn’t reveal an inch of her thoughts. It’s as if her butler had sucked out all sense of expression from her and made them his. “I wish we all have a New Game+ setting when we restart. Can you imagine how cool we’d be if we all had New Game+ options?”

Prompto seemingly understands her mysterious lingo, even if your brain is doing an Error 404 at her reference. “I know right?” he rubs his bearded chin, imitating an ancient scholar. “Or at least they’d let us transfer save data, that would’ve been neat. At least I can be OP when I start again. Can’t forget infinite money, we need that. And we get to carry over our items from our previous playthrough too!”

The buxom blonde giggles at their chatter, greatly amused with the turn in conversation. “Now, now,” Cindy placates the whining children, her hand falling on the generous curve of her hips, “why don’t we all sit down for some grub tonight? I’ll whip up somethin’ good to give that spirit some liftin’. Ain’t that be fun?”

One second ago, Prompto’s busy lamenting the unfair fate of the universe the Astrals gave him. Now he’s all but fist-pumping the air with a hoot, misery forgotten in the blink of an eye. “Aw yeah! Cindy’s home-cooked meals? Count me in!”

“Allow me to join the fray as the second chef,” Byron adds, gloved hands muting his sharp clap. “Let’s make it a date tonight on the 56th floor. Text me your list of ingredients, Miss Aurum, and I’ll buy them on my way out later.”

“S’well, thank you,” Cindy pokes him in the chest, her luscious curls bouncing when she tips her head aside. “I’ll pay ya back later with some good ol’ paw-paw styled hotpot.”

You have to admit, this is probably culture shock speaking for you.

You’d say NTG’s media department was a family on its own unlike what Niflheim fostered; it’s Aranea’s brand of family with her playing a parental role over her children: Those working under her. Any outsider trying to talk smack with one of her family members would get a stiletto plugging their ass since her ferocious protectiveness ensured nobody’s getting bullied by other departments. When someone needs to get a job done, everyone bands together to accomplish the goal. Alphas, Betas, Omegas all on overtimes, working past midnight to sync everything together to perfection. Drunk at 3.00 a.m. on caffeine and high off the lack of sleep, you can’t say it’s the same outside NTG when your schooling life from primary to university didn’t really hold the same sense of camaraderie unlike what Aranea built from a scratch.

Yet, back in Gralea, meetings like this often had a crushing connotation of no smiles, tight jaws, handshakes laced in meanings no matter how ‘informal’ they get. All official papers even if it’s a game of golf or two, high teas and candlelight dinner included. A contract dealt under the table with a fistful of cash, often the sort of transaction they’d prefer. Politicians are the upper crust of the society, never mingling with those beneath them. Getting into the high echelons of society is as easy as dialling up a distant uncle and his cables would net you the next duke faster than a flying dropship. Family, to them, is a glorified staircase whose only purpose is for one to step on in order to reach the next level life could offer. A life of jewels on throat, gems in hair, never the same Alexander McQueen autumn dress appearing twice in a season’s gala.

It’s been ten years since the signing of the treaty, and Lucis outgrew Niflheim’s oppression real quick, it shows in how they’re living their lives to the fullest now.

And Niflheim? Niflheim probably won’t change much, seeing how they’re dealing with things in tones different from their neighbour.

Seeing how these Lucians have built their own ecosystem of sorts, political figures and commoners chatting like long-time friends, leaves a pang in your heart at the memory of Aranea, Mr Biggs and Mr Wedge as well as the rest of them back in NTG. Their ever-evolving dynamics with one another remind you that you’re here now and there’s little complaining you could do that could change your situation. Mom’s not here, dad’s not here, Aranea’s not here—and the best that you have is your superior, whose crabbiness renders him perpetually constipated for all eternity. He’s no Aranea, that’s for sure, and getting along with him is so damnably hard.

But that doesn’t mean you can’t try again, right?

Scooting closer to Ravus, you give him little taps on the back of his hand. “Ravus, Ravus, Ravus,” you murmur, careful enough not to distract the quartet from their lively bantering. It is with a forced sigh that Ravus is obligated to acknowledge your pestering, leading him to lean downwards to catch your tiptoed whisper. “Are you sure I should be here?”

He angles his head to fit his mouth against the rim of your ear, hot breath laving your skin. While the tingling of your nerves almost made you lose your delicately tiptoed balance, you’re sure he doesn’t mean any of the contact, not when his voice hardens with the promise of a bite. A warningbite. “And why shouldn’t you?”

“Well…I dunno,” you mutter, a tad bit chagrined at your insecurity. You’re not here to make friends, you’re here to make money—or at least that’s what you’ve been telling yourself, except friends make it easier for you to fill in the loneliness. Ravus is not a friend, yet neither is he a foe. “Kinda feeling out of place, I guess. Out of the loop. System error. Disconnected.”

For a moment, Ravus is silent. A long, contemplative silence. Not the one with the stink-eye he aims your way when you talk too much.

“You are a fool,” he cuts straight to the point, clearly lacking hostility despite his wording. From the corner of your eye, you catch a half-lidded gaze meeting yours in unerring concentration, and it’s starting to bloom weird bubbles in your stomach. “Everyone has a duty to be here, including you. Set aside those feelings; they are hardly any use in this situation. You will learn under my tutelage, and you’d do well to learn it quickly.” You know the promise of pain when you hear one, though Ravus ignores how wide-eyed you’ve gone. His voice only takes a quieter tone as he says, “Regrettably, Teulle isn’t here to chauffer Aurum and Argentum today. I imagine you’d get along with her fairly well if she were. It is unfortunate that she’s currently preoccupied with other matters Andronicus undoubtedly assigned her. It isn’t a request one could simply reject.”

It’s definitely in bad taste to ogle someone, but you can’t help it when Ravus mentions her name. Never mind the fact that she’s equally terrifying like her butler, but you’ve never seen anyone opposing the law like they are the lawless. For all her de rigeur, you find it hard to believe an Omega like her actually managed to hold a seat in the council. Gods know Niflheim would sooner immolate itself than introduce an Omega into its ranks. “She has that much power? What’s she got to do with C3 besides being the Pro-Chancellor anyway?”

When Ravus starts with, “Double doctorate in her twenties,” you launch into a fit of coughs because double doctorate? Who’s crazy enough to attempt that? In their twenties? But your superior doesn’t give you a chance to breathe when he continues, “She forced Lucis into engaging in repeated peace talks with Niflheim and eventually oversaw the Niflheimian-Lucian treaty signing, leading to Lucis’ added benefits. Now that the war has ended, she aims to make Insomnian technology accessible throughout Lucis to develop the outerskirts with Niflheim’s help. Teulle is currently looking into that, seeing how new technology is presently implemented in the power plant in Lestallum, eventually speeding up the process to power the rest of the kingdom. You can consider it as CC’s CSR aside from joint efforts for TAFFY.”

You’re sure you’re still reeling from her double doctorates in twenties, while you’re just a fledgling senior exec trying to fly under Ravus’ guidance. ‘Why are all of them so badass? Even that Argentum guy is some six-time photography champ when I can’t even take selfies without my hand shaking and blurring up the whole damn picture.’ At this point, you’re convinced the Lucian quartet over there are leagues above your level because you’re just some Omega from Gralea who’s trying to find your way in Insomnia.

If you thought Byron had sharp eyes, it is news to you that butlers these days come equipped with even sharper hearing. He brings his hands together in a single clap to draw attention, the plastic smile back on his face like it never left, always ready to educate the unsuspecting idiot: You. “Milady had been an esteemed graduate of Lucis University—“

Prompto playfully elbows him in the side. “Crown City Campus, big guy.”

“He’s doing it on purpose,” Andronicus sighs yet again, as if tortured by her butler’s existence.

Prompto snaps his fingers. “I totally knew that.”

“—and having expressed her interest in giving back to an institution she dearly loved, she took up the post as Pro-Chancellor,” Byron goes on without missing a beat, clearly more than pleased to talk at length about his retainer. Though his smile is especially vindictive when he catches Ravus’ gaze. “Well, if I may be so bold in expressing myself, she is doing the Chancellor’s job as well, seeing how he’s d—.”

You are already holding your hand to your heart to steady yourself at the sound. ‘Dead?’

“—disappeared,” Byron finishes.

“…oh.” Well, that was anticlimactic. You don’t know if you’re sagging in relief or disappointment without the added tragedy. Then you do a double-take when you realise humans don’t do disappearing acts out of nowhere, especially the Chancellor. Here’s to hoping you don’t step out of an imaginary line somewhere for your question. “Wait, what do you mean disappeared?”

It is at this point of your life, you realise two things are amiss with the situation once it’s brought to light.

Exhibits A, Prompto Argentum and Cindy Aurum, are both displaying open signs of reluctance at the subject. It’s not like how TV shows do a dramatic zoom into the obvious body language; this is something subtler with how Prompto’s grin twitches in the corner and he struggles with maintaining it. Cindy is smarter when she tries a shrug to diffuse the tension, but you know there’s too much light in her eyes. The light of knowledge. Which probably means she knows something about it but it’s going to take more than wheedling to make her spill the 411.

Exhibit B, on the other hand, is Andronicus. She just takes out her phone from the intricate trappings of her raiment and appears to be texting someone. You don’t really know what to make of it because she’s confusing as heck. She could be pretending to text someone just to get out of answering this, or she really doesn’t care, or she’s secretly peeved at said Chancellor seeing how she’s doing all the job instead so her phone is an elaborate distraction. Whatever it is, she’s not off the hook yet, not when you find her nonchalance guilty of suspicion too.

But what you failed to take into account is Exhibit C: Ravus Nox Fleuret.

At the mention of the Chancellor, followed by Byron’s knowing glance, Ravus turns to you with the look of a man who has meditated under the waterfall for a millennia and thus, knows everything the Astrals touched, including explicit government secrets. And he’s not afraid to share his tea with you.

“Noctis Lucis Caelum,” he starts, something of contempt crossing his smirk, arms crossed over his chest in the way only haughty princes could pull off. “The Crown Prince of Lucis is the Chancellor of Crown City Campus and soon-to-be 114th King of Lucis.” His smirk turns positively savage with his words. “A chancellor who excels in cowardice, if I must say.”

Now your hand is already flying to your heart again with a scandalised gasp. ‘Holy shit. This guy’s crazy for saying that right in the middle of the royal turf. What if they catch him and throw him in the dungeon for lèse-majesté like in Niflheim?’ Then you catch yourself frowning at your thought. ‘Wait, we’re in Lucis.’ Then you do another mental re-examination at your deepening frown. ‘Ravus is Prince of Tenebrae so I guess he has the license to shit-talk the Prince of Lucis anytime he wants?’

That makes sense, right?

Right.

As you’re about to sip on some hot royal tea served by none other than your superior, the double doors creak open to suspend the gossip session. An aging face peers from the gap, the face of a manservant of the Citadel who’s presumably in charge of the meeting. Everyone drops into a professional stance as the man folds at the waist in a deep bow. For such a frail body, his voice booms imposingly with his announcement.

“Everyone, thank you for waiting. His Majesty King Regis Lucis Caelum CXIII awaits.”

Tiny Andronicus: Ravus and Byron were dissing you again. Noctis: six Noctis: what’d they say? Tiny Andronicus: There was a newbie with Ravus today who didn’t know what was going on and asked questions. Byron and Ravus were more than happy to supply the answers. That’s the gist of it. Noctis: tell byron to mind his own business Noctis: i’ve got enough to handle on my own Tiny Andronicus: I know. I’ll keep covering for you since there’s not much to do anyway. Feel better soon. By the way, Byron and Cindy are going to throw a little get-together tonight at my place. Will you come? Noctis: sure Noctis: count iggy in too Tiny Andronicus: Great, see you tonight.

Informal meeting, your ass.

While it was indeed an informal meeting with the king minus standard fanfare of all pomp and circumstance, a part of you secretly wondered if you could nail Ravus in the shin for giving you a minor heart attack. (You’re a short Omega anyway, close enough to kick him where the sun doesn’t shine if you needed to.) The Alpha hadn’t a modicum of common sense to inform you that you were going into a meeting with the King of Lucis, out of all people! Sure, you’ve been in meetings with Emperor Iedolas and his cronies but Aranea had ensured everyone in her team was well-informed of the proceedings and rehearsed major points nights before the main event took place. With Ravus? No, it was a trial by fire through and through. As a Techie, you’re a veteran in surviving spontaneous combustions whenever your superior attempts reckless shit—Gods know how many times Aranea bit off more than she could chew and had to overwork the team on double time, no weekends off. While Ravus certainly hasn’t introduced anything like that (yet), you’re just counting the days before he attempts—or hauls you by the collar and throws you into the burning pits of hell with him.

But you digressed, really.

A fruitful meeting is a fruitful meeting and you’re thankful you didn’t have to do much other than to upload major points of the discussion into your Moogle Drive for further reviewing. Your superior did most of the work in the meeting and all you had to do was just to stare at his majestic profile as he manhandled the ball into his court. Ravus is truly a capable man who understood the intricacies of a two-way communication between the nations—especially since he’s neither Niflheimian nor Lucian; he’s from Tenebrae and he has absolutely nothing to do with this. Or so you think, because gossip magazines wouldn’t dig deeper into his political ties when they’re all comparing math answers on his dick size. With everything laid out on the table, Ravus concluded the meeting with a handshake and indulged in private discussions with King Regis afterwards. Now that you’re thinking about it, Cindy, Prompto, and Andronicus—or the AAA Battery Trio—were all chummy with the king too.

‘Well, I don’t know if all kings are like that but it’s weird seeing a king that friendly,’ you muse, seeing how Emperor Iedolas barely spared a glance at anyone unrelated to royalty or nobility. It was refreshing to have a king addressing the AAA Battery Trio like they were his children, a genuine interest in his voice when he touches on matters of their wellbeing and work. You stood quite some distance away to let them enjoy their privacy, though snatches of their conversations did drift your way.

Specifically, on the Prince of Lucis.

On your way out of Sagefire, you readjust your paper bag securely to make way for your phone. On screen, Moogled pictures of a brooding prince in varying portraits and tabloids are out. Well, you had been Moogling the mysterious prince after the cryptic conversation took place because curiosity is a damnably nosy cat who doesn’t stop sniffing everything up. Besides, what kind of prince slash chancellor gets spirited away out of nowhere? Something doesn’t add up, especially when Byron and Ravus seem to hold a vendetta against said prince while the AAA Battery Trio are steadfast in their refusal to talk about the matter. It’s up to you to flip every stone and leave no treks unexamined—

—unless this is some Beauty and the Behemoth thing where the prince was cursed into a hairy behemoth walking on his hind legs, then yeah, you could understand why he ‘disappeared’, but Moogle Results say otherwise.

Pictures of the Crown Prince are pretty, for starters, no behemoth beast in sight. He’s a block of ice carved by Shiva’s own hands, a glacial beauty bearing cold eyes that betray nothing of his thoughts. With meticulously waxed hair gently spiked in layers, wispy bangs veiling his face, he’s a definitely a looker. (Though, some part of you had to confess that he seemed like an edgy teen who wears all black and listens to punk metal—but you abstained yourself from outwardly remarking so because. Lèse-majesté. Enough said.) What really snagged your interest was the timestamp on each picture post.

All of them were dated M.E. 756 and below.

A frown tugs your brows and you tap on the next picture. And the next one. And the next one. Even with a badly photoshopped picture of the prince’s head pasted on a swimsuit model’s body, basking nude on some beach. Everything was M.E. 756 backwards.

You stop in your tracks, a little lost in thought. ‘How about that. Why aren’t there pics of this guy anymore? It’s 766 now, and I’m still broke like I was ten years ago, so where’d this guy go? Botched plastic surgery accident? Shiva knows.’ Your dissatisfaction leads you to scroll through Moogle Pictures a wee bit harder than before, intent to prove yourself wrong, but damn you were too good until you couldn’t disprove your own conjecture. Working in NT really does things to your head.

“Hey.”

A gruff greeting almost became the beginning of an accident involving your phone hitting the pavement but you managed to snatch it before your first month’s salary becomes the fodder for a new replacement. You snap upright to meet a seated man—Alpha—on a ledge, doing something with his hand. A wave. Right, a wave, an awkward wave. Wearing tired sweatpants that’s begging for an early retirement, in a shirt with more wrinkles than a grandma, kind eyes seek yours. You immediately recognise them for the way they drown you in the sea, blotting out all air from your lungs.

‘It’s the homeless Alpha from yesterday!’

You would’ve cheerily bounced up to him if it weren’t for the fact that he’s got someone else in his company. Another Alpha. Scratch all thoughts of Sir Izunia and Ravus being flagpoles—this guy is the real deal. Titan must’ve had a hand in this guy’s creation because he’s all corded muscles under a fitting tee, bulging biceps fiercely inked in wings. His scent quashes you into a pulp under control, a potent perfume of a campsite fire in a mossy forest. You’ve met people like him before, Alphas whose overwhelming confidence easily sedated Betas and subdued Omegas alike. And you especially hate it when his dominance pulls an involuntary whine from your throat, rumbling under your collar. It’s a smaller cry of submission, curling backwards, trying to make yourself smaller, all Omegan instincts hardwired into your essence.

Beer brown pupils are blown wide at the sound as nostrils flare to catch a whiff of your petrified scent. He holds out a hand, big enough to wrap one side of your ribcage to render you hopeless if he wants. “Easy, didn’t mean to scare ya, cutie,” he coaxes, a reassuring purr loitering around the edges of his words. Standing up, he easily dwarves the homeless Alpha like it’s no competition, ushering you in place. “C’mere, take my seat.”

When a broad hand settles between your shoulder blades with the gentleness unbecoming of an Alpha, guiding you to take his place, you bite out a soft, “Thank you,” as you sink gratefully into his experienced touch.

Titan Alpha chuckles, a low, husky sound that stirs an unpleasant feeling right in your belly with how it’s done. He steps back to give you some space, palms up in surrender, even if bright eyes tell you he enjoyed every last second of it. “Real sorry about that, cutie, didn’t mean anything by it,” he drawls, each syllable drawn out in meaning. When the homeless man pointedly clears his throat, he throws his hands up and walks off with nary a wave. “Don’t wanna interrupt anything so I’ll get going. See ya, Noct.”

You watch his retreating back until he disappears around the corner, withholding your sigh of relief.

Shitty omega instincts. Yep, you hate it when your dumb Omega ass resorts back to primitive instincts but that’s what it is. Whining, keening—all of that and more, especially when an Omega goes into heat. And that’s when all hell breaks loose. Yours isn’t due for at least three more weeks, so that’s a relief at least. It’s not every day you get spooked out by Alphas like him since you pride yourself on holding your chin up high when faced with their species, but that guy was something. A good something or a bad something, at this point of your life, you don’t know and you’re very sure you don’t want to know anytime soon. Not when he has you tamed terrified from the start. Setting down your paper bag and stowing your phone, the homeless Alpha is the first one to greet you out of your stupor.

“Forgive him, sometimes he can get – ah, a bit intense,” he begins, hunched over with his elbows on his knees. Straggly hair dangles over his face, almost obscuring a wistful half-smile from view. “But he’s not a bad guy, trust me.”

With a shake of your head, you answer his questioning look. “It’s okay, it wasn’t his fault.” As much as Titan Alpha’s existence spooked you with his overwhelming presence, you’re not about to let that ruin whatever you’ve shabbily established with this homeless man. You try on a smile instead, pushing all thoughts of Titan Alpha to the back of your head. “So, Noct huh? Nice to meet you.”

If this were a comedy, this is the part where a freeze frame comes in with a record scratch. For a moment, ‘Noct’ looks like he’s going to turn into one of those marble statues with how he froze. Did you accidentally cross the line somewhere with your thoughtless question? You really have a knack for putting a gun to someone’s throat, don’t you? But a second later, he seemingly thaws out of the odd little chin-rubbing action he’s doing, fingers playing together instead. “Y-yeah. My name’s—uh, Noctgar.”

Your head cocks aside. “Noctgar?” Something’s starting to click. Not that knock-knock joke from Noct, but something else. What was it again? Oh, right. “A namesake like Prince Noctis?”

If possible, Noctgar blanches like he’s been bleached. His knees are bouncing as he peers upwards, trying to look you in the eye right where he’s slouched. “Yeah…namesake. My parents were huge fans of the royal family.” He stops, a corner of his lips twitching at your bewilderment, and turns his gaze to the cracked pavement, an uncertain haze crossing his face. “I’m just some guy now.”

Oh shit.

If you had been holding a metaphorical gun to his throat just now, this was akin to shoving said metaphorical gun into his mouth.

Try as you might, you can’t hide your grimace. ‘Way to go.’ Your question must’ve stirred memories he’d rather bury—and there you went, fingers digging into his scars. Memories of, oh, you don’t know, maybe his parents for starters. Their passing, perhaps? Or a falling out that led them to throwing him out? Leading to him being ‘just some guy’ now? You don’t know all about it but what you do know is this: You need to fix it up in the way only an esteemed senior of NT could do.

You imitate his posture, all slouches and elbows resting on knees. Mirroring his stance is a good way to let your body talk to him in ways a language can’t. You catch his unmasked surprise when you drop to his level. “Yeah, I get what you mean. Back in Gralea, we had people who were fanatics of Emperor Iedolas too,” you offer unblinkingly, letting him stare at you all he wants. “They started naming their kids Eyedolas, Solas, Nidolas, all sorts of stuffs just to get that Iedolas vibe in their names. It was a really weird trend, growing up with half the boys in my class having names ending in ‘olas’ all the time.”

Slack-jawed, the Alpha takes a moment to find his voice. “You…Niff?” Then he abruptly breaks the eye contact, chagrined at the slip of the slur, apologetically rubbing the back of his nape. “…sorry, I mean Niflheimian.”

You get that, really. War may have ended ten years ago, but it’s like what Ravus said: Public sentiments are still in the negatives. Nobody’s expecting everything to go fine and dandy like the war never happened—even the cabbie from the airport called you a Niff, but the slur doesn’t really bug you that much when you understand it takes time to work these kinks out. You brush it aside in favour of chirping, “Yep, came from Gralea! Oh wait, I didn’t get to introduce my name, sorry I’m such a klutz,” you laugh softly, holding out your hand, “I’m (y/n), nice to meet you, Mr Noctgar.”

“Just Noctgar is fine,” he replies, though he evidently falters when it comes to receiving your handshake. His hesitance makes you want to pull back in case he has an aversion to physical contact, but the moment you withdrew, he quickly darted to catch your retreating hand in a tight grip. You kind wanted to laugh a little at how he’s floundering for a social cue to tell him if it’s one shake or two, a hand over yours, or just keep on shaking until someone stops, so you allow him the novelty of five shakes as you bite on your bottom lip to stop yourself from smiling too wide at how he’s ducking his head, messy bangs curtaining uncertain eyes. He’s the first one to soften out the shakes after the eighth try, clearing his throat and scratching his scruff instead. “What brought you to Insomnia?”

Fishing up your white lanyard for him to scrutinise, you point at the serif initials imprinted on your tag. “I work with Niflheim Technologies, see? They did a reshuffling recently and threw me all the way here from Niflheim. Some of my colleagues were super lucky bastards and they got Altissia.” You can’t help scowling at the thought of crystalline waters lapping on the edges of whitewashed banks, gondola rides and honeyed sunsets and romantic roses for every evening. “And then some ended up in Tenebrae too—including my best friend.”

You hadn’t intended to come off as bitter about it, but something must’ve showed either on your face or in your voice or both. Noctgar’s lips twitch at your admission and he tips backwards until he rests against the wall, to which you follow suit. Insomnia’s skies are a watery reflection in his eyes when he says, “…I’m sorry to hear that, I know how important friends can be.” Again, a doleful Alpha who’s thinking of distant thoughts your hands can’t reach. Your gaze lingers on the wrinkles rimming thick lashes as they flutter once, twice, before turning to you. “You must be lonely here.”

As expected, his introspection sees past your front. You knew it those eyes weren’t just looking when he looks at you. You are machinery to him: He examines you, disassembles your parts for further comprehension, and puts you together again once he achieves understanding. You could only attempt a self-deprecating simper when you know you’re practically transparent to him now. “Kind of? I guess. I couldn’t even make friends with anyone yet, not even my superior. He’s the Prince of Tenebrae, that guy who’s the famous duo of the Nox Fleuret siblings.”

Eyes are definitely the windows to one’s soul. But it seems like you have a long way to go if you wish to understand how his eyes are smiling when his lips are not. “Him, huh? Is it fun working under him?”

“Fun? Hardly.” You snort. “Talking to him feels like taking a walk through Ghorovas Rift! Because that guy never smiles.” You stop, if only to amend your statement lest it becomes a hyperbole aimed to diss your superior. “Well, I don’t know if it’s never, but it’s been two days and I haven’t seen his facial muscles move other than to scowl at me. I feel really unappreciated, y’know.”

It’s a good thing Noctgar doesn’t judge you for it. His smile is a comfort you’d feel if you have one of those feel-good foods, and it’s exactly what he does to you. “Sounds like a pain in the ass.”

“He’s a bit scary and strict too,” you stifle your laughter, just because Noctgar’s pain in the ass statement is basically Ravus condensed into four words. “But I like that he’s willing to share his knowledge with me because as much as I’m a senior exec now, I still don’t know much about NTI and how it works. So he taught me stuffs—like this morning, he took me to the Citadel for NTI’s CSR.” You momentarily stop to take in how Noctgar seems genuinely interested in your story, then continuing to list off your fingers. “Over there, I met some really cool people like Miss Aurum who apparently runs a mechanic shop with her grandpa outside Insomnia,” you say as he nods along, “Mr Argentum who’s apparently a really great photographer until he’s the six-time champ of Meteor Publishing,” here, you pause when Noctgar chuckles to himself, “and the last one is Lady Andronicus. She was really badass like—who actually has double doctorates, stopped the war, and is currently rebuilding Lucis anyway, all while being an Omega? That’s major crazy, right?” Your statement makes him hum his agreement, letting you merrily jog along your little adventure today. “And then we met the king too! His Royal Majesty King Regis Lucis Caelum CXIII. He’s this Alpha of all Alphas and you could totally tell when he talks because it gives me the shivers,” you add, just when you catch the quality of his expression giving way to something else, dropping on the edges. Was it because you were starting to turn into Paragraph Guy Ravus who talks without stopping? Abashed, you try to rein it in a little because nobody likes a chatterbox who talks all about herself. “Oops, sorry…sometimes I talk too much. Just stop me when I do.”

But Noctgar, you learn, is an all-around nice Alpha whose kind smile and thoughtful words give you little flutters in your nerves. “Not at all,” he shakes his head, the corners of his eyes crinkling, “it’s fun hearing you talk like this.”

Before you realise it, you’re already fidgeting under his gaze, lips half-twisting in embarrassment. “…Thanks for listening to my rambling.” Because it is what it is, a genuine gratitude for someone whose presence feels like coming home after a hard day’s work. He’s a dear Alpha who doesn’t reek of pride and machismo, he’s just a simple man smelling of clean laundry and tattered pages of old books, sitting right here with you. You sincerely hope this isn’t your desperation in finding a friend talking for you, but you’re already thinking of spending tomorrow’s lunchtime together with him again. And, speaking of lunchtime, there’s your paper bag from Sagefire. Crap, as much as you’d love to spend two more hours talking to Noctgar, the bleak reality remains that Ravus awaits you in NT after lunch for more work.

You swallow your reluctance, reaching for your lunch. Packets of buns and sweetmeats topple as you rummage its depths, showcasing everything you bought in your satanic gluttony. “C’mon, let’s eat something together. I accidentally bought too much again and this is kinda my lunch time so I gotta eat something before I get back to work.”

“No, really, you shouldn’t—“ Noctgar jerks back, waving off your offering at your offering of a tuna mayo rice ball. “Please, I’m fine—“

“No, seriously, please,” you insist, allocating two more packets of salted egg croissant and raspberry danish in case he wants variety. “Help me out with finishing my food?” Again, it’s an expired excuse from yesterday, but you’ve made sure to stick your bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout just to net extra points in sympathy. “Please?”

So maybe a part of you should feel bad for roping him into it, but Noctgar’s laugh takes you by surprise.

It’s a deep sound with undertones of a boyish delight that he never grew out of, nothing like the roaring laughter of some Alphas out there, or the sultry chuckles they attempt in their pursuit of potential mates. A hearty, full laughter like a crack of morning sunlight through a window, a sound that leaves you warm all over your skin. And it’s probably the balmy Insomnian heat getting to you, for the flush carpeting your cheeks is an infection reaching your ears. You’re turning your face away when he tips his head back, allowing you a clear view of hooded eyes trying to hold your scampering gaze. He reaches out to bring up a packet of rice ball, his indulgent smile turning lopsided. “Well…thank you for this. I appreciate it. In turn, allow me to be your friend.”

Wait, what? You’re the one who’s jerking back now, waving him off the same way he did before. “No, really, you don’t have to—“

“It’s not sympathy, I assure you,” he cuts you off, thick fingers already pinching the riceball’s flimsy packaging. Seaweed on white rice, it’s a simple meal, but he eyes it with bittersweet fondness. And that very same fondness is turned to you once more. “I’ll be your friend…if you want me to.”

Geez, the Insomnian sunlight really is hot; it’s getting stifling under your collar. Your face burns with the full heat of it, letting out a quiet, “...Thanks, Mr Noctgar. Seriously, thanks.”

Noctgar is a messy eater, you realise. Having worn out the initial modesty of declining food, he scarfs down the rice ball in three bites, bits of rice sticking on his untrimmed beard. He must be hungrier than you thought, licking off salt from his fingertips once the deed is done. A sidelong glance has his lips quirking up in the corners, reaching out for the croissant. “I take that back. We can’t be friends.”

—well, that was short-lived. And here you thought Gralea’s political friendships were the shortest. Your forage into your milk bun comes to an indignant halt. “What—why!?”

“Not until you agree to stop calling me Mr Noctgar,” he chides with a twinkle in his mischievous eyes, leading you to realise how foolish your outburst had been. If your cheeks had been burning, right now you’re scalded by your stupidity—a stupidity that Noctgar enjoys, chuckling at your mortification. “Just Noctgar is fine, please. Let’s drop all formalities as friends.”

There are many things you learnt about your friend, Mr Noctgar, today.

For starters, he’s named after the Prince of Lucis, some guy who ‘disappeared’ from public eye and the all-watchful internet. Talking about his parents is a huge no-no because it makes him sad and seeing him sad makes you feel like you just kicked a puppy. He’s also an Alpha who can’t read social cues and doesn’t know how many handshakes is good enough before it turns awkward. Despite his apparent awkwardness, he’s a great listener since he doesn’t even stop you when you rambled an entire paragraph like Ravus did. Thoughtful words belie a ferocious hunger though—he could chow down a rice ball like a vacuum cleaner inhaling dust. But when he smiles, it feels like the Astrals parted the heavens to make his face light up in ways you thought impossible.

You’re starting to like your new friend already.

Absently swinging your legs, you peel off the sticky plastic and mumble your words around a mouthful of goodness.

“Geez, way to give me a heart attack…Noctgar.”

“That was a commendable portrayal of a homeless man, Noct.”

“Specs, I really wasn’t trying to.”

“Truly?”

“Yeah, your rice balls were really good. Can I get more?”

“…I can’t believe you. Come along then, off to Sagefire we go.”

NOTES:

Okay so the notes are going to get fairly long, so bear with me! 

1) There is an extension that automatically converts all (y/n) tags into a name of your liking for your reading enjoyment! You can grab it here and let it do its magic for all your name-replacing-and-reading needs.

2) In the previous chapter, a reader pointed out that it’d help knowing some terms, which is a good point! So here’s some brief explanation for the stuffs thing going on in here (source included for the second one):

Lèse-majesté: The crime of violating majesty, an offence against the dignity of a reigning sovereign or against a state.

Corporate Social Responsibility (CSR): Today's consumers are looking for more than just high-quality products and services when they make a purchase. They're prioritizing corporate social responsibility (CSR), and holding corporations accountable for effecting social change with their business beliefs, practices and profits.

A 2017 study by Cone Communications found that more than 60 percent of Americans hope businesses will drive social and environmental change in the absence of government regulation. 87 percent would purchase a product because a company supported an issue they care about. A whopping 76 percent will refuse to buy from a company if they learn it supports an issue contrary to their own beliefs.

Companies practice CSR through some of these involvements: Environmental efforts: Businesses regardless of size have a large carbon footprint. Any steps they can take to reduce those footprints are considered both good for the company and society as a whole. Philanthropy: Businesses can also practice social responsibility by donating money, products or services to social causes. Larger companies tend to have a lot of resources that can benefit charities and local community programs. Ethical labor practices: By treating employees fairly and ethically, companies can also demonstrate their corporate social responsibility. Volunteering: Attending volunteer events says a lot about a company's sincerity. By doing good deeds without expecting anything in return, companies are able to express their concern for specific issues and support for certain organizations.

3) On another note, this chapter contained an introduction to the characters of Lazy People’s Club for the Sleepy and Tired, starring your reader character (y/n) Andronicus and Noctis. You can follow the strange journey of reader and Noctis as their slow-burn romance go down the Omen route right here! But you don’t really have to understand or read LPC to enjoy this fic; it’s just me borrowing the characters to establish an ideal Insomnia and Lucis if they didn’t go all WAR WAR WAR with Niflheim because LPC is pre-Kingsglaive and pre-FFXV and pre-Omen, while this fic is post-FFXV in an alternate universe. This fic only focuses entirely on your adventures with homeless (????) alpha Noctgar and the mysterious (????) disappearance of the Prince of Lucis so it’s 120% unrelated to LPC. They’re also going to be playing a side role so no worries, your reader character in LPC isn’t going to outshine your reader character in Mr Noctgar :D (This is like a reader + reader crossover for some reasons) And those who are currently reading LPC would probably get a kick out of this fic

4) I had an interesting discussion on Tumblr sometime ago about the reader’s height in this fic. When I did my little survey with my readers before, I found out that they’re mostly around the 150 cm height circle. If you're not short, don't worry, just enjoy the fic as it is because it's just a fun fic of office woes and misunderstandings! Using that as a base for comparison (if you’re around that height too), you can see how you match up against Gladio and Ardyn:

150 cm vs Gladio 150 cm vs Ardyn

You could also input your own height to see how you compare with the boys! I mean, size kink and size difference tags are there for coughcough, winkwonk.

5) Thanks for the incredible support for this fic, all the comments and likes!  ❤ Next chapter contains even more tragedy and drama and more of our favourite men Noctis Noctgar and Ravus! Stay tuned for more ❤

THE TRAGEDY CONTINUES: Fingers skating across the keys stop. Your innocent concern is a forgery most Omegas have mastered; a species designed to captivate and fascinate those around them, unhesitant to delve their fingers into the stickiest of pies, only to draw them back, licking and sucking off cherry-reddened digits one by one. Viciously coy to those they want to enrapture, cunningly demure to those they want to seduce, Omegas are disgusting creatures willingly spreading their legs for any and all Alphas to conquer. Once they’ve conquered the body, they will conquer the world. Such is the reality Ravus is acquainted with, considering the multitude of Omegas who have crossed his path and tried to make him theirs.

[cerberosthehellguard]

Panic! at the hook-up (part 3)

Rating: M (this is a lie, It should strictly be T)

Pairings: AkaFuri. Slight Nebumibu, Murahimu and Midotaka.

Characters: Akashi Seijuro. Furihata Kouki. Mibuchi Reo.

Word Count: 4700+ words (this is NOT the final chapter, unfortunately)

Tags: Aged-Up Characters. One Night Stand AU. Fluff. So much Fluff. Awkward conversations are awkward. Dorks who don't know how to get their shit together. Reo the Angel Incarnate. Author is very sorry for splitting the chapter. Okay not so sorry. Just feeling Evil.

Parts: Part 1/Part 2/Part 3(here)/Part 4(coming soon!)

Summary: Akashi woke up after a drunk one night stand feeling at peace with the world. Unfortunately the brunet in his arms doesn’t seem to think the same way. (or an AU where Furi and Akashi have been scarred by terrible relationships in the past that one never wants to get into them and one waits in vain for someone to love him back)

Author’s notes : |||orz terribly sorry for cutting the chapter short! Its just got wayyyy out of hand and I didn’t want to dump too much in one go. So.....splitting into two! As always, thank you so much for reading and following this story!! It all ends with the next update! (which will be posted soooooooon!!)

AO3 Link right here!

Seijuro rapped his knuckles impatiently against the metal door of the nondescript building. The area the address had indicated looked like something anyone would miss in the passing, not offering a second glance. It had no discernible boards or colourful nameplates that made it stand out to the passerby. Nothing, to show that it was an art studio of one of the most sought-after names in the Art World. And yet, Seijuro stood in front of it, rather irritably, for more than twenty minutes in the frosty weather.

"Maybe he couldn't hear you. Isn't there a bell around here somewhere?" Reo was next to him, puffing clouds of air into his gloved hands before rubbing them. His hair was pulled back into a stylish yet unkempt ponytail, few strands tugged loose to drape his cheekbones artfully, giving him the Gallery Owner Look (whatever that meant, Akashi had waved it off when Reo started to explain enthusiastically), and the side clips had been abandoned - courtesy the aforementioned Look. 

Seijuro huffed slightly, straightening his coat - his trench coat that still smelled faintly of alcohol and sex, in spite of the cologne he had sprayed on it. He hadn't been able to let go of it long enough to give to Reo for dry cleaning. Yet. "I don't know. Why don't you give it a try?" 

Reo shrugged and looked around, careful not to touch anything lest it dirty his feather-soft leather gloves. Not even Eikichi was allowed to touch them. He teased Akashi more than once on his intolerance of tardiness during meetings. Besides, he needed Akashi in a nice enough mood to handle the client today. “Oooh, you are prickly today, Sei-chan. i wonder what has gotten into you today. Or,” he waggled his eyebrows suggestively and leered at Akashi, "should I say, I wonder what you missed getting into today."

Ugh. This wasn't going anywhere.

"Reo." One mild glare and a single word command. It was ample to shut up Reo. He knew what Reo was doing. And he knew, Reo had a point. He cannot go to this meeting without being calm. No matter how much he burned with the urge to go home now. 

Seijuro took a few deep breaths. The awkward morning, the acute absence of a proper shower, the slight - slight, tiny - stock dip in one of the Northern branches that had sent his phones and emails flying with notifications before he could set it right and mediate long enough to placate everyone involved and now, the actual act of getting a commission from one of the most finicky - and possibly too introverted, if he was being honest - artists he had had the misfortune to encounter, was getting on his frayed nerves. He just cannot let his mood get any worse. Not if he wanted this meeting to go well. Especially with this one. Especially for Father. (Which added to the irritability factor, but that’s a story for another time).

This artist had been fickle to a point where even Akashi, the Master of Negotiations and Diplomacy and the Embodiment of Patience and Politeness, was compelled to chuck the phone at the wall imagining it to be the artist’s face. 

Furihata Kouki had refused, even after countless wheedling on Reo's part - who was gifted with a silver tongue, so honed, strong enough to make the Devil dance to his wishes - to visit their premises, refused to take them up on the offer they proposed and kept mumbling about "too many people crowding him" and "money-minded midgets" and "suits made him wary" and “lawyers are untrustworthy leeches”. Akashi was ready to fling him bodily across the ocean and he hadn’t even met the man yet. 

It had been troublesome, tiresome and whole other -somes, but not impossible if it meant, for them to come to him with their offer and seek him out on his home ground, on his own questionable terms. They had had to pry him with a dozen phone calls to get this appointment and the bastard wasn't even opening his door. Seijuro swore.  

Akashi, normally, wouldn't have bothered with this Diva-type attitude, would have cast him and his newfound fame away like yesterday's newspaper. When he could have had thousands of artists who would willingly queue up around the block and answer to his beck and call, just to have a minuscule - one in a million - chance at displaying one of their pieces at the Akashi Gallery, this seemed like trying too hard for something that might not even be worth all that effort.

It was the newest, spiciest, freshest talk of the business world - The Akashi Group opening a huge gallery that displayed artworks from all over the world, portraying just one theme.

Love. 

Be it any genre, any medium, any form of Love, Akashi Gallery would have it shown, after personally approved by none other than Akashi Masaomi himself. It was the brainchild of both Seijuro and Father, to give the Gallery as a gift to Shiori as a celebration of 30 years of marriage. A small token of appreciation as an anniversary gift to the woman who flawlessly managed to keep them both in line for all these years. 

And Father had apparently seen a work of this artist abroad and was immediately impressed (which had never happened before, and Akashi could second that statement veritably) and insisted Akashi to bring him in. 

"Use any means necessary. I need the best work of his to be the Centerpiece at the Atrium." He had looked straight into Seijuro's eyes and calmly said, "Don't fail me, Seijuro."

Akashi internally bristled, recalling the meeting.

It was for Mother.

All this was for Mother.

He chanted that a few times in his head, to calm himself and not show any indignation towards this Furihata Kouki guy, who had already pissed him off and he hadn't even seen his unfortunate face. And that wasn't the only hurdle he had to tackle. No. 

For anyone to be this private about their private life was good and respectable and all that jazz but in a business context it aroused nothing but suspicion. Reo had conducted thorough background checks but apart from a few cursory details from previous galleries where his works had been displayed, he hadn't been able to snatch a photograph of him anywhere. His contacts - extensive and exhaustive in their right - hadn’t been able to make out anything other than “an ordinary skittish guy who looked like any other struggling artist and worked only through commissions and was too choosy”. Believe him, he knew how ‘choosy’ Furihata Kouki was. 

Akashi did not like dealing with the Unknown. As a principle. He couldn't gauge his further actions that way, apart from a few calculated guesses and made-up possibilities. He liked to speculate sure moves beforehand and he, terribly, did not care for going blindfolded to this fight. And, if Furihata’s Diva-ness was any indication, there definitely would be a fight. 

So, in a word, frustrated. Added to the incidents leading up to this day, he was more on edge than anything.

 “I can’t take this anymore. Let’s go.” Seijuro nodded decisively to Reo before he pushed open the metal door and walked inside. Reo followed, a little stunned at the informality of his actions. 

The sunlight from the open door rushed to stream in to fill the darkness, as there was only one light switched on inside the huge studio. The sole overhead light was enough to illuminate the table underneath and cast shadows over everything outside of its circumference. There were strange whirring and thumping sounds coming in from the back but otherwise the spacious room was annoyingly unoccupied.

“Those noises must have droned out the knocking.” Reo mused, stepping in carefully. 

Seijuro curled his lip slightly, “If it didn’t, and he is playing with us, I am walking out of here. Father’s request be damned.”

“Now, now, Sei-chan,” Reo pushed one wayward lock of hair behind his ear and reached to pat his free hand on Akashi’s shoulder reassuringly, “Let’s not be hasty. He might just turn out to be alright.”

“Hasty?” Seijuro shot a glare at him out of the corner of his eye. He was still near the periphery of the studio, with his back to the outside world as he tried gathering his strength to face the man, “He has been testing my patience for months, Reo. And, not to brag, but I have dealt with far worse and had come out unscathed. Yet, something about him is getting me more hacked off, by the minute. And we haven’t even seen each other!”

Reo sighed, “I know. How could I not, Sei-chan? I was there for all those phone calls too, wasn't I?" He rubbed a tired palm over his face and took a deep breath, “Just try to give the guy the benefit of doubt, would you? We need him and he might just turn out to be a normal, scared-of-the-Big-Corporate-Guy, starved, validation-hungry creator for all we know. Now come on in, we can’t mope there all day.”  

They didn't bother closing the door as they shuffled in, observing the silent chaos of the studio. The windows were grilled shut, layers of newspapers stuck to them to avoid any form of light or dust to enter. The floor space and the numerous tables had art works on them, littering every inch. There were canvases - covered and uncovered and blank - and paints and brushes and tarpaulin and wood chipping and saw dust and knifes and paper mache - Akashi feared they had hardened to the bucket more times than they had been used - and marble and granite and rocks of various sizes and varieties and hammers and tools of every kind in a chaotic mess (Arrangement? This mess was by design? Akashi wondered, disbelieving) across the room. 

Reo gave an impressed whistle. Even Akashi was amazed.

“Usually artists dabbled with one medium, but this one seems to be versatile. Isn’t it good luck to find him here, Sei-chan? Now we know he is definitely worth his salt.”

Seijuro nodded grudgingly, “Either he was trying to be creative in everything he wanted to play with or he had an unreliably short attention span.” He moved around the room, judging the work propped directly under the light, “Based on the unfinished drawings and half finished sculptures, I am inclined to believe the latter.”

Reo caught on, hiding his smile, “But you can see how Akashi-san was impressed so quickly, can’t you, Sei-chan.” It wasn't a question. Reo knew. Akashi knew too. 

Seijuro said nothing as he turned his face away. The sounds continued, coming in from the back. They both strode gingerly towards it, the sole ceiling light in the studio not helping them much in maneuvering around the works. There seemed to be another room, off the far wall and nearly hidden behind the large shelves, the noises increasing in their volume as they neared it. 

Reo nodded to Seijuro before he opened the door and stumbled back slightly as a strong wave of heat engulfed them from the other room. They stood at the doorway as they watched the artist - definitely the artist, because he was also known for not engaging any assistant or student, as he had so snootily, Akashi might add, stated in one of their numerous, altogether unhelpful, phone calls - bang metal against metal, the heat from the continuous thwacks sending sparks flying every time the hammer attacked it precisely where he wanted.

Akashi cleared his throat rather pointedly and loudly over the din, announcing their presence. Furihata Kouki just raised a gloved hand like a stop sign and continued with his work. He was fully protected, the metal mask and the vest and gloves showing wear and tear and he didn't take his concentration off his task. 

Reo put a hand on Akashi's shoulder and made him take a step back, a small hesitant smile on his face. Akashi acquiesced. They could wait a little longer, he supposed. Furihata Kouki wasn’t going anywhere. No where to run anymore, he thought with glee. 

This sobered him enough to breathe easier. He felt relaxed now. In control. 

Akashi watched with concealed interest, as the guy expertly molded the metal to what he deemed to be content with - to Akashi, it still looked mangled but he wasn't the expert here and he admitted, with grace, that an artist would probably see things that he couldn't as a layman - and set the burner in a safe place slightly farther away and dip the hammer and other tools including the work piece in a tub of water. The water bubbled rapidly at the heat, fizzing angrily and sizzling at the surface.

The artist didn't acknowledge them as he walked past the doorway to the main studio, closing the door behind him and moving to remove his thick, sturdy, workman gloves, one by one off each finger with his back facing them. Akashi and Reo exchanged a look as they watched him, deciding whether he was purposefully ignoring them or waiting to talk to them without his gear on. 

He swiftly pried himself off his protective vest when Reo spoke up, unable to be quiet any longer. "Furihata-san, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person! I am a huge fan of your works! Good job with that wrought iron! What is it going to be, might I ask? A unicorn like the one shown in the Okinawa gallery?!"

Furihata turned with helmet still on, and chuckled warmly. “Ah, a fan? Thank you so much, it makes me happy you like that one - wait, let me get this off, I am being rude.” He shifted, taking off his helmet and letting the messy brown locks free. Some stuck to the back of his neck and the light sweatshirt he was wearing - which Akashi noticed, seemed a little too big for him - stuck to his lithe frame, due to the heat he had been in. That was a rational explanation. No need to salivate over a sweaty lithe body at all. No reason at all, Seijuro. Why was this affecting him, anyway? 

He stretched his back, highlighting his lean muscles, popping the kinks in his shoulders loudly with a satisfied groan - Akashi shifted subtly, thanking the shadows for hiding his blush - and faced Reo who had walked over to stand at his side. “I have been working on that one for a while now but, I don’t think it’s listening to me properly.” Furihata added with a rueful laugh, “Or, maybe, I don’t think I am hearing it right.”

Reo smiled understandingly, “Oh, but I am sure, you will get it right soon, Furihata-san.” He added, with a pointed look in Seijuro’s direction, “We all need to have a little bit of faith, don’t we? And besides,” Reo demurred, his smile turning coy as his eyes slid to Furihata again, “I never thought the artist of so many great works would be this cute!” 

“Look at you! So young and so talented, Furihata-san!” Reo prattled on, it coming to him like a charm, “You had us believe you were an old man, scared of the young generation, with all those calls. I was half convinced I would be shouting the entire proposal to you to get you to hear. See! I even brought my tiny magnifying glass for you to check things with.” 

Furihata rubbed his nape, blushing at the praise and vainly trying not to laugh at the tall, beautiful man with a ponytail - a ponytail, fuck - and dazzling turquoise eyes, “Ahh. Um. Thank you, I, uh, enjoy making things with my hands ha ha. Been always creative, my mum used to say. And ahhh, you shouldn’t say I am cute when, um,” - he scratched his cheek, eyes looking away from the tall, beautiful, skinny - fuck, he could give Tatsuya a run for his money - man who stood next to him - “you, yourself look like that. I mean, um, wow."  

Reo was practically vibrating in place, barely restraining the urge to hug the poor, hapless artist, at that point when Akashi gave him the Look, reminding him of their business. Reo can flirt in his own time. Akashi needed to get back to the office, as soon as he can wrap this up, lunch be damned. It was already noon and who knew how much longer the negotiation will take.  

“And ahhh, I am so sorry! I didn’t mean to be rude or anything! It may have sounded that way, but I, uh, I am very wary, you know?” Furihata rambled on, genuinely apologetic by his tone, and Reo nodded companionably by his side at proper intervals, “Wary of who is handling my stuff and I don’t want to deal with a lot of people because I get nervous easily and yeah....pretty much that’s why I make people come here. To the studio. So I can be relaxed when I deal with them. Well. Tiny bit relaxed, I guess?” He looked at Reo and smiled shyly when Reo sent him a winning smile in return. 

Hook, Line and Sinker. Furihata Kouki had fallen. As if there had been any doubt.  

This was Reo’s biggest selling point. Put the client at ease, charm them enough lower their guards, before Akashi went in for the Kill. Akashi stood further away, unseen by the dim overhead light of the room, observing the brunet. 

It looked like he had seen him somewhere, but he wasn’t completely sure. His voice, his body, and that bloody infuriatingly apologetic tone most of all, seemed too familiar, but he just couldn’t place it. The thought nagged him, too much, adding to his increasing frustration and worsening mood.

Calm. He needed calm now. He had the upper hand. Always. 

The Akashis had the upper hand and they were always Calm and Collected. 

Deep breaths, Seijuro.

And, definitely, don’t think about the brunet from last night, now. 

Fuck, that’s not helping. 

Or how Furihata’s messy hair reminded him of the brunet.

Seijuro, No.

Inhale.

Did the brunet also have a large sweatshirt that made Seijuro want to fuck him in it?

Exha-Fuckkkk. 

"Ah~ before things get out of hand," Reo gestured to where Akashi stood; and with an artsy head tilt, his hair dancing like they had been scripted to, he went on, "I would like to introduce myself, Mibuchi Reo - you can call me Reo-nee, please, won’t you, Furihata-san?" he pouted at the blushing guy, "And would like you to meet your prospective client, the one and only, Akashi Seijuro.” 

Reo stood to his full height and beamed at Furihata - he was starting to like Furihata, a lot, already - and with a sly wink, “And we, at Akashi Corporations, would certainly be immensely pleased if we had the utmost honour to display one of your illustrious works at our new Gallery.” He dipped his head in a slight bow, ending with a dramatic flourish.

Perfect Reo, Seijuro smiled fondly before schooling his features to a polite indifference. The upper hand, he reminded himself.  

Seijuro straightened at his name, stepping into the range of light, mentally going over the countless things he could say to placate the artist into commissioning a piece. It didn’t matter if he was dealing with the Unknown, he still had his contingency plans in place for each carefully evaluated scenario. He would just have to be flexible with the dealing now and craft a concrete plan that Father would approve. He would excel today. 

Furihata flushed and gaped at Mibuchi-san? - Reo-nee, now, his mind unhelpfully supplied - and slowly spun to where Reo was gesturing, a polite smile stretching on his face, braving himself for hours of bargaining and rightful pricing. God, he hated bargaining, but he would get paid shit if he didn’t. Necessary evil and all that. 

Red met brown. 

And time froze.

*

Reo’s eyebrows were in the danger of being swept into his hairline. 

One look at Sei-chan, and Reo came to startling realisation that Furihata Kouki meant something more than just an investment, badgered into by Akashi-san. The totally, too cute to be true, badly in need of good food and sleep, artist was frozen at his side, quite possibly just a scant few seconds away from hyperventilating, but Sei-chan - King of Poker Face, his normally unfazed Sei-chan - looked like the wind had been, frankly, punched out of him. Now, that was quite a revelation.

Shock was written all over his face but also...a tinge of hurt (??!!) before it was carefully masked by his perfect Professional Façade. Reo did a back-take.

Hurt??

Sei-chan?

By....Furihata-san?!

His instincts rang off little alarm bells as he whipped his head around so fast, to analyse the person who had dared to bring about such a look on Sei-chan. He once-d over the artist with a different view now - a very critical, judging one - to pinpoint in what way he could have hurt Sei-chan. 

Furihata was looking like a fish out of water now, opening and closing his mouth wordlessly and staring at Akashi in horror. Or sheer terror, maybe. Reo pursed his lips and scrunched his brows to figure out what the hell had happened between them, delectable artist or not.  

There was no chance they had met previously - Reo was the only one close to Sei-chan since their school days, and nothing went past him without notice - and he knew Sei-chan's previous flings too, worthy, distinguished, well-known men all including that nearly invisible and awfully sarcastic man, but none had caused this much of an impact on Sei-chan. Not even when they left Sei-chan, and all of them had; Sei-chan had never slagged once in his competence and conduct, never truly showing what he felt. Despite all the fruitless prying on Reo’s part.  

Reo would have missed them if he wasn’t scrutinising with scary attention, when he noticed the nearly invisible reddish marks along the line of Furihata’s bony neck. Teeth marks, they had to be, for sure. 

Then.....this person could only be...Oh.

Oh.

Ohhh.

Oh my.

Sei-chan, you lucky bastard. 

Furihata Kouki at the precise moment, seemed to have gathered his power of speech and spoke in that cute, adorably squeaky voice of his, “Ehhh...ummmm, He-hell-lo...?” 

Thankfully, Reo had more control over himself, otherwise he would have started giggling at the way the brunet blushed to the tips of ears and down his neck and gripped onto the table until his knuckles turned white. He was staring at Akashi similar to something straight out of a horror film, and he was trying really hard not to run away. Reo wanted to hug him or snicker at his face. Or both. He couldn’t decide.

Oh. The sheer drama.

Deciding that these two wonderfully oblivious idiots needed a moment - a lot more than a moment, he corrected, hastily - alone, and they probably, most definitely, had already forgotten Reo was there - if the way their eyes never left the others' was anything to go by - he excused himself and walked away from the scintillating scene in the studio. It was hard, dreadfully hard walking away, but he did. He deserved a medal. 

Closing the heavy door noiselessly behind him, he leaned against it and cast his eyes heavenwards. And burst out laughing. He clutched his sides, leaning forward and felt tears prick his eyes.

Of all the places in all of Japan, he shook his head. 

Only Sei-chan.

Fate’s favourite child, Shiori-san would say.

Yeah. Favourite.

Reo tried in vain to control as the next set of helpless peals of laughter threatened to spill out of him. His stomach hurt and his eyes were moist. And the peeling paint of the building was dangerously close to touching him and tainting his expensive coat. He heaved heartily and gulped lungfuls of air and brushed himself off any imaginary lint that might have dared to land on him. He peered up at the building from the pavement, sighing to himself.

What he wouldn't give to witness and document the drama that was about to unfold inside.

But.....some things were better heard as a retelling than seen first hand.

Besides, he still had to extract the full story, piece by excruciating piece from Sei-chan before he got to the current part. He did not particularly care for spoilers, even though he could foresee the ending of this particular situation. He prayed for Sei-chan to not fuck up now. Or Reo would have to kill him. Slowly. Painfully.

And as an added bonus, he would get the story from Furihata-san as well, after Sei-chan eventually gets closer to the him. If, Sei-chan doesn’t fuck up and actually talked stuff now. Dear god, he better talk. Or else. 

Perhaps he should go back and make them talk.....no. 

They would figure it out. They were adults. Nearly 30. Oh, his Sei-chan was almost 30. How time flie-Anyway!

They would talk. Sei-chan won’t let go of the contract. Akashi-san had been almost adamant about it.  

And Furihata-san was interested enough to commission for them. 

So, they would work things out. 

Hopefully. 

Maybe. 

He should take a peek, just in case. Check if things are going smoothly. 

No, Reo. No. 

He sighed again and sent a fervent prayer to any of the Gods who could hear him. Although....

If this turned out well, he would have a happy Sei-chan, a pleased Akashi-san, an impressed Shiori-san and most importantly, an adorably messy haired and ridiculously easily flustered Furihata-san. His Sei-chan would have a date now. A date who very well had Reo’s Stamp of Approval stuck on him. A boyfriend, hopefully. He could easily imagine him and Eikichi having dinner and movie night with Sei-chan and Furihata-san. Who would probably then be.....Kouki? Kou-chan? Kou-chan. Nice. Would it be too soon to call him that now? He would ask Sei-chan tomorrow.  

Humming a happy tune, he started walking leisurely, adding a little skip to his step from time to time. A couple of women passed by, glancing at him shyly, judging his artsy hair and expensive clothes and movie-star looks. He winked playfully at them as they tittered secretively. The meeting would go well, he was sure of it. Well. 79% sure. But, hey, that was better than a 50%. 

Concluding that he didn't want to wait outside in the chilly weather, he fished out his phone and tapped off a quick message. Besides, he was absolutely sure that Sei-chan wouldn't be back for at least a few hours. Maybe he would go out for lunch. That would speed things up quite nicely, he smiled to himself. 

Pick me up?

The reply came almost instantly. 

I thought you were with Akashi?

I was, but he will be busy for a while and.....my work here is done. So...

Reo bit his lip, Eikichi had a relatively free day today but what if he was on call soon? And, it was Reo’s turn to cook tonight so maybe he could get some shopping done before he got home. He was just about to send a “No need, I will come home on my own. You have a nice da-” when his phone pinged again.  

Shoot me the address. Ll be there in five.

Smiling to himself, he texted back and pocketed his phone. He could go grocery shopping with Eikichi now and be home with plenty of time to prepare pork cutlets for dinner. Maybe he should make some more and keep it aside for Sei-chan. 

Just in case.