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

[nomaishuttle]

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

[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

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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.

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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.

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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.

Library Card Holders Below: Please reblog this link to share it with others.

@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.