#*gestures emphatically at him*

[the-judicial-assistants-notebook]

whatever you do, don't think about how lana saw herself in edgeworth, ok? don't think about how she wanted to distance herself from him the moment they met because he could possibly see through the sl-9 plan and ruin everything, but she couldn't because he was kind, if not a little awkward, to her terrified sister in a case where everyone else's only concern was securing a conviction. don't think about how she brought ema to the prosecutor's office (because she damn well wasn't going to let her sister face this alone) with her hackles raised and her defences bolstered because she'd heard about the "demon prosecutor" and his ways just to realise he's nothing but a young man, trying his best to survive under the weight of his mentor's shadow and ensure justice is served by whatever means he can. don't think about how she felt later, when she was under gant's thumb and knew for a fact that all those rumours surrounding von karma's perfect record were, in fact, true and that he was using edgeworth's faith in him to fulfill his own goals. don't think about how she felt when she had to begin doing the same. or what must have gone through her head when she entered her office one morning to find a case approval form waiting for her on her desk: the state v. miles edgeworth. don't think about how she knew, once she saw the name of the prosecutor assigned to his case, that she was signing his death warrant. don't imagine what she rehearsed saying to his sister or her realisation, after his miraculous survival, why he had been so understanding of her own. don't wonder, as she did, ineffectually, if it was his competence or her fondness for him that led to his car and knife being chosen to cover goodman's murder — a second attempt at his permanent removal — and whether it was affection or guilt that made her stand by the corpse, waiting readily to be caught in his stead. don't think about how she finds out, eventually, that he is gone, in a jail cell so far from remorse, gratitude and closure that she can only sit and turn in her head distorted thoughts about luck and fortuitous third chances. don't.

[syn0vial]

many thoughts about boba fett..... none of them coherent

[mrsmarlasinger]

I just watched Fight Club and omg.... omg... I so get it 😏

I mean... Marla Singer.... I mean.... 🥵🥵

Like.... I sooooooo get it 😅😅

YESSSSSS GIRL, you understand!!!! That unwell woman is my wife!!!!!

[wilsonpussyindulgence]

if you want to know how i’m doing i had a dream last night i was complaining to taika waititi about the finale

[phantombs]

"why do we make each other wait for love ?"

 𝑨 𝑺𝑼𝑴𝑴𝑬𝑹 𝑹𝑶𝑺𝑬: no longer accepting.

"I'm not the right man to ask. I–" unlike the world, will "–never wait." Ever. Casually, Cường shifts in his chair, and his pipette, dribbling, clangs the glass. About them, the springy, ravishing scent of roses loiter, lingering like some misfit playing high school hooky. Still, it saturates the store, its notes comically fitting, for romantic and deep as this fragrance is, it's only on par with that curious question. Why wait, she'd asked him, to fall in love? He pipes the fragrance in his candle. Its wax is red.

"Dragging your feet... I get it. It sounds like a silly to do," he agrees. "There's not enough sunlight to waste just sitting in daydreams. Romantic little questions... Well, we sleep long enough, you know, but I'm a thrill seeker, actually. I'd rather live it." How — confident. Cường stirs the wax, and nothing, not his blunt tongue or mannerisms, makes him seem he's bluffing. He's had a romance, after all, even something of a marriage, and matters of the heart? Well, being lovesick's an illness. And Cường's a doctor — just nip it in the bud. Rachel... "Are you saying you don't? I'm pretty surprised."

[squishykitty825]

The Batfamily knowing military hand signals is a hilarious concept to me. Cause like, you can not tell me Damian wouldn’t be constantly drawing his hand across this throat at every mild inconvenience and person with Dick trying to hide the fact that his ten-year-old brother is telling him he wants to eliminate 80% of the guests there

Damian standing next to Bruce who is in full on Brucie Wayne mode: *eliminate that man*

Jason: *say again*

Dick, taking notice of the gestures: *emphatically gives Damian a negative*

Steph sneaking up on the man with Cass: *assault assault*

[redeemingvillains]

of magic & mayhem - mattheo riddle

summary: the strongest wizard of your age also happens to be hogwarts' playboy, and when he sets his sights on you, you realize neither of you have a choice in the matter.

word count: 3k

a/n: this is like nine of my concepts all mashed into one! heavily influenced by my re-read of fourth wing in preparation for onyx storm coming out, anyone who wants to scream about that in my inbox, please do <3

The Great Hall echoed with the excited chatter of friends and classmates and the general cacophony of breakfast; the sounds of scraping cutlery and the clink of dishes and goblets. You and Pansy sat in genial silence as you read your book and she eyed the gossip column of the Daily Prophet.

You were so totally transfixed on your book that you didn't see the looming figure in front of you until he placed his hands on the oak table and leaned casually across it into your airspace.

"Good morning" he drawled smoothly in a deep voice that caused you to glace up only to see Mattheo Riddle's large amber eyes twinkling at you, matched with a smirk that made you feel like you had pixies in your stomach.

You could smell his cologne from this distance, an undeniable mix of woodsmoke, evergreen and cinnamon that made you feel heady.

"Pansy" he acknowledged, nodding at her as she glanced up at him with a surprise that matched your own.

"Mrs. Riddle" he said, acknowledging you as his electric gaze found yours. You felt a deep blush on your cheeks, even as your face scrunched in confusion and your eyes searched his face for a hint of a joke, finding none.

"What did you just call me?" you asked, cocking your head. As much as you tried to supress it, a small smile graced your lips, which didn't go unnoticed.

"What?" he said in mock surprise. "You don't like it? I think it's perfect."

A pause.

"It suits you" he said confidently. He winked at you as your eyebrows shot up and he turned and walked away without another word.

You turned to look at Pansy who was open-mouthed gaping after him before turning to look at you.

"What was that!?" she exclaimed, excited, like you knew something she didn't.

You shook your head and rolled your eyes despite the hammering of your heart in your chest.

"He's a complete flirt, Pans, I'm not putting a lot of weight in whatever he's woken up and decided to say today."

But even as the words came out of your mouth, you couldn't help but feel excited that you'd caught his attention, even if you knew how delicately dangerous it could be.

"But Mrs. Riddle?! Please. I am dying oh my gods!" she said.

"No, we're not even thinking about this. Not unless you want to listen to me cry myself to sleep in three weeks when I've completely fallen for him and he's moved on to someone else. We all know how this goes and I'm not stupid enough to fall for it."

Pansy pursed her lips as she bounced in her seat with excitement, like she was going to explode.

"Okay, but maybe, just hear me out—" she started.

"—No" you said emphatically, as much to her as to yourself.

She stuck her tongue out at you and you returned the gesture.

It was no secret you were sought after; you had your fair share of dates and suitors. And it was no secret that Mattheo Riddle took the concept of incredibly hot fuckboy to another level, which is why, despite his comment and increasingly insistent stares you kept your distance.

Try as you might to forget what he said, or the way his dark eyes had twinkled mischievously as they drank you in, you found your thoughts drifting to him more times than you'd care to admit, and he had no intention of making it any easier for you, because now every time he saw you, he made a point of using your new nickname.

"Good morning, Mrs. Riddle" he said as he passed you in the Great Hall the next day.

"Have a good day, Mrs. Riddle!" he shouted from the opposite side of the common room, which garnered a significant amount of attention and whispers.

"Let me get the door for you, Mrs. Riddle" he said, pushing your classmates out of the way to do so.

"Mmm, gorgeous as ever, Mrs. Riddle" he whispered walking by you in the library in a way that felt like the words themselves danced over every inch of your body.

Pansy was nearly inconsolable over the situation, egging it on eagerly and even picking it up herself.

"Good night, Mrs. Riddle" she said to you as you crawled into bed in your shared dormitory.

"Lay off it, Pansy! Gods" you replied, even as you grinned like an idiot to yourself.

But then she wasn't the only one.

After less than a week of it, the rumor spread like fiendfyre and now Mattheo's friends were smirking at you in the corridor, waving teasingly to you in the common room and offering you every ounce of preferential treatment befitting of the name: knocking Potter off his chair when he took your seat in Potions, forcing a first-year to stand outside your dormitory holding your favorite latte every morning, and ensuring you had a coveted first row seat at their quidditch matches, including the House Cup, which you were excitedly getting ready for when Pansy burst into your room.

"You will never guess what I just heard" she said, grabbing you by the shoulders.

"What's that?" you asked, humoring her frenetic energy.

"Astoria Greengrass having a sob in the girls lav. You know how she and Mattheo have hooked up a few times?—"

You didn't, in fact, know that and couldn't help the pang of jealousy that gripped your chest.

"—Well I heard her telling Penelope Clearwater that he says he doesn't want to anymore and he told Harmony Norman and Maria Warner the same thing!"

Your face tangled in disgust.

"How many girls is he hooking up with? And why do you look so happy about it? What a mess…" you said, sighing as you turned to resume your makeup.

"Why, all of a sudden is he breaking all of them off, hmm?" she said, cocking an eyebrow at you in your mirror.

"I don't know" you said shiftily. "Maybe he's trying to be a better person?!—"

"—Or maybe he has his eyes set on someone else?!" she said insistently. "You know, someone he's given a special nickname to, his name to?"

You opened your mouth to argue with her but you couldn't deny the logic of her statement.

The boys pulled it off, sweeping Gryffindor in the House Cup for the first time in years and the ensuing celebration was electric.

The music in the common room was loud enough to sway the chandeliers in the ceiling, to feel the bass vibrating in your body.

Every Slytherin you knew and quite a few friends from other houses were there, the normally cavernous room filled in a way that made it feel like some sort of night club, bodies covering every inch of space, melding and weaving between each other and raising the temperature of the normally dank dungeon air.

You couldn't help but search the flashing lights and otherwise utter chaos for Mattheo and you didn't have to look for long the way he stood a head taller than almost everyone in the room, even surrounded by his large teammates; not to mention the way they were walking around like kings, taking turns chugging champagne out of their trophy, raucous, rowdy and loud as people cheered around them.

Mattheo himself was in rare form, his handsome curls were slightly askew and his cheeks were rosy from the alcohol and general liveliness of the night. He was dressed in a fitted black tshirt and dark pants and was exuding an energy that was magnetic, even from where you were standing; undeniably, your heart thumped in your chest at the sight of him.

Had you gotten a little dressed up? Of course. It was a celebration, an occasion, why wouldn't you? But as you wound through the sea of bodies, fingers twined in Pansy's, you garnered enough stares and double-takes that had you thinking you may have slightly overdone it.

"Oh, okay queen!" Pansy had said the minute she'd seen your outfit, the way you'd done your makeup and styled your hair, knowing, perhaps, exactly what or who had been on your mind.

You stopped to grab a drink and your cup had barely touched your lips before two guys came up to you that you recognized vaguely from the year below you. They were admittedly cute and you smiled as they compliment you and chatted with you. You leaned in closer to hear them over the music and the crowd and the one closest to you ducked his head toward you when you felt a tingle run from the base of your neck down your spine and a large, warm hand wound its way around your waist, pulling you firmly backwards into what felt like a pliable brick wall. You were startled for only a moment until you caught the undeniable scent of evergreen, of cinnamon.

"Brian is it? Blake? Blaire? Why don't you go get a drink, buddy?" his voice rumbled near your ear, more of a command than a suggestion as Bradley's eyes shot up over your shoulder to the shadow looming there and nodded quickly, retreating.

"Aww" you pouted sarcastically as you turned around. "He was nice, we were having fun!"

You met Mattheo's eyes which were so dark they looked nearly jet black as they glared at you. Had he been jealous?

And like he could read your mind his lip twitched and he rolled his eyes.

"Even if he had a chance with you, which, let's be very clear, he doesn't, he wouldn't know what to do with it."

"And, let me guess, you would?" you asked teasingly.

"Care to find out?" he asked matter-of-factly.

You felt a wave wash over you from your head to your toes, your body tingling with his proximity, with the way his eyes met yours directly, unfaltering despite the myriad distractions around him.

Gods yes you thought, even as you bit your bottom lip, teetering on the edge of a decision you knew you couldn't come back from.

His eyes shamelessly fell to your lips and you suddenly realized that his hands had never left you as they flexed at your waist, his fingers pressing into your skin like he was holding onto you for purchase.

"C'mon" he said, not waiting for a coherent reply from you, which you may never have been able to form had he kept looking at you that way.

His hands left your body only long enough to tangle his fingers in yours and hold them tightly, pulling you behind him as he headed into the sea of bodies on the dance floor, weaving between some as others offered him a wide berth and a congratulations when they realized who he was.

Then, like he was moving in slow motion, he turned to face you, twining your fingers further in his as he pulled you into him, guiding your hand over his shoulder so you were flush to his chest, and his other hand found your waist again, his grip firm and unyielding as he held you to him as if you would argue or try to be anywhere but right here.

You could feel every dip and curve of his body against yours as you moved against each other in a way that felt perfect and also not nearly enough, even though you couldn't get any closer.

You let the hand on his shoulder wander to the back of his neck, your fingers tangling into the curls there and even though the music was loud enough that you could barely hear yourself think, you could feel as much as hear the growl that released in his chest as his hands tightened on you in a way you were certain would leave a bruise.

The lights flickered for just a second, and a few people stopped dancing and shouted but his eyes never left yours, the only acknowledgement he offered, a small grimace on his face, which made you want to kiss his lips back into his irritatingly perfect smirk.

He leaned in, pressing his cheek to yours as his lips hovered to your ear.

"You look stunning, Mrs. Riddle."

He leaned back and you could see his signature smirk gracing his lips again. You opened your mouth to reply as your eyes met his, but your head was swimming at this point. Everything was him all at once, his body against yours, taught and warm to your touch, his breath on you that smelled like cinnamon gum, his cologne, you felt yourself melting into him at his words, closing the only remaining inches between your hips as your hands came to his face and your noses brushed — and then the lights went out in earnest, drowning you in complete darkness.

"Fuck" you heard him mutter strongly before grasping your hand in his as he started to pull you through the imperceptible forms of people who were yelling and shouting, blazing a path through them, pushing people aside brusquely where necessary. He was on a war path and your feet moved quicky to follow him as he cleared most of the crowd and headed directly for the boys dormitory.

He pulled you into a maze of adjoining corridors before swiping his hand causing an approaching door to fly open as he pulled you in behind him. You were barely through it before he swiped his hand again and it slammed closed behind you, forcefully, the energy pouring off of him in a way that reminded you just how strong of a wizard he was, and exactly why absolutely nobody fucked with him.

He turned to you finally, his chest rising and falling as he gripped your waist and pushed you gently against the closed door with a thud. He let his other hand rest beside your head, caging you in. The look of lust on his face was still there, tangled with the same grimace from before, like he was angry, like he was holding something in.

"Mattheo...?" you whispered and he ducked his head away from you, his eyes squeezing shut as the hand at your waist squeezed again, the touch sending an electric tingle up your side that made you gasp.

His gaze came back to you and then he was leaning in, his nose brushing yours again and your hands came to wind around his neck. You caught a glimpse of a smile on his lips as they hovered over yours, barely grazing them, and you could feel static electricity there between you, the air itself alight with energy, vibrating. The temptation was driving you mad, your chest visibly rising and falling against his own and then his lips fell to yours, warm, soft and urgent.

He took your face in his hands and pressed you into the door and you hummed against him. The lights in the room flickered once, then twice, and then rapidly like you were in a horror film before they went out completely, drenching you both in a velvet darkness that was somehow welcoming, like you could feel the shadows themselves dancing over your body, caressing you, enveloping you.

You felt his tongue against your bottom lip and you opened up to him. Your tongued flicked against his and a freezing gust of wind blew papers, books and quills off his desk, hurling them to the ground with a clatter and bang. Mattheo never stopped, his tongue continued to glide over yours and he kissed you like it was the last godsdamn thing he'd ever do.

He hoisted you up so your legs wrapped around his waist and he pressed you back into the door before releasing your lips just long enough to trail kisses down your jaw to your neck that he lavished in a way you were certain there would be a violet bruise in the morning.

Your eyes fluttered in pleasure, lost in him for a moment until you caught sight of the room around you and you froze.

It was midnight black but for the moonlight coming through the window which cast everything in a ghostly shade of white, but what caught your eye was that every object in the room was floating, adrift in the air, the bed, the desk, the bookshelf, all hovering feet off the ground. Lightweight objects like clothing, quills and his books floated higher and higher and then you realized that it was cold enough to see your breath in front of you.

"Mattheo" you breathed, trying to get his attention. Your hand carded through his curls and the chair in the corner took flight.

Wait. Was this him?

"Mrs. Riddle?" he murmured in your neck.

"Mattheo" you said again, a stronger urgency in your voice causing him to relent and look up at you with a puff of air of his own.

"Fuck" he said. "It's – yeah. That's me. Well, that's you actually."

"What?"

"S'no secret that my magic is ... strong. And I'm well practiced at controlling it. With... one exception."

He took your hand and placed it over his chest where you could feel his heart hammering.

You searched his eyes and his eyebrow quirked until he gestured to his room. As if to say 'see?'

This boy had quite literally lost his control at your touch.

"Wait, the lights? The music?" you asked, a small smile on your lips at the realization.

"When you touched me, I just—" he shook his head, exhaling another puff of cold air. "—See what you do to me, Mrs. Riddle?" he said.

"Gods, when are you going to stop calling me that?" you laughed, even as you looked at him and traced a finger over his lips.

"When it's true" he said simply.

You looked confused for a moment until he leaned into you again, his magic radiating off of him.

"What?" you breathed.

"When you're mine, and it's official and I won't have to spend all of my free time reminding everyone you're mine, they'll know. Until then, I'll hedge my bets."

He kissed you.

"Mmpf, but what if I didn't want you to stop?" you murmured against him.

He pulled back to look at you, scanning your face for any sign of a joke, and finding none as your eyes connected with his and his lip quirked in a smile.

"Well, princess,” he whispered against your lips, ghosting them with his, teasing you before biting your bottom lip gently in a way that sent a shiver through you that had nothing to do with the freezing air.

“Whatever Mrs. Riddle wants—” he murmured, kissing you fully, luxuriously, “—Mrs. Riddle gets.”

ˋ°•*⁀➷ EPILOGUE

taglist: @kenjikishimotoswifey @mattiesgf @sleepiibunniiii @darlingshecried @girllblogging777 @foivetimesacharm @clar2aa @broadwaybaby123 @slytherinscreamqueen @chelawrites @loverliner

[stellaspectral]

I have two requests, both with the Bayverse turtles. This is the second one:

Raphael x Female Reader.

Fluff. Lots of Fluff. With some introspection too maybe? Extrovert Grumpy (Raph) x Introvert Sunshine (Reader).

I was thinking of something that would focus on their blooming relationship but seen through the eyes of Leo, Donnie, and Mikey. Or just one of them of your choice if this request gets too long. It's the first time they've seen Raph act so soft, sweet, and calm and awkward around someone and they'll definitely have a lot of thoughts going on in their heads about it. And maybe a lot of teasing too ;). Thank you so much in advance if you decide to write it!

A/N: Hello, anon! To be honest, I wasn’t sure whose POV of Raph and the reader’s relationship to write in. But it seems I ended up gravitating towards Leo the most. Though the other two still have commentary, of course.

Enjoy! 💖

Drawn to You (fluff)

❤️ Bayverse Raphael/Female Reader ❤️

CWs: Fluff, soft/awkward Raph, implied crush/pining, brotherly teasing. All characters are aged-up.

You’re curled up on the couch in the lair, nestled deep into the cushions, sketchbook open on your lap. The paper is smooth under your pencil as you draw one of the graffiti markings on the wall opposite you. You add a final flourish to the spray-painted tag you’ve replicated, tilting your head to admire your work.

Suddenly, the lair’s entrance tunnel echoes with boisterous sounds. Footsteps herald the return of the turtles from whatever topside excursion they were on. You instinctively snuggle a little tighter into the couch, a cheerful smile tugging at your lips.

The first one who enters is Leo, already mid-sentence, gesturing emphatically. “… and I told you the grappling hook wouldn’t hold on that gargoyle, Donnie, but did you listen? Nooo.”

Donnie follows, looking mildly exasperated. “My calculations indicated a 93.9% structural integrity probability. Clearly, the masonry was older than I initially thought.”

Mikey comes in last, practically vibrating. “Dude, did you see that flip Leo almost didn’t stick? Epic fail waiting to happen, bro!”

Last comes Raph. He enters more quietly than usual, rubbing the back of his thick neck, his usual post-patrol scowl firmly in place. His eyes scan the lair, likely checking if Splinter is meditating nearby. Then they land on you.

And something shifts.

It’s subtle, almost imperceptible if you didn’t know him. But from the entryway, where his brothers have paused their bickering to shed their gear, the change is glaringly obvious.

Leo stops mid-gesticulation, his eyes widening slightly. He nudges Donnie, who adjusts his glasses purely out of habit, and raises a questioning brow ridge. Mikey just freezes, his usual bouncy energy stilling as he watches.

Raph’s shoulders, typically tense and ready for action, visibly relax. The deep V of his scowl softens, not quite disappearing, but smoothing out into something almost … hesitant. He takes a step towards the living area, then another, his heavy footfalls strangely muted on the floor. He seems to be actively trying not to stomp.

He stops a few feet away from the couch, his enormous frame suddenly looking a little awkward in the open space. He clears his throat, a low rumble that’s much softer than his usual volume. “Hey,” he says, his voice rough but lacking its typical edge. “You, uh, good?”

You look up, beaming at him. The brightness of your smile seems to physically hit him; he blinks, shifting his weight. “Hey, Raph! Yeah, I’m great. Just drawing.” You hold up your sketchbook. “How was the patrol?”

“Uh, fine. Usual.” He glances towards the graffiti you were drawing, then back at your face. There’s a flicker of something warm in his eyes, a stark contrast to the ‘ready-to-rumble’ look he usually sports. “Looks good.” He takes another step closer, peering over your shoulder, but careful not to crowd you. There’s an uncharacteristic gentleness in his proximity.

Meanwhile, by the entrance, a quiet conversation is happening.

“Dude, look at him,” Mikey whispers, pointing with a slight nod of his head. “He’s doing ‘the thing’ again.”

“Define ‘the thing’,” Donnie begins. “His heightened state of peripheral awareness when she’s present? His decreased vocalizations? The slight, almost imperceptible softening of his default scowl?”

“All of it, brainiac!” Mikey whisper-shouts. “He looks like a big, shy puppy trying to ask for pets without barking too loud.”

Leo, leaning against the wall nearby, arms crossed, watches with a more measured expression. He’s noticed it too, of course. How could he not? Raphael, his brother who communicates primarily through grunts, glares, and the occasional explosive outburst, becomes … subdued around you. Gentle. It’s baffling.

And, Leo has to admit, a little heartwarming.

Donnie pushes his glasses up again. “Fascinating. Physiologically, his respiration rate appears elevated, but his aggressive posturing shows a significant reduction. Perhaps a neurochemical response triggered by proximity to a preferred individual?”

“Or maybe,” Mikey stage-whispers, leaning closer to his brothers, “he liiiikes her!”

Back by the couch, Raph shifts again, his gaze locked on the sketchbook page. He points at a specific detail in your drawing. “You got the … the little flicky bit there just right. The way the paint kinda dripped.” He clears his throat again. “How’d you get so good at this?”

“Years of practice,” you say, offering him another warm smile. “Want to see the others I did?”

His head snaps up, eyes wide for a fraction of a second, that warmth flickering more brightly. “Uh … yeah. Sure. If you wanna show me.” He moves closer but doesn’t sit. His gaze drifts from the sketchbook back to your face, lingering for just a moment longer than strictly necessary.

Across the room, hidden partially by the archway leading to the dojo, the espionage continued.

“See? SEE?” Mikey whispers. “He’s leaning! Like, actually leaning in to look at her drawings! Raph never leans! He looms. Or glares.”

Donnie analyzes the scene. “Observation: Raphael’s typical personal space boundary appears significantly reduced in relation to her. Approximately 45 centimeters closer than his baseline average with non-familial individuals. Also, note the lack of fidgeting typically associated with his impatience. Instead, he exhibits micro-shifts indicative of … social anxiety? Or perhaps, contentment?”

“It’s called being smitten, Donnie,” Leo supplies, pushing off the wall. Casually, he saunters closer to you and Raph, ostensibly to put away his katanas. But truthfully, he’s only positioning himself for a better view.

“Never thought I’d see the day Raph looked like he was afraid of scaring someone just by breathing too hard,” Donnie murmurs.

“He asked how she got good at drawing,” Mikey adds, eyes wide with dramatic effect. “He usually just grunts and says ‘cool’ if he likes something. He used words. Multiple words! In a question!”

Back at the couch, you’re flipping through the pages of your sketchbook. Raph remains standing, his large hands clasped loosely behind his back, a pose that looks strangely formal and uncertain on his powerful frame. He’s genuinely looking at each sketch, his brow furrowed in concentration, not anger.

“This one’s the mural down by the old noodle shop,” you explain, pointing to a vibrant, detailed reproduction. “And this is that little stencil someone keeps putting on the mailboxes near the park …”

“Yeah … know that one,” Raph mumbles, his gaze flicking up to meet yours for a second before darting back to the page. That warmth is definitely there, a banked fire behind his usual tough-guy facade. “You … uh … you really capture the … the feel of ‘em.”

“He’s complimenting her artistic interpretation,” Donnie murmurs, sounding genuinely astonished. “The probability of Raph using such nuanced appreciation is statistically infinitesimal under normal circumstances. This deviation is remarkable.”

“Translation: Raph’s got it BAD!” Mikey giggles, barely containing himself.

It’s Leo’s cue. He finishes securing his swords and wanders over to the couch area, stretching nonchalantly. “Hey, Raph,” he calls out, his voice deliberately casual but loud enough to carry. “Everything alright? You look a little flushed. Feeling okay?”

Raph visibly tenses. His head snaps towards Leo, the soft expression vanishing, replaced by a familiar annoyed glare. “I’m fine, Leo. Just … lookin’ at sketches.” The last part comes out defensive.

“Oh yeah?” Leo stops near the armrest, peering over Raph’s shoulder, mimicking his earlier pose but with deliberate exaggeration. “Whatcha got there? Wow, Raph’s right, these are amazing! You really captured the … spray-e-ness.” He gives Raph a pointed look.

You smile up at Leo. “Thank you.”

Raph shifts uncomfortably, caught between your presence and his brother’s obvious teasing. He shoots Leo a warning look that clearly reads, ‘Don’t push it’.

Mikey, never one to miss an opportunity, comes over. “Ooh, lemme see! Wowzers! Raph, you never told us she was this talented! Usually, you just grunt about stuff.” He grins cheekily. “Guess some things make you wanna use your words, huh?”

A faint reddish tinge creeps up Raph’s neck. “Shut it, Mikey.”

Finally, Donnie approaches. “Indeed. Raph’s verbal communication frequency increases by approximately 35% in her presence, correlating with a decrease in aggressive posturing by nearly 50%. Fascinating psycho-social dynamics are at play.”

“Donnie!” Raph snaps, turning fully towards his brothers now, creating a partial shield between them and you. It’s a protective gesture as much as a defensive one. “Can’t you go … I dunno … invent somethin’ or annoy Splinter?”

“Aw, but Raph,” Mikey whines playfully, leaning around him to beam at you, “we just wanna hang out! Like you’re hanging out! Looking at pretty drawings.” His gaze flicks meaningfully between you and Raph.

You look between the brothers, catching the teasing undercurrent and noticing Raph’s struggle to maintain his composure. A small, amused smile tugs at your mouth. You reach out tentatively and pat Raph’s arm, feeling the muscle beneath twitch slightly at the contact.

“It’s okay, Raph,” you assure softly. “I don’t mind showing them.” You look back at your sketchbook. “Maybe you guys could even give me ideas for what to draw next?”

The effect on Raph is instantaneous. His glare softens again as he looks down at you, the tension visibly draining from his shoulders. The slight flush on his neck deepens, and the anger has dissipated, replaced by that familiar, flustered awkwardness. He clears his throat again. “Uh … yeah. S-sure. If … if you want.”

Leo, Donnie, and Mikey exchange looks. Whiplash. One gentle touch, a few soft words from you, and Volcano Raphael is dormant once more.

Leo can’t help the grin that spreads across his face. Oh yeah; this was definitely unfamiliar territory. And watching Raph navigate it, with all the grace of a tank trying to tiptoe through a minefield, was going to be endlessly entertaining. Regardless, he steers Donnie and Mikey away to give you and Raph some space.

“Did you see that?” Mikey whispers dramatically, eyes sparkling. “Poof! Grumpy gone!”

Raph lets out a breath as his brothers retreat towards the kitchen, their voices fading but their knowing glances still palpable. He visibly deflates, the tension leaving his body in a rush, but he remains standing.

“So,” you prompt gently, tapping your pencil against the sketchbook. “Ideas?”

He glances around the lair, eyes snagging on a training dummy, then the weapons rack, before finally landing back on your sketchbook. “Maybe … maybe you could draw … you know that bit of wall near the docks? The one where the bricks are all busted up and kinda looks like a face if you squint?”

You tilt your head, picturing it. “Oh, yeah! With the really deep cracks running through it? I know the one.”

“Yeah. That.” He gestures vaguely with one hand. “It’s kinda cool. Looks tough. Like it’s been through stuff.” He seems pleased with his own description, though his gaze flicks nervously towards the kitchen, checking if his brothers overheard.

From the kitchen doorway, Mikey leans out, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Ooh, busted bricks! How romantic, Raph! Maybe she can draw a little heart graffiti next to it?”

Raph whirls around, a low growl rumbling in his chest. “Mikey! I swear—”

“Easy, you two,” Leo’s voice drifts from deeper within the kitchen.

Raph clenches his fists, his neck flushing that familiar red again. But then he catches your eye. You’re watching him, not with fear, but with a patient, amused expression. He forces himself to take another deep breath, turning back towards you. The growl subsides, though his jaw remains tight.

“Ignore them,” you say, offering a reassuring smile. “I like that idea. The texture of those old bricks would be interesting to capture.” You flip to a fresh page in your sketchbook, wanting to get Raph involved. “Show me again where the cracks look like a face?”

His anger drains away almost comically fast. He steps closer, bending at the waist to peer at your blank page. He hesitates, then lifts a finger, hovering it just above the paper, careful not to touch. “Okay, so … the big crack goes down here, like this …” He traces the shape in the air above the page. “And there’s these smaller bits that kinda … yeah, like eyes. And the busted bit at the bottom looks like a grumpy mouth.”

He’s leaning closer now, his usual intimidating presence softened by his focused explanation. You can feel the warmth radiating from him, smell the faint scent of the city night still clinging to his gear. He’s completely absorbed in describing the broken wall, his voice losing some of its earlier hesitation.

“Grumpy mouth, huh?” you muse, sketching lightly based on his description. “Sounds appropriate.”

He glances up, meeting your eyes directly for a solid second. The warmth there flares, intense and unguarded, before he quickly looks back down at the sketchbook. “Yeah. Guess so.”

You continue sketching, adding details as he describes them. He stays close, watching the image appear on the page. A few more details he points out include a loose wire hanging nearby, and a specific pattern of moss. He’s surprisingly observant.

Meanwhile, back in the kitchen, the others continue their own observation at a lower volume.

“He’s practically an art historian now,” Mikey says, his voice full of suppressed laughter. “Describing moss patterns! Who knew Raph noticed moss?”

“Or maybe,” Leo murmurs, leaning beside Donnie, arms still crossed, “he just actually wants to talk to her.” He keeps his voice low, not wanting to break the weirdly calm bubble that seems to have formed around the couch.

You finish the rough sketch of the brick wall face, holding it up. “Like this?”

Raph leans in again. He’s closer now, close enough that you could probably count the scars on his face if you wanted to. “Yeah,” he says, his voice dropping even lower, almost a rumble. “Looks good.” He doesn’t pull back immediately this time, his gaze lingering on the drawing, then flicking up to meet yours again.

But then he seems to realize how close he is and moves back half a step, a faint pinkness rising on his cheeks this time.

“They almost touched noses!” Mikey whisper-squeals from the kitchen, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Proximity threshold breached and self-corrected,” Donnie observes.

Leo just shakes his head, a wry smile touching his lips. Donnie could analyze the shell off a turtle, but even he couldn’t miss the obvious: Raph is head over heels.

You flip to another blank page. “Any other cool spots you think would make good sketches?”

Raph hesitates, glancing around the lair again as if searching for inspiration that isn’t potentially embarrassing. His gaze falls upon the worn-out punching bag in his room. “Maybe the bag?” he suggests, rubbing the back of his neck again. “Got a lot of … history.”

It’s a simple object, beat-up and functional, but the way he suggests it feels oddly personal, like he’s offering a small piece of himself.

Leo watches you and Raph. You’re smiling, considering the punching bag with genuine interest. Raph looks at you as you watch the bag, his expression a strange mix of hopeful and apprehensive. The usual storm cloud that follows Raph seems to have dissipated, replaced by this uncertain, almost sunny humidity. It’s weird.

Good weird, mostly, Leo thinks.

Donnie and Mikey look at Leo expectantly, waiting for the punchline. The teasing remark. But Leo looks past them, back towards the couch. Raph sees him, his shoulders tensing again as he braces for the usual barrage. He glances from Leo, back to you, then to Leo with a silent plea in his eyes.

And, for once, Leo listens. He sees the vulnerability there, the raw awkwardness that his brother tries so hard to hide behind muscle and scowls. He’s navigating something new, something that doesn’t involve fists or threats, and he’s doing it clumsily. But he’s doing it.

Leo catches his eyes from across the room. He gives Raph the smallest, almost imperceptible nod that says, I see you. It’s alright. Then Leo turns to his other brothers, lowering his voice. “Alright. Squad, you’re dismissed.”

Mikey opens his mouth to protest, probably armed with a dozen heart-related puns.

“Now,” Leo orders, cutting him off with a look that says I mean it. “Let the big guy breathe. Go sort your gear or something.”

Donnie raises a brow but nods slowly, seemingly accepting the logic of allowing the current social experiment to proceed without further variables. Mikey pouts but follows Donnie, muttering something about ‘mood killers’ and ‘romantic potential.’ Leo leans back against the counter, crossing his arms.

You’re sketching the punching bag, asking Raph about a specific tear near the top. He’s answering, his voice still low, leaning in again, pointing with that same hesitant finger. He looks … quiet. Focused. Almost peaceful.

It’s a side of Raph Leo rarely sees. The fighter, the hothead—that’s the Raph they all know. But this Raph, the one who describes moss patterns and gets flustered by a smile, is new. For Leo, it’s actually kind of nice to see his younger brother soften, even just for a little while.

Perhaps Raph wasn’t just doing ‘the thing,’ as Mikey put it. Maybe he was just being Raphael.

And maybe that isn’t such a bad thing.

[g1rld1ary]

high stakes & high seas - pirate!james potter x princess!reader

wc: 3111 summary: you get kidnapped by a pirate crew as political leverage and meet the ship's charming captain me: a late addition to fantasy/mythology au for @acourtofchaos festival! took me a little longer than expected as i have a few assignments still going on but wanted to get this out!!! i have many more ideas for this pairing so they will probably pop up again soon...

The sun was all encompassing, warming your skin as you sat on the bow of the ship, feet dangling in the air. The waves occasionally brushed your uncovered feet, but you were in too good of a mood to mind. You could see dark clouds out in the distance, threatening to ruin your afternoon, but you’d deal with that when they arrived.

You looked back over your shoulder to the crew working on the ship, members of your family, of course, nowhere to be seen, too afraid to ‘ruin their complexion’. You shared no such worries.

You were, to be fair, a bit of a black sheep in your family. The only sibling who wasn’t vying for the crown, the only child who didn’t believe in the same ideology as your parents, the only one not utterly obsessed with your outward appearance. You assumed that all of your family members were currently hiding away in the dark, musing on their own alleged superiority.

When you looked back out to the horizon, the storm clouds were significantly closer, along with the outline of a ship headed straight towards you. It was unusual for ships to come straight at you — typically, when they saw your kingdom’s flag, they gave you space out of respect for your family. This ship, though, seemed not only unafraid but to be heading straight towards you.

Shit.

It seemed everyone on board put the pieces together at the same time, the crew springing into action. The helmsman tried to steer your ship out of the other’s course whilst a deckhand pulled you onto your feet, ushering you back towards your quarters.

The other ship was close approaching, if you looked back over your shoulder, you were sure you’d see the figures on the foreign deck, but you didn’t have time for that. Rain was already sprinkling over you, and you could tell you were in for a much wilder storm.

You stumbled over the hem of your gown, falling onto your hands and knees with an emphatic thud, scrambling to get back up and keep going. You were desperately trying to open the door to the cabins and quarters, rattling the handle with trembling hands.

“Everybody stop,” A booming voice made everyone freeze, your blood running cold, hand still lingering on the brass door handle. You turned slowly, eyes wide as you took in the sight in front of you.

The other ship had pulled up right next to yours, no doubt scratching the expensive paint and detailing that would have your parents moaning and whining for days — never mind the fact that someone could very well die in the next few moments.

Standing up on the railing of the deck was a pirate, illuminated by a dramatic thunder crack and lightning strike, making him appear a looming figure over the rest of the ship.

“What do you want?” The captain pushed through the crowd of skittish crew members, “If it’s money, just name a price. We’ll happily comply to ensure everybody’s safety.” You noticed how he purposefully avoided mentioning the royal family.

The man waved him off with a far-too-casual air, the flimsy hand gesture almost insulting. How could he not want money? He was a pirate, and this was a royal ship; it was probably the grand prize of pillaging on the ocean!

“Money’s not our object,” The man said, landing lightly on the wood floor of the deck, making hardly a noise considering his thick brown boots. The rest of the crew took an involuntary step back, intimidated by the man’s unnerving calmness.

“Then… what is?” The captain stuttered, hand hovering nervously over his sword.

“Her.” The man looked squarely at you, long finger raised at the point between your eyes. You gasped quietly, backing yourself flat against the wall in an attempt to shrink into nothing.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you have that, sir.” The air became thick on deck, unperturbed by the rain pouring over you all. The crew were all on edge now, seemingly preparing for a fight. The man’s cool expression hadn’t changed, save for one raised eyebrow.

“Shame,” He said, looking around at the circle your crew had made around him, “I’m not quite used to not getting what I want.” Then he whistled, long and crystal clear even through the rain.

Suddenly, figures came from all directions, swinging from their masts, climbing up the side of the boat. You didn’t know what to do, you weren’t equipped for combat! Plus, the door was clearly jammed, and you didn’t think there were any other ways to get off the deck.

The fight was dynamic but surprisingly clean. The pirates seemed hesitant to cause any injuries, merely tying most of the crew up against the mast or deck railing, clearing their path to you. You didn’t think you were a freeze kind of girl, you’d expected flight at the very least. But there you were, stuck in your place, feet sinking into the rough wood below you.

Through the chaos, you saw the pirate captain set his eyes on you again, the hint of a smile on his lips. As if in slow motion, he all but strutted toward you, direct path unperturbed by the fighting going on around him. Another lightning strike hit as if on cue, illuminating him so you could see the glowing amber flecks in his eyes, otherwise shadowed by his tricorn hat, drooping in a roguish way, no doubt weighed down by the heavy rain. You could feel your own hair plastered to your face and neck from the same cause.

The man didn’t waver as he stepped into your personal space, his eyes saying everything his mouth didn’t need to. You stared up at him with wide eyes, chest heaving from adrenaline and anxiety, lips slightly agape. Your hands stayed stuck to the timber wall behind you, like it was going to save you.

It seemed like an age that you stayed like that, you too scared and he too intense to move. Finally, finally, he spoke.

“You’re prettier than your portrait,” He said, eyes raking over your figure. You shrank further under his gaze, suddenly self-conscious. That wasn’t what you expected.

“What do you want from me?” You managed, searching his eyes for any deeper meaning. You didn’t sense malice or bloodlust, which at least soothed you a little.

“Just your company, your highness. See if you’re as sweet as you look.” He smiled, revealing blinding teeth. Then, like an afterthought, added “And the leverage you give me over your parents, but that’s secondary, of course.”

“You won’t get anything out of my parents,” You said through gritted teeth, body finally catching up to your terrified mind. You moved to run, but the man caught you before you could take a step, gripping both your shoulders in his large hands.

“I thought we were going to be friends,” He pouted, voice dripping with sarcastic upset, “We can do this the hard way, but remember it was your own choice.” The captain hoisted you up over his shoulder with strong arms. You’d long lost your panic response and were thrashing, kicking and demanding him to put you down, using every trick in your book. Nothing worked.

“I don’t even have shoes on, you animal!” You yelled, smacking your hands against his back. The man didn’t so much as flinch, but you felt his head move against your hip, looking for someone.

“Moony!” He yelled, and a tall man tying rope knots around the helmsman looked up. “Go get the girl some shoes, will you?” ‘Moony’ sighed and rolled his eyes, but moved nonetheless, and you heard the distinct sound of a door being kicked in as the man carrying you laughed.

You stopped by the edge of the boat, where the man hesitated before setting you down. His hand remained around your waist, not painful but a reminder that you had nowhere to run.

“Get on,” He said, gesturing down to his ship, a metre or two below. The jump worried you, you weren’t exactly known for your athleticism — which princess was?

“No.” You crossed your arms petulantly, planting your feet into the wooden planks of the deck.

“Get on,” He repeated, voice hardening as you resisted.

“No!” You exclaimed, trying your best to shrug yourself out of his grip, to no avail.

“Now.” The captain’s voice was hard, irritation present. Good, you thought, the man kidnapping you deserved some annoyance at the very least.

“Make m—” The hand resting firmly on your waist span you so you were facing the captain, his hand covering your mouth.

“Trust me, love. You don’t want to finish that sentence.” You were pressed up against his body, practically moulding together in your soaked clothes. Fear coursed through your body at his authoritative tone, looking up at him through your lashes, heart beating out of your chest.

The captain, too, seemed affected by the proximity, grip on you loosening momentarily as he stared down at you. Being put in your place had reduced your bravery, though, and you dutifully followed down into the other ship, heart sinking into your feet as reality began to set in.

The ship was nice, though not nearly as lavish as your own. You were shown to a small, simple room, with just one bed, an empty chest and a window.

You were left to your own devices for what felt like hours, but really could have been mere minutes. There was nothing to do. The window only opened a sliver, so you couldn’t have escaped if you tried, though climbing out of it would surely lead to an untimely death; nothing but rough waters below.

You’d been deeply engaged in staring at the plain wall when your first visitor came, the tall scarred man from before, his hands full.

“I brought you some things,” He said, making sure he closed the door behind him as he approached. “Shoes, of course, but I thought you might want to get out of your wet dress.”

“Thank you,” You said earnestly, but you couldn’t help the shakiness in your voice. You were one more act of kindness away from bursting into tears. “Who are you?”

“You can call me Moony.” He gave you a polite smile, the scar that ran across his upper lip contorting. “Our crew are called the Marauders. They’re really nice blokes once you get to know them. I know they seem scary.”

“And the brute that hauled me over his shoulder?” Moony laughed, shaking his head in exasperation.

“That would be our captain. Prongs. Goes about things in interesting ways sometimes, but he’s a good man. I don’t reckon he’d want to hurt you.”

“Fills me with confidence,” You spat, throwing yourself back into the mattress. Not as soft as your own, but that wasn’t uncommon.

“I should go,” He said, already halfway out the door, “I don’t think Prongs’ll be happy if he knows I’m talking to his asset.”

“Pardon?” You yelled after him, utterly affronted. An asset? You were worth much more than that.

A few hours later, you were visited again. The prettiest man you’d ever seen in your life was at the door, raking his eyes over you hungrily.

“What?” You snapped, upset when the man laughed.

“Fiesty, hey? Just how we like them. C’mon, princess: dinner time.” He dragged you by your arm out into the corridor, not giving you any time to adjust to the change in light.

“Who are you?” You struggled against his hold, brushing yourself off with self-importance as he finally relented, keeping close enough to grab you if you ran.

“I’m Padfoot, better get used to this face, darling. You’ll be here a while.”

“What is wrong with this ship? Do you all have such ridiculous names?” You huffed, stumbling as Padfoot pulled you around a corner.

“Hope you don’t bring this attitude to dinner, Prongs doesn’t tolerate disrespect.” He was laughing, but there was a shade of warning present in his words.

“You seriously expect me to dine with a pirate?” Your eyes blew wide into saucers, the idea the definition of ridiculous. You were a princess! Princesses simply did not dine with pirates, not ever.

“You might be a princess, but that means nothing here. You’re nothing here.” You got the distinct impression that Padfoot had a personal problem with royalty. “So call it dinner, or call it kindness that we aren’t required to extend. Call it your only chance to stay alive until morning.”

“I would rather starve,” You spat, wrenching your arm out of his grip again. Of the few pirates you’d met today, you were sure Padfoot was your least favourite.

Turning into the door Padfoot had led you to, the captain, Prongs, was waiting for you, already invading your personal space again.

“Then you’ll starve beside me, Princess. I’m not hungry either.”

It was just the two of you in the room; you thought it might have been his office, but the lighting was dim, and it was hard to make out the details.

Two plates of food sat between you, but neither of you moved. Clearly, you matched him for stubbornness.

“What’s your name?” You asked, keeping intense eye contact, “Your real name. Not the bullshit nicknames I keep getting.” Prongs huffed a laugh, amused at your bad mood.

“Captain James Potter, at your service.” He tipped his goblet of wine toward you in a lazy toast.

“And what do you want from me, James Potter?”

“What I want from you isn’t appropriate to discuss over a nice dinner,” He said, eyes giving you another once over. A shiver shot up your spine. “But what I need from you, princess, is your leverage. I want things your parents can give, but they won’t give them unless they receive something in return.”

“Smart, I suppose,” You mumbled, eyes catching on the actually delicious-looking meal, “But what could you want that would warrant you kidnapping me for it?”

“Don’t you worry your pretty little mind about that, princess. I expect the king and queen will arrange for my demands to be met by the time we get to port.” James gave you a smile, one that felt real, and your outlook changed on him. Just a little.

“And how long will that be?”

“About a week or so, if all goes to plan,” He replied, messing with his hair, drawing your eyes up to examine the unruly curls.

“Do things typically go to plan?” You cocked your head to the side and James didn’t know if you were being genuine or not.

“Do you always ask this many questions?” He mocked your cadence, “And almost unfailingly.” You got the distinct impression he was lying to you, but his smile was so charming you didn’t think it was too terrible.

In a moment of silence, your stomach rumbled, and James’ eyes lit up with amusement.

“Come on, princess, eat with me. Is it really so terrible to dine with a pirate?” You hesitated for a moment, examining James thoroughly.

“I suppose not,” You conceded, shyly picking a first bite.

You and James ate in mostly silence, the mood scarily intimate with the singular candle between you.

“Is it nice?” He broke the silence first, and you were surprised at the genuine tone.

“Yes, yes!” You added a touch more enthusiasm than came naturally, unsure why you cared about how James felt, “It’s really delicious.” You weren’t lying, it really was good. Your family never ate anything comforting. Food was purely for show or for nutrition, perfectly portioned plates with the exact amount of sustenance you each required. Of course, it was prepared well by royal chefs, but it was nothing compared to the plate piled high in front of you, with food that warmed you as you swallowed.

When both your plates were empty, James stood.

“You’ve had a hard day, you must be exhausted. I’ll accompany you back to your quarters.”

“What, to make sure I don’t kill myself?” You joked, but James looked at you seriously.

“Precisely. Or kill one of my mates. You might have a pretty face, but I know there’s some darkness in there, princess.” You only smiled once James did, sure it was at least a half-joke.

You followed James closely, the shadows all looking scarier in the darkness of night.

“Is your room okay? Do you need anything?” James asked, looking down at you with hazel eyes.

“It’s fine, thank you.” You moved to turn away, but he caught you by your waist, pulling you back to him. You stumbled with the surprise, hand flying up against James’ chest to stabilise yourself. You both froze, feeling the other in much closer quarters than was appropriate for a princess and a pirate.

“I just — I was just going to say… This isn’t about you, I hope you know. I don’t want this to be painful, so let me know if I can do anything to make it better for you. I need you here to make things better for a lot of people.” You looked at James for a long moment, changing before your eyes again. You couldn’t decide whether he was terrible or lovely. He kidnapped you, yet seemed like he really cared about how you felt.

The boat rocked, throwing you against the door and James towards you, accidentally caging you in with his forearms. You gasped quietly, eyes wide again as you gazed up at him.

Slowly, silently, he brought a hand down, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear, letting his fingers follow the strands down to where they finished.

“Are you planning on sleeping over, captain?” You teased in an attempt to diffuse the tension. James sighed, running a hand down his face as he pushed himself away from you.

“I’ll leave you to your beauty sleep, princess.”

With that he was off, leaving an electrifying buzz in your chest and the simultaneous realisation that you were all alone in the middle of the ocean. The combination made for turbulent sleep.

[illyrianbitch]

And I'm Thinking About Your Lips

Pairing: Reader x Cassian

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

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

Word Count: 19k (a biggie!)

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

Part Two

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Rita's was loud.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We’re taking another round?” 

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

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

“Someone is getting hammered tonight."

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

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

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Okay, whatever."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're not too bad yourself."

You perked up a bit.

"Yeah?" you asked eagerly.

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

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

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

"But Cass and I-"

Mor whined.

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

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

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

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

You turned to face him, your body slightly swaying.

"See ya later, Commander."

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

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

Stop it. Cassian's brain scolded him.

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

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

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

His musings were abruptly interrupted by a chuckle from Azriel.

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

"What?"

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

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

Azriel down his drink before grabbing Cassian’s attention.

 "Let's get you another drink."

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. I couldn’t.”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Guess I didn’t.” You shrugged.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

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

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

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

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

"Gods. Your bed is so damn comfortable."

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

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

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

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

Good ideas be damned.

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

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

“Y/n?” 

You let out a deep breath. “Yes?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, how cute.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?” He whispered, his voice low.

“Thank you.”

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

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

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

Were you attracted to Cassian? 

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

"Enjoying the show, babe?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Y/n! Did you two…?"

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

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

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

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

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

Your cheeks burned brighter.

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

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

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

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

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

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

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

“He walked in shirtless!” You exclaimed, your voice still slightly covered by your hands running down your face. “Gods, I didn’t know what to do. I just kept shoving berries in my mouth. And then I kept trying to find a reason to touch him but I couldn’t.”

Feyre, who sat next to you with her legs to the side, comfortably nestled into the crook of the couch, leaned forward, looking at you with expectant eyes. “So what did you do?” She asked.

You shifted in your seat, avoiding eye contact by focusing on a loose thread on the couch. "I gave him a berry." Your voice was quiet. You spared Feyre a glance under your brow. When you saw her face crinkle in amusement, you quickly looked away, nervously twirling the thread between your fingers. It snapped quickly. 

From in front of you, Mor stared, her brows furrowed and mouth slightly parted. “You gave him… a berry?” She leaned back, a look of intrigue on her face.

You nodded slowly, aware of how lame it sounded. “Yes. I fed him a berry.” You said, looking up at her.

"And?" Feyre asked. 

You pursed your lips and glanced at her, and then bounced your vision around the room. There was a deep sense of embarrassment that bubbled in your stomach, a feeling that made you want to hide away. You were flustered, more than you had ever been, and it was due to your best friend shirtless in the kitchen. You felt like a schoolgirl with a crush— and it was humiliating. But looking at both of your friends, so eagerly sitting, you let out a breath and word-vomited them the truth. 

“And I’ve never been so aroused by someone's lips and the faint feeling of stubble! Gods, what do I do?” You lifted your hands up in exasperation, finding yourself sinking further into the couch. Crossing your arms, you huffed in frustration. Your cheeks flushed, and you could feel the heat radiating from them.

“I know what to do.”  Mor said, matter-of-factly. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You do?" Your hands dropped to your lap and you leaned forward.

"Yes. You need to get laid." Mor's tone was casual.

Your eyes widened. "W-What?" Your jaw dropped.

Mor only nodded her head affirmatively, jutting her chin out towards Feyre next to you. “She agrees.”

 You shot a look to Feyre, who stared at you with wide eyes. She gave you a sheepish smile. “I mean…” She trailed off, looking towards Mor for help. You followed her gaze and turned your head to the blonde once more. 

"We’re going to Ritas," Mor declared. She stood up, a confident sway to her hips as she moved towards the door.

"But we went last week," You protested. Mor stopped in her place and turned around to look at you with feigned innocence. 

"Oh, I’m sorry,” She said, bringing her delicate hand to her chest, “I didn’t realize it was illegal to go out two weekends in a row." 

You tilted your head and threw her an unamused look, but Mor only grinned at you. When you let out a defeated sigh and shook your head, she knew she had won and looked towards Feyre.

“Amren will come, too. It’ll be a girls night. Right, Fey?” 

Feyre smiled and turned to look at you, meeting your gaze. “Right.” She affirmed. She leaned forward, placing a soft hand on your bicep. “It’ll be fun.”

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

When the day began winding down, Mor returned from her apartment, arms heavy with dresses. She strolled into your room, Amren in tow, with the same grin from earlier. Looking towards where you and Feyre sat on your couch, she let out an excited squeal. “Tonight is going to be great.”

You glanced at Amren, who merely gave you a small quirk of her lips before planting herself down on the seat opposite of you, watching as Mor dumped her pile of clothes on your bed. 

You casted a glance at the pile of dresses, each with their own gorgeous vibrant color and delicate fabrics. You looked over at Mor. “Couldn’t decide on what to wear?” You mused. You pulled yourself up and walked towards her, examining the dresses on your bed. You brought the fabric of one between your fingers, feeling the delicate silk. 

Mor let out a laugh, bringing her hand to your arm. She looked at you with an amused glance. “Oh babe, these aren’t for me.” 

You frowned at her, and then your face fell. “Oh, these are for me?”

She nodded excitedly. Looking behind you towards Amren and Feyre. “Tell her how beautiful these would look on her.”

You didn’t look back, instead running your hands across the pile of elegant dresses. It wasn’t that you didn’t love them. Each dress was gorgeous in its own right, and if they belonged to Mor, you knew that they would look even better on– sexy, even. But you frowned slightly at the idea of dressing up to go to Rita’s with the goal of getting noticed. Unlike times before, it didn’t seem appealing. But perhaps you were overthinking. After all, the past two weeks had left you in your head too much. 

Feyre craned her head slightly, watching as you stared at the dresses. “They are beautiful, Y/n.” 

You let out a small sigh. This was good for you. Mor was right, you needed to get laid. You hadn’t fucked in a while. With all the tension and stress you’d been feeling, the worries about Koschei and impending doom, it made sense that your desires would manifest in someone familiar like Cassian, right? You nodded to yourself at the thought and then smiled. “Tell me which to try on first.”

You eyed the first dress Mor handed you. It was a stunning creation, soft and open, with a low neckline that hinted at just the right amount of allure. The fabric shimmered in the faelight of your room. As you slipped it on, the dress clung to your figure, accentuating curves you didn't always pay attention to. But it didn’t feel right. The straps felt a bit too loose, and as you turned to check yourself in the mirror, you realized the openness that had seemed so alluring was now making you uneasy.

Amren’s eyes narrowed. “No.” 

You nodded in agreement, tugging at the neckline. "Yeah, I think I’ll pass."

Feyre chimed in with a supportive smile. "Let's try the next one. Maybe it'll capture the right feeling. Yeah?” She turned her head to the side, motioning towards some dresses that Mor stood over as she sorted through them. Each dress was a different variation of red, Mor’s beautiful statement color and one that screamed confidence and grace. Surely Mor owned more than red, you thought. Why had she decided that you both were going to adorn her signature color tonight? You didn’t think too long about it, your gaze fixed on yourself in the mirror. 

After a few more desperate tries, and Amren’s decreasing confidence in Mor’s styling abilities, the blonde reached into the pile of dresses and pulled out a final dress that had you releasing a small gasp. The fabric was a deep, rich ruby red that seemed to absorb the light around it. As you slipped into the dress, the material clung to your curves, accentuating your silhouette. The neckline dipped low, revealing just enough to be tantalizing without feeling excessive, and you appreciated how naturally your breasts fell underneath it. The open back was a work of art, adorned with delicate jewels that cascaded down like a waterfall, drawing attention to the graceful curve of your spine.

You took a moment before looking at your friends. However, it was Amren specifically that you turned to for a decision, meeting her gaze. She let her eyes run down your figure before looking at you. The corners of her mouth tilted upwards as she gave you a small nod. “This is the one, girl.” 

Feyre and Mor watched as you turned to examine yourself in the mirror. The dress opened at the hips, showcasing your thighs and legs. The overall effect was breathtaking, a harmonious blend of elegance and desire. Mor's eyes lit up with satisfaction. "Gods, you look so sexy." 

You met Mor’s gaze in the mirror.  “No ones going to be able to take their eyes off you,” She gushed, “You’ll have your fair pick of females and males.” You let your mind drift off as Mor continued to babble, feeling Feyre’s hands running through your hair as she twirled the strands between her fingers, deciding how she wanted to help you style it. You took in your appearance in the mirror, eyes roaming over the dress once more, over how well it accentuated your body. It wasn’t until your gaze was drifting up that you noticed the figure in the doorway, your heart stopping. 

With a smirk playing on her lips, Amren’s voice rang out. "Hello, Cassian."

You, Feyre, and Mor turned in unison to the doorway, where Cassian stood  wide-eyed and still. He paled slightly and swallowed. You felt a flush creep up your neck, your hand flying to your collarbone in an anxious movement. Despite the confidence the perfect dress had given you moments ago, the presence of Cassian in the doorway had thrown you off balance. His eyes roamed your body, tracing where the dress fell at your feet up to its neckline, and all the skin it revealed. His wings twitched behind him, falling slightly. You rubbed at the spot that your hand lay at. 

Cassian, still caught off guard, stammered slightly. "I... uh, was just coming to see if you wanted to hang out." You felt your face soften, giving him a smile. Before you could respond, Mor waved him off dismissively.

 "Oh, sorry. She’s busy," she said with a tight smile. You casted a quick glance at her before giving your best friend an apologetic one. His gaze lingered on you, running up your figure once more– the heat in his gaze felt like it was lighting you on fire, and you bit the inside of your cheek. 

"I can see that.” He said. He cleared his throat. “So, uh, what's going on?" His eyes darted between the dresses thrown across your bed and to the girls surrounding you, each wearing beautiful, elegant gowns of their own. He didn’t miss the way Amren looked at him in amusement, or how her gaze trailed to you as she did so. 

Feyre looked between you two before answering. “It's girls night," she explained, “We’re going to Ritas.”

Mor, however, turned around with a large grin. "Y/n is getting laid tonight!" she announced with unabashed enthusiasm.

Cassian's eyes widened, and he blinked rapidly as if trying to process the information. A sizzling sense of jealousy formed in his chest and he breathed out from his nose. The room fell silent for a moment before he finally managed to sputter out “I thought you were over casual flings?” 

You bashfully stuttered, feeling a touch of awkwardness in the tense atmosphere, a small lump in the back of your throat, "Oh, well..." Your eyes searched for the right words, and you caught Mor's gaze, her curious stare making you feel a bit more exposed than you'd anticipated. "I don't know. We'll see." You shrugged slightly, giving him a close-mouthed smile. 

Feyre and Amren exchanged glances, their eyes bouncing between you and Cassian. You didn’t catch it. Mor wanted to laugh, but instead she pressed her lips together and circled you, taking in the image of you in the dress.  "I bet she'll have to fight off people tonight," she mused, casting a sly look in Cassian's direction. "Wouldn't you agree, Cassian?" Feyre’s head swung over to Mor and she gave her a tight look, her eyes widening slightly. Unaffected, the blonde looked back at her with an innocent face. What? She mouthed. 

Cass was staring at you, unmoving and chest rising rapidly. You took in his casual wear, how his hair hung loosely, some strands in front of his face. He was looking at you with an intensity in gaze that you’d never felt before, a heat that made you feel like you were on fire. You swallowed, and then bit your lip, watching as his eyes took in those movements too. Having not fully registered Mor's question, he stammered again, "I—uh, what?"

Mor's grin widened, and she feigned innocence. "Oh, nothing. I'm just saying that she looks so beautiful. Tell her how beautiful she looks."

Cassian casted a quick glance at Morrigan, but quickly his eyes settled back to the place they were at before– your face, your body, you. You blushed at Mor's pointed comment. His eyes ran down your figure once more, seeming to trace the lines of the dress. You continued to rub nervously at your collarbone, the heightened attention making you slightly self-conscious. 

Cassian, finally finding his words, cleared his throat. "You do look... incredible," he admitted, his eyes still fixed on you. You wondered if your friends were suddenly feeling smothered too, if something in the air was making it hard for them to breathe. Your heartbeat echoed in your ears. You resisted the urge to gulp down another nervous breath. Mor let out a small sound of agreement before she looked over at the illyrian male.

"Okay, thats enough gawking, Cassian. We all know Y/n is hot. Now leave us be. Go find Az or Rhys or something," she declared. Your eyes widened slightly, and Cassian shook his head, his mouth slightly parting. Caught between embarrassment and amusement, he took Mor's words in stride. “Right.” He responded with a smile.

He turned around to leave, but before fully retreating, he stole one last glance in your direction. You noticed the subtle, lingering look on his face—an admiring gaze, accompanied by a fleeting lick of his lips. There was a certain longing in his eyes that didn't go unnoticed. Then, you watched as a different expression overcame his features. He walked out before you had a chance to examine it further. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

You let out a small laugh as Mor continued to compliment you, talking over her shoulder as you, Feyre, and Amren followed her, approaching the main foyer. Your laughter died as Mor stopped in her tracks and frowned slightly. 

"What are you guys doing?" She asked, a mix of surprise and annoyance in her voice. As you caught up to where she stood, you were greeted with the unexpected sight of Cassian, Azriel, and Rhysand standing in front of the door, seemingly waiting for you. Dressed in impeccably tailored suits, each of them exuded a distinctive charm. The realization hit you—the look on Cassian’s face as he departed from your room earlier, the sense of determination, the lingering cue of playfulness. He had gone and convinced them both to join. 

You couldn't help but appreciate the attention to detail in how they looked, and Cassian, in particular, stood out. His wings, a symbol of his power and grace that you adored, were confidently spread, and his slicked-back hair added a touch of elegance to his rugged charm. He not only looked good, he looked absolutely delicious. You didn’t attempt to hide the look on your face as you took him in. 

Finally ripping your eyes from your best friend, you looked behind him, to where Azriel sat, his face donning its usual cool expression, but you could sense it- the hint of annoyance that laid underneath it. Meanwhile, next to him, Rhysand sported a large, confident grin. A grin that Cassian mirrored, but with a touch less confidence, his eyes flickering between you and the others. Amren, observing the situation with her usual detached demeanor, glanced at Rhysand and deadpanned, "You're coming with us."

Rhysand's grin widened, and he nodded enthusiastically. "Absolutely! Girls' night, right?" He threw his mate a wink. You heard her stifle some laughter. 

Cassian, scratching the back of his head, added with a sheepish smile, "Figured we'd join the fun. Tonight’s been a bit boring." He gestured around him. Then his gaze fell on you. For what felt like the millionth time tonight, his eyes raked over you and you blinked, catching his gaze when it fell on your face. “You don’t mind, do you?”

You didn’t mind.  Not one bit, you thought. If he kept looking at you like that, with those eyes and that heated gaze, you wouldn’t mind a thing he did. He could ask you for anything right now, and you’d say yes. Yes, yes, just keep staring at me like that. Like you see me, like you want me. 

Mor scoffed, "Yes, we do mind!" She turned to you, looking for support. "Tell them it's a girls night."

All eyes turned to you, and you felt a flutter of uncertainty. There was Cassian, his eyes locked onto yours, examining you, your every feature, your every move. The heat of his eyes had started to pooled down at your thighs. You clenched everything below your waist as you hesitated for a moment, still caught in the intensity of his gaze. Mor's impatience grew, and she raised an expectant eyebrow. "Well?"

You lingered on Cassian, and despite Mor's expectant face, you found yourself saying, "No, I don't mind."

Mor's expression shifted from annoyance to resignation, and she let out a dramatic sigh. "Fine."

Cassian's face brightened with a grin, "I promise, Mor, it'll be so fun." His attention turned towards you, walking to you with a soft, but charming grin. "Allow me." He extended his elbow, and without hesitation, you interlocked your hand with his. The touch was comforting and warm, and his scent enveloped you as he guided you towards the exit. You closed your eyes with a content sigh. 

The fragrance that clung to him was intoxicating. Maybe it was a bad idea to invite him tonight, to let him join you and the girls. The dress you were wearing gave you an inflated sense of confidence that you hadn’t felt for a while, and as you walked alongside Cassian, you wondered if it would truly be so bad to indulge in your thoughts of him. To think of his hands, the some ones with you right now, and how they would trace your body the way his eyes had this evening. You felt your arousal bubbling up at the thought of it. It was all in innocent fun, right? You could think of him, enjoy this touch, fantasize about him, as long as that's all it was— thoughts in your mind, away from reality, an idea that you never let come to fruition. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

You had to admit, Mor was right. Rita’s was definitely the move tonight. Somehow it was even more lively than last week, bustling with people and energy. You weren’t as intoxicated as last time, not anywhere near it, but you felt drunk all the same. And you weren’t ashamed to admit, now, that your drunken haze was all caused by one thing: your extremely attractive best friend. 

You and Cass had lost the rest of your group a while back, pulled into a drink off with a beautiful fae couple. Cassian and you had won every single round, leaving you standing at the bar now, celebrating with another round of shots. 

Cassian was standing next to you as you both faced the bar, your arms touching,  practically on top of one another. Cass craned his head to look at the crowd behind you, his hand wrapping around your waist as people drunkenly stumbled past you, making their way to the bar. On usual nights, Cassian’s hand would have dropped by now, returned to their position at his side, but not tonight. Instead, he kept his hand across your waist, keeping a heavy hold on you. You could feel the heat from his palm through the thin fabric of your dress, and you felt it as it moved straight to your core. You instinctively rubbed your thighs together in an attempt to ignore it, suddenly feeling grateful for the multitude of smells in Rita’s that covered your arousal. You turned your head to the side to look at Cassian, noticing that his gaze was on you, but not on your face. Instead, it seemed as if he was looking to where his hand rested on your hip.

“What?” You asked, your brows furrowing, leaning closer to him. He tilted his head slightly, and then you felt his hand lift. You felt a small tinge of disappointment, but it quickly dissipated when you felt his light touch hovering over your back, tracing where the delicate jewels of your dress cascaded down your spine like a waterfall. Your body shuddered. You watched him as his gaze deepended, as he took his lip between his teeth. His hands traced the ornate jewelry, landing at the base of your spine, where the fabric of your dress gathered. 

“I like this,” Cassian said, his voice low. His eyes flickered to yours, “Beautiful.”

Your chest fluttered at his words— was he complimenting the dress, or you? You couldn’t ask even if you wanted to, the air sucked out of your lungs with every lingering touch of his.  Your mouth parted slightly as he stared at you, as you ran your eyes along his face. You felt the brush of his fingers on your spine now. He wasn’t tracing the jewelry anymore, no, he was touching you. 

“Here you go,” A sudden voice pulled you out of the moment. Both you and Cassian turned your heads to the bartender placing two small shot glasses in front of you. You had forgotten you’d ordered another round, forgotten why you were at the bar in the first place, with your best friends hands over you. “I apologize for the wait.” The bartender said. 

You spared him a quick glance, a small graceful smile on your lips, “No worries,” you said. But then you looked at him once more, recognizing the smile he wore, the sound of his voice. This was the bartender Cassian was talking about. And from the way he looked at you, how he pushed your glass to your hand, lightly grazed your fingers, you knew Cass was right about his interest in you. 

“Thanks,” Cassian said, his voice rough. He grabbed both of the glasses in his hand, dragging them closer to your chests, his eyes trained on the bartender, whose smile faltered as he looked at your best friend. Cassian’s hand, which had fallen from your back at the interruption, found your hips again. “That’ll be it.” You didn’t need to look at the bartender to know that he shrunk away, intimated. You didn’t need to look because all you wanted to stare at was Cassian. Cassian, Cassian, Cassian. Something about his grip on you, on the way he’d pushed the bartender away, the way he’d touched your spine, all of it had you pooling at your core. 

“Here,” Cass said, pushing your glass towards you with his knuckle. He grabbed his in his hand. The other hand was still at your hip, unmoving— except for the occasional circular rub of his thumb. You tenderly took the shot, angling your body to twist slightly so you could better face him. The hand on you moved appropriately, still staying placed on your hip as you maneuvered. 

“Cheers.” You said, looking at him. You licked your lips as you held the shot up. Cassian met yours, the two glasses making a clink as they touched. “Cheers.” He responded. 

Tilting your head back, you welcomed the shot openly, letting the liquid coat your throat, feeling the warmth as it moved down. When you were done, you were met with Cassian’s gaze once more, watching you. His gaze followed the column of your throat as you swallowed. His hand moved to your face, his thumb wiping away a stray drop of whiskey on your chin. The touch itself sent a frenzy through your body, and you let out a small, quiet gasp. 

“Y/n.” He murmured.

“Yes?”

Your voice was barely above a whisper, your body still. He was closer to you now than a few moments ago, and it took everything in your power not to pull him even closer, to brush against him. 

“You can’t look at me like that.” Cassian finally replied. 

Your heart leaped, and you took a sharp intake of breath. How were you looking at him, you wondered? Mor’s words echoed in your mind: like he was a piece of meat and you were a starving vegetarian? She was right. Oh, so right. You wanted to taste him, to devour him, to have him ravish you in return. You swallowed and then whispered in response. 

“Like what?”

Cassian said nothing. He scanned your face and then his hand was moving again, brushing a stray strand of your hair from your face. When the hair still fell out of place, he gingerly grabbed it and tucked it behind your ear. You felt his finger trace the shell of your ear, falling as it reached your lobe, now on your cheek. You closed your eyes, leaning into the touch, pressing closer to him. His grasp at your hip tightened, and you felt as it moved up, his hands now grabbing the skin at your waist. 

When you opened your eyes, your gaze met his instantly. He was breathing heavily, his eyes filled with desire. "We should probably find our friends," he whispered, his voice hoarse. You nodded absentmindedly, feeling your chest tighten. Cassian’s palm slightly lifted from your cheek, the ghost of his touch lightly moving. His thumb found your lips, tugging at them slightly, you let your mouth fall open with the touch. He nearly let out a moan at the sight. 

“Or,” You whispered back, “We could go home.”

He nodded, the pad of his thumb still rubbing at your lip. “We could.”

You lifted your hand to grab his wrist softly, pulling it lower, to your chest. You felt the heat of his palm as it landed on your chest. “Cassian.” His cock pressed angrily against his zipper at the sound of his name falling from your lips so sensually, so softly. His hand trailed higher, and then he was wrapping it around your neck, his thumb running along your throat.  You savored the touch and bit your lip, looking at him through your lashes. The look was all he needed, any self-constraint quickly disappearing. 

“Let's go home.” He said, his thumb running alongside your lips once more. Then, he was spinning you both around, interlacing your fingers as he pulled you through the crowd. 

As Cassian led you out, you looked back, squinting at the mass of people. Your gaze landed on Feyre, who was already looking at you. You watched as she glanced between you and Cassian, and then she gave you a small smile, her brows slightly furrowed. Be careful. Her voice echoed in your brain, soft and gentle. You weren't sure what she was referring to, if she was talking about your trip home or the way you were entangled with your best friend. Either way it didn’t matter. You weren’t being careful, not now. You didn’t want to be. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

You weren’t quite sure what to do. You’d never been in this position with someone you loved so dearly— never been in the situation where you were about to fuck your best friend. 

The way home was a blur, the cold air as you both left Rita’s in a hurry, how Cass had wrapped his arms around you, how they had wandered and explored, but nowhere too vulnerable— not yet. You had made it a few minutes before you decided to winnow back, your ability fully functioning and, at the moment, incredibly convenient. Back at the house, you both had stared at each other, breathing hard, heavy-lidded eyes with lust. You could smell it on him. You didn’t doubt that you reeked of your own arousal. But Cass has stepped away from you, for a brief moment, biting his lips as his hands curled at his sides. Whatever you want, sweetheart, is what he had said. He wanted to give you an out, a chance to change your mind, to decide that this wasn’t a line you wanted to, or were ready to, cross. The realization hit you sweetly, and it only added to your arousal, the fact that he was so aware of you. 

You had looked at him, a small nod of your head towards the hallways, towards the corridors that led to your rooms. You hadn’t said anything, a heavy silence followed you, filled with longing and desperation, a hint of anxiety. You had waited, let Cassian take the next move. If he followed, you both knew what would happen. You had given him an out, too. 

You worried when some time had passed and you were still alone in your bedroom. You walked towards your mirror, taking in your appearance, the dress on you, the evident arousal on your face, in your stature. Then you heard him. His walking. You closed your eyes, hearing his heavy footsteps enter your room. You heard your door shut, and the footsteps grew louder until you felt him behind you, the warmth of his body enveloping you completely. You let out a small breath. 

“Cass,” You whispered, your eyes opening and meeting his in the mirror.

His hands found your hips, and he pulled you back into him. You felt his hard length against you, pressing against your exposed back, the heat of it alone causing you to let out a small, shaky breath. You leaned back into him, rubbing against him as his fingers tightened around you. Craning your head to the side, Cassian took advantage of your exposed neck, running his nose along it, inhaling your scent. He nudged the sweet spot behind your ears, your knees almost giving out as his lips trailed the shell of your ear, feeling his hot breath against your skin. 

His voice, rough as gravel, sent a wave through you of something you couldn’t name, but it was heavy, hot, and made you so incredibly horny. “Sweetheart, are you…” He trailed off. 

Sure? Sober? You had a feeling that sober is what his question seemed to probe at. You nodded, nodded frantically. Every shot you had taken tonight had no effect on your body, not anymore. You’d felt the last lingering effects of your final shot as you both came home, feeling as it slipped out of your system. And if he was asking if you were sure, that answer was yes, too. You were boldly, acutely, and fully aware of the moment, of each sensation in your body— fully aware of the ache in your legs, of how good Cassian smelled. “Yes, yes.” You whispered.

“Thank god,” He groaned– a guttural, animalistic sound. 

Before you could blink, Cassian was spinning you around. You let out a gasp, your view quickly taken up by the image of his face hovering over yours. He held your face in both of his hands, his thumbs swiping across your cheeks. His eyes scanned you in desperation, as if he was searching for something within the details of your features. Whatever he was looking for he seemed to find as he brought his lips to yours, giving in entirely with a soft moan of relief. His arms moved to wrap around your waist, and you moaned into him, flinging your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer. He kissed you harder. 

“You sure?” Cassian whispered, floating the question again. He slid his warm palm up and over your hips, to your waist, your ribs, and back down again. You let out a sigh at his touch, running your palms up to pull the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“Yes,” You said as he feathered kisses along your neck. “Are you?” 

You felt Cassian nod against you, a small breathless laugh left his lips as he came up for another kiss. “Fuck yes. I’ve been dreaming about this.” And then he placed another kiss on your lips, deep and sensual. Hunger radiated off him like a starved man. His words turned you to jelly and you swore you could feel your wetness running down your thighs. 

“This dress,” he breathed against your lips, “I wanted to rip it off you the minute I saw it.”

Before you can react, he reached out and gripped the fabric of your dress, yanking it downward with a force that left your heart racing. You gasped as the material was torn from your body, leaving you standing before him in nothing but your underwear. You watched in awe as he threw the torn fabric aside, a small sound emitting as the jewels made contact with the hard floor. The cold air immediately took the place of the warmth of your clothing, making you shiver with pleasure.

“That was Mor’s!” You managed to breathe out, looking at the discarded pile of fabric. Your words died in your throat the minute you caught Cassian’s gaze again. There was a predatory look in his eyes as he took you in, and you remembered now that you were completely naked now, save for a lacy pair of panties. Your nipples perked, hard and ready, in the cold air. Cassian, his gaze unmoving, simply grumbled back, “I’ll buy her a new one.” 

Cassian's eyes roamed over your naked body, his gaze heated as he took in the sight of you, completely at his mercy. His hands reached out, his fingers tracing a path down your arms, making you shake with anticipation. His hands moved to your hips, gripping you firmly as he pulled you closer. "You have no idea how beautiful you are," He said, "How much I've wanted this." You felt his erection, hard and ready, pressing against your stomach.

His lips found yours, his tongue plunging deep into your mouth as he kissed you with all the passion he'd been holding back. You felt the desire radiating from him, making you feel wanted and desired in a way that nothing else ever had. As he broke the kiss, his eyes locked on yours, filled with pure, unfiltered lust. "I'm going to make you come," he growled, his voice low and rough. "And when I do, you'll never forget the way I made you feel."

With that, he plunged his tongue back into your mouth, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you closer as you stand there, naked and vulnerable, your cunt throbbing with every word, every touch. Your hands gripped his hair, your fingers tangling in the strands as you pulled him closer, your bodies pressed together in a frenzy of passion.

Cassian broke away from you for a moment, his breath hot and heavy against your lips. "Jump," he murmured, his voice low and seductive. Without hesitation, you lifted yourself into his arms as he pulled you into him effortlessly. He wrapped himself around you, his hands gripping at your ass, fingers digging into your skin. You felt his erection pressing against you, underneath you, with desperate need.

He took a few steps before he carefully dropped you onto your bed with a bounce. You fell onto your back, your eyes wide with desire as you looked up at him. He took you in with his eyes, every detail of your body etched in his mind, hungrily saving the image of you for later.

Cassian's movements were hurried and frenzied as he removed his own shirt, discarding it carelessly on the floor near your--Mor's-- shredded dress. As he moved, you sat up from your supine position, your legs naturally falling to either side, finding yourself yourself in a kneeling position. You looked up at Cass. The sight of you like this, vulnerable and expectant, only intensified the hunger in his eyes, and he groaned.

You reached out to him and ran your fingertips along the waistband of his black pants, watching as his stomach muscles clenched in response to your touch. Cassian caught your wrists in his hands, looking down at you hungrily, he shook his hand. “Not yet, sweetheart. Let me savor this.”

You let out a small whimper, the sound shooting straight to his dick, causing the hardening length to throb in anticipation. But when he released your hands, you kept them at his waistband, bringing your hand to palm him through the fabric of his pants. 

“Please,” You whimpered, “I want to.”

And what kind of man would Cassian be to deny you? To say no to you as you looked up at him with those glossy eyes, your lips running along your lips? He moaned, feeling as if he could cum at the sight of you alone. This, you, were better than any of his fantasies— and he had come up with a lot within the past two weeks.  

You stared at him, at the way his muscles ripped under this golden skin, at the black tattoos curling around him, at the way his wings flared out openly, dominantly. You ached to be closer, to be able to touch the sensitive membrane. You licked your lips, taking in the curl of his biceps, the sharp dips of his hips, Gods, he was beautiful. He brought his right hand to your face, holding it tenderly before moving his hand to grab your hair at the back of your head. You took that as your invitation, leaning forward to undo his pants. With his buttons undone, you pulled the fabric down, Cassian’s hands aiding you to slide his underwear off with it. 

You let out a gasp at his length, at the girth, the veins pulsing on the underside of his cock. Red and hungry at the tip, leaking. You were watering at the sight. A deep sense of jealousy pooled into your stomach, images of every female he’d been with before, every female who had the pleasure of experiencing this before you. Mine. You thought. Mine. Pushing yourself closer to him, you kissed a line down his stomach.

You felt his muscles tense beneath your lips as you wrapped your fingers around him. He hissed as you rubbed your hands up his considerable length, the sound repeating when you spit on the head, a trail of saliva connecting your lips to his shaft.  You dragged the flat of your tongue upward, against the underside of his cock. Cassian’s reaction was instant, bucking into your grip with a breathless, raspy, moan that sent a wave of arousal down your body. You allowed your hand to follow the trail, spreading your saliva. Your mouth sunk down on him.  As you hollowed your cheeks, Cassian pushed himself harder, letting out a sinful groan as you welcomed him, taking him deeper in your throat.

“Gods,” Cassian tightened his jaw as he watched his cock disappear between your swollen lips with every bob of your head. “That pretty little mouth of yours.”

You swirled your tongue around the head of his cock, Cassian’s head falling backward as he moaned, his grip in your hair getting tighter. You moaned in response, the sound vibrating through him. You shifted on your thighs, rubbing them together in an attempt to relieve some of your own arousal.  With a wet pop, you released him from your mouth, looking directly up at him as he stared at you with naked lust. You greedily swallowed the taste of him that coated your tongue.

“Enough. My turn.” He said, his voice halfway between growl and purr, a feral sound from deep in his chest that reverberated through your core. Cassian’s hand found your chest, after a squeeze of your breasts, his palm settled above your ribs. With a soft push, you were flat on your back again. He leaned over you and you seized the opportunity to rock against his thigh, your pussy throbbing at every touch of his, desperate for friction. But he moved quickly, leaving you grasping for touch. “Cassian.” You moaned. You pulled him back up again, desperate to have him close, slotting your lips against him. 

He accepted another hungry, ravenous kiss from you before he moved down, trailing hard kisses down your jaw and across your collarbone. Your hands tugged at him,  roaming over the length of his shoulders and the plane of his back, you trailed your fingers along his wings, the sensitive and soft membrane. You felt him shudder at the touch, watched as those beautiful wings twitched. You needed more.

Cassian stopped, taking a moment to bite into the soft flesh at the base of your neck. You let out a moan, throwing your hands into his hair as he sucked on the tender skin, soothing the area with a swipe of his tongue. He removed his mouth, tilting his head to make slight eye contact with you, a cocky grin placed on his lips. 

“I’ll paint you in my marks, Y/n.”  He whispered, moving his head down to continue his trail of kisses, “Just to have evidence that I was lucky enough to be here.”

He brought one hand between your thighs, his large calloused fingers dancing over your sensitive flesh, his perfect mouth still exploring you, tasting your skin. Your moans tumbled from your mouth, outside of your control, flowing like a river. You tightened your grasp on his hair, your fingers raking his scalp, pelvis lifting into his touch. Your legs widened further to provide him better access, knees dropping to the side. 

“To feel this.” Cassian’s fingers pulled your underwear aside and ran themselves through the wetness at your core, through your sensitive folds. His finger delicately circled your clit, rubbing at it in a way that had you mewing at his touch.

You let out a gasp as one probed at your entrance, your warm core welcoming it greedily. You felt his finger curl, and then arched into him as he added another, working in and out of you. You could hear the squelch of your juices as he fingered you, could feel the way your essence dripped with each movement. 

A disappointed sigh left your lips when the warmth of his hand left you. But seconds later, as you looked down at him with your hands in his hair, he pulled himself up slightly– just enough to look at you. Just enough to make eye contact as he tilted his head and stuck his slick fingers into his mouth. He lapped at the wetness coating his fingers. 

“Fuck, you taste better than I imagined.” He said, moving down to drop to his knees at the edge of the bed, between your spread legs. You propped yourself up on your elbows to keep your gaze on him. He looked at you, heavy lidded, his mouth glistening with the remnants of your slick. “May I?”

Please, please. He didn’t need to ask, you thought. You wanted him everywhere, wanted him on you, in you, all over you. Whatever he wanted was what you wanted. You lazily nodded, your tongue darting out again to wet your lips. 

“Words, sweetheart,” Cassian murmured, placing hot and wet kissing along your thighs. His arms snaked under your thighs, hands reaching to grab your hips and pull you closer. He slowly peeled your drenched panties off your body. “I want to hear you.”

“Yes,” You finally managed to croak out. Your voice deep and needy. “Please, Cass.”

And then his tongue was on you, licking a stripe up your dripping sex. You let out a loud moan at the contact, at the feeling of his tongue. He flattened his tongue against your folds, dragging it slowly.  Your hands found his hair and gripped it roughly between your fingers, your body curling around him. Cassian’s tongue dipped into your hole, darting in, again and again.  Your legs trembled as stars began to cloud your vision. 

“Cassian,” You choked out, feeling the building pressure in your stomach. You tried bucking your hips, but Cassian kept your thighs still, steady in a position where you couldn’t escape his wicked mouth. His tongue alternated between teasing your clit and slipping into your entrance. Your spined bowed in pleasure, and you brought one hand to your breasts, rubbing them and pinching at your nipples as Cassian ravaged you.

“You’re delicious. So fucking delicious.” Cassian crooned as he pulled apart from your cunt. He took a minute to admire the sweet image of you dripping in front of him, and then he dove back in. He let out a moan, quiet but still audible, and you noticed his other hand had removed itself from your thigh, now hidden from your view. As you looked, you saw it visibly moving, frantically, desperately. Cassian was eating you out and rubbing his own cock at it, pleasuring himself as he lapped at you. You moaned at the idea alone. The noises you made were loud, loud enough that you knew your family would hear if they were home already. But you didn’t care, you had no shame. Let them hear.

Cassian was murmuring into your core; he repeated something, the words falling from him like a prayer from a dying man. You were barely able to hear his whispers over the sound of your own blood rushing through your ears. Cassian pulled back a little then, heedless of your firm hold on his hair, watching you with his jaw set, eyes dark and greedy.

“Oh, Y/n,” he said huskily. “I could feast on this beautiful pussy forever, you know that?”

As he withdrew his mouth, he replaced its presence with his fingers instead. His thumb resumed the stimulation on your clit while his fingers moved inside your. When he slid another finger into you, your hips jumped, moving to meet his fingers faster. He curled his fingers into you as you rutted down harder. He groaned as your walls clenched when he curled his fingers, hitting a spot that had you whining his name. Your face contorted in pleasure and you let your head fall back. Cassian’s hand gripped at your thigh, calling your attention back.

“Down here,” He hummed, “Keep those pretty eyes down here.”

You brought your head back up, supporting yourself with your elbows. Cassian’s eyes stayed on yours as he lowered himself to your sex again, nustling his nose against your clit before he licked a stripe up your cunt, bringing his mouth to suck on your clit. You felt his fingers enter you again– one, then two. They brushed against you as he lapped at your clit, drawing circles with his tongue. You could barely breathe, the air leaving your lungs as Cassian filled your body with sweet, suffocating ecstasy. Your right hand found itself in his hair again, grabbing, pulling. He let out a groan at the feeling, and continued to lap at you.

You felt it everywhere, felt him everywhere. Pleasure gushed through your body, every part of your body sensitive. You writhed under him, your vision of Cassian growing blurry as you felt your pleasure build, coiling deep in your belly, ready to explode. You’re weren't sure what was up or down, forgotten where you were completely. Nothing existed except you and Cassian and the way he fucked you with his fingers and his mouth, and Gods, the thought of your reality alone made you want to cum. You grinded against his mouth, feeling as he grabbed you, pulled you closer, harder, against him, completely smothering him. 

“Oh my Gods, yes, yes, yes.” The sounds you were emitting were music to his ears and Cassian continued. 

The mixture of your pleasure, of Cassian’s grunts, his smells, of the way his wings twitched with each of your moans, made it even sweeter when Cassian brought another finger to your entrance. That tight, hot, built-up coil in your stomach loosened and you shriled loudly, your back bowing off the bed beneath you. Your whole body quaked as your orgasm rippled through you.

Cassian was in heaven— he was sure of it. You were a vision, your cheeks flushed, your lips parted as you moaned out in pleasure, your hard grasp in his hair. He felt every sound from your lips, every whisper of his name falling straight to his aching cock. Cassian, fuck, Cassian. You chanted them like a prayer and he swallowed them all. You were something holy, something absolutely divine and he felt himself losing it. He wanted to worship you forever, to stay buried in your cunt and die a happy man. Every man before him hadn’t appreciated you enough. He wanted to make you his, his beautiful creature, his goddess. 

Cassian slowed his movements, but didn’t halter them completely as he let you work through the wave of your pleasure. Your hand had gone lax in his hair, and he took the opportunity to pepper kisses across your skin — across your legs, across your cunt, even the sweaty crook of your thigh, anywhere his lips could reach. The hand that once gripped your thighs so tightly softened. Cassian rubbed gentle circles around your skin. He waited, and only until your body stopped shaking and you let out a small content sigh between your ragged breaths did he remove his fingers from you. 

He gave your core a slight smack and you let out a gasp, the action sending a spark throughout your body, leaving you aching and throbbing more than you had been seconds before. Cassian gave you a smirk. 

“Holy fuck,” You breathed, looking at him with wide eyes. “Cassian…” You watched as he stood up, bringing his fingers to his mouth as he licked off your juices once more. Your gaze dropped to his chest, and then to his throbbing cock. He stroked it as he looked at you, and your core ached once more, clenching at the thought of him inside you. Cassian stared at you, lips parted, drinking the sight of you eagerly. You pushed yourself further up, scooting back enough to lie flat on the middle of your bed. 

“You are a vision. A godsdamn vision,” Cassian spoke, the words falling off his tongue in a breathless confession, “Thought about this for so long.” He walked over to you. 

You gulped at the admission, thinking back onto your own fantasies of him, of his hands, of his mouth. You blinked, watching as he braced his hands on the bed. “Yeah?” 

Cassian nodded, bringing his hand to rub alongside your legs, tracing the curves of your body. As he crawled onto the bed, he let his hands wander with every movement. “Yeah, sweetheart.” 

The nickname made your heart clench, and you felt your wetness building once again, your pussy still sensitive from your previous orgasm. “Tell me.” You whispered. He straightened himself, moving to hover over you. With one arm supporting his weight, Cassian rocked his hips against yours. He molded his other hand to your breasts, sucking in a deep, ragged breath. You arched into his touch, mewing for more. You felt your heart throb, a warmth enveloping your chest. You couldn’t breathe. All you wanted to feel was him, his hands, his skin, his touch. His touch cascaded down your body, grabbing at your thighs, pulling them closer to him. 

“Rubbed myself raw at the thought of you underneath me like this.” He placed a kiss to your chest, quickly turning it into a small love bite, sucking at the skin tenderly. He released your skin with a brush of his teeth, bringing his fingers to softly touch the bruised skin.  His fingers returned to your torso, teasing your nipples once more, bringing them between his fingers. He bent his head down and took one of your nipples into his mouth. You arched into him, letting out a sweet sound at the wet contact. Cass swirled his tongue around the hardened nub before gently tugging it with his teeth, causing you to let out a cry of pleasure that quickly turned into a whine when he lifted his head. He lightly blew on your nipple, eliciting a soft gasp of pleasure as your nipple peaked harder, responding to the contrast of his hot mouth and the cool air. He repeated the same motions with your other breast. 

You moaned as you felt him tease your entrance with the head of his cock, rubbing it against your clit and around your inner lips. You impatiently bucked your hips, trying to guide him where you wanted him, where you ached for him, but Cassian’s firm hand on your lower abdomen halted your movements.You looked up at him with frustration, frowning at the sly grin on his mouth. 

“Cass, please,” You pleaded with broken whimpers. Cassian said nothing, moving his head down to kiss alongside your neck, taking your earlobe between his teeth. He teased you more, and in a movement of exasperation, fueled by the swelling and throbbing of your heat, you pulled him towards you by his neck. You placed your forehead against his, looking at him through heavy eyes. “Cassian, please fuck me already.”

Cassian gave you a wolfish grin. “Since you asked so nicely,” he said, bringing you in for another kiss. You could taste yourself on his tongue, the kiss wet with desire and something more you couldn't place. Taking a breath and pulling apart, Cassian moved his hand to grab his cock, stroking it once, twice, before lining it up with your entrance. 

You let out a deep moan as he pushed into you, feeling yourself stretching around him. Your previous climax had left you sensitive, so sensitive that the first rock of Cassian’s hips left you gasping for air. Cass let out a guttural groan, leaning his forehead against yours as he bottomed out. His hair clung to his forehead. You looked up at him, at his mouth open in pleasure, and ran your hands alongside his face. 

“Fuck,” His breath fanned your face. He looked at you with that deep intensity in his gaze that stirred your heart. The next thrust was just as slow, Cassian pushing in as deep as your body would allow. “You, You feel fucking incredible.”

You closed your eyes, the sensations overwhelming you. But soon, Cassian’s voice snapped again, and you felt one hand grab your face, his hand holding your jaw, his thumb rubbing at your lips. “Look at me, beautiful.” He said, letting his thumb dip into your mouth. 

You spread legs spread open to the sides as he began to vigorously slam into you with no restraint, never breaking the eye contact he'd so quickly grown to love. He drank it all in: the clapping noises of flesh and your sensual screams, the sensation of your wet heat wrapped around him, the sopping sounds of your love making, and the way your nails dug into his arms as he told you how good you felt. 

You rolled your hips, pushing against his merciless rhythm of thrusts. Cassian looked down at where your bodies met, at where his cock filled you,  entranced by the way your hips subconsciously tilted at the intrusion, at how your hole welcomed him. With a growl, he lifted your legs over his shoulders, positioning you perfectly for his rough, relentless thrusts. Your breath caught in your throat as your watched him fuck you, your heart pounding in her chest. “Cass, Cassian.”

“Keep saying my name, baby.” The pet name fell from his lips so effortlessly, caressing you like another wave of heat. “Tell me how good it feels.”

As he continued to move inside you, your thoughts jumbled into a mess of pure pleasure. You let out a string of incoherent words, your mind drunk on the feeling of him stretching you, hitting spots you’d never experienced before. “S’Good.” You whimpered. You wrapped your arms tighter across his shoulders, reaching to touch the delicate membrane of his wings. They twitched under your fingertips, and you felt Cassian let out a moan before the sound registered in your ear. He snaked a hand where your bodies met, finding your swollen, aching clit, and began to rub circles around it. You gasped. 

“I wish I could be here forever,” Cassian groaned, his lips hovering over your ears, “Stay buried inside of your cunt. Fuck you like this for the rest of my life.” You didn't know if Cassian was aware of what he was saying, aware of what it implied, but you didn't care. It all felt so good, and his words made every stroke even more pleasurable. You wanted this, you wanted this for the rest of your life– you’d never experienced something this great, never known this level of pleasure could exist. 

“Please, Cass. Please.” You didn't know what you were begging for, but Cassian hushed you, peckering kisses all over you, his head fell in the crook of your shoulder, moving to bring his teeth to the sensitive skin at your neck. You moaned. “Yes, yes. Mark me. I’m yours.”

Your words seemed to hit a part of him, forcing him to pull away and stare at you with wide eyes. He stilled inside of you.  "Say that again," he commanded, his voice low and gravelly.

"I'm yours," you whispered, your voice trembling with anticipation. You brought your hands to his face, gently rubbing his cheeks. The tender, soft touch sent a shock straight to his cock, and he pulled you into a deep kiss. When you pulled apart for air, Cassian’s strokes began to pick up again, his forehead resting on yours. "Fuck me like I'm yours." You said to him, your voice filled with raw desire. 

Cassian’s mind shuffled through the past two weeks, the memories of the bartender hitting on you, of the men who never satisfied you. He felt a primal possessiveness, a need to take you faster, harder, deeper. His thrusts became more aggressive, more forceful, his wings caressing you as they wrapped around both of your bodies. You cried out in pleasure, your body arching beneath him, hands gripping the sheets as you took him deep inside you.

He watched you, admired your body sprawled on the bed before him, his hands on your hips, holding you at just the right angle. His mouth salivated at your beautiful face, flushed and red, and the way your breasts bounced in time with his thrusts. The noise of your fucking was obscene - the soft squeaks of your bed, the wet sounds of your bodies slapping together, the moans and curse words and harsh breathing. His grip on your hips tightened and his thrusts became more erratic. 

Cassian’s movements became faster than you could process– one moment, he was thrusting into you, and the next, he was picking you up, maneuvering you so that you were sitting on his thighs, looking at him as he leaned back. You gasped at the new angle, at the feeling of sinking onto him completely.  His eyes locked on yours as you straddled him and his hands guided you up and down his cock, your bodies slick with sweat and desire. 

"Fuck, you feel so good," he groaned, his hands gripping your ass, guiding you closer to him with each thrust. You could feel his cock swelling inside you, your pussy clenching around him as you rode him harder, faster, your body craving more. “Ride me just like that, sweetheart.” His voice rang in your head, making you dizzy. You arched forward towards him. One hand left your ass, going to grab one of your breasts, fondling with your nipple.  His eyes were dark with desire, his gaze never leaving yours as he watched you take him deep inside you.

As you sank down onto him, his hips bucked up to meet you, your bodies connecting with a primal force. You could feel his cock throbbing inside you, your pussy clenching around him as you moaned softly, your eyes closing in pleasure. But Cassian didn't want you to close your eyes. He wanted you to look at him, to see the raw fire in his eyes as he took you. He reached up, his hand wrapping around your throat, his fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp.

"Look at me," he growled, his voice rough like gravel. The sound itself made you clench around him as he fucked you. You opened your eyes, your breath catching in your throat as you met his gaze. His eyes were dark, filled with lust and possession, and you could feel your orgasm building as you looked at him. His hand tightened around your throat as he began to fuck you harder, his hips bucking up to meet you.

You felt his cock sliding deeper inside you, your pussy clenching around him, your body shaking with pleasure.

"Fuck, yes," he groaned, "Look at me. Let me see you fall apart on my cock."

As you felt the intensity of your orgasm building, he pulled you down, holding you to his chest, in place, as he continued to thrust into you. You moaned, your forehead resting against his, your eyes locked on his as he continued to fuck you, his cock sliding in and out of you. "Cassian, please, please, I'm so close," you whimpered, your voice hoarse. His hands gripped your ass roughly, pulling you closer to him, sliding deeper and deeper into you with each thrust. 

You felt his heart pounding beneath you, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he fucked you, his eyes never leaving yours.  He stared at you as he whispered, "I've got you, baby. I've got you."

Your body trembled, your moans grew louder, and soon your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave– your body shook with pleasure, your pussy clenching around him, milking him. You gasped his name, your body convulsing over him, your sensitivity consuming you completely. You felt him tense, his cock swelling even more, and you knew that he was close as well.

His thrusts were rough and hard, each one sending waves of warmth coursing through you. Your body responded to his movements, your cunt massaging him, clenching around him, making him groan in response. He increased his pace, his thrusts becoming even rougher, sloppy, and more urgent. His hips moved in a frenzy, each thrust driving him deeper into you, his cock sliding against your most sensitive spots, making you moan with pleasure. You felt his balls slapping against your ass, the sound and sensation driving you wild, your hands grasped at him, at his shoulders, at his neck, at his hair. 

You felt the tension building within him, his body tensing underneath you as he neared his climax. He gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your skin, holding you in place as he drove into you. You were certain he’d leave marks in their wake, that your hips, your thighs, your body would be bruised with the evidence of his touch. It made you feral. 

Cassian’s breaths were ragged as he bucked into you roughly, a string of curses falling from his lips. Finally, he let out a low, primal grunt, his face contorted with pleasure as he came, his cum spilling deep within you. You felt the warmth of his seed filling you, the sensation making you shiver with pleasure. His thrusts became slower, gentler, as he tried to catch his breath, his body still trembling from the intensity of his orgasm. His grip on you loosened, and his hands began to rub up and down your spine, gently, softly, lovingly. 

You both laid there for a moment, his cock still deep inside you. Pushing yourself up, you sat upright, Cassian letting out a groan at the feeling of him still inside you, your juices leaking between your legs and onto his skin. His hands rubbed at either of your thighs, both of you breathing heavily as you stared at one another— lips swollen, skin flushed, hair disheveled. You let out a deep breath and let your mouth fall open slightly. 

“You are incredible.” Cassian breathed out, looking up at you, still entranced in your beauty. He admired the marks on your body from his mouth, and felt a small smirk growing on his lips. You let out a small exhausted laugh, your hands coming to rest at his shoulders, rubbing your thumb absentmindedly on his skin. 

“So,” You said, still breathless, your voice raspy, “What now?”

[jessiso]

"642 Days"

A criminal minds one-shot | Spencer Reid x Reader

A drunken Spencer Reid shows up at your door with a list of nerdy confessions—and a heart full of love he can’t hide anymore.

cw: intoxication, alcohol use, mentions of hangover, fluff and romantic confessions.

w/c 1,697

(As this was the most voted on my poll - here it is! I hope you all enjoy it 💚)

...

The bar lights were low and warm, casting soft golden halos around the heads of the laughing crowd.

At a corner table, the BAU team was mid-sprawl, empty glasses and discarded lime wedges cluttering the wood between them. The scent of whiskey and something fried clung to the air.

Spencer Reid slumped against the back of his chair, a lazy, lopsided grin tugging at his mouth. His cheeks were flushed a warm pink, his tie loosened and askew. A half-finished glass of whiskey dangled precariously between his fingers.

"You good, pretty boy?" Morgan chuckled, clapping a heavy hand on Spencer’s shoulder, which made him sway slightly in his seat. "You’re lookin’ a little wrecked over there."

"I'm fine," Spencer said emphatically, drawing out the word. He blinked at Morgan like it took a second for his brain to catch up. "Actually, statistically speaking, I'm —" he paused, lifting his hand in an uncertain gesture, "— better than fine."

Across the table, JJ burst out laughing while Emily smirked over the rim of her beer.

"God, Reid," Emily teased. "You're drunk."

Spencer’s eyebrows lifted, affronted. "I'm not drunk, I'm..." he searched for the word, waving his hand like he could pluck it from the air. "Loosened."

Hotch, nursing his beer with an amused shake of his head, said dryly, "That's not a clinical term, Reid."

Spencer grinned brightly at him, then immediately checked his phone again, bringing it up so close to his face that Morgan barked a laugh.

"You seriously trying to read like that?" Morgan said. "Who you texting? That little lady of yours?"

Spencer’s flush deepened instantly, visible even in the dim lighting. He fumbled his phone, caught it against his chest, and mumbled, "M'not texting. I'm—I'm just making sure she didn't..." He trailed off into a mutter, too low for any of them to hear.

Penelope swooped in with a fresh round of shots, setting a bright red one in front of Spencer with a flourish. "For love!" she cried. "Or at least for courage!"

Spencer blinked at the glass, then back up at her, visibly debating it. He shook his head a little too dramatically.

"I gotta go," he said, dragging himself upright, coat swinging from his elbow. His legs wobbled for a second before he caught himself against the table. "’M already late."

"Oooh," Morgan hooted. "Someone’s got plans!"

Spencer pointed vaguely at him as he backed away. "I have intentions," he corrected, sounding far more serious than he probably intended.

The team’s laughter followed him all the way out the door, warm and full of affection. He barely noticed. His head was a little light, his steps a little uneven — but all he could think about was getting to you.

And how much he hoped you didn’t mind if he showed up a little... loosened.

You weren’t expecting the knock at your door at 11:42 p.m.

But when you opened it to find Spencer Reid swaying slightly in his cardigan and a very flushed face, holding a paper bag like it was a priceless artifact, you knew two things immediately:

1. He was drunk.

2. This was going to be interesting.

“Spence?” you asked, blinking. “What’s—did something happen?”

He beamed at you, bright and boyish. “Something very important happened,” he said, stumbling slightly over the word “important.”

“Derek made me drink whiskey. Which is fermented grains, by the way. Grains. Like in cereal.”

You bit back a smile. “You hate whiskey.”

“I do! That’s the thing! It tastes like regret and firewood,” he declared, stepping inside uninvited. “But I drank it because Morgan said I need to ‘loosen up,’ and I think he’s wrong. I think I’m perfectly un-loose. Wait. No. Loose enough. I’m loose enough.”

He paused, brows furrowing in deep thought. Then he looked up at you.

“You’re very pretty,” he said solemnly.

You blinked. “Okay. That’s new.”

“Not really,” he murmured, eyes wide and glassy. “I think that all the time. But usually I don’t say it because there are rules, and I like rules. I’m good at them. Except for the unspoken one where I’m not supposed to tell my best friend she’s the reason my hippocampus lights up like a Christmas tree every time she walks in the room.”

You just stared. “Your... hippocampus?”

He nodded, leaning against your wall with the grace of a wet noodle. “It’s the part of the brain that stores emotional memory and processes faces. Yours is my favorite. Face. Your face.”

A quiet laugh escaped you. “Spencer, are you trying to confess something to me right now? Because it sounds like a dissertation on how in love with me you are.”

He straightened, suddenly serious, like you’d just solved a puzzle. “Yes!” he whispered. “Yes, exactly. That’s the thing I’ve been trying not to say for, like, 642 days. You counted how long you’ve had a crush on someone before, right? That’s normal. Totally normal.”

You tried not to laugh too hard, but a giggle slipped out anyway. “Six hundred and forty-two days?”

“Since the coffee spill incident,” he said fondly. “You were wearing that sweater with the star on the sleeve, and you apologized twelve times even though it was my fault. That was the day I thought, ‘Huh. I could love her.’ And then I just... never stopped.”

Your heart did a very inconvenient somersault in your chest. “Spencer.”

“Yes?”

“You’re drunk.”

He gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “So I’ve been told. But the truth serum is working and I’m not even mad about it.”

You took a step closer, touching his arm gently. “Okay, drunk genius. Let’s get you some water and into bed. My couch is yours tonight.”

He pouted. “Only if you promise you’ll still be here in the morning. I don’t want to forget saying all that, and then wake up and think it was a dream. Because I’ve definitely dreamed about this. At least twice. Once we were on a space station, though.”

You smiled so hard it hurt a little. “I’ll be here.”

“And you don’t hate me?”

You cupped his cheek. “Spencer. I think I might be in love with your hippocampus too.”

He blinked. “That’s the hottest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

You laughed, leading him toward the couch, already knowing this would be a story to retell for years—but more importantly, that this was just the beginning of something you both had been waiting for.

You guided Spencer toward the couch, his long limbs gangly and uncoordinated as he nearly tripped over a rug you were sure he’d memorized the dimensions of during one of his thousand visits.

“Wait,” he murmured as you handed him a glass of water. “I have more confessions.”

“Oh?” you asked, amused, tucking a blanket around him.

He nodded seriously, though it looked more like a slow-motion bobblehead. “I have a list.”

“A list?”

“Yes. Top ten reasons I think you’re the most perfect person I’ve ever met.” He held up a finger. “One: You laugh at my jokes, even when they include Latin roots. That’s rare. Statistically, only twelve percent of people enjoy etymology-based humor.”

You sat on the arm of the couch, face warm. “That’s not a real stat.”

“It is in my heart,” he said gravely.

He opened his mouth to continue, but his eyes were already closing. “Two... You always smell like cinnamon and old books. Like a library during fall. That’s comforting. Oxytocin levels increase by seventeen percent when exposed to comforting scents, did you know that?”

You smiled, brushing a lock of hair off his forehead. “I didn’t. But I do now.”

He mumbled something else—something about synapses and serotonin and maybe a soft “I love you”—before he dozed off, fingers curled around the edge of the blanket.

You stayed a few minutes, watching the rise and fall of his chest, your own heart blooming with something deep and warm and undeniable.

Maybe it had always been him. Maybe it had just taken 642 days and a few too many whiskeys for either of you to realize it.

**The Next Morning**

The sun spilled gently through the blinds, warming the room with a sleepy golden glow.

You found Spencer exactly where you left him—sprawled on the couch, hair a soft halo of chaos, blanket tangled around him like he’d been in a light academic battle overnight.

He stirred slowly, scrunching his face in a wince.

“Oh no,” he croaked. “I think my neurons are staging a mutiny.”

You handed him a glass of water and two aspirin. “Good morning, Einstein.”

He opened one eye. “Technically, I feel more like Heisenberg right now. Very uncertain.”

You laughed softly as he sat up, groaning.

“There’s a non-zero chance I embarrassed myself last night,” he said, voice raspy but still with that uniquely Spence precision. “Did I happen to confess deep and unwavering romantic affection while comparing your face to the hippocampus?”

“You absolutely did.”

He looked mildly horrified. “Did I—did I mention the coffee incident from 642 days ago?”

“Yes.”

“And the oxytocin levels?”

“Yup.”

“And the list?”

You handed him the wrinkled scrap of paper he must’ve written part of it on at the bar. He squinted at it.

"#6: She knows my coffee order and spells my name right on to-go cups."

“That one was my favorite.”

He looked at you then, hair messy, eyes soft behind dark lashes. “I meant all of it, you know. I might’ve had a blood alcohol content high enough to dull my fine motor skills, but it didn’t touch how I feel about you.”

You smiled, sitting beside him. “Good. Because I meant it, too.”

He blinked. “Meant what?”

You leaned in, forehead resting against his. “That I love your hippocampus.”

A dopey, hungover grin stretched across his face. “Oh. That’s definitely going in the top ten.”

He reached for your hand, lacing his fingers with yours like it was the most natural thing in the world. And honestly? It was.

Nerdy or not, sober or slightly slurring, Spencer Reid had always been the smartest man in the room.

And somehow, he’d finally figured out what mattered most.

[moonstruckme]

i loove the way you characterize the marauders! is there any chance i can request a drabble of protective! marauders when their s/o wears something very revealing to like a girls night out 🙈

Thanks for requesting lovely!

cw: alcohol, men (the ones who aren't our loverboys)

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 843 words

Although he doesn’t think of himself as the confrontational type, Remus has no qualms at all with letting his stare bore relentlessly into the man standing against the wall. It takes a minute for the bloke to feel it, but when he looks away from you and catches Remus’ eye, he decides to ogle his drink instead. 

“Fuck,” Sirius sighs, longing woven into the threads of his voice, “that skirt is right dangerous.” 

James hums emphatically, both of their eyes glued to where you’re off dancing with your friends. 

When you’d pulled it on earlier and your boyfriends’ tongues had just about fallen out of their mouths, you’d described it as a “low rise miniskirt.” Remus thought it might more accurately be called a “strip of fabric.” He’s fairly sure you own headbands that are thicker than what you’re wearing now. Pairing it with one of your little tops had all but ensured James wouldn’t be getting a full, intelligent sentence out all night, and you’d covertly asked Remus to take your boyfriends to the bar for a drink when Sirius wouldn’t unstick his hands from you long enough to let you actually dance. 

“She’s alright,” Remus says, turning his stare on another man eye-fucking you from near them at the bar. “She knows how to take care of herself.” 

(And you do, though he doubts you’d mind him offering you a bit of help.)

“I meant for me.” Sirius’ expression is theatrically pained. He looks like he couldn’t rip his eyes away from you if he tried. “Look, you both know I don’t like to get too steamy in public—” James snorts, and Remus coughs into his drink “—but if one of you doesn’t kiss me passionately within the next few minutes, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop myself from dragging all three of you straight home.” 

“I thought Moony was supposed to be the one with the irresistible urges,” James jokes. Sirius doesn’t seem to hear the joke, but Remus accepts the quick cheek peck James offers him in recompense. “Hang on, I’ll snog you in a bit. Angel!” 

He waves his hand until you look over, gesturing for you to come to the bar. If you’re disappointed to be taken away from your girlfriends you don’t show it, though Remus thinks you might be the sort of tipsy where you’re happy with just about everything regardless. You’re beaming as you make your way over to them. 

“Hey, lovie,” James says. He kisses your cheek while his fingers find the hem of your skirt, giving it a firm tug so it covers more of your ass. Sirius watches its descent with torment in his eyes. “Do you want another drink?”

Your smile goes crooked. Remus thinks you’re trying to be sly, which is just fucking adorable. “You’re gonna get one for me?” you ask, batting your eyelashes at James. 

James grins back at you just as contentedly. “If you want,” he agrees, grasping the fabric of your top to shimmy it up an inch. “Another dirty shirley?” 

“Please.” You peck him on the lips. 

While James turns to speak to the bartender, Sirius steals you away. He takes your hips in both hands, manhandling you closer until he can wrap his arms around your waist and drop his chin on your shoulder. You look happy to be manhandled. 

“You don’t know what you’re doing to me,” Sirius laments, putting his lips to your skin so his voice is a mournful mumble. You bring up a hand to pet his hair, and the look you give Remus says that you do know, actually. “I think we ought to go home.” 

You appear unsurprised at this request. You turn your head to reply, “I’m having fun, though. Aren’t you?” 

“I was,” Sirius groans. “Let me come back out there with you, please? I promise to behave this time.” 

You hum thoughtfully, sending Remus a playful look. “I don’t know. Do you think he can manage it?” 

Remus suppresses a smile. Sirius does love to dance, but Remus knows he sees dancing with you as an opportunity to prove to onlookers that you’re taken as much as it is a chance to grope you himself. And with the mood his last few cocktails have put him in, Remus wouldn’t be surprised if “dancing” turned into a very public makeout session in record time. 

“Doubtful,” Remus says, impervious to Sirius’ pout, “but why rob us all of the show.” 

Sirius’ grin spreads like a sunrise. 

“Alright,” you say as James hands you your drink. “Ready?” 

Sirius agrees enthusiastically, and you start back towards the dance floor, shouting a quick “Thanks, Jamie!” over your shoulder as you lift your drink above the crowd. 

“Think we ought to worry about her taking that out there?” James cranes his neck to keep track of you. “You know, uncovered and all?” 

“No,” Remus says placidly as Sirius snaps at a bloke who happens to glance at your drink as it goes by. “He’s got her just fine.” 

[aventurineswife]

Reader flinches during an argument😩🤚

You cna make it just flinching or them actually accidentally hurting reader, whatever you're more comfortable with

Characters: Jing Yuan, Aventurine, Dan Heng, Kaveh and Therta (get it? Cuz The Herta can be shortened to Therta... haha... ha)

Trust Reforged in the Quiet

Tags: Jing Yuan x Reader, Dan Heng x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Kaveh x Reader, The Herta x Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Misunderstandings, Emotional Vulnerability, Arguments, Flinching Reaction, Apologies, Reconciliation, Romantic Tension, Communication, Soft Moments.

Warnings: Emotional conflict, Raised voices, Accidental intimidation, Mentions of guilt and emotional vulnerability. (No physical harm or abuse.)

A/N: yeah... I totally got it, ahahaha.. ha 🧍‍♀️

The peaceful glow of the Luofu was overshadowed by the tense atmosphere between you and Jing Yuan. The General stood in his study, his eyes fixed on you, frustration flickering behind their usual calm. The argument had started small, but it spiraled into something you hadn��t anticipated.

“You don’t understand the weight of these decisions,” Jing Yuan said, his tone sharper than usual. “Every action has consequences—not just for us, but for the entire Alliance.”

“I’m trying to help you!” you shot back, voice trembling. “But you keep shutting me out like I’m just an outsider!”

Jing Yuan ran a hand through his long hair, visibly exasperated. “It’s not about shutting you out—it’s about protecting you. Don’t you see that?”

When he suddenly stepped closer, his voice louder than before, you instinctively flinched, taking a step back. His eyes widened, his anger evaporating in an instant.

“Wait…” His voice softened. “Did you just flinch?”

You looked down, ashamed. The moment hung heavy in the air. Jing Yuan’s heart ached at the sight of you retreating from him, and he cursed himself for letting his emotions overwhelm his judgment.

“I’m sorry,” he said gently, his hands hovering before dropping to his sides. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He took a step back himself, giving you space. “I would never hurt you.”

You hesitated before nodding, your eyes still wary. Jing Yuan took a deep breath, his usual calm returning. He walked to his desk, retrieved a cup of tea, and set it down in front of you.

“Let’s talk—properly this time,” he said, his voice steady but laced with remorse. “I want to listen to you, truly.”

And for the first time that evening, you felt safe enough to let him in.

The opulent office felt suffocating as Aventurine paced back and forth, his normally suave demeanor unraveling. You had challenged one of his high-stakes decisions, and he hadn’t taken it well.

“You think I didn’t calculate the risks?” he barked, his voice sharp as a blade. “You think I don’t know exactly what I’m doing?”

“I’m saying it’s dangerous, Aventurine!” you shot back, your voice rising to match his. “You can’t keep gambling with people’s lives like this!”

His eyes burned with frustration. “You don’t understand the game I’m playing! Every move I make is—”

When he spun to face you, gesturing emphatically, you flinched, your body reacting before your mind could catch up. The slight recoil stopped Aventurine mid-sentence. His hand, frozen mid-air, dropped to his side.

For a moment, silence reigned. Then, his voice came out softer, almost unsure. “Did I… scare you?”

You didn’t respond immediately, and that was answer enough. Aventurine’s usually confident mask cracked, revealing the guilt underneath. He stepped back, running a hand through his hair.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his tone devoid of its usual bravado. “I let my temper get the better of me.”

You crossed your arms, your voice shaky. “I just want you to see that I care, Aventurine. You don’t have to face everything alone.”

He chuckled dryly, his smile weak but genuine. “It seems I’m the one who needs a reminder of that sometimes.” He reached out hesitantly, his fingers brushing yours. “Can we try this again? No shouting this time.”

You nodded, and as he led you to sit beside him, the gambler seemed determined to show you he was more than just his sharp words and risky strategies.

The gentle hum of the Astral Express felt distant as you and Dan Heng faced off in the library. He rarely raised his voice, but tonight, his frustration was palpable.

“You can’t just rush into danger like that!” Dan Heng exclaimed, his voice uncharacteristically forceful. “Do you have any idea how reckless that was?”

“I was trying to help!” you defended, equally upset. “You always act like I can’t handle myself!”

“Because you don’t see the risks!” He stepped forward, his hand clutching his spear. “What if something had happened to you? Do you think I could—”

When his voice rose further, and his spear clinked against the floor as he adjusted his grip, you flinched, taking a step back. Dan Heng immediately froze, his sharp eyes widening in realization. The air grew heavy with the weight of what had just happened.

“You…” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. He set his spear down, his hands shaking slightly. “I didn’t mean to… I would never—”

You looked away, biting your lip. “It’s fine. I just… wasn’t expecting you to—”

“No, it’s not fine,” he interrupted, his voice steady but filled with guilt. “I lost control. That’s on me.”

Dan Heng lowered himself to sit on the edge of the table, his posture uncharacteristically vulnerable. “I don’t want to push you away. I’m just… scared of losing you.”

You hesitated before stepping closer, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I’m scared too, but we need to face this together. You don’t have to carry everything on your own.”

He nodded, his usual calm slowly returning. “You’re right. I’ll… do better.”

In that moment, you saw the real Dan Heng—not the stoic guardian, but the man who carried the weight of the past and feared losing the one person who made him feel safe.

The grandiose living room of Alhaitham's home felt oppressive as your argument with Kaveh escalated. He stood in the middle of the room, his expressive eyes alight with frustration. You had challenged one of his decisions, and his idealistic nature didn’t take it lightly.

“You don’t understand what this means to me!” Kaveh exclaimed, his voice shaking. “I worked my entire life to make a difference through my designs! And now you’re questioning that?”

“I’m not questioning your work, Kaveh,” you said, your voice tinged with desperation. “I’m worried about you! You’re pushing yourself too hard, taking on too much—”

“Because I have to!” he shouted, his hands flaring in an animated gesture. “If I don’t, who will? Do you think anyone else cares as much as I do?” He stepped closer, his tone growing sharper as he continued. “Stop acting like you—”

Your body reacted before your mind could catch up. You flinched, taking a small step back as his voice rose and his movements became more animated. The action stopped him in his tracks, the weight of the moment crashing down around him like a crumbling structure.

His arms dropped to his sides, and his face fell. “Did… did I scare you?” he asked, his voice suddenly quiet and laced with regret.

You didn’t reply immediately, your throat tight with emotion. “I—I didn’t mean to—” you started, but Kaveh shook his head, cutting you off.

“No,” he said firmly, his tone filled with self-reproach. “This isn’t on you. I… I shouldn’t have yelled like that.” He took a step back, giving you space, his eyes filled with guilt. “I never meant to make you feel unsafe.”

“Kaveh…” you began, your voice softening.

He turned away briefly, running a hand through his hair. “I let my emotions get the better of me. Again. It’s just… everything feels like it’s falling apart, and I’m trying so hard to hold it together.”

You stepped forward hesitantly, placing a hand on his arm. “I know you’re trying, Kaveh. But you don’t have to do it alone. You don’t have to carry this weight by yourself.”

He looked at you, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I just… I don’t know how to let go. But I don’t ever want to hurt you, not even by accident.”

“You won’t,” you assured him, squeezing his arm gently. “But you need to let yourself rest, Kaveh. Let yourself breathe.”

He nodded slowly, his usual dramatic flair subdued by the gravity of the moment. “You’re right. I’ll… I’ll try. For you.”

And as the tension eased, you saw in his eyes the vulnerability he often tried to mask with passion and idealism—a man who cared so deeply, it sometimes consumed him.

The sterile halls of Herta’s spaceship echoed with the sharp edge of your argument. Herta stood before her console, her fingers tapping impatiently on its surface as she glared at you.

“Do you even understand the magnitude of what I’m trying to achieve here?” she asked, her tone biting. “This isn’t just some experiment—it’s a breakthrough!”

“I do understand,” you replied, your voice raised. “But you’re so focused on the outcome that you’re ignoring the risks!”

Herta’s eyes narrowed as she whirled around to face you, her movements swift and deliberate. “Risks are inevitable in science! If I stopped every time something was dangerous, we wouldn’t even have the Simulated Universe! You—” She gestured sharply, stepping closer as her voice grew louder.

The suddenness of her movement made you flinch, your shoulders tensing as you instinctively stepped back. The reaction was subtle but unmistakable. Herta froze mid-sentence, her eyes widening in realization.

She stared at you for a long moment, the tension in her posture dissipating. “Wait… did I just… scare you?” she asked, her voice unusually soft.

You looked away, unable to meet her gaze. “It’s fine. I know you didn’t mean to.”

But Herta shook her head, her usual detached demeanor cracking. “No, it’s not fine,” she said, setting her clipboard aside. “I might be a genius, but that doesn’t give me the right to… intimidate you like that.”

You glanced at her, surprised by the remorse in her tone. “Herta…”

She crossed her arms, avoiding your eyes as she spoke. “I get so caught up in my work, I forget about the people around me. I’m sorry.” She sighed, her sharp wit returning slightly. “It seems even I have room for improvement.”

You chuckled softly despite the tension. “You think?”

She smiled faintly, stepping closer but keeping her movements slow and deliberate. “Let me make it up to you. I’ll explain everything properly this time—no yelling, no dramatics.”

You nodded, the knot in your chest loosening. “I’d like that.”

As she guided you to her desk, the usual confidence in her demeanor was tempered by a quiet sincerity. For the first time, you saw the side of Herta that wasn’t just a genius or a scientist, but someone who valued your trust more than any experiment.

[luveline]

hi love! i absolutely adore ur writing and u should be so so proud of it. anyway i was just thinking about coworker james when readers car wont start in the parking lot and he like takes a look at it and is under the hood and reader is just like "oh...😍" cause the muscles are OUT and shes down bad

ty lovely 💌 fem

“Oh,” you say, “of course.” 

You drop your face into your steering wheel and sigh. An annoyed burst of sound, not cute or feminine or fun, a grunt of defeat. This sucks. Work sucks, life sucks, your car not starting is the least of your worries and yet somehow the most prevalent. 

How am I gonna get home? you think to yourself, defeated.

“Hey!” someone calls. Jogging, the last person you want to see in the world right now stopping at your door. James frowns at you. “It’s not starting?” 

You pop your door, careful not to pop him at the same time. “How’d you know?” 

“I heard the engine turn over.”

“It’s making a clicking sound,” you say, twisting the key so he can hear it. 

“It’s dead, probably. Your battery.”

James has an odd way of talking occasionally, as though you’ve started a conversation and he’s adding onto it. Remus says it's ADHD. You like it no matter what it is and despite yourself —it’s getting harder to pretend you don’t like him. Like, you hate him, he’s annoying beyond explanation, but your more positive feelings for him are heavy and ever present. So, so heavy.

“I’ll pull my car up and we can give it a jumpstart,” he says. “Easy fix.” 

“You don’t have to go?” 

“What?” 

“You have rugby today.” 

“Oh, no, it's the off season now.” He smiles and you don’t get why. “Let me go get the car.” 

James jogs back to his car and brings it next to yours. Everybody who isn’t Human Resources or security has left already, leaving the car park practically empty, ample room for him to park beside you. He gets back out. 

“I don’t have, uh, cables,” you say.

James gives you a smile that is as patronising as it is attractive. “Don’t worry about it, beautiful. I have everything you need.” 

He feels along the edge of your hood, pops the seal, pushes it up into the air, and hooks the prop rod into place. He’s clearly done it before, and the whole while you’re watching his arm. His rolled sleeves draw attention to the tightness at his bicep, and the moving ligament and muscle of his tricep as he leans into the engine to look things over. “I’m no mechanic, but I do know everything, and I thought maybe things were a bit hot but your engine’s stone cold.” 

“So it’s definitely the battery?” 

“Probably.” He scratches his jaw, peering curiously into the guts of it all. “When was the last time somebody looked in here?” he asks, squinting at you, unaware that he’s the finest thing you’ve ever seen. 

Your breath gets caught. 

“Have you ever had it looked at?” he asks, concerned. 

“I… maybe I did. I think so.” 

“You’re supposed to have it looked at every year? For MOT?” 

“I know, I thought you meant before that.” He’s distracting.

James looks you over. “It’s fine,” he says emphatically, “even if I can’t fix your battery, I can still drive you home. You’re panicking for no reason.” 

“Right.” Panicking! Yes, this is panic.

“Listen, can you get the jump leads from my boot? I have to open the hood.” He gestures for you to go. You do as he’s asked, wobbly, and struggle when you get there to actually open it. You slides your fingers under his car's emblem and flinch as it flies up past your face. 

His boot is surprisingly well organised. There’s a duffel bag to one side half-zipped that showcases a flash of red and white uniform, a pair of formal shoes, a dark jacket folded and hidden behind the bag. You want to be nosey and you don’t want him to think you’re stupid. You rush to grab the cables and almost clip yourself on the boot as you duck from under the boot and round the car. 

James smiles when he sees you. No indication that you’re an imposition, it’s sort of like you’re two friends. 

He pushes his sleeves farther up and digs in. It’s awful, what business does he have looking so sharply put together? You hadn’t thought you were preferential to muscle until right this moment watching James move around your engine like an expert. 

“What are your plans tonight?” 

Your palms are hot behind your back. “I was thinking I’d watch a new movie.” 

“That sounds fun.” He ducks away from the engine. “I don’t watch many movies.”

“What do you do with all your time?” 

“Argue with Sirius about who’s turn it is to wash the dishes.” 

You startle. “You and Sirius live together?” 

James laughs and pulls the leads to his own engine. “You didn’t know that?” 

“You come in different cars.” 

“I come in much earlier than he does. And after work he and Remus always have things to do. It’s weird, isn’t it, how couples are always busy? I feel like I never do anything.” James grins at you. “This is interesting, at least. My Friday night isn’t a total waste.” 

James gets into his car and you into yours. With some fiddling, pleading, and a strange noise, he manages to push life back into your car. His smile when it works is his worst one to date, elated and shockingly handsome. 

That Monday, against your better judgement, you bring him a little carrot cake in a tin. A thank you card felt like too much. 

To his credit, he doesn’t brag to anyone that he saved you. He says thank you for the cake with another real smile, and for some reason, despite the mild weather, he rolls his sleeves up at his desk. Almost like he noticed you…

Well, he couldn’t have. Right?

[inkinflux]

Raising the Mast

Viktor x f!Reader | 1.1k | 18+ You give Viktor a ride home from an event, knowing from experience that he won't be able to keep his hands off you for long. 🚫 I DO NOT CONSENT TO MY WORK BEING USED TO TRAIN AI 🚫  

The carriage back to the Academy was pleasant enough, the cobblestones only causing a minor bump here and there as you traversed through the wealthiest district of Piltover.

“I can’t say I’m familiar with the sensation. The call for adventure,” Councilor Shoola carried your polite conversation. “However my wife is a different story. She goes sailing every weekend. I tried to join her once but got terribly seasick. Never again.”

You gave a soft laugh in response, your posture relaxed and open. The same could not be said for the man sitting next to the Councilor, his body turned to the window, cane cradled between his legs.

“I was lucky to never have gotten seasick during my sailing days. However, I’m not the most graceful sailor. One day when raising the sails a gust of wind caught me off guard and I got knocked overboard by the mast.”

Shoola cackled at that.

Viktor cast a side-glance at you, and you would’ve thought he was judging you if not for the amused smirk he was trying to hide.

“You must meet my wife. Perhaps tea, sometime soon? We’d love to host you.”

You smiled. “That sounds nice.”

The carriage pulled to a stop, and Shoola glanced out the window. The carriage stood outside of a mansion made of luxurious marble pillars framed by golden gates.

“This is me,” she said, standing. “It was lovely catching up with you, (Y/n).” She side-stepped the man beside her as she reached for the door. “Viktor,” she said by way of farewell.

The carriage shook slightly as she stepped out, and the driver closed the door behind her. There was a terse silence until it started rolling again.

Viktor continued watching the streets pass from the window. You slid your foot forward, nudging his.

“Did you have a good night?”

Viktor looked at you with barely concealed fatigue. “Of course not.” Despite his cold response, he lifted his foot, capturing yours underneath. You bit back a smile.

“What, you don’t enjoy hearing rich people talk about their breweries and boats?”

It had been a party celebrating the launch of a new beer brand. Viktor had been Jayce’s plus one, and you were always a permanent fixture on any guest list thanks to your status.

Viktor sat up, emphatically gesturing with his cane. “I would have enjoyed it more if it had ended with the securing of another Hextech investment.”

You leaned forward, “And how would you have swung this one, had you gotten it? ‘Yes, see here, the new HexScythe, made for ploughing the fields at an exceptionally accelerated rate-” You giggled as Viktor reached out, trying to cover your mouth with his hand and cease your accent-heavy impression of him. “-proven to increase wheat yield tenfold for all your beer brewing needs.”

“I do not sound like that,” he muttered.

“You’re right,” you replied breathlessly, seizing his wrist, “I give a much better sales pitch than you.”

Viktor’s eyes darkened with a challenge. He spun his wrist, instead capturing yours, bringing the back of your hand to his lips.

“Perhaps this is true,” he spoke low, placing a gentle kiss, “Or perhaps it is not the words that matter, but the person who speaks them.” Your body gave an involuntary shiver as Viktor looked at you from underneath his eyelashes and turned your hand over. “I’m certain you could have just about anyone eating from the palm of your hand.”

He sunk his teeth into the soft swell of your palm. This dance of modesty became shorter each time.

Viktor flipped his cane, slotting the handle behind your back and tugging you to the edge of your seat, capturing your lips in an open-mouthed kiss. He kissed with a ferocity that hinted he’d been waiting for this all night.

Pushing his knee between your thighs, he moved closer, dropping his cane to place a firm hand behind your neck, urging you towards him with a gentle pull.

You parted for a second to move on top of him, and in the same moment a helpful bump in the road had you landing in his lap, your legs spread atop him.

Viktor wasted no time in chasing your lips again, his mouth hot and just as greedy as his hands.

One of which slid up your back, fingers reaching into your hair before sharply tugging your head back, affording him the perfect expanse of your delicious throat. Viktor bit down on your hammering pulse, like flicking a switch that had your muscles tensing.

His skillful hands played your body like a symphony, directing with rough touches down your waist, thumbs digging into the divots of your hips, encouraging you to move against him.

You obliged, earning a moan stifled against your neck. You ground your hips in a fluid motion, ignoring how his leg brace dug into the back of your thigh.

Viktor ceased his incessant biting to watch you for a moment. You pressed a steadying hand to his chest, feeling the erratic thumping of his heart beneath. His gaze was wicked as he devoured you with his eyes.

It made you shiver.

He grabbed hold of your chin, pulling your face down to his, your noses bumping and laboured breaths mingling.

“Next time, let’s skip the parties, hm?” He suggested before kissing you once more. “It will save us from waiting to reach the part we both enjoy most.”

“And lose the opportunity to flirt with you in front of all my rich peers?” you grinned, eating the sounds your rolling hips elicited. “Are you kidding?”

Viktor huffed a laugh, his eyes unfocused and his cheeks flushed. “That part is pretty satisfying. If only for the soul.”

You nipped at his jaw, nuzzling under his ear. Viktor groaned as the fabric between you grew uncomfortably warm, his short nails digging into your waist, pulling you down against him as he chased more friction.

“You trying to tell me this isn’t good for your soul?” You teased.

Viktor panted, “Quite the contrary. Hmph.” His head fell back, eyes cast down at your exposed thighs as your skirt rode up. He pushed the hem further up, the touch leaving goosebumps on your legs. “I think my mast has pushed you overboard, hm?” he commented, rubbing his thumb along the damp spot between your legs.

You bit your lip as his touch started circling that sweet spot, losing your rhythm as he bent forward, sinking his teeth into your collarbone.

“Please,” you begged, pushing him away from your sufficiently-marked neck, “No nautical-themed innuendos tonight.”

Viktor laughed.

“No promises.”

[onthemerits]

denial - 246 words - daily microfic - @into-the-jeggyverse

"--is a river in Egypt," Peter joked, eyeing James and Regulus where they sat on the other side of the pool.

They weren't doing anything, strictly speaking, just sitting up on the chaise lounge chairs, facing each other.

As Sirius watched, James leaned forward, hands on his knees.

And Regulus didn't lean away. He just narrowed his eyes and gestured emphatically with his hands.

"It is a bit odd," Remus conceded.

Peter shot a mischievous look at Sirius.

"I wonder if they know they're flirting--"

"They're not flirting," Sirius snapped. "They're arguing."

As if to prove his point, Regulus stood up and stormed off without so much as a backward glance.

Sirius shot Peter a told-you-so look.

"Reg!" James called. After a moment of apparent indecision, he jogged after Regulus.

Sirius looked down, his face twisted in annoyance. What the hell was James doing calling Regulus "Reg"?

And if James didn't quite manage to get all the way out of sight before catching Regulus by the waist and pulling him in... and if Remus and Peter watched, wide-eyed, as Regulus turned with a glare and wrapped his arms around James' neck... and if James and Regulus kissed right there, just barely still visible to the three boys by the pool... well that was no one's business but their own.

It certainly wasn't Sirius', Remus and Peter seemed to agree with just a shared look. He could live in denial for a little while longer.