#(the one I was thinking of was back in the high 300s)

[alexanderwales]

Notes on 3000 miles

Last year my doctor told me that I had high blood pressure, high cholesterol, and a high resting heartrate. So I started biking on an exercise bike, and by my best estimations, I'm either close to hitting 3000 miles or have already gone past that.

I should clarify that this wasn't all at once. I took many breaks.

So here are some notes.

When I started, I was on an exercise bike that my wife had gotten from her work. It wasn't the best, but it was free, and I made a deal with myself that if I biked every day for a month, then I could justify getting something better. I really really did not want to buy a piece of exercise equipment that would just sit in the house gathering dust, because that would feel awful ... but I do kind of wish that I had gotten the better bike sooner, because it removed some of the "friction" of exercise, where it felt like there were too many reasons not to get on the bike. The new exercise bike (a refurbished Peleton off Facebook marketplace that my wife got me for Christmas) really does just feel and move better. I think the general principle of not doing costly monetary commitments until you've shown costly personal commitment is a good one, however.

Blood pressure is in normal range. Cholesterol is in normal range. Resting heartrate is in normal range. This was all the case three months in, and this level of cardio is more than enough to maintain it.

Right now, I bike for thirty minutes a day, going 8-10 miles according to the bike. That range is enormous, because it represents vastly different amounts of work. Going 10 miles in 30 minutes is 20 miles an hour, and I keep the resistance relatively high, so by the end of it I'm always panting. By contrast, going 8 miles makes me feel like I didn't put in enough work.

My goal every day is sweat-based and completely qualitative. I want to soak through a shirt. This means that doing more laundry than I'd prefer to, which is an unanticipated consequence of the biking. It's also, compared to all the metrics the bike gives me, a very clear sign that I am actually exercising my body "properly" in a way that's achieving something.

I did some of the Peleton classes, and found a lot of the metrics to be motivating, but ... eh. Exercise is mostly about being healthy and maintaining my body, so my current strategy, for the last six months, has been to either shut the brain down or keep it fully engaged in something that passes the exercise time. Usually this means a TV show, especially a foreign one with subtitles, which need slightly more brainpower.

The final two minutes is always the worst. I'm just ready to be done with it. Sometimes there's gas left in the tank, but I still feel sweaty, thirsty, and overheated. I have a water bottle, and I drink from it while I bike, and I have a fan pointed at me that I turn on once I'm warmed up, but I always have a sense, in those last two minutes, of "finally I'm done". I tried the thinking man's solution, only biking for 28 minutes, and this did not help. In my entire year of biking a half hour a day, I didn't ever elect to go into overtime.

I initially lost ten pounds, then slowly gained it back. I am, in fact, overweight, but I'm holding more or less steady now, and there have definitely been some body composition changes, with muscle replacing fat. I went down about four inches at the waist. I've changed very little about how I eat (which is 90% meals that I cook myself, and a daily coffee drink of some kind, usually made myself with sugar/cream/chocolate). Biking amounts to 300-400 calories a day or something like that, so I'm presumably eating more to compensate and just not realizing it.

Mental health has been rocky, but that's just sort of how it is for me. I definitely feel less mentally well on days that I don't bike, and feel better afterward, but I have no idea how tight the correlation is, and if I had been keeping track on a mood tracker, I'm not sure I would be able to sus out from self-reported mood alone whether or not I was biking.

During the summer I replaced a lot of indoor exercise bike stuff with outdoor biking. My son has only recently learned to bike, so he's been with me many of these times. Usually that means that we're either biking a lot less distance, or we're biking for a lot longer time at much lower intensity, sometimes both. There's a bike path that's downhill from our house which goes for maybe six miles, with some good, clear turn back points, but that means a fairly arduous uphill to get back home. If I lived in a place where the weather wasn't frigid for almost half the year, I would probably be doing outdoor biking more.

I think the most important thing, if you're doing exercise every day, is making sure that you're doing it in such a way that it's sustainable and virtually incapable of injuring you. This mostly means proper form. Early on, I had a habit of pressing down the right pedal with the outside edge of my foot, and after fifteen minutes of doing that, the muscles in the foot would be aching and uncomfortable. I'm not sure why I was doing that, but it was difficult to get myself to bike in a way that wouldn't be putting strain on me.

I think it's okay to skip a day ... if it's for the right reason. Of the days that I've skipped, I always try to make sure the reason isn't "fuck it, I don't want to". I should either be feeling sick, feeling like I need to rest, or replacing biking with some other form of exercise like a hike in the woods or some weightlifting or something. If I start skipping days because I just don't feel like it, that's where the whole scheme falls apart.

I am currently sort of wondering how long this is going to go on for, and I think the answer is "for the rest of my life", or at least until I'm unable to keep it up for whatever reason. I don't think there's any particular reason to prefer an exercise bike (or regular bike) over running or rowing or some other form of cardio, but I think I have proven to myself that this is cardio I can do daily and stick with it to the level that is probably necessary for me to stay healthy. I'm not committed to doing it for the rest of my life, since in theory some other form of cardio might come along and sweep me off my feet.

I do wish that I had started earlier in my life, even if daily exercise has not been the panacea for mental health that I had been kind of hoping it would be. I hope that I have the willpower and wisdom to keep up with it indefinitely.

[kirby-the-gorb]

[inkskinned]

how odd, to watch the creative writing exercises of angry men in the comments of instagram. you noticed it first in the comments of conventionally attractive women - but then it started appearing everywhere else, too.

a young man talks about what lunch he's packing his wife. there is a little story under it, with 300 likes, fabricated from nothing. "this is pointless. if you treat her like this, she will take the lunch to her office and fuck her boss and divorce him and take all his money."

you scroll. a young woman talks about what lunch she's packing for her husband. it is always uglier when the subject of the video is a woman, you've noticed. "you sit on camera and you smile and you are cheating with the neighbor and then you're going to lie about being sexually assaulted by your husband and -"

you stop reading. it has 567 likes.

where did this even become a thing? people making up stories in their head, disgusting long-winded assumptions about intention and sexual disgrace. the evil twin of fanfiction.

like - it's just a lie. it's a lie that they are telling, baldfaced and assumptive. the undercurrent is of course misogyny, but the trouble is that they're so fucking certain. that's what makes the hairs on the back of your neck rise. there is this pervasive, inventive desire for them to be right. that they must be right. all women are cheating, lying, gold-digging bitches. no exceptions.

in the reverse, when women say i'd rather meet a bear in the woods than a strange man - men funnel in from the sides. they defend each other with a vibrance and capacity for empathy you wish applied to like, the other half of the population. a man could be saying i absolutely did kill her and these creatures in the comments would rise up with king shit. she made it happen. they love each other to the point of this sick strange self-gaslighting, a fervent and unhinged cognitive distortion. all men are good, wonderful people. all women are terrible, conniving, seditious, annoying.

and when did it become okay to just, like... say that kind of a thing? at one point, you find yourself typing out a witty and snappy retort. why are you spending so much time fantasizing about other people babe. but as you stare at the screen, some part of you pictures this man in public, saying these things to your face. his soapbox, high and mighty. his mirrored sunglasses and his empty life: tired and lonely.

what a sad and horrible loop he's locked in. he is terrible to women, so women don't talk to him, which he uses as an excuse to act more terribly. he blames this "failure" on women, rather than on his behavior. it cannot be that he is the problem (that the solution is to just put his ego down and accept women as equals) - he begins to invent a sculpture to replace the flesh frame of each person he sees.

it isn't just a woman posing on the beach. it is now a slut with a desperate need for each person to crave her body. it isn't just a woman yelping with surprise during something upsetting. it is a hysterical, unhelpful cretin who will probably make things worse instead of better. it isn't a person.

someone's very sweet wedding vows get moderate attention on instagram. in the comments, a man says good fucking luck you'll waste your life providing while behind your back she's absolutely fucking the best man. this will be so cringe in 2 months when she walks out on you.

you think - is that what you need to be true? is that what you need to happen, for the world to make sense to you?

[headspace-hotel]

data about where carbon emissions are coming from is so frustrating cause there's all kinds of huge, sprawling, just fucking vast breakdowns of What Causes The Most Carbon Emissions Out Of All Everything In The Entire World, but those are aggregations of numerous smaller but still vast aggregations of data, which are processed and polished from various aggregations of crunched numbers, which are patched and pieced together from various studies, estimates and calculations, which are sieved out of numbers crunched from various measurements, estimates and records, which have been collected, estimated or otherwise conceived through an unspeakably huge variety of methodologies with unspeakably huge variety in limitations, reliability and margins of error.

Even if some of the data was very fine-grained at the beginning, it was filtered through some very coarse number-crunching techniques for the sake of the coarse data, so the results are only as good as the wrongest thing you did in any part of this process, but the plans of action are getting thought up from the top down, which makes the whole thing a hot fucking mess.

For example. And I just made this example up. Say you want to know whether apples or potatoes have a worse impact on climate change. So you look at one of these huge ass infographic things. And it says that potatoes are bad, whereas apples are REALLY good, the BEST crop actually. So it's better to eat apples than potatoes, you think to yourself. Actually we should find a way to replace potatoes with apples! We should fund genetic engineering of apples so they have more starch and can replace potatoes. Great idea. Time to get some investors to put $5 billion towards it.

But actually. Where'd they get that conclusion about apples? Well there's this review right here of the carbon footprint of all different fruits, seems legit. Where'd that data come from? Well it's citing this study right here saying that tree-grown crops are better because they sequester carbon, and this study right here about the distance that different fruits get transported, and this study right here where different fertilization systems are compared in terms of their carbon footprint, and this study over here that sampled 300 apple, peach, and orange farmers comparing their irrigation practices and rates of tree mortality, and this study...wow, okay, seems really reliable...

...what's the first study citing? oh, okay, here's a study about mycorrhizal networks in orchards in Oregon, saying that there's a super high density of fungal mycelium in the 16 orchards that they sampled. And here's a study about leaf litter decay rates in Switzerland under different pesticide regimes, and...okay...relationship of tree spacing to below ground vs. aboveground biomass...a review of above and below-ground biomass in semi-intensively managed orchard plots...

...That one cites "Relationship between biomass and CO2 requirements...carbon immobilization in soil of various tree species...mycorrhizal fungi impact on carbon storage...

...wait a second, none of these are talking about apples, they're about boreal forests...and orange trees...and peanut farms! They're just speculating on roughly applying the non-apple data to apples. You have to go backwards...

Yes! "A review of belowground carbon storage in orchard cropping systems!" Seems like overall the studies find potentially high carbon storage in orchard environments! Walnuts...pears...oranges... intercropping walnuts and wheat... intercropping apples and wheat... wait a second, what about orchards with only apples?

Time for you to go back again...

"New method of mulching in apple orchards can lower irrigation and pesticide needs..." okay but if it's new, most farmers aren't doing it. "Orchards with high density interplanted with annual crops show way more mycorrhizal fungus activity..." "Mycorrhizal associations with trees in the genus Malus..."

...And pretty soon you've spent Five Fucking Hours investigating apples and you've got yourself in this tangled web of citations that demonstrate that some orchard crops (not necessarily apples) store a lot of long-lasting biomass in their trunks and roots really well—and some apple orchards (not necessarily typical ones) have high amounts of mycorrhizal fungi—and some techniques of mulching in orchards (not necessarily the ones apple farmers use) experience less erosion—and some apple trees (not necessarily productive agricultural apples) have really deep root systems—

—and some environments with trees, compared with some conventional agricultural fields, store more carbon and experience less erosion, but not apple orchards because that data wasn't collected in apple orchards.

And you figure out eventually that there is no direct evidence anywhere in the inputs that singles out apples as The Best Crop For Fighting Climate Change, or suggests that conventional apple farming has a much smaller carbon footprint than anything else.

The data just spit out "apples" after an unholy writhing mass of Processes that involved 1) observing some tree-grown crops and deciding it applies closely enough to all tree grown crops 2) observing some apple orchards and deciding its applicable enough to all apple orchards 3) observing some tree-including environments and deciding its close enough to all tree-including environments 4) observing some farming methods and deciding it applies closely enough to all farming methods

And any one of these steps individually would be fine and totally unavoidable, but when strung together repeatedly they distort the original data into A Puddle of Goo.

And it wouldn't be that bad even to string them together, if trees didn't vary that much, and farming didn't vary that much, and soil didn't vary that much, and mycorrhizal networks didn't vary that much, and regions that grow apples didn't vary that much, and pre-conversion-to-apple-orchard states of apple orchards didn't vary that much, and economic incentives controlling apple farming didn't vary that much, but all of these things DO vary, a Fuck Ton, and if the full range of variation were taken into account—nay, intentionally optimized—the distinction between apples and potatoes might turn out to be be MEANINGLESS GOO.

anyway big size piles of data about Farming, In General, make me so bitchy

[redheadspark]

Miss

Summary - Azriel missed you on his latest mission, and he shows you how much he has missed you

Warnings - SMUT SMUT SMUT! This is a SMUT one piece, NO MINORS FROM HERE ON OUT!

A/N - I am no SMUT writer, apologies in advance!

You were right at the peak, beyond close to tipping over and having that euphoria of pleasure consume you once again for the fifth time that night.  But then again, you were wishing not to let go just yet, this was the right amount of pleasure that was now wrapping around your bones and consuming you from the inside out.  All thanks to the Illyrian Spymaster above you who was taking his sweet time fucking you.  

This was his game: the game of Azriel the Shadowsinger of Night Court.

All you could breathe was Azriel, all you could feel was Azriel, and all you could ever experience was Azriel. There was no doubt that this was the best kind of drug that you could ever consume and need in your face life, even after 300 hundred years together as mates.  Azriel snuck into your life, someone you never saw coming when you were introduced by Mor.  There was no instant explosion of lust, nor was it bone dry and unfeeling.  It felt like you were slipping into a warm bath, your muscles unwinding instantly and a sigh of relief on your lips as you two shook hands for the first time.  Although you were friends at first, you both knew deep down that you were going to be connected in some way.

It only took a few years after meeting and building your friendship to feel the bond take place. From there on out, it was game over.

Azriel never stopped his hips, his toned muscles along his backside were working on overdrive as he was having over you while fucking you with such precision laced with intimacy and devotion, it was almost tooth aching.  But this was how Azriel worked when you two were in the throws of pleasure, going in right for the kill at the very beginning and then taking his time later on.  His patience in giving you pleasure could not be measured by any other, though you were not one to complain at all.  If he could, he could keep you on edge for hours on end and still have the drive to make you come undone within seconds.

Azriel was good at this game, and you would let him win every time.

"Oh fuck, my love," He growled against your cheek as his hips were still rolling.  Your legs were parted easily, sore for being spread for some time but now the feeling now a dull ache.  Just feeling his toned muscles and body against your own was enough for you to forget your thighs that were shaking.  His arms braced your head as your arms clung to his shoulders, feeling a bit of his wings as they were tucked against his back.  He kissed your cheek a few times as you were holding on for dear life, hearing him murmur, "I don't think I can ever stop,"

"Fuck…fuck don't stop," You moaned and pleaded as he gave a few hard thrusts, having your eyes roll back as his smile against your jaw was evident.

"I won't ever leave you that long ever again," He swore, engraining it in your skin as you bit your lower lip and moved one of your hands to run into his sweaty locks, "It was too….fuck…too long away from you, from being able to touch you like this…"

As if on cue, he moved one of his hands from being near your head to rubbing your clit, having you moan loudly and curl into him as the pleasure was now heightened to the tenth degree.  You were putty in his hands, and Azriel smirked from feeling you shake once his thumb rubbed your clit slowly and deliberately.  

You both knew you needed this night together, Azriel being away for almost an entire month thanks to Rhysand and his need for Azriel and his Spymaster ability.  Rhysand was on a tour of sorts to the other Courts, his own way of keeping peace with the other High Lords and going over the treaties that were signed.  Rhsyand was more than willing to go on his own, not letting High Lady Feyre come nor their own Nyx.  Feyre was running Night Court without him and Nyx was too young.  If left him having both Cassian and Azriel come along with him, Cassian talking to other army commanders in other courts, and Azrile being a second pair of eyes and ears in those meetings.

You were left alone from your mate for that long month, keeping busy and helping your High Lady.  But you weren't going to lie and say you didn't miss your mate, his company with you, your talks together, and most of all, the intimacy with him.  There was no doubt you two had a healthy sex life, a very healthy one at that.  The jokes from Rhysand and Cassian about Azriel and his high energy in bed were always evident when you and Azriel just got together, though you never let it affect you.  

But you knew those rumors were true when you and Azriel first slept together.  

"Azriel…Az please.." You mewled as his thumb was still rubbing your clit and his hips were still going at a constant cadence that was both filthy and yet touching at the same time.  Azriel knew how to fuck and he fucked well, no matter how many times you two were together like this, he made your heart soar and your moans sound lethal.  This night was no different, Azriel starting off the night instantly as you two made it back to your penthouse home in the city.  Azriel left his hesitance at the door, perching you on the edge of the kitchen island as he sank to his knees and dived in between your legs within seconds.  Shaking and moaning with no shame, you felt yourself cumming within two minutes of him licking into your pussy with just his tongue alone.  Watching your orgasm and your shake on the counter drew more desire from him, his chin still glistening from your release as he then licked his own fingers to have a second round with you.

Another four minutes, you came from his fingers.  Azriel was only warming up.

"Please what, my love?" He asked as he watched your eyes dilated and your lips parted in pleasure as he was still pounding into you slowly and with deep precision, "There is no way I can be done with you when you look and feel like this, beyond words,"  He lightly bit your jawline as you huffed and bit your lower lip, "I can't get enough of you, ever.  Nothing else has ever come close in my love, and I don't want anything else,"

You moaned, both from his words and how on edge you were.  He nuzzled into your cheek for a brief moment, breathing in your scent that was mixed with sex as he leaned back to be sitting on his legs.  Seeing you sprawled on your satin sheets, a gift from Rhysand on your wedding day, blissed out in pleasure with your hair plastered to your neck and cheeks and your eyes wide in love, Azriel thought you were heavenly.  His cock was still nestled deep inside of you, your pussy aching both in intense pleasure and lust as he drank in the sight of you.  He wanted this picture for the rest of his days, Inca se he had to go away again and think of you deep in the night for him to have something to come back to.

This night alone was memorable, fucking you against the shower wall as the water went cold against his back, then taking you from behind on the bathroom floor moments after turning off the water in the shower.  Which led to you two tangled on your bed, you riding him with a new core of desire in your belly.  But this, being pinned under Azriel as he was relentlessly fucking you into the mattress, was beyond words and made you feel like you were floating out of your body. 

Azriel was a pro at this.

"Cauldron, you're breathtaking," He hummed in lust as he was watching you while still perched over you, his cock rock hard inside your pussy as you lazily grinned.  You were still on edge, but that ache was nothing new for you in how he would draw this out for as long as he could to make your orgasm mind-numbingly amazing.  You reached up with one spare hand, Azriel then leaning down to have you cradle his face with your palm.  But your fingers were near his lips, you tracing his Lowe lips to feel how plump they were and you moaned.

"Gods you're divine," You moaned as his hazel eyes drilled into your own.  Without breaking eye contact, he opened his mouth to let two of your fingers slip into his mouth lustfully.  His tongue along your digits, with the wicked grin on his face, was enough to make you scream as his hips were moving again.  It was such a site, Azriel fucking you deeply and with new pent-up energy as he was sucking your fingers made you teeter on edge all over again.  You were so close, the feeling there along your spine and under your eyes as you were now babbling at him, knowing it was a turn-on for him to hear you moan and whimper his name.

"Fuck me…please fuck me….make me cum….make me cum.  Now, Az.  Now….I wanna cum…" You were repeating it like a mantra as he was drilling his hips again and again.  Nothing else was in your head, only the love you had for Azriel and how much he cherished you in his life.  He placed you first in all his choices and decisions as a Spymaster, choosing the less threatening missions and fights just to keep himself safe to come home to him.  How he loved you with both his words and his actions whenever he could.  Azriel felt as if you two being mates was fate for him, meant to be, and nothing would change that for him in his mind. Not even the Cauldron itself would take you away from him.  

And watching you orgasm, howling in pure pleasure and euphoria was enough for Azriel to also fall over the edge.  He felt himself empty inside of you, the sense of love and relief all over his body as his wings shot out in the moment of him summing.  The release, the new layer of love that was unleashed with the both of you, made Azriel almost float to the sky if he could.  

He would choose you over anything, over anyone, in this lifetime or beyond.  

Finally feeling boneless, he collapsed on top of you and held you close, still deep inside of you but not wishing to lose that connection anytime soon.  Holding you close, he breathed you in as your fingers were tracing his arms with the tips of your fingers.  Azriel held you like a jewel, delicately and with possession at the same time, while his lips were pecking along your neck and shoulder.  No matter how many times you two would fuck, there was still the foundation of you two loving each other.

Loving each other through the highs of your life and the lows.  Through the tragedies and the joy.  Azriel loved you with everything in him, you grinning against his head as you finally found your voice.

"If you intended on giving me the best sleep, then you have done well, my love," You said against his forehead.  Ariel laughed, the vibration of his laughter was against your neck as he held you a pinch tighter.

"You bring this side of me out in the best way," He cooed, then moved his head up to be eye to eye with you as your gaze on him lingered with affection.  He paused, looking you over and feeling the sensation of peace between the two of you.  Even in the tossed sheets and deep in the night, you both were back to the solid foundation of your love together.

"I've missed you so," He whispered to you, making your heart flutter as he nuzzled your nose with his.

"Not as much as I missed you," You hummed back, ruffling his hair as he leaned in to kiss you.  

The End

[moonstruckme]

What if you wrote something with like... Poly EMT marauders or poly doctor marauders.. with a reader who is a type 1 diabetic, but is horrible at managing it. So like... Their omnipod or dexcom expires and they just don't realize it. As to why? Idk, like they're forgetful or maybe they were just diagnosed with it recently? Whatever sounds more interesting to you lmao

Thanks for requesting! Funnily enough I got this request the same week my uncle was in the icu with a blood sugar of over 1000 (the highest the paramedics said they'd ever seen!) so this was one of the only emt marauders drabbles I've ever done where I didn't actually have to do a bunch of research because I already knew about it haha

cw: diabetes, reader is impaired/faint, mention of needle

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 628 words

The television blurs in front of you. You have the vague impression that you used to know what was happening in this show, but now you can hardly tell one character from another. A hand touches your face, sweeping hair away from your eyes and scratching nicely at your scalp. 

“Getting tired, dove?” 

You hum. 

“Want to go to bed early?” 

“I think I could sleep here on the couch,” you admit. 

For a moment, there’s no reply. You feel the couch shift, and then a hand is gently turning your chin, directing you towards three concerned faces. It always makes you shy, being at the center of their combined attention, but right now the usual effects don’t feel as intense. 

“Are you feeling okay?” James asks you. 

“Yeah, I’m just tired.”

Later, you’ll learn you’d been slurring terribly. 

“Where’s your phone, baby?” Sirius starts looking for it as you try to recall. He finds it before you can, clicking it open and tapping at the screen until he finds what he’s looking for. “Her blood sugar’s at 300.” 

Remus’ brows push close together. “How’d that happen, hm?” he asks you. The sleeve of your pajama top gets pushed down. “Where’s your pod?” 

You blink, working hard to remember. Sirius gets up from the couch. “It’s…I don’t know. It expired,” you say. 

You hear the sound of the freezer opening, and a shrill beeping fills your kitchen. “Found it,” says Sirius. 

“Fucking hell, you’ve got to stop putting it in there.” Remus sighs, though you don’t think he’s really angry with you. “I heard it earlier, but I thought I was going mental.” 

“Sweetheart, why didn’t you get a new one when that one expired?” James asks. He rubs your calf from further down the couch, infinite in both sweetness and patience. 

“I was going to. I forgot.” You’d gotten distracted with something or other, dishes that needed to be done or something outside the window or an attention-deprived Sirius calling you from the next room. 

“You can’t just forget, silly girl.” Sirius gives your knee a mean (loving) squeeze as he sits down again. He sets a new omnipod on the table, filling it expertly with a syringe of insulin. 

“Do you have a swab?” Remus asks, and Sirius hums, passing him one. “Thanks.” 

Remus cleans off your arm, using one hand to ensure you’re still while Sirius gently presses the new omnipod to your skin. He runs his fingers around the adhesive a few times for good measure. 

“4 units, yeah?” James asks, thumbing something into your app after the others agree. You wince when you feel the needle, still not used to it, and he makes a sorry sound. Presses a conciliatory kiss to your knee. 

“There you go, babylove.” Remus sits back against the couch cushions, a tension you hadn’t noticed before dissipating from him. His hand finds your hair, carding through the strands close to your scalp. “You’ve gotta start taking better care of yourself. We can help if you want us to, but this is important, yeah?” 

“I know,” you sigh, leaning against his shoulder. “Sorry, I just forget.” 

“We’ll help you remember,” James offers in his easy way. 

Sirius nudges both you and Remus over so he can squish in on your other side. “Can’t believe we were about to go to bed with you sky high.” He pokes your thigh. “That wouldn’t have been very nice to wake up to tomorrow.” 

Your heart heavies, thinking of your boyfriends panicking and you nearly comatose in bed the next morning. “I’m sorry,” you say again, meaning it. 

“It’s alright, dove.” Remus drops a kiss to your hair. “We don’t mind taking care of you. We’ll help you get the hang of it.”

[catiuskaa]

i would LOVE to read your vision of boyfriend by dove cameron....... but w minsung x reader 😏

OH MARSYYYY marsyyyy ajdbkskfla youuu how dare youu take my sleep away from me like thisssss kabfoqbfoskj i barely got to 300 words and i was like “yup. there’s no fucking way i’m not writing this.” so @lyramundana @stayconnecteed, pasarla muy bien mis amores bskdbakd id a la iglesia después

𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄-𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐒.

sum. gentlemen like them make for a better boyfriend, and minho and han will let you know as soon as you come over… they know first times pave the way for more.

yes, the cursive makes a cute lil sentence, kill me

wc. 5.6k (me cago en todo mars)

cw. suggestive, smut! cursive: a lifestyle, the restaurant scene came out really high-class? fem!reader x dom!simp!minho x sub!needy!jisung, the reader is cheating on her boyfriend, so many things happen (praise, degradation, hair pulling, thigh riding, dry humping, oral fixation, marking, mild choking, corruption kink, use of pet names, accidental orgasm denial, oral (f rec.), begging, fingering (f&m rec.) dirty talk, overstim, mild bondage, unprotected piv sex [don't!<3], creampie, breeding kink, dacryphilia). holy shit this is nasty man, aftercare (mandatory) and just have fun lovelies <3<3<3

[🎀 ☆ 🍽️ ☆ 🎀]

Minho has to breathe in, slowly as he smiles, a cat-like grin that has already threatened many people’s hearts, grabbing Jisung’s wrist and pulling him a bit closer.

His company that night —his company forever, if anyone bothered to ask or wanted to know— doesn’t ask why, merely tilts his head, watching, waiting.

“Twelve o’clock. Red and white dress.”

It’s a mumble that the older man makes with his eyes half closed, yet he opens them again after a beat of silence. He grunts, a low, whispered voice, not daring to interrupt the shy flow of music in the fine restaurant, but still takes Han’s chin in his hand, gripping it softly and tilting it a bit further to his left.

“That’s more like one o’clock— oh.” Minho doesn’t dare voice nor even question the way blood rushes to the deepest parts of his body when Jisung licks his lips and stares back at him, lowering his hand with a gentle touch that sets his skin ablaze.

He can’t help but let his eyes trail towards your figure again. The dress you’re wearing, a mix of colours that gingerly combines with that of their own suits, that clings to your shape in a way that threatens his own sanity and the stability of their plan, the impulse of running to you head first wondering what the crash would feel like. He stops himself, and breathes in again, deeper this time in an attempt to stop wondering how the dress would look just a few floors over them, in their hotel room, preferably on the floor, and he finally does, catching the faint scent of Jisung’s new cologne.

Alone. It’s funny to him. Ridiculous, yes, because only a fool would leave such a beauty like you in a situation like that —on your own, waiting in boredom close to death, or even worse, resignation—, and he’s sure that if he were in your place, he would’ve left a while ago. Hell, if he ever pulled something like that, he’d allow for Jisung to choke him —in a non-sexual sense, at least for once—, but he can’t help feeling giddy at the empty sight of the chair in front of you. Almost as if you were waiting for them to get close, to take a seat. And then, maybe you’d smile. Like a little treat.

A cute gift.

The image makes him smirk as he licks his lips. Minho knows he’d wrap you up in a heartbeat.

“What do you think?” He ponders the question lowly, still waiting for the waiter as the restaurant prepares their table. The one next to you, of course.

Jisung’s eyes widen for a moment. “What do I think?”

He gulps, and Minho reels in the way his boyfriend is already blushing, the red dust on his cheeks making him think twice and wonder if he could afford having a little snack before properly taking you both as a dessert, and he can’t help but snicker, tonguing his cheek.

“What are the chances?”

Minho’s fingers stroke Jisung’s palm.

“Well, I did as we agreed. And now the plan follows, jagi. I’m sure you can play your part now, mmh?” His voice is sultry, low, and a whisper, one that deepens Han’s blush and darkens his eyes even further, making his breath hitch to Minho’s amusement. “As if you can’t do whatever you want with that pretty little mouth of yours.”

“Min—”

“Welcome.” The whispered whine that Jisung had been just about to say dies on his lips, as tragically —yet not quite as brutally— as the unfortunate and inopportune waiter in Minho’s head.

“Your party for two is ready. Come with me.”

Shrugging away the comment ‘with you here, no one’s coming’, Minho follows behind Han and nods his head after being pointed to his table.

White-collar thieves could have plenty of money and exotic pairs of jewelry. Take any gemstone, for example. In unknown eyes, it may seem flawlessly perfect, but that’s merely a refracted illusion. Its core, deep in there, remains a secret, and it’d take a good crack for it to be seen.

No, this couple had it clear. A thief could steal anything but achieve nothing. And as Minho sends his partner in crime a wink, and the plan finally starts, its gears already set in place, he knows that whatever the outcome of it might end up being, nothing would give a better reward than trying to steal you tonight.

And it all starts with a silly trip of his boyfriend’s foot.

Jisung’s hand saves him from ending head first against your thighs —did he really save himself, Minho wonders, because the thought sounded like heaven—, and he watches as the younger one rushes back up, an apologetic grin on his face that he had seen so many times before and still made him want to kneel in front of Jisung and worship him to death and beyond.

“Sorry,” Ji smiles, bashful, his little dimples showing. He pretends to cringe, an action only Minho can see through.

“Oh, no, don’t worry. Are you alright?” The genuine worry that slips through your tone softens the men.

“Of course. Yes.” Jisung chimes right back. “Such a kind lady.” He grins, pulling his hand in front of him.

Minho is just watching, and the feeling of witnessing such a moment nearly has him bulging in his tailored pants as shy little Jisung kisses the back of your hand.

He can’t believe how obsessed they both are with you, enthralled at the mere thought of having you closer, and he doesn’t care, needing more, more of your confused smile as you stare at his boyfriend, more of the gentle blush that creeps up to your cheeks, more of the way your hair is neatly tied up and away from your face, feeling the impulse to ruin you on the tip of his fingers.

“What’s a place like this doing, surrounding a beauty such as yours?” Minho smiles, taking a seat at his table. Calm. Mindful. With the plan in his head.

You chuckle so politely that it makes Minho fidget with his rings, a laugh so melodic that tickles his heart and warms his insides.

“I stay in this hotel.” Minho knows. He’s seen you before.

“Alone?” Jisung smiles, a bit cheeky, sitting and moving his chair at an angle, making it easier to keep the conversation going.

The way you sigh makes them both angry and giddy. They had seen your partner before, and they almost couldn’t believe their eyes, genuinely wondering what had the ugly man done to deserve such an angel. If it were for them, not for too long.

“Up until twenty minutes ago, I wasn’t, but…”

Crystal clear. They both can see the resignation in your eyes, and Minho can’t help but feel it trail up his skin, needing to do something about it immediately.

“I know it may seem too straightforward,” his mouth is dry and he can feel his ears turning red. “But I wouldn’t mind the extra company tonight. Right, jagi?”

The smile he shoots at Jisung is soft and sweet, feelings conveyed between layers and layers worth of things he hasn’t said yet. A comforting grin that Ji matches, holding his hand from below the table and giving it a light squeeze, catching it.

“Yes. It’d be a pity, using that wonderful dress on such a dull night.” His boyfriend turns to you, smiling widely. “Join us?”

God, yes. The squirm of satisfaction that threatens to leave past his lips has him fidgeting with his fingers, cracking his knuckles in an oh-so-giddy attempt to hide just how excited he is when he sees you stand up and grin sheepishly, moving your chair and settling on their table.

If one tried and overthinked it too much, it wouldn’t work. People tend to feel those kinds of things, the rush, the nervousness, the desperation. Not attractive on a stranger in the slightest. And Minho knows he’s one lucky bastard just getting to sit with you at the same table, sharing sentences with Jisung across the rounded table with just a blink and a cheeky stare through his lashes.

And as the night goes on, sneaky glances, touches, soft hands over yours, their eyes deep in colour, on you as you wine and dine, the white-collar thieves swiftly steal your heart for the night.

A fever dream. You find no other way to word it, how they get under your skin and into your head, how their cheeky antics keep getting you closer and closer in a way that almost baffles you. You can’t even think about that sad excuse of a boyfriend you have when Jisung’s hand brushes your arm again or when Minho’s eyes lock on yours, almost undressing you under his gaze.

You couldn’t call it a red flag. After all, their collars are pure white.

[🎀 ☆ 🍽️ ☆ 🎀]

Jisung can’t hold back any longer.

He opens the door to their hotel room for you, and in an unrestrained need, grabs your wrist and finally pulls you to him.

Minho smirks, closing the door with a thud by leaning on it, watching as his boyfriend ruins and smears your lipstick, giving it just a bit before he pulls him from the back of his shirt, tutting at him.

“Such a needy little slut, mmh? Couldn’t even wait for me?”

His hands thread on Jisung’s hair, pulling in a way that has him already on edge. Minho takes his blazer off under the eager eyes of his company, and also takes Ji’s red one, leaving both on the couch that sits in the corner of the room as he licks his lips and takes his hands to his boyfriend’s neck, kissing him deeply, hungrily, humming a snicker when he feels his cheeky little hands tugging and pulling on his white shirt.

“Brat.” He whispers on his lips. “We have to treat our guest first, don’t we, jagi?”

Heat pools on your lower belly, disarmed as the two gorgeous, disheveled men stare at you with a glow in their eyes so deep it could fuck you alone. Both stare at the other with a sly grin on their faces, the phrases they want to say hidden behind the opacity of their eyes, clouded in lust.

Cheekily, Minho grabs Jisung by his belt, speaking at mere inches away from his lips.

“Be a good boy and hang on the door the do not disturb sign, mmh?” His eyes trail from Han’s neck, reeling on his heavy breathing and how his big brown eyes flutter when his hand teases him, tickling his skin with a brush of his fingers, doing tender and slow motions, opening the lower buttons on his shirt and going down his happy trail.

Jisung only nods weakly, in a daze as Minho lets go of him, blinking slowly and letting out a playful chuckle when he teasingly smacks his ass as he makes his way to the door.

“Now, what do we have here?”

Your throat feels dry and you yearn for the moment in which you’ll finally drown in Minho’s lips. He can tell, approaching you slowly, his steps barely making a sound on the carpet below.

His hands brush away the few hairs that Ji got loose, his hand traveling from the shell of your ear to just a bit after your pulse point. “Such a beauty.” Your heart swoons as he whispers, something that sounds more for him than for you, which does nothing but worsen the situation below your dress.

Licking your lips, you watch as he leisurely sits on the edge of the bed, two fingers teasingly making a ‘come hither’ motion as he spreads his legs, making space for you between them, his tailored clothing hugging his lush thighs in a way that nearly makes you salivate.

“I won’t bite, gorgeous. Not unless you want me to,” he teases, his hands stroking your knees while he sits just a short step or two away from you.

The sentence not only makes you shiver in anticipation, but also makes a small part of you wonder if there could be anything you wouldn’t let these men do to you. Dare I say non-existent, the list seems to be pretty short, as you nibble on your lip and answer to how he pats his thigh, taking a seat.

“There we go.” He grins with a low hum, his hands traveling far past the fabric that covers your thighs, grabbing and kneading the skin under his grasp. “Wonder how long it has passed since you’ve been treated right.” He clicks his tongue. “We have to do something about it, don’t we, jagi?”

He’s talking to Jisung as if you weren’t there. As if they’re taking you, a pretty diamond gingerly falling into their white-gloved hands, and —make no mistake—, you’re letting them, and it’s the end of the story, because you’d be a fool not to.

Besides, it’s already too late to back down. You want this. You couldn’t care less of what happens to your boyfriend after he left and scurried back wherever, attempting to leave you with the burden of paying for everything again without having to deal with the consequences nor the guts to face you. He was going to have a fun time, arriving at your previously shared room and finding that your things had been already packed and you were no longer anywhere to be seen, leaving behind you not only the bill of the restaurant —both his and yours, and then the one you had with Minho and Jisung, of course, an autograph on the receipt and all— but of the entire week you had been abroad, for all the times he had been tricking you and pulling your leg.

Tonight, you weren’t just being stolen. You were being freed.

“What makes you tick? Mmh, gorgeous?” Minho gets you back from your mind, naughty hands traveling underneath your dress and playing with the back ends of your underwear.

He’s dying to kiss you, and he will —he will die trying and he’d be happy to do so—, and he can see it in your eyes that you want just as much, the dark of his reading yours with an ease that does nothing but aggravate the situation, knowing that if he were to kiss you as he had been thinking —ever since he and Jisung had seen you and your boyfriend— would cause you more things than neither you nor him could process, leaving both of your minds blank, wet, legs tangled with one another.

Minho cherishes the way you tremble in his grasp, feeling Jisung’s hands surprise you from behind, playing with the zipper of your white and red dress.

“Baby, you’re already grinding on my thigh.” It’s teasing, it’s a menace, and he fucking loves it, seeing how said sentence darkens both your and Han’s eyes. “What are you thinking, mmh? Want us to figure you out as we go?” He licks his timidly swollen lips, his hands traveling down your legs to take your heels off, discarding the red sole shoes by the end of the bed.

He kisses Jisung over your shoulder, and a moan leaves your lips when said motion —him moving forward, that is— makes him tense his thigh underneath you.

“Jagi, do me a favour.” He whispers on his boyfriend’s lips, next to your ear, as if he’s telling Han a secret you shouldn’t know —but you don’t care whether you should or shouldn’t. You’re already going to hell for cheating on that low-life you call a boyfriend. Could be the wine speaking, or how your pussy is already leaking, but if you’re going to hell, you’ll make it so that these fine gentlemen help you reach heaven first.

“Ladies first, okay? Let’s treat her how a princess deserves.”

Jisung’s eyes smile as he bites Minho’s lip, finally taking your dress off of you, lowering the zipper in a way that his hand strokes your skin as the dress goes further down, and doesn’t stop kissing him, even when his greedy hands take the dress off your shoulders, and travel forward, tickling you menacingly, from your belly to your chest, teasingly playing with the little bow that decorates your white bra before letting his fingers go further up your cleavage.

Minho’s hands move your hips against his thigh, starting to feel the wetness and warmth not only on the fabric between his leg and your sweet sweet core, but on his skin.

He chuckles, panting on your ear as Jisung’s lips hungrily travel to your back, kissing and scratching with his teeth. A man blinded crazy by lust, his hand finally reaching your neck.

The way the action makes you moan is almost obscene, your cheeks as red as Jisung’s forgotten blazer and trousers. His grasp, gingerly cold, as if the rest of his warmth was traveling to other parts of his body —parts you weren’t complaining to be feeling against your lower back—, was a little bit over your collarbone, and it drove you wild.

“Hyung—” It’s a whine so desperate that nearly has him crumbling apart. Jisung’s eyes are teary when Minho’s lock into the dark brown full of lust that they have turned to. Merely pecking his lips, Minho smiles.

“I’m going to eat you alive.” It’s a desperate groan, and his partner’s eyes only glow in a darker shimmer, as if he yearned for just that. “Go on, jagi. Have fun.”

Before you can expect it, Jisung lets out a moan, grabbing your waist and pulling you from Minho onto the bed. Your impending release gets ruined, and you whine, your hand unconsciously traveling to your face.

As the younger one hurriedly finishes taking your dress off of you, discarding it somewhere on the floor —a view that, later on, would make Minho grin cheekily— said gentleman moves and lays down next to you while his partner leaves hickeys all over your inner thighs.

Only pants, whines, and moans leave your lips, low and dimmed, overwhelmed by all that you’re feeling, hiding behind your hand. But they’re gentlemen, after all. Ever-so-observant, Minho’s smile is sweet when he takes your hand and interlinks your fingers.

“Beauty,” he calls, his voice sultry. “Are you familiar with the traffic light system?”

It takes a shy, confused shake from you for him to tut at his boyfriend, and Han stops his antics, licking his lips, his eyes glowing as he strokes your thighs, gingerly comforting you out of your daze.

“Like a traffic light, yeah? Green for when you want to keep going, yellow when you want to slow down, and red if you want to stop.” His hand softly moves, trailing soft motions on your cheek. “Don’t wait for us to ask. If we’re playing the figure-it-out game, I want to hear you moaning ‘green’ every single minute. Good?” You blush, nodding. “So. Colour?”

You give it a thought. You’ve brought up things like this before to your boyfriend. Things he shamed you for. Things you had been wanting to do for a while. And as you stare back at Minho, his eyes widen for a moment when he sees you smirking lightly.

To hell and heaven with it. It had been a close call before, back at the hotel’s restaurant. It’s stupid now, and you can’t believe you almost ran away back to your room and wasted such a divinely given chance like this one.

“Green.” You smile. “Figure me out better than I know myself.”

Jisung’s mind is completely foggy and hazy, his hands kneading your thighs, waiting, panting at your sudden forwardness. He can barely form a coherent thought, his mind consumed by the need to keep going until your taste is all that he knows.

You lift yourself, sitting on the bed, as the focus of the two men’s attention while your hand reaches for Jisung’s chin, and he’s dead. He’s gotta be, because as he moves to keep feeling your soft grasp on him, he swears he stops breathing.

“I’m going to kiss you.” It’s an announcement. Not quite a question but a warning, a narration of sorts. It keeps Minho waiting for a movement, something, whatever, anything to be able to follow what they had started, surprised by the newfound shimmer in your eyes.

And you can only confirm the whole chain of unbridled thoughts that haunt you —that you want to devour them with kisses, that you would let them eat you whole, unashamed, unrestrained, and overly needy— when, after closing your eyes, you erase any space that was between your lips and Jisung’s.

It’s not the butterflies in your stomach, but your own pulse rumbling in your ears, so loud that you think that either of the two men to whom you knew crystal clear that you were going to give yourself to tonight could hear it without making any sort of effort.

Nasty, desperate, wild. Jisung is gone, set on making any trace of red lush lipstick disappear from your lips. He starts kissing you more passionately, taking both of his hands to your nape, pulling on your hair in an attempt to get you even closer to him, the need for oxygen merely a necessity far less important than to keep kissing you and lick away your strawberry lipstick.

“This is crazy,” you pant, gasping for air.

“You make me crazy.”

He’s breathless, and he just can’t stop kissing you. Not when you’re giving yourself back to him with almost the same intensity, the raw need for more overperforming any sort of kissing skills that Jisung thought he had before. Matter of fact, he can’t think. Not when his hands travel from your waist, your skin like a canvas he’d die to keep marking, trailing a teasing path up your back, making you shiver until he finally undoes the barrier that keeps him from touching, and finally tasting —licking, spitting, marking, fondling, kissing, biting, better if it’s all at the same time— your breasts. He swiftly takes your bra off of you, as if it burns. It would’ve made you laugh, but as he cages you against the mattress the only thing you can do is moan.

Yes. Yes. Yes, More. Please. Don’t stop.

There’s a light bounce of the mattress when Minho takes a seat behind you, and Han whines when you leave his lips.

You’re a mess. There’s no other way to describe it, and Minho loves it. He loves how you’re in between Jisung and him. How you’re drooling and moaning, your head leaning against his shoulder as greedy little Hannie goes back to where he was heading before. He loves how you’re not holding back anymore, your right hand pulling on his boyfriend’s hair and your right one on his nape, gingerly playing with it as you squirm under the pleasure that Ji’s mouth brings you.

“Beauty,” Minho’s voice is impossibly low when he calls for you, pressing soft, tender kisses on your pulse point. You whine, a strained ‘yeah?’ that kills him. “How do we feel about this?”

You open your eyes, not really aware when you had closed them, and you look at Minho’s soft hands, his rings shimering under the room’s indirect light. It’s a lace, your fuzzy brain tells you. It has the words Dior written several times on it.

“G-green…” it’s a whine, it’s slurry, and it turns to a hitched breath when Han’s fingers slide inside you with ease, curling and thrusting until you can’t do anything else but moan and whine, trembling as you come, pleasure hitting you in waves.

You cling onto Minho like a rock, as much as you can, his body behind you stroking you in a way that makes you shiver while Ji helps you ride out your high.

“Look at him, princess.”

His tone is slightly mean, and you sigh, feeling his arms surround you.

“He came just from tasting you.”

You’re still a bit out, panting, but your eyes turn to him, whose head is leaning on your thigh. One of your hands moves to stroke his hair, and you grow hotter watching how he shudders for a second.

“He was grinding against the mattress. Like a little horny slut.”

It’s shameful. Minho’s tone is one for mocking. He’s… torturing him. And yet he looks like he might just come one more time from that alone.

“M-min…” Hannie whimpers, a slurred sound of pleasure.

“Oh, beauty. He even wants more.” Jisung’s eyes open, staring at you two from below, and he moans.

You blink, but slowly, you seem to get it. Or, if you asked Jisung, you were a godess sent straight-out from heaven.

“But can he… beg like a… a pretty slut?”

Minho nearly comes untouched at your tone. The way they’re already corrupting you, how you’re degrading Jisung already, watching how he’s unconciously grinding against the mattress again, overstimulating himself.

“Ngh, fuck… p-princess…” his hands travel to your thighs, clinging to them like a lifeline.

You’re unsure of what to do, because you know what to say, holding back for a second.

“Beauty,” Minho kisses your neck. “What’s that brain of you thinking, mmh?”

Your blush covers your whole face, and you smile, as if you’ve been caught on a white lie.

“I… want to, um. Want you to do to him what you did to me.”

Jisung freezes in his place. Minho’s eyes darken. “Keep talking, beauty. Spare no detail.”

Your shyness fades as you look at Ji’s face, reeling at how he moans softly, his body just a tiny bit spent, yet he’s paying close attention to you and your words, not wanting to stop even for a second. The intensity of his stare makes heat hit you, unexpected yet welcomed. 

And with hooded eyes and weak legs, you turn to face both Minho and Jisung, letting go of what you’re thinking without giving yourself the chance to second guess it. 

“I want you to finger him. While you fuck me. And then I want him to fuck me.” 

Perplexed. There are little to no words Minho can manage to say, if any. He knows that he’s a sentence away from losing himself completely to the sensation, your mind and body now completely under the control of the aphrodisiac that is their company and undivided attention, and the intense pleasure it induces. 

“Hyung.” Han’s eyes are teary, and he looks so pretty. 

Why would Minho resist?

He takes you by your wrists and pulls you towards him, kissing you in a way that makes your mind and body completely submissive and compliant. There it is. Minho is finally kissing you, claiming you with each stroke of his tongue. And now he holds no restraint, his hands exploring your body, his touch becoming more urgent and passionate with each moan that goes past your swollen, kissable lips. 

His body presses even harder against yours, pinning you against the mattress as he kisses you deeply, his lips and tongue tracing a path down your neck, his breath hot against your skin. Minho bites down gently on the sensitive skin of your collarbone, his hands gripping your hips, holding you in place as he continues his assault on your senses, his desire for you growing more and more intense.

He moans softly into the kiss, his hands wandering along your body, his touch hungry, as if he couldn't get enough of you —and he can’t, he’s well aware that you might be his last meal, and he’d be happy about it— grabbing and marking and touching all he can reach. He breaks the kiss briefly, his lips trailing down your jaw and neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against your sensitive skin as he pants heavily, his voice low and hoarse with desire.

"You're driving me crazy, beauty," he murmurs, his voice gravelly with lust. "Can't get enough."

“Minho, please,” you whine and beg, shivering when he stands on his knees, looking at you from above, a dark, nasty shimmer in his eyes. 

He pushes Jisung next to you, face down ass up, which only makes the latter moan, desperate to be touched again. 

“You know what, beauty?” Minho grins, mad, crazy, horny, and all of the above, as he takes back the Dior lace and softly moves your hands over your head, making a pretty bow on your wrists, almost as pretty as his needy princess. He’s thankful Jisung wanted to buy that perfume. 

“I’m going to fuck you. Because you want to, don’t you, beauty?” His snicker brings heat to your whole body, and it hits you where you’re restrained, Minho’s hands pinching and teasing all over your torso, watching you crumble and whimper underneath him. “And I’m going to make him come too. You two want to be used like little toys, and it’s just what I’m about to do.” 

He bends down to reach for the lube in the bedside table, but uses that opportunity to meanily bite your cheek. It feels warm under his tongue, the skin red, not only from the teasing bite but from how deep you’re blushing. 

Minho keeps talking while he slowly removes your ruined panties and Jisung’s soiled underwear. 

“I’ll fuck you so good, beauty. So good you won’t ever feel the same, if you fuck that scum you call a boyfriend. I’ll make you come so hard you won’t even remember his name.” 

You don’t know what happens first, but surely, Jisung and you start whining and moaning, panting as Minho fails to keep a steady pace on both of you, his thrusts irregular as pleasure takes hold of him. 

He’s reeling in pleasure, whispering into your ear in between moans and grunts how good you feel, how tight your pretty little pussy clenches around him, how you’re going to milk him dry as he keeps pouncing on you. “If y-you, ever, ever, ever doubt who you belong to…” he moans, watching you cry in pleasure, listening to Hannie’s slurred babbling, failing to get a good grip on the bed sheets. “Remember… that you can always come back… princess…”

After all, his duty as a thief wasn’t only stealing. He wasn’t going to complain when he’d kill for you to sit on his face. Just for starters. 

It doesn’t take long for Jisung to come on his own palm, shivering in pleasure, panting, but smiling at you, and —with his other hand— grabbing yours while you moan and whine and whimper, so close once again. 

T-too much— Don’t stop. Yes, yes, please!

Moaning so beautifully, Minho crumbles. His words are slurred as he whines, something about filling you up that makes you see stars as he somehow thrusts even deeper.

“There, there, ah… f-fuck, I can’t…” 

Dazed, fucked-out, drunk and lost in pleasure, you’re only able to let out louder sounds, tugging at your restraint as the Dior bow keeps you grounded, and Jisung’s now clean hand —you missed when that happened, yet you’re not bothered enough to question it— presses figure eights on your clit. And not even a minute later, you’re both gasping and moaning, and you throw your head back as he comes inside of you. 

It takes a moment for the three of you to move. For a minute, the world stops spinning, and you relish the warmth of his bodies, next and over you, your head still fuzzy with pleasure. 

You and Minho whine when he pulls out, and you shiver at the loss of heat over you and the emptiness inside you. Jisung is quick to fix the first one, softly moving your head over to his shoulder, and he leans his chin over yours. 

“Hey, princess.” He still has a red hue on his cheeks, but you’re pretty sure you’re matching, if not worse. 

You hum, weak, and he can’t help but giggle. His soft hands cradle your face, and he sighs, stroking your nose with his tenderly. 

“I’m really happy you joined us tonight.” 

And with the strength you have left, you merely move to kiss his palm, your eyes closed. They remain closed when Minho comes back, even when he softly moves your arms and links them behind his nape. 

Han heads into the bathroom first, making sure the water of the bathtub is warm enough before sliding inside, helping Minho put you down, leaning your head against Ji’s shoulder and in between his legs. 

You’re half asleep, but you smile when Minho’s hands stroke your legs. Your legs feel sore and you’re a blink away from the best sleep of your life, but first, the best night of your life makes sure to take care of you after all the fun. 

Two pairs of hands clean up the mess they turned you to, and you’re so happy to be taken care of as sweetly and as gently as they are doing, that you weakly peck Minho and Jisung’s lips. 

No words are needed, and Jisung hugs you from behind, pressing soft kisses on your shoulder blades. Minho links his hand with yours, fondly staring at the two of you before him. 

Thieves like Han and Minho are masters in their craft. With professional care, they dry your body, tender touches fully lulling you to sleep when Jisung grabs one of the discarded white-collared shirts and gingerly closes its buttons. Bathed, spent, and tired, they settle you in between them, with your back to Minho, and Jisung kisses his boyfriend’s hand, covering all of you with the bed’s blanket. 

Sure, maybe you didn’t do all that you wanted that night. But you don’t mind it. Warm, clean, and thoroughly satisfied, you’re fine with the need that hits you even after you wake up. You want to be theirs so much, and despite the estrangement, it’s a fact that doesn’t change —not even after it dawns on you that neither you nor them introduced themselves, and you don’t know their names.

[🎀 ☆ 🍽️ ☆ 🎀]

kats, who needs a high —infinite, even— dose of grass, stat.

catiuskaa, august 2024 ©

[littlekittykatxxxx]

Hey guys! Coming back to tumblr today felt good. After reading all your sweet messages of support it felt great. To have so many of you guys wish me well and to make sure I’m okay has been overwhelming and has honestly made me a little emotional. I can’t thank you guys and gals enough!❤️❤️❤️

I have also seen a lot of asks and messages about how I look and about my body. It got me thinking that I do owe you guys for being so kind and thoughtful. So I have a little experiment / goal to set……

if this post here reaches 300 NOTES. I will reveal a picture of my body. It won’t include my face. It will also not be a nude or anything massively sexual. But a nice pic nonetheless.

I am confident enough now to show at least one picture to you all as a thank you. So please. Share this around or whatever and comment. I may have set the goal too high for my blog but oh well ❤️❤️

Once again, thank you guys so much for the well wishes and the support.

With love, your littlekittykat 🥰

[chailovesu]

a list of everything ive manifested and what i want to manifest

having alot of friends + also having at least one best friend (in short never being lonely)

people always approaching me first

not living with desired people

instant appearance changes

instant weather changes

very very pretty almond doe eyes and long eyelashes

a puppy

oddly specific tiktoks to pop on my fyp

being "popular" in school

having big boobs and a big butt naturally

being a semi big submaker

my face shape (younger me listened to round shape face subliminals but i had a thin one before)

alot of mcdonalds

bigger prettier lips

alot of sps coming back because i believed in the saying "they always come back"

revising something completely and there being no evidence of it ever happening

long breaks off of school (i feel like since i was listening to ALOT of "cancel school" subliminals b4 the corona break and i've had so many breaks off of school)

soft pretty 3a/3b hair

alotttt of compliments

being seen as very attractive in my own eyes and other ppls

being alot of ppls comfort person everyone tells me they enjoy my company

being right abt random things

manifested alot of things for my old friend

constantly passing classes knowing damn well i didn't do any work 😭 went from a 34 to a 92 doing absolutely nothing

all my teachers liking me enough to bump my grades to passing even if i did nothing in their classes

strangers always being nice to me all the time

people being obsessed with me (i don't recommend manifesting this 😭) 

being lucky in games 

immediate weight loss

having 300+ absences when the county's limit was 10 a semester and never getting in trouble for it

moving out of houses 

being spoiled by people irl and online simply for being attractive

ppl texting me immediately after i think abt them

being able to manifest fast in general 

having a high pitched cute voice

+ other tiny things

what im current manifesting

being extremely rich + living in a mansion

knowing how to speak Spanish, Korean, and French

revising any trauma I've experienced

desired baby pictures and childhood memories

having no anxiety and never overthinking

being everyones type + being like kokomi teruhashi

revising that i have close childhood friends

butt length hair

having no body hair

having a vivid imagination

4.0 gpa + perfect attendance + being naturally smart + being good at math

hazel eyes with mostly green

a cat and a pink bird and a bunny + my current dogs but they're all going to be babies and get along well (also manifesting that ik how to manage all of them)

being shorter

desired parents + only one sibling

a lot of rich love interests

desired body and face

old friends coming back

being a huge submaker like roy

bringing certain family members back to life

im manifesting this by affirming and listening to subliminals because thats what i prefer

[amongemeraldclouds]

How Theodore Nott looks at you when

Warning: some are spicy

…you tell him you’ll be a good girl for him.

Theo: That’s right, who owns you? You: Only you, caro. You can do whatever you want to me. Theo: Is that so? Get down on your knees and show me just how good you can be. *Unbuckles his belt*

…you’re getting high together.

You: You’re looking at me funny, Nott. Am I growing wings from my ears? Sharp horns on my forehead? What do you see? Theo: No, it’s so much worse.

He just realized he’s falling in love with you.

…you hand him a cigarette.

He looks into your eyes as if he can confess his feelings for you with a look. Perhaps he will start by asking you to go with him to the Yule Ball.

…you’re rivals and you boast about one of your achievements, telling him how much better you are than him.

Theo: You better shut that mouth of yours or else I’ll fuck that attitude out of you. You: Oh please, you’re all talk. I’d like to see you do your worst. Theo: Oh bella, be careful what you wish for.

He moves closer to you and you take steps back until you realize he has you backed into a wall.

…you’re studying together in his dorm and he falls asleep.

You think he’s so beautiful and you can’t help but whisper the words that drums the very beat of your heart. “I love you, Theo.” It’s safe enough to admit it when he’s asleep anyway. He can chalk it up to a dream.

Little do you know he’s a light sleeper and the words registered in his mind, waking him better than any alarm clock or coffee can. How can it not when it’s the very words he’s been wishing to hear for years? The irony was not lost on him that he just had a dream come true.

✿ Masterlist | 300 words

A/N: Credits to @rafesslxt for this post format ♡

[sachiko6243]

Make me your wife

Summary: Y/N and her sister got attacked by giant spiders. Luckily Thranduil and his men were near enough to come to their rescue. What Y/N didnt think would ever happen, would be the elven king falling for her sassy and sarcastic character...

Word count: 6606

Warnings: spider attack in the beginning, sass, smut in the end, Minors DNI, this contains adult content!

This was written on request for: @mitsurisu I hope you like it. Sorry for the long wait, but I had much to do at my work. 😅

I was riding through the forest of the Woodland realm with my sister Leonor. We had set of from Rivendell on the request of Legolas. We had met him after he had helped the dwarves to take back their mountain. He was a very nice fellow, flirtatious and easy going, to the point where my sister had poked me and made fun of me for maybe pursuing him as a potential partner. She had been married to her husband for the last 300 years and was still utterly convinced that I would be happy in a marriage as well.

Nothing I said was driving her from that path and I had given up convincing her otherwise, deciding that letting her talk and ignore it would be the best option. She was once again on a rampage on married life, while I rode besides her, letting my thoughts and gaze wander. A crack deeper in the woods made me listen up. I knew that in those woods there were living many giant spiders, so I silenced my sister. She wasn’t a fighter like I was and if we were in trouble I needed her to listen to me.

“Shut it, Leonor. I think I heard something!” I whispered, but she waved it off. “Oh, come on Y/N. You always see and hear danger everywhere.”

“Its my job. I am a soldier after all. Be quiet, there are many spiders in these woods. I need to figure out if we are in danger.” I growled, my hands already gripping my two swords.

“Relax. There is nothing out there. You know how thoroughly Legolas and the guards clear those woods. He has told us on many occasions.” She sighed, not taking the threat seriously.

Another crack made me draw my swords, telling my horse to speed up. Leonor was quick to follow me and we were now thundering through the forest. I really hoped that it was just the forest doing foresty things and not some giant spiders, but my hope was being denied.

With a loud thud, a dark green giant spider dropped right in front of us. Leonor was just quick enough to steer her horse around it, while I was cut of by the spiders body. My horse shrieked, nearly throwing me off, but I was just able to keep me on its back. “RUN!” I yelled at my sister, making myself ready to face the big monster.

“Y/N!” She screamed, drawing the attention of the beast to her. It got up high enough for me to ride under his stomach, grabbing the reigns of my sisters horse who seemed frozen in place.

Dragging her behind me, I rushed my horse through the woods, hoping that we would be faster than that spider. Leonor took a while to come out of her frozen state, but when she was able to steer her horse again, I gave her back the reigns, now drawing my bow, turning around on my horse to shoot at the giant spider. But it didn’t seem like my arrows really seemed to bother the creature that was chasing us. And to my dismay, I hear the clicking sounds of several more coming through the woods.

They started to catch up to us, our horses slowly but surely loosing speed. And then it happened. We got circled by two smaller spiders dropping in front of us. Our horses freaked again, this time throwing us off their backs and making a run, only to be killed by spiders stomping onto them. Immediately they started to drag them away, probably into their net. I reached for another arrow, realizing, that I had shot every single one of them, without taking down one single spider.

“Fuck.” I let out, throwing my bow to the ground and dragging my swords.

“What do you mean fuck?” Leonor asked and I just gritted out: “Fuck as in we are fucked. I am out of arrows.”

“You shot all of them?” She asked and I wanted to smack her: “No, I threw them away. Of course I did!”

“No need to be so snappy.” She lashed back and I just looked at her with a deadly glare. “Oh yes, we are just about to die and I should play happy fun time with you? Forgive me for feeling a little stressed.”

“Its not my fault, that it happened.” Leonore seemed hurt and I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. “I never said it was. I am sorry for snapping at you. Its just… Ah forget it. Try to stay close to me, without getting in my way. If we are getting separated, I cant protect you and if you are in my way, I will probably hurt you. Just…” I tried to make it understandable for her. “…think of it as a dance.”

“A dance?” She asked and I could hear she was raising her brows. “Why would I think of this as a dance?” Shrugging my shoulders I swung my sword at the first spider stepping close: “I don’t know. You are the minstrel of us. I was just trying to make it logical for you.”

I didn’t hear what she answered, because my sword collided with the heavy foot of a spider, drawing an ugly screeching sound from it, as I cut through the hard material. Letting my second sword swing higher, I managed to stab it into the thicker part of the leg. Ripping out my first sword, I swung my body around and through the air, landing on top of the spider. I forced both my swords into its head, managing to down it. Jumping off, I faced the next one, but my fight seemed to have no end, as I saw that the ranks were quickly closed again.

A horn being blown and horses thundering through the woods made me catch a new wave of hope and I started to fight back harder, always making sure to cover my sister from any attacks. I heard yelling and arrows whirring through the air and I realized, that the spiders slowly but surely were thinned out. Facing another one, I was just quick enough to jump aside, as it launched for me. Rolling around, I found myself underneath its big body. Not hesitating a second, I stabbed my blades into its stomach drawing it along, as I ran to get out of there.

A mixture of spider blood, gushy intestines and a sort of dark slime covered me, as I stumbled out beneath the tumbling and falling creature. Catching my breath, I stood there for several seconds, trying to regain some strength and to get rid of the slippery mixture that covered me. When I was able to look back up, the rest of the spiders had either been slain or forced away, leaving us and the elves that came to our rescue behind. “Y/N! Leonor!” I heard Legolas yell, turning to look at him.

A sarcastic smile on my lips, I greeted him: “You seem to lack in your mission to clear the woods, my prince.” He gritted his teeth, hugging Leonor, but refraining to do the same to me: “You are as friendly as always, Y/N.” I shrugged, shoving my swords back into their sheaths. “What can I say. I was raised to be a sunshine.” But when I saw his father approaching us, I stopped talking, bowing to greet the king. “My king. I apologize for causing trouble in your lands.”

“No need to apologize. You were right. It seems as if my son isn’t particularly thorough with his task. I am the one in need to apologize as this has clearly endangered you and your…”

“Sister, my king.” I helped him out, still looking down on the ground.

“…your sister. Am I correct with the assumption you came to visit my kingdom?” He asked.

“Yes, my king. We came to visit your son, prince Legolas. He has invited us.” I answered stiffly, looking at Legolas for help. The blond elf just smiled at me and I dared to look at his father the first time. And what I saw knocked the breath out of my lungs. He was gorgeous to say the least.

Tall, strong, handsome. The similarities to Legolas unmistakable. And his blue eyes. Staring at me as if he was reading directly into my soul. I was totally caught of guard by his appearance, not realizing he was talking to me again: “I am sorry. What did you say, my king?” I barely remembered to address him by his title, but he didn’t seem to mind. Smiling at me, he repeated his words: “I was welcoming you to my kingdom. As it seems, something must have caught your attention, my Lady.”

“Y/N. Just Y/N, my king. I am no lady. Just a common soldier of Rivendell.” I corrected him, trying my best to hide my breathless voice. Thranduil looked behind me, the smile on his lips widening. “A very good one, as it seems. You took out two spiders on your own.”

“And I shot all my arrows without them having any effect.” I reduced his praise, not feeling comfortable with the king saying such high words about me. He clicked his tongue. “Ah, arrows barely have any effect on the spiders. Their shells are far to thick for them to penetrate deep enough.”

“I didn’t know, my king. The next time I will come prepared.” I said, bowing deeply again.

“The next time?” He asked with a smirk to his lips and I furrowed my brows: “Yes? Did I do something wrong, my king? If I have insulted you in any form, I apologize.” But Thranduil just grinned at me with a knowing look on his lips, before he turned around: “The next time you visit us, let me know beforehand, so that I can ensure your save journey. A lady like you must not face such beasts under my watch.”

“I can fend for myself!” I yelled after him, this time leaving out his title, as his assumption angered me. He looked over his shoulder, taking in my angry form for a moment, before he answered: “I know. But I would feel better if you were protected by my guards.” Then he turned around, looking at a light brown haired man: “Feren, ensure that Leonor and Lady Y/N have a horse to ride on and have a bath prepared for them.” The man bowed his head slightly. “Yes, my Lord.”

***

And that’s how I had met Thranduil. That was nearly 100 years ago. 87 to be exact. He had started to court me soon after that incident, sending letter over letter to Rivendell, to the point where even Lord Elrond heard of what was happening. In the beginning I didn’t think much of it, reading his letters as nothing more as friendly correspondence. Until one day he literally showed up in Rivendell, demanding to speak with Lord Elrond himself.

Later on, I was told, that Thranduil had demanded to know if I was forced to work too much, since I didn’t answer every single one of his letters. From then on, our letters turned into a frequent thing, until one day I asked Lord Rivendell to free me from my duties and to allow me to live in Mirkwood. Lord Elrond let me go with a warm and knowing smile, something I didn’t exactly know how to read back then.

But soon, Thranduil and my friendship turned into him making advances until I finally gave in to courting him. Thranduil had pulled every string he had, to get me to fall for him. He made sure that I was taken care off, that I had everything I ever wished for to the point where I literally had to fight him on lessening his extensive gifts, but there was nothing I could do to talk sense into that man.

And now here I was, sitting at the big banquet next to him. We had gotten married. Well technically we weren’t truly married yet, since for elves the marriage was only completed when the marriage was conceived. And to be honest, I couldn’t wait much longer. My friends and family had come to Mirkwood and wished me the very best. Even Lord Elrond had managed to fit in time to spare my marriage a visit, congratulating me.

I looked at my now husband, only to find him staring at me already. “You are so beautiful, my little starlight.” He whispered, reaching his hand for mine. I squeezed his hand, leaning in to his shoulder. “How long do we have to keep up this thing, until we can retreat?” I asked, the alcohol in my blood probably pushing me to speak this openly. Thranduil chuckled at my words: “So desperate already?” I smacked him on the chest. “Don’t tell me you aren’t.”

“At least I don’t show it so openly.” He teased me, kissing my hand softly. “Dance with me, meleth.”

Letting him pull me to my feet, he guided us to the dancefloor, pulling me close to his body and I could feel that he was longing for me the same way I did for him. His head sank down to my level as he whispered: “This one last dance should appease our guests. I think they already know what is about to happen, but it is much easier to vanish between dancing couples than from the high table.” I smirked at his words, leaning my head onto his chest. “Is that so, my king?”  I felt him shrug: “At least I suspect it would make things easier for Feren. He always seems to be so stressed.”

“That’s because you stress him, herven.” I answered and the way he stiffened at me calling him husband for the first time, made me smile. “Herven.” He repeated. “Say it again. It sounds so beautiful from your lips.”

“What? Herven?” I asked, putting a soft moan to my words. Thranduils breathing became rigid, as he clearly had trouble keeping the rhythm of the dance. He took a deep breath, before he simply ended the dance pulling me through the other couples. “You know what? Fuck it. I am done waiting.” Once we were far enough away from the others to hear or see us, he threw me over his shoulder, causing me to shriek out loud. “Thranduil!”

“Oh yes. That’s even better.” He grinned, carrying me through the halls and back to his chambers. “I am going to make sure that the only things that are leaving your mouth will be my name, my title and those sweet little moans or yours.”

***

Thranduil stopped in front of his door, looking at me with what I believed to be fear in his eyes. “Are you ready?” He asked me and I nodded: “Yes.” Taking his hand, I followed him inside. As soon as the door fell shut behind us, he pressed me against a wall, a sly smirk on his lips. “You have no idea, how much I waited to do this.” I didn’t react to his tease, just pulling him in by his collar, desperate to kiss him. His hands wandered to my waist, gripping the fabric of my dress.

I held onto him, still letting his hands wander over my body. “Are you sure, you want to do this?” He asked, his breath fanning down my neck, before he bit down on my sweet spot. Moaning at the sensation that rushed through my body, I tried my best to keep the conversation going: “Yes, I am. I haven’t been so sure about anything in my life, ever.”

“Good. Because I doubt, I would be able to endure the wait any longer.” His husked voice sent shivers down my spine and I had to hold on to his shoulders, to not faint. “You know what this perfume does to me, darling? The whole evening, I could not focus on anything else than you sweet smell. Do you even know, how hard I was all evening?” He picked me up, pressing me against the wall, looking at me with an angry hunger in his eyes. “I should not be commanded by a woman like that, especially not one that does it so easily like you do. It is endangering my reputation.”

“I think your reputation as the King is hardly attacked with you desiring your wife.” Trying my best to fight back against his administrations, I rolled back my head when his free hand opened the lacing of my dress, desperate to feel more of him. “What reputation, darling? Go on. Make your point.”

“The… fuck…” I cursed, earning a chuckle: “That’s very unladylike, darling. I should knock that word out of your brain.”

“You wouldn’t dare to do that. You love my dirty mouth.” I sassed back. He hummed at my words, just holding me tight to his body. “I do. And I want to make sure you are taken care off.” His words made me open my eyes again, leaning back to look at him.

He let me down slowly, still trying to hide his face from me, but I held his head, looking at him, when he let go of me: “No, please tell me. What are you afraid of?” I asked, stepping closer to him, but he just dodged backwards. Tilting my head, I followed him into the living area, effectively backing him into the sofa. When he sat down on it, I straddled his lap. “Are you afraid to be close to me?”

“No…” He breathed heavily. “Yes… I don’t know. I… I want to be close to you, but I don’t want you to feel forced. You know how it is… Wifely duties and all and I don’t want to pressure you into anything, but at the same time I want to feel you, hold you, smell you, taste you. Everything. I am in no place to expect anything from you, so I refrain from giving in to those thoughts too much, because I don’t want to make it too obvious to you, that my needs are currently overruling my consciousness. And now that I am close and… and alone with you, I realize that its much harder than I have thought it would be... I want this to be special to you. I want to be the loving husband you deserve, to let you know that you are my most priced treasure… That I would do anything for you.”

I just looked at him: “Are you… are you rambling? The elven king and man of precise language is rambling and stuttering?”

“Yes.” Was all he said. “And you currently sitting on my lap, dressed like that, doesn’t help my case either.”

“What's stopping you?” Letting my voice drop lower, I leaned forward, rolling my hips shamelessly over his lap. He groaned out, gripping my tighter. “Y/N… You don’t have to do this. I can live with it, if you aren’t ready.”

“Do I look forced, meleth?” I whispered close to his ear, nibbling on it. “Show me what it feels like. Please, meleth. Touch me. Please… be my husband.”

Thranduil let his head fall back, his eyes were closed, as he was definitely on his last straw of mindfulness. “How much do I need to push you, until you give in?” I giggled at his neck, making my way up to his chin and then hovering over his lips. “Would it help, if I lose my wedding dress?”

“You sound like a prostitute…” He gritted out and I just grinned wider. “And? Is it working?”

“Yes. And I don’t know if I like that thought.”

“Which thought? Me as a prostitute, or that I am succeeding to win you over that easily?” I kept on teasing him. Leaning back, I opened up the strings of my dress, pulling it over my head.

He balled his fists at my waist, his eyes forcefully trained on my face. “Both. But I would never let you become a prostitute.”

“Scared to share me?” Still keeping up my teasing way, I just sat on top of him, waiting for him to react. “No.” He gritted out.

“What's it then? Afraid another man might do me better?” Wetting my fingers with my tongue, I let them slide between my legs, stabilizing myself with my free hand on his knee. And when my fingers found my clit, I hummed in pleasure, still watching his face intently. Not reacting to my administrations, he spoke in a very forced tone: “You are my wife. There is no other man. Ever.”

“Hmmm. I like that, meleth.” I sighed, feeling how I grew wetter, so I dipped one finger inside my core, only to then put it to my mouth to lick it clean. “I like it, when you get possessive and confrontive towards other men. The difference of how you treat them and how you treat me, makes me feel special.”

“Does it now?” He sassed and I sighed internally. I finally had him broken out of his restrictive shell. I had my husband back: “Always has.”

“You really want to do this?” He inquired further and I nodded. “Yes. Please. I think I am ready.” Taking one last breath, he gripped my thighs. “Hold on.” Without giving me much time to react, he got up, walking towards the bedroom. “If you want me to do this, I am going to do this properly.”

“I know. Everything else wouldn’t be like you.” I grinned, hiding my face in his neck. He sat me down slowly on the edge of the bed. Then he stepped back, taking off his clothes one piece after the other: “If you are already naked, I shall be too. I don’t want to make you feel insecure.” His words made me blush and I stuttered out a quiet “Thank you.”  

Thranduil came back to me sinking further to his knees. When he was eyelevel with my stomach, he softly kissed it, then down my thigh until he reached my knee. “Lean back and relax.” His voice was rough, his warm breath sending goosebumps over my inner thigh.

“I want to watch you. I need to see you.” I whispered, stroking through his hair. His jaw clenched at my words, but he didn’t say anything, taking my hand and pressing a kiss to it. “If you wish so.” His fingers ghosted over my skin, leaving trails of goosebumps behind. “I will take my time today. I want to take care of you as good as I can.” He whispered roughly, kissing the insides of my thighs up to my core. I was too mesmerized with his softness, his blue eyes burning with love and passion, that I was incapable of answering him.

Then I felt his first finger touch my core and I stiffened up, digging my nails in his shoulders. He immediately stopped, looking up at me, waiting for me to relax. We stared into each others eyes, Thranduil kissing and nibbling on my thighs. “You are safe, meleth. Relax. There is nothing you have to fear.” Taking a deep breath, I focused on his eyes, relaxing as much as I could. And when he felt me giving up my barrier, he kept on pushing his finger inside of me. “See? You are doing great.”

I closed my eyes, the faint sound of his name on my lips and I could feel the familiar feeling starting to grow between my legs. Carefully he added another finger, scissoring them apart, creating a steady rhythm. “Let go, love. You are doing so good. Taking my fingers so well.” He praised me, his voice low and soft like silk. I could feel my blood rush to my face, painting it a light pink shade, my heartbeat thrumming in my ears, that I nearly missed his sweet little murmurs. His mouth wandered all over my thighs, my stomach, and hip bones, until he hovered over my core. “May I?”

“Yes…” I breathed out, moaning, when I felt his lips kiss my sensitive spot. Instinctively I spread my legs further, letting myself fall back onto the bed, one hand still clasping his free arm. “Thranduil…” I moaned, unable to focus on anything else than the man between my legs, lulled in by his sweet touches and soft little praises. “Please don’t stop.” I cried out, not really caring, that it was still the early evening, our windows hanging open, still a hurried humming coming from the big ball room.

“Never.” Was all he answered, slowly finger fucking me. It was ridiculous, how fast he was able to find the sweet spot deep inside of me. I heaved myself onto my elbows, wanting to see him, rather than just feeling him. And the expression that he had on his faze was breathtaking. Full of confidence and arrogance, a slight smirk forming on his lips, when he realized I was watching him again. “You taste so fucking good.” He groaned, raising his head to properly look at me. The shamelessness of him made me gasp out in embarrassment. His face was covered in my slick, eyes wild and hungry.

His gaze flickered between soft love and hungry possession as he was clearly fighting his urges to claim me. And I was absolutely turned on by it.

Thranduils smile grew wicked, when he saw how much I was affected by him. Wiping my slick of his chin, he licked his fingers clean, making a show out of it, simultaneously not stopping his fingers working my core. “You like that do you?” I wasn’t able to answer, just staring him in the eyes. “Answer me, my love, or I will stop.” He teased, some of his usual possessive self breaking through.

“Yes.” I pressed out, his name quickly following, when he curled his fingers perfectly against my sweet spot. Dipping down again, his fingers and tongue kept pushing me further down the road of my orgasm. The knot in my lower stomach starting to grow tighter, my legs wrapping around his shoulders, to keep him in place. I could feel my walls starting to flutter around his digits, another sign that I was close. The strength left my upper body and I fell back onto the bed, pulling his free arm close to my chest, nails digging into his skin. My eyes rolled back into my head as his name rang through the room, when my orgasm suddenly washed over me.

I felt him carefully pull out his fingers, his hands gently covering my cunt, as I just dwelled in the feeling. Tears started to form in my eyes and I tugged on his arm. “Meleth…” I mewled, desperate to feel him. He reacted instantly, getting up from his position climbing onto the bed and pulling me higher into the pillows. I turned around, crawling to the headboard falling to my stomach. “Feel you!” I pressed out, hugging a pillow tight to my chest.

Seconds later, I could feel his warm body hovering over me. I reached out for his hand that was holding his weight, clamping my fingers around his wrists. Sinking down on his elbows, he pressed me down, taking my hands in his bigger ones. The new intimate position making me feel hot and safe at the same time. His strong chest forced me down, chest hair tickling on my back, his thighs caging me in, as he buried me underneath him. “Thranduil…” I whimpered desperately, bucking my ass against his crotch.

He growled into my ear, his lips smothering me roughly, leaving a trail of wet kisses behind. “Please… I need you… Meleth…” I tried again, pressing up against his body, only to be met with him pressing me down further. “By Valar, please… I cant bare it anymore…” Begging for more, I cried out for him the tension in my body so high, that I was sure I would snap any moment.

His hands were roaming over my body, when he suddenly grabbed my arm, twisting me around. I shrieked and he instantly pulled back, skidding back to the edge of the bed, hands raised. “I am sorry, darling. I let myself go. Forgive me.”

“Its alright, Meleth. I trust you. I just didn’t expect this.” I smiled at him, reaching out for him. “Come back. Please.”

“What if I hurt you?” He stayed at the end of the bed.

“You wont hurt me.”

“You don’t know that!” He nearly yelled; the stress clear in his eyes. I gulped hard, seeing him irritated like that send a shiver down my spine. Taking a deep breath, I forced the unwanted thoughts out of my head.

“I know that you would never willingly do something that would harm me in any way. And that is all you can do. I trust you with all my life and I want this, meleth. I need this. Please. What can I do to make you believe me? To help you to trust yourself with me?”

“Promise to tell me, when its too much, or when I hurt you.” He rasped, slowly coming back to me, leaning his face into my hand.

“I promise.”

“Thank you.” He whispered, kissing my palm, before he sat back on his ankles, opening his breeches and I couldn’t help but stare at him.

His cock sprung free, hard, and tinted in a light pink shade, a drop of precum already crowning on his tip. “Fuck yes…” I breathed, staring at his manhood, not realizing, that he moved again, ridding himself from his breeches, crawling towards me again. He forced me to lay back down on my back and I just wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him flush against my core. That caused him to grind his hips against mine, eliciting a soft moan from my lips. I just clung to his body, squirming against his touch. “So needy.” He mused, kissing his way down to my breasts, taking one nipple between his lips.

Him sucking so delicately on my nipple, let me jolt in pleasure. I could feel his hard cock pressing against my thigh, twitching in anticipation. Supporting all his weight on one hand, he looked at me one last time, waiting for me to give him my consent. Nodding I bit my lip, bracing myself for what was about to come. He guided his hard member into me, very carefully easing his way in. I was still incredible wet from my previous orgasm, but I wasn’t prepared to take him, my body tensing up at the intrusion, making him stop mid movement. “Are you alright, darling? We don’t have to…” But I shook my head. “Go on. I want this.” 

Once he bottomed out, he stayed sheathed like that, distracting any thought I had with kissing me, until my head spun. It didn’t take long for me to grow accustomed to him, my hips starting to roll against him. I held onto his shoulders, looking him deep into the eyes. “I love you.” Thranduil nearly crumbled at my words, closing his eyes and groaning lowly. “Fuck me… That’s the hottest ‘I love you’, you have ever said.” Giggling I blushed. “I doubt that.”

“Not that it isn’t incredible to hear you say it in any other situation, but this… this just hits different. You trusting me like this... This memory will forever be my heaven.”

“You old romantic.” I groaned, but my smile betrayed me, him bending down for a kiss. “Always for you.”

Slowly he started to move, setting a slow and steady pace, fully set on pleasuring me as much and long as he could. My walls started to accommodate him more, relaxing around him. I hummed at the sweet feeling that started to spread through my body, my head sinking deeper into the pillows. “Yes…” I sighed, closing my eyes, just holding onto his upper arms.

“I love you, darling. Just relax and enjoy.” His words were water on a hot stone, instantly fogging up my mind, a light veil covering us.

He bent down to my neck, kissing it, nibbling onto my shoulder and a short worry of being marked up by him shot through me, but when he managed to hit my sweet spot, that worry got kicked out of my mind again. “Thranduil!” I yelped, digging my nails into his arms even more. “Do it again.” He growled against my skin, his teeth nipping on the sweet spot right under my ear. “Let me hear how much this pleasures you.” I complied to his demand, babbling before I even managed to filter anything that left my mouth: “Please… Give me more… I need more. Make me your wife, please… This feels so good. You feel so good. Claim me, please… meleth.”

“God, Y/N.” He moaned. “You are going to be the death of me…” The way he was so affected by it, only fed the tingly feeling in my body, spreading it to my limps. The tension in my lower stomach now growing bigger with every second, causing me to produce a guttural moan. I clasped my hand in front of my mouth, my gaze wandering towards the open balcony door, but Thranduil didn’t seem to mind one bit. Quite the opposite. He let out a growl, taking my hand away again. “Let them hear. Let the whole kingdom know, that you are my wife.”

Shifting his weight, he leaned back on his ankles, raising my hips, while fucking me deeper into the mattress. The new position caused him to hit a particular deep spot inside of me, pushing all the air out of me in a loud cry of his name.

“Say it again, little one. Let everyone know who you belong to.” He darkly smiled at me, his thrust not faltering one second. “So beautiful. So perfect for me. Taking my cock so well.” Praising me, he didn’t let go of my eyes. “Keep your eyes on me, bereth. I want to see you, when you come.”

I couldn’t help but stare at him, mesmerized by him, not able to resist the drawl he put into calling me his wife. His wife. That title alone did things to my mind, I wasn’t prepared for. The knot in my stomach was about to pop, threatening to pull me under. And by the way he was grinning, he knew. Knew from the way I shivered, the way my walls fluttered around his length. “Go on, my starlight. Let go for me. I wanna see those beautiful eyes roll back in your head. Wanna feel how you twitch around me and make a mess on my cock.” He spurred me on. And on cue I came.

Hard.

My back arched from the bed, eyes rolling back inside my head. I shivered in his hands in pure bliss of my orgasm, his name ringing through the room loud enough, that I was sure even the soldiers standing guard on the southern entrance were able to hear me. This orgasm was hard and fast, crushing into me like a rogue wave. Thranduil still kept his pace, thrusting into me, roughly praising me: “That’s it, darling. Ride it out. You are doing so good. Looking so fucking beautiful.” And I could feel my cum leak on his lap, drawing lush sounds from my core.

“Meleth!” I cried out, now completely kicked out of reality.” Crying out in desperation I reached out for him. Thranduil gave into my pleading, leaning forward again, pressing me down with his full body, effectively caging me in between his hot chest and soft mattress. “Yes…” I mewled, wrapping my legs around his waist, feeling him thrust much deeper into me. I was again babbling absolutely unfiltered: “Don’t stop, meleth. Makes me feel safe. So good. Thank you.”

“Of course, darling. Everything for you.” His voice sounded strained and I realized that he was close as well. “Its okey. You can let go.” I tried to get the words out straight, but another moan rippled through me, him groaning, desperately gripping a pillow. “No. I am not finished with you. I want you to come with me.” The pure determination and love in his words, striking me deeply, so that I couldn’t help but, whimper again. I earned a soft bite on my shoulder, followed by more praises: “Fuck yes… I love it when you do that. Taking me so well, moaning for me in such beautiful tones.”

Sneaking a hand between us, he pressed two fingers on my clit, sloppily rubbing circles over it. I clenched around his cock as an answer, goosebumps spreading over my skin, as he forced the fire to burn up in my body once again. A shiver ran down my spine, my walls fluttering around his cock, my legs wrapping around him even tighter. It spurred him on to fuck me even harder, his fingers moving faster, the sloppy kisses on my neck now closer to love bites than anything else. I started to shake uncontrollably, my body overwhelmed by the desire and stimulation that he had and still was administrating.

“I got you.” He rasped out and it was all I needed to hear. I came again, succumbing to a shivering mess underneath him, clamping down on his cock. “Fuck, Y/N.” He groaned and I could feel him twitch inside of me. The feeling of his hot seed shooting up my core made me whimper desperately and I couldn’t help myself but to think about what it would feel like to carry his child. Slowing down his pace, he rode out our orgasms, smothering every bit of skin with wet kisses. He was breathing hard, trying his best to catch his stance again.

Pressing me close to himself, he rolled onto his back and I was now lying on top of him. “You did so good, meleth nin. Took me so well. I promise I will always love and protect you. You are everything to me, the only thing I would give away everything I own for without batting an eye.” Listening to his sweet ramblings, I let the tears roll from my cheeks, cherishing his love and the sweet intimate moment between us.

To my dismay, it was interrupted far too quickly, when I felt the mixture of my slick and his seed trickling out of me. Wriggling in his arms, I tried to find a comfortable spot, but the stickiness just got worse. He was quick to realize what was the problem. Pressing a kiss to my head, he rolled around again, getting up from the bed. “Stay there. I will get something to get you cleaned up.”

I just watched him scramble through the room and come back with a bowl of water and a wash cloth. He looked so incredible hot like this. His hair messy and disheveled. Eyes still glowing with desire. And when he saw his cum seeping out of me, I believed to see his gaze grow even darker. I sighed loudly, catching his look with mine: “How was I ever able to deny me such pleasures…?” He laughed at my words, slowly sinking to the bed and cleaning me up with soft little touches. “From now on you will never have to. Whenever you need me, feel free to come and get me.”

“Even when you are in a meeting?” I asked and he smirked at me: “Especially then.”

[fiendishfables]

Hiii cookie bookie pookie bear, I was wondering if you could write for my short king again (lucifer)! Babyboy is short but how will he be with a gf/wife that is shorter than him! Rahh so cute ♡

Lucifer x Shorter S/O! Fem! Reader

Headcanons

warnings: fluff, short people jokes, Lucifer being an emotional dork and lover

words: 664

a/n: sorry for the lack of fics, I've been super busy and have had no motivation recently! Thanks for 300+ followers, I love y'all!

First of all, it's very rare that Lucifer finds anyone shorter than himself, so you'll have to excuse the literal squeal of excitement he emits the moment he sees you

When you first mention your romantic feelings for him, he had a field day

Someone like yourself, being so beautiful AND short, liking HIM?

He swore it was like being back up in Heaven again

Definitely never misses a chance to make a short joke, despite his own height misfortunes

The internet aided him in coming up with originals

"Hey, how's the weather down there?"

"My golly, it really is the little things in life that matter, isn't it darling?

You have attempted to bite his ankles a few times

Don't worry, if his jokes somehow ends up hurting your feelings, he will be quick to apologize and coddle you for the rest of the day

He is usually very ecstatic whenever you ask him to get anything for you off of a high perch; his chest literally swells with pride that he finally has someone who can come to him for that sort of stuff

"Oh, that old thing up there? No worries, my love. Step aside, step aside now."

Ends up having to get the kitchen stool

But by then, more often than not, it ends up with neither of you being able to reach it, not even with the help of his cane or the stool

Results in him having to get either his daughter, or the spider pornstar he usually tried to avoid if possible (mainly result of his intimidations due to his height, but he was a friend of Charlies)

He will physically deflate if he can't fulfill a need/request you have for him; it crushes his spirit

Likes to put his arm on your head whenever he stands next to you

Its a symbol of both his affection for you and his desire to playfully irritate you

Says you make a good armrest

He only got the satisfaction of saying it once though, because you kicked him harshly in the shin after

He thinks you are just the cutest thing when you're mad; he likes seeing you yell at other people, especially Alastor

But if you yell at him instead during these times, he will go wrap himself up in a blanket and have a breakdown on his own time

You wont see him for a good hour or two; he's off sobbing in some random corner

Eventually he will resurface and request your attention, which you gladly provide him with, apologizing and telling him your words were only humor based and not meant to be taken to heart

Lucifer is already such a sensitive soul, he claims you are turning him to mush by just being the cutest thing to ever behold him

He can't fathom the idea of ever making his precious lady mad at him

Loves getting you funny t-shirts and stuff that have short people jokes on them

Almost always insists on being the big spoon when the two of you cuddle

He's finally taller than someone for once in his life, okay?

He gets the chance to feel like he is effectively protecting someone, this time by covering them with his body like a shield; this has never happened before

Let him have this one victory; he feels accomplished, the poor baby

No one can deny that he has tons of fun with you, as he now gets to be the one who feels all high and mighty

Your height is an ongoing topic throughout the relationship

He often forgets that he himself still only stands just above five feet

He once even tried to fight Alastor because you genuinely make him feel like he's a 7ft giant

Safe to say he came back to you with his tail between his legs, feelings hurt, and still a whopping 5,2

But with you, he may as well have been standing on top of the world

[kayjaywrites]

Like Bugs in a Rug: Chapter Two

(Previous Chapter)

Summary: Azriel Shadowsinger, mysterious pretty boy extraordinaire himself, was head over heels in love with you for years. Everyone in the room could see it, except for you of course. A series of connected one-shots.

Chapter Word Count: 7,500 Chapter Song Inspo: Obey - Bring Me The Horizon

Chapter Content Warnings: hurt/comfort, angst kinda, eventual fluff, anxiety/panic attack, vomit (nothing graphic), Rhysand being an ass, Nesta x Reader friendship, Rhysand slander lol,  AFAB Reader, Reader (You), fluff, some details about Reader's appearance but overall vague, canon plot spoilers as this is canon compliant-ish Note: So is this fluff? Debatable. But there is still plenty of Az fluff in it, you just got to work for it a little more this time. You don’t need to read the first chapter to understand what’s going on here, but they are connected!

XxXx

Your 3rd year in Velaris....

It took almost three years of employment with the Inner Circle for you to personally encounter the ‘Night Triumphant’ persona. You were not impressed. The most serious you’d seen your cousin was ‘High Lord Rhysand’, the fierce leader, but even that was limited to political business outside of Velaris. More so than not, it was just Rhys, your fun loving, sarcastic friend who so happened to wield an enormous amount of power. 

The male sitting at his work desk was not your ‘Rhys’. Hell this wasn’t even High Lord Rhysand. The Night Triumphant held eye contact with you, gaze calculated and stern. You studied the authority in his expression, his mouth drawn into a tight line. Staring him down right back, you waited for the facade to break and reveal the male you had come to know as family. You searched his face for the guy who would rather face Amarantha again than put you in such a precarious situation. The very situation that plagued you with consistent nightmares since you left Hewn City.

You did not find that male.

Your gaze flitted to Mor, her body draped in a leather armchair off to the side, hoping to find a trace of humor in her expression. She tried to look nonchalant, but there was a sharp edge to her that betrayed her own trepidation.

Nesta stood an arm’s length away from you, uncharacteristically quiet in the wake of your High Lord’s orders. She seemed as if she was waiting to see who would escalate things first. Rhysand had summoned the three of you to his office to brief everyone on an upcoming…obligation. He prefaced the meeting by saying that he knew it wasn’t an ideal assignment. He wasn’t asking if you wanted to do it, it was non negotiable. 

In two months time, you, Nesta, and Mor would be answering a summons to Hewn City. Kier had been requesting a personal audience with you for the last year. Mor and Rhysand could no longer postpone it, as you were a Night Court Courtier afterall.

Still, you did not want to believe that Rhys would ask this of you. “You’re kidding, right? This isn’t very funny, Rhysand.”

“I know you can tell that I am not joking.” His flinty tone brook no argument.

Any hope of reasoning with the Night Triumphant withered away. He summoned you to his office well aware that you wouldn’t take kindly to being sent back. Here you’d been thinking Rhysand understood your trauma best, having been held captive and used while Under the Mountain. 

It appeared that you had misjudged him.

Just as you were about to say as much, Mor spoke up for the first time since the meeting started. “Kier threatened mutiny at the last Council meeting. At first he demanded a private audience, even after I informed him of our bargain. When we still refused to send you by yourself despite his threats, he agreed on these terms. You and Nesta because you’re a team, and me because I oversee The Court of Nightmares anyway. He couldn’t argue with that logic.”

You felt like you were going to be sick. After 300 years of being nothing but a tool for your father, the idea of seeing Kier’s face again so soon had your lunch sitting heavy in your stomach. It was inevitable, he thought you were loyal to him, his spy on the inside. You had zero idea how you were going to handle a reunion with him, simply thinking about it made you short of breath.

Your nights were plagued with stress dreams about what it would be like to return to your old home. You avoided stewing on the topic during your waking hours. The inevitability of it all often sent you spiraling, you couldn’t ghost Kier forever, but you thought you had more time. There was no fucking way you were ready. “I can’t do this,” You said, “give me any other assignment, and I’ll do it. Just not this.”

“You can,” Rhysand enunciated each word, slow and deliberate, like he wasn’t sure you would understand him, “and you will.” 

Oh hell no. You did not uproot your entire life to be spoken to like that. “Do not speak to me like a child, Rhysand–”

“Then stop acting like one,” he scolded, like you were the one being unreasonable, “this is your duty to your court, what I pay you to do. If you won’t do what needs to be done to protect your court then we don’t have a place for you here.”

Rhysand’s words hit like a blow. Your sharp intake of breath was echoed by both Nesta and Mor, but you couldn’t see them, they might as well have not been there, your world shrinking down to Rhysand as he regarded you coldly.

“So what will it be?” He addressed you, leaning forward over his desk, leering, “will you do as your High Lord asks of you, or will you be resigning today?” He pressured.

Your hands fisted, ire rising up so fast it made your eyes sting with unshed tears. If you got kicked out of Velaris you’d undoubtedly end up back in Hewn City. And you couldn’t let that happen, not after you finally got a taste of freedom.

Rhysand may like to believe himself better than Kier, but how was this any different from how Kier treated you? Was this your destiny? Undeserving of kindness unless you proved your worth? 

What about you made people forget that you were a living, breathing being? Just like everyone else in the room, you had feelings that mattered, and hopes for your future. You’d been stripped of your freewill for the first three centuries of your life. It was a wonder that you hadn’t gone mad.

Were you only allowed a taste of freedom? Was that Rhysand’s plan all along? Get you hooked on life in Velaris then dangle it in front of you like you were a simple mule, your freedom the carrot held just out of reach.

It made your blood boil.

“My apologies.” You sneered at him, gone was the meek, conditioned wallflower. You meant all the disrespect. In a dramatic flourish you bowed low to Rhysand, making sure he saw your contempt for him when he met your gaze.

 You maintained direct eye contact as you hissed harsh sarcasm at him, “I am at your disposal, High Lord.”

Rhysand’s eyes flared with something dark and aggressive. Time slowed, a pulse of his power cresting over you in a suffocating wave, a preview of how oppressive he could make it if he so wished. Dread replaced your anger, the confidence you’d displayed moments ago dissipating. You struggled to not show how he had shaken you, and by some miracle, you stood your ground. Still, he could probably hear your heart pounding from where he sat.

Amidst the theatrics, your own power had not been so keen on backing down. It had coiled around you like a viper ready to strike, protective, as Rhysand’s prowling darkness prodded your boundaries. 

This version of Rhysand left you stricken, unable to reconcile the egregious behavior with the male you’d had breakfast with just that morning. It felt like his power was tearing you in half, and he wasn’t even exerting himself. He looked bored.

Did you escape the clutches of one villain, only to run into the hands of another? Were you really that foolish?

Mor stepped into your field of vision, mouthing something at you. You hadn’t realized your ears were ringing until the shrill noise faded enough for you to hear her calling your name. The frantic quality of her voice snapped you out of whatever daze Rhysand’s power had cast on you.

Right. Nesta and Mor had witnessed that entire thing. You’d forgotten about their presence in the heat of the moment, your attention tunnel visioned on Rhysand. He had humiliated you in front of some of the most important people in your life. The only thing that could have made it worse was if Azriel had been there too.

Intense embarrassment flooded you, a seed of distrust taking root deep in your heart. You felt so stupid, thinking you could trust Rhysand and his Inner Circle. Mor was still trying to get your attention, but you stared right past her, looking at Rhysand like you hated him.

Hell. Maybe you did.

Mor called your name once more with urgency, moving closer to you, half turned so she hadn’t given her back to her High Lord, but solely focused on you. “It’s the best we could do without inciting a civil war.” She tried to clarify, emphasizing on the ‘we’ as she gestured between herself and Rhysand. 

“You have to know we wouldn’t put you in this position if we had any other choice. I personally promised I would never leave you alone in that city again, and there is nothing our father can say or do to make me break that promise to you. We will do this together.”

Rhysand’s power had receded, but you could still feel it loitering like a watchdog. Something you’d never imagined Rhys doing to you before the meeting. He’d always spun such pretty promises about your future in Velaris, and you believed him.

And now Mor was doing the same exact thing. More pretty promises, but no proof of her intentions to follow through with them. 

Mor’s shoulders visibly sagged, “If you don’t believe me, then look.” She pleaded, offering her mind up for you to read.

You physically recoiled at her suggestion. “I will do no such thing!” You spat back in disgust, “You are my sister, this is supposed to be my family. I will not taint our relationship with my powers in a moment of weakness. You may not return the same respect, but I refuse to surround myself with people I can’t trust without rummaging around their mind for their truths first.”

Unlike some males went unsaid as you fumbled to tone it down for Mor. Your problem was not with her, and she didn’t deserve your harsh words. “I can’t…I won’t….I–”

Frustrated with yourself, you took a steadying breath, emotion burning behind your eyes. Despite your best effort to keep composed, your voice quivered, “I will not be like our father.”

The room was stunned silent, Mor regarded you with sadness, lips parting to respond, but then pursing closed in a tight line.

Rhysand was the one to break the silence. His power dispersed as he leaned back in his chair, acting like he hadn’t just wound you up tight enough to fracture you into pieces.

“So you accept the assignment then?” He inquired, brushing nonexistent lint from the cuff of his dress shirt.

His lack of remorse irked you. Did he not think he could have handled the situation better? Was this how he treated everyone in the Inner Circle? The list of things you wanted clarification on kept growing, so instead you settled on, “Yes.” 

“I’m glad we could come to an agreement then.” He drawled, “We will go over details and strategy another time, when we are all more composed.”

You wanted to punch him in his goddamn face.

“For now, this meeting is dismissed.”

As soon as he finished speaking you stormed out of his office, nearly colliding with Nesta in your haste to get away from Rhysand. Originally you were going to visit the library after the meeting. Nesta had suggested a book for you to read, and you wanted to read it so you had something to talk to her about. But you were too worked up to do that now, you needed to get out of there. 

You didn’t care where you ended up, so long as you put as much distance between you and Rhysand as possible.

XxXx

By step 174 your blurry vision cleared a smidge, too out of breath to cry for the moment. You didn’t have anyone to help you leave The House of Wind, so you took to the 10,000 stairs with the expectation of someone eventually coming to find you. There was no way in hell you’d actually be able to reach the bottom. You began the descent down the spiraling staircase so fast It was a marvel that you didn’t trip.

Any time you slowed down Rhysand’s words would play on loop in your head. The only way to drown it out was to pick up the pace, the exertion elevating your heart rate enough for it to overpower that nasty voice in the back of your head. If you ran fast enough the only thing you could concentrate on was counting the steps you took.

239 steps down, and you had no choice but to slow down to a more reasonable pace. It was a warm day, and you were getting dizzy. The last thing you wanted to do was pass out. In a desperate attempt to keep your mind occupied as you caught your breath you focused on the breeze cooling the sweat beading up on your forehead. You listened to the slap of your bare feet on the smooth, sun-warmed stone. You thought of the color of the sandals you left behind at the very top of the stairs. You pondered on which step you’d discarded your blouse on after it began to cling to your sweaty skin.

Your guess was step 148.

You hit the first landing platform at step 250, slowing to a walk as you panted, hands propped against your hips as you counted your next few steps. Woozy, you let your eyes fall closed for a moment, but the image of Kier sitting in his throne room beckoning you forward flashed across your mind. You flinched so hard you accidentally opened your eyes looking directly into the sun.

It felt like your head had a heartbeat of its own, vision blotching from the brightness. You didn’t know how your day could get any more bleak as you rapidly blinked the disorienting dots away. Glimpses of The Court of Nightmares throne room lurking behind every blink, Kier looked more like Rhysand each time you closed your eyes.

It made your stomach lurch, and you whimpered around a dry heave.

A particularly strong gust of wind ruffled through your hair, and you can almost hear Azriel’s voice reminding you to focus on your other senses. Your mind can lie to you, but it’s much harder for all your senses to be tricked at the same time.

The sunlight, the ever-present wind, the sound of birds, the smell of fresh air. Let nature ground you. 

It just wasn’t enough. You’d only paused for a few moments, but your chest began to feel too tight for your lungs, anxiety squeezing the air out of you before you could properly inhale it. Two months. Just two measly months to figure out what the hell you were going to say to Kier–to your mom, after you’d gone no contact for almost 3 years. Two months to not be petrified of somehow getting trapped down there again.

So you continued down the stairs, pushing yourself harder. 

251. 252. 253. Counting them like Azriel had taught you.

It had been after your first dinner with the Inner Circle at the House of Wind. Mor was a little too tipsy to winnow home safely, so the both of you decided it best to share a guest room. You were feeling antsy, Mor having fallen asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

The House of Wind was so different from Hewn City. Cozy and surprisingly casual in decor, but it was carved out of the side of a mountain. With the curtains drawn, in the dark quiet of the night, it almost felt like your bedroom in The Court of Nightmares.

You had thought a glass of water would do you some good, help you settle enough to get some rest. So you set out for the kitchen, taking care to walk quietly so as to not wake anyone. The hallway led to a flight of stairs, which brought you to more hallways that seemed to stretch on, and on, and on. The homey decor fell away, your balance wobbling with the sudden onset of vertigo. Closing your eyes didn’t help, dizzy and disoriented, everything felt like it was tipped on its axis. You couldn’t place where you were, where you were going, just that you were alone. Fear flooded your senses, and you swore you smelled the dank air of the streets of Hewn City like you were still there.

Azriel found you slumped against the wall on shaky legs, your pulse pounding so hard in your ears you couldn’t hear what he was saying to you. The touch of his rough hands on your bare arms was soothing enough to bring you back to yourself. You weren’t walking the streets of Hewn City. You weren’t alone. Azriel had you.

Each inhale had still felt like you were gulping in freezing cold water, your breath coming in irregular gasps. You thought you were going to die in that hallway, suffocating on fucking air.

Azriel took you to the training grounds on the rooftop of all places. You can still remember the brightness of the full moon that night as he coached you through breathing exercises. Then, coaxed you into walking laps with him around the perimeter of the huge training grounds. He counted each step aloud with you until you had calmed enough to tell him what the hell had happened.

And that was how you and the Shadowsinger bonded over Claustrophobia. An unfortunate thing to have in common, an even more unfortunate first thing to find you had in common.

In the moments after you’d come down from your panic attack you wanted to svirel up and fade away, so thoroughly embarrassed. But now, you thanked The Mother for sending Azriel to find you that night.

It was those same coping skills that led you to working out your anxiety after the meeting. 290 steps away from The House of Wind, and you were sure your legs were going to give out if you kept pushing yourself. You came to a slow stop, soles of both your feet planted on the same stair. Lulling your head back so your face was to the cloudless sky, you closed your eyes and pictured that moment with Azriel. Instead of Kier morphing into Rhysand, you saw Azriel walking laps with you around the moonlit training grounds.

You basked in the breeze against your face, your anger and fear still roiling in your stomach, but no longer all consuming. The relief was short lived, a concentrated pang of despair reared its ugly head, raw hurt so overwhelming it chased the warm memories with Azriel away. It made you so tired, so emotionally drained you felt it in the marrow of your bones. You wanted to just let go, collapse in a heap and never get up again.

Yet, by some stroke of willpower, you remained on your feet. You hadn’t warmed up before taking on the stairs, and you could already feel soreness settling into your muscles. Gingerly you sat yourself down on the steps, resting your elbows on your thighs as you rubbed your hands over your face, spreading fresh tears across the top of your cheeks.

If you won’t do what needs to be done to protect your court then we don’t have a place for you here. Rhysand’s words burned the part of you that had always suspected as much. There was this nasty little voice that lived in the back of your head. It would mock you when you were too content in calling this place home.

You wondered if that voice would start to sound like Rhysand.

The thought broke your heart a little bit more. You wanted so badly to make him proud, to earn your place in the Inner Circle, prove that they hadn’t made a mistake taking you in. The worst part was that you thought you were doing good. Not that you’d believed yourself to be one of them, you were still so new, but you thought…you thought…

You don’t know what you fucking thought.

Curling into yourself, your knees tucked in close to your chest, you made yourself as small as possible. The full body trembling made your sobs shaky, your entire being wobbled from the weight of your failure, your naivety. This was what you got for wanting to do it the right way. You’d never built relationships without relying on your powers to sniff out their loyalty beforehand, never truly trusted on your own violation.

Your father always thought it was a stupid risk to take when you could know for sure. You thought it was an awfully lonely way to live, to never trust fully. Perhaps you’d been wrong.

This was what you get, you silly girl. Kier’s voice taunted from the back of your mind. Or was that Rhysand’s voice? Did the difference even matter anymore? 

The telltale sound of approaching footsteps closed in on you from behind, you couldn’t tell who it was, all you could smell was the salt of your own tears. Maybe it was one of them coming to take you out of your misery, maybe Rhysand took your display in his office as a sign of disloyalty.

The killing blow never came, so you glanced up to see Nesta taking a seat next to you. The last person you expected to come looking for you if you were being honest.

She didn’t look at you right away, which you appreciated. You were humiliated enough without her seeing you wiping your own snot on your forearm. Her icy stare was focused on the view, the only indication that she had run to catch up with you, a few fly away hairs having been jostled loose from her braids.

“You were pretty hard to catch up to, you know,” She leaned back, supporting her weight on her hands against the step behind her, “for someone who doesn’t regularly train, at least.”

Her attempt at humor, which earlier in the day would have made you indignant, fell flat. Instead inciting a new wave of tears to fall past your lash line. You dropped your head lower to hide it from her, but it did little to smother the sound of your quivering breath.

She didn’t try again, and her presence grew awkward when you didn’t try either, but she stayed next to you regardless.

When it became apparent that she would stay by your side unless you sent her away, you found your words. “What if I can’t do it,” You croaked out, voice absolutely wrecked, “Face my father, return underground? What if I can’t do what’s expected of me? What if it’s too much, too soon? What if I lose everything because I’m not strong enough.” Will never be strong enough.

“Then we will figure it out,” Nesta answered without hesitation, “Together.”

You are alone. That damned voice insisted.

“But Rhysand said–”

“I know what Rhysand said.” Nesta hissed, and you startled, your bloodshot eyes meeting hers for the first time since she arrived. She looked pissed, lips pursed in a scowl as if the High Lord was right in front of her. “Rhysand is an insensitive jackass. He won’t send you away because you messed up one job.”

“How can you know that?” You whispered, already knowing that she couldn’t know for sure. 

“Because I’ve pissed him off by doing far worse, and I’m still here.”

You shook your head at her reasoning, not good enough, she can’t know for sure. “You're his mate’s sister, and Cassian’s mate. He can’t exile you.”

“And you're The Morrigan’s sister, and his own cousin.” Nesta deadpanned. “You’re not going to get exiled over a visit to The Court of Nightmares.”

“How can you possibly know that?!” You shouted, one of your hands clutching the fabric of your sweat soaked chest binding as your heart ached. Frantic to believe her, but knowing that you just couldn’t.

“Because Rhysand hates me, we barely tolerate each other on good days. He once threatened to banish me to the human continent,” she rebuked, hands flying about as she grew impassioned, “He loves you. He’s just an overpowered ass on a power trip. You questioned his authority and it hurt his fragile little ego. And even if he was stupid enough to try to cast you out, the rest of the Inner Circle would never let that happen.”

Your nerves were fucking shot. Whatever remained of your bravado frayed with every hagrid breath, it was impossible to stay focused. It was like your powers were waiting for you to be distracted, taking the opportunity to thrash against your mental shields. You didn’t know if it was skill keeping your powers in check, or dumb luck.

Your headache spread across your temples, sharp pain panging behind your eyes. You were already so tired, but the tears would not stop coming. That damned voice, still whispering its poison, adding to the agony. Nesta can’t know for sure, but you could if you just gave in.

You looked Nesta over, her relaxed body language at odds with the determined fire in her eyes. She left herself wide open, she wouldn’t even know if you read her. You’d be in control, your fate wouldn’t be left up to a gamble.

Nesta tried to meet your gaze, and you squeezed your eyes shut, turning away from her. It was impossible for you to think with her piercing stare studying you. What reason did Nesta even have to care about what happened to you? She didn’t say shit while Rhysand was ripping your world apart, and yet she showed up here? To do what exactly?

There was a dull ringing in your ears as your power surged against your restraint, and maybe you screamed, maybe you didn’t. Your fingers went up into your hair, fisting at your roots as you pulled, rocking yourself back and forth because it would be so easy.

And maybe if you gave in, that stupid voice would stop.

Nesta called your name, “I wouldn’t let Rhysand kick you out of Velaris.”

The cry you let out sounded almost feral. “I don’t know that!” .

“No, you don’t,” Nesta acquiesced, “but do you trust me?”

Did you trust Nesta? The question cut you into you like the edge of a knife, your heart answering with a resounding yes.

Wow, did you want that to be true. But that sinister voice oozed like an oil slick in the back of your head. Will you do as your High Lord asks of you, or will you be resigning today? You had trusted Rhysand too.

Even if Nesta wanted you here, did you think she would disobey her High Lord for you? You didn’t know, not for sure. Your power reared up again, and your head pounded at the onslaught. That oily voice so loud it was all you could hear. You could know.

“I-I don’t know.” You stammered, stomach churning into grotesque knots.

“Do you trust yourself?” Nesta continued her line of questioning.

That answer came to you quick, no, and it had you lurching forward, your balance lost as you scraped your knees sliding down a couple stairs. You wretched, violent heaves as your stomach emptied out on the stairs in front of you.

No. You didn’t trust yourself.

“There was a time where I didn’t trust myself either.” It was like you weren’t barfing up your guts right in front of her, Nesta spoke with such calm. “Didn’t let anyone close enough to trust, even myself, I didn’t know how.”

You wretched again, your hair getting in the way. Gentle fingers gathered the stray pieces that had fallen from your updo. You hadn’t heard her move over to you, but she was there, steadying you as you struggled through a bout of dry heaving. If you weren’t so miserable, the tenderness coming from Nesta would have shocked the hell out of you.

Her free hand rubbed soothing circles into your back as she continued her tale. “I hated myself,” Nesta confided, voice raspy with emotion, “so much that I drank myself stupid every night to escape the darkness of my own thoughts.”

Now, the random heart to heart did shock you.

Three years of trying to connect with the enigma that was Nesta Archeon. Three years of getting redirected when you asked something too deep. The most you got out of Nesta was what she liked to read, so you picked up reading just to have a reason to approach her outside of assignments. Three years of one sided heart to hearts, evaded personal questions, and turned down sleepover invitations.

And she decided that now was the proper time to trauma dump on you? While you were half dressed, ugly crying with vomit in your hair?

What a baffling female. The confusion helped you relax, so surprised you were by Nesta’s sudden urge to share. Her hand kept a slow, steady rhythm as she continued to rub gentle circles onto your back, you hadn’t realized how tensed you’d been until muscles you didn’t even know you had started going lax. 

Whatever Nesta was doing, it was working. So you basked in the comfort her touch provided and listened.

“Someone taught me how to acknowledge those thoughts and let them go. To breathe, and still everything else in my mind, and let my mind think those things, but to not dwell, because that dark self loathing didn’t define me.”

The dark self loathing didn’t define you. Her words chipped at something that had been left festering for far too long. Had that been it all along, that terrible voice in the back of your head, had it been self loathing?

“Give yourself permission to feel, acknowledge it, and let it go.”

And it was so liberating, giving a name to what had been festering under your skin. Hate. Disgust. Cowardice. You cried, but not the agonized, tortured type of wails that had crippled you moments ago. This was a release, the type of ugly cry you do when something you didn’t know was broken starts to heal.

You hated yourself. And that was okay, because as you waited for that awful voice to mock you, it never did. You hated yourself, wept so hard you thought your eyes were going to fall out of your skull, but you had never felt lighter.

Nesta found your hand, gentle at first as if giving you time to pull away. Then she held onto you like the simple touch could convey what you were worth to her. “You are the rock against which the surf crashes. Nothing can break you.” She whispered, but the words resonated like she had shouted them at you.

The smile started as a small twitch at the corners of your mouth, but you knew Nesta saw it all the same. You searched for that dreadful voice, waited for it to speak something dreadful, but the quip never came. The smile that bloomed on your cheeks was wide with astonish.

You couldn’t believe it, after 300+ years of letting that nasty voice ruin you, there was peace. In its place was something new and bright.

Hope.

XxXx

The sound of beating wings announced the arrival of Cassian and Azriel a moment before the weight of their landing sent vibrations through the hard stone of the staircase. The two hulking Illyrian warriors made quick work of the walk up the stairs, their casual conversation trailing off once they were within earshot of you and Nesta.

“Ness!” Cassian’s voice boomed in greeting, cheery and boisterous, “I see why you asked for me to bring Azriel now. Here I thought you were acting on your ‘secret’ fantasies finally. The location left something to be desired, but I wasn’t going to be picky.”

Nesta sat shoulder to shoulder with you, so close, you felt her stiffen at Cassian’s offbeat comment. If you weren’t so drained, you’d be cross with her for summoning more witnesses, but the idea of having to walk back up all those steps upset you far more. The adrenaline high from your anxiety had long worn off, and without its numbing effect, you weren’t sure if you could even stand without your legs wobbling.

Nesta sighed, deep and long suffering, but affectionate nonetheless. “Your inability to read the room will always astound me.”

“Good thing we’re outside, there is no–” Cassian’s breath hitched, now close enough to get a good look at your downcast expression, haggard appearance, and odd attire. You were careful to keep your emotions under control, unwilling to let anyone in the Inner Circle see you in such a vulnerable state. Years of cautious composer, wasted, all because of a meeting that lasted less than 30 minutes. You expected disapproval, your emotions had only been met with ridicule in the past, but the apparent emotions flying across Cassian’s face were anything but cold.

Worry. Guilt. Unease. Cassian’s emotions were so boldly displayed, you didn’t need your powers to disconcert them.

Cassian paused in his ascent as he looked you over for injury, but Azriel closed the distance in the time it took you to blind away the tingle of the latest round of tears. Their concern was almost palatable, and being shown that type of care felt too good to be real. 

These males had no reason to care so much, Nesta had no tangible reason to care so much. You were so… you, so replaceable and plain. You breathed through the thought, let it roll over you, maybe that was why they cared so much, because you are you. It had never occurred to you that you were someone worth caring for. Not when your own father never cared. Certainly not after Rhysand gave you the ultimatum to get useful or get out.

You are the rock against which the surf crashes. Nothing can break you. Nesta’s words repeated in your head, sending a zing of determination down your spine. 

“What happened? Are you hurt?” Azriel crouched down, his chest siphon reflecting the late afternoon sun. His questions made you feel queasy, but his presence soothed over you like a balm. This male simultaneously was the person you worried about disappointing most, and the person you felt most safe being vulnerable around.

Unlike with Nesta, you didn’t struggle with facing Azriel. He was inspecting the grime covered scrapes on your bare toes. “Where are your shoes?” He asked you, puzzled as he then took note of your sweat soaked bra, “and your shirt?”

A dark look passed over him, if his shadows could withstand the direct sunlight, you were sure they’d be writhing around you. He spoke your name like a whispered prayer, desperate. His gloved hands hesitated as he reached out to cup your face, only smoothing his thumbs over your cheeks when you didn’t jerk away, “please look at me,” and you did, meeting his amber eyes as he wiped remnant tear stains from your cheeks, “Did someone try to hurt you?”

You knew what he meant, but your explanation caught in your throat. A brief moment of shame overwhelmed you, because here you were blubbering over some harsh words from your High Lord, when people suffered far worse fates than your own every day. Azriel began to tense, an icy cold rage taking form as he mistook your silence as an affirmative.

You shook your head ‘no’, hating the troubling turmoil you had unintentionally sowed in him. His shoulders sagged, the sign of his relief so slight, many would have missed it. It was all it took for the remaining threads of your thin composure to snap.

Azriel all but scooped you into his arms as tears blurred your vision, and you crumbled into him, no further prompting needed. He held you so tight, it was like he was trying to hold all your pieces together for you. His wings flared to keep his balance, and maybe later you’d feel sheepish about almost tipping him backwards down those unforgiving stairs, but you relished in the comfort his strength brought you.

“I-I was–It was–” You couldn’t string the sentence together, “We were…I was–” you tried again but your breathing was off, your thoughts all jumbled, and Blessed Mother, you couldn’t do it again. Any words you’d thought about trying to say morphed into sobs, barely audible, but you couldn’t hide the way your body shook with them.

“Rhysand happened.” Nesta asserted, sparing what was left of your dignity by cutting off your senseless stuttering. She summarized the meeting, but touched on the major points that had triggered your anxiety. She was gentle with the recollection of your part in the meeting, scathingly critical of Rhysand. 

“When I left Rhysand’s office, The Morrigan was getting in his face, and as much as I would have loved to see how that went down, it felt wrong to not check in with you.” Nesta explained like she was coming clean, “ I asked the house where you were.”

It was about as close to an apology you’d ever get from Nesta. You knew from experience that Nesta took her time warming to people, preferring to mind her business and stay out of Inner Circle drama. Once she’d made an offhand comment about being the center of the drama enough to last her the rest of her fae lifetime.

Keeping your head rested on Azriel’s shoulder, you turned your face to the side so your voice was less muffled, “Thank you,” your words carried on the wind, paper thin, frail, but so heartfelt, “for following me.”

Nesta didn’t respond, and you didn’t dare look at her out of fear of getting weepy again. But you felt it all the same, a shift in the relationship between the two of you. Like a bridge branching out, a new understanding solidified in place, and you knew Nesta had felt it too.

You shifted in Azriel’s arms, intending on testing your strength, but his arms tensed to keep you in place. In one graceful movement that had your head spinning, Azriel stood up right, adjusting to support your weight in a bridal hold.

“How about we get you home and clean you up?” Azriel suggested, loud enough for the others to hear, but the question aimed at you.

Home. As in the apartment you shared with Mor. He had called Velaris your home.

Your heart gave a painful throb, all choked up again at the sentiment. Going home sounded like the most splendid thing in the whole world in that moment. You didn’t want to think about Rhysand or Hewn City anymore, you wanted to go home so much it hurt.

There was some rustling, Cassian coming to stand near Nesta. “Wanna race me back up to the house?” His words were muffled as if his lips were pressed into the crown of Nesta’s head. “Winner gets head.”

The swift resounding slap Cassian received almost made things seem normal.

“Are you two good?” Nesta ignored Cassian’s taunting, and you nodded at the same time Azriel responded with, “Yes, I’ve got her.”

A beat passed in silence, all four of you waiting to see if anyone added anything else. Then rapid footsteps took off up the stairs, and you popped your head up from the crook near Azriel’s underarm to see Nesta sprinting up the stairs.

“Hey!” Cassian bellowed, charging after her, “cheaters never prosper, Nesta!”

“Prove it, you overgrown bat!”

If you weren’t about ready to pass out from exhaustion, you would have laughed at their antics. Azriel was watching them, an unguarded fondness in his hazel eyes you rarely got to see. The two of you stayed like that, Azriel watching his friends, you committing his soft expression to memory. By the time Azriel glanced down to you, Cassian had overtaken Nesta’s lead, their figures dots in the distance.

You were a melted puddle of female in his arms, all tension and stress slipping from your muscles as your eyelids drooped. Try as you might, you couldn’t keep your eyes open for another second. Paranoia nagged at you, fear of what you’d see when you finally rested your eyes.

Nothing. Blissful darkness. Peace.

“I’m going to take off now. Loop your arms around my neck and hold on tight, okay? Once we get up high enough, the rest of the flight will be smooth.”

You did as you were told, any other time you would have been a nervous wreck, but you didn’t have it in you to fret. You’d always winnowed with someone, even learning how to land the drop through the wards when Mor winnowed with you to the House of Wind. You’d thought no one had noticed how you avoided the topic, but surprise surprise, Azriel had noticed.

The thought of being up that high in the sky and dropped sure made your pulse spike. Growing up in an Underground City meant your feet were always planted on the ground. So maybe it wasn’t a stretch to claim that you weren’t a fan of heights, you’d never flown with anyone before, but it would make a lot of damn sense.

Your musing was cut short. Azriel launched straight up into the sky, powerful wings effortlessly gaining momentum and speed. You clung to him, hands clasped together around his neck in a death grip, screaming bloody murder the entire ascend. Although you would deny it if anyone asked.

Things evened out once Azriel felt he was high enough, setting a leisure pace towards what you assumed to be the direction of Mor’s apartment. Your eyes were squeezed shut, wind whipping your hair out of what was left of your updo, tossing it across your face.

You must have been quite the sight, if the amusement in Azriel’s voice was any indication. “Are you going to look at the view?”

Your hair was a disheveled mess across your face, the wind burned your already sore eyes when you tried to pry them open. “Even if I wanted to, I can’t keep my eyes open,” It was probably beautiful, but you didn’t want to push your luck, you’d had enough panic attacks for the day, “Luckily, I don’t want to.”

He chuckled. “Next time then.”

Blame it on the fatigue, but you found yourself nodding in agreement. Something you may come to regret when he urges you to fly with him instead of winnowing the next time you travel together.

But maybe it won’t be so bad, if Azriel was the one carrying you. With your eyes closed, ear pressed to his chest, his steady heartbeat lulled the residual tension and anxiety away until all you felt was the security of his arms. You could almost forget that you were hundreds of feet off the ground.

In Azriel’s care, it was easy to relax, he wouldn’t let anything bad happen. It was in that half dozing state, snuggled up as close as you could get to him, that your sleepy mind realized moments like these were the ones you wanted to remember.

Ultimately, Rhysand’s nasty words were a small part of your day. The majority of your time was spent with Nesta, bonding with her in a way you’d never managed previously. Something that would have never happened if Rhysand hadn’t been a dick.

Yeah. You’d much rather remember the day as the Nesta heart-to-heart incident. Or the first time you flew with Azriel.

Drifting into a deeper sleep, you dreamt of the way Cassian’s laughter echoed with joy as he chased after Nesta up the stairs. You dreamt of soaring through the clouds with Azriel, the same fondness you’d seen in his eyes for Cassian and Nesta, but aimed at you.

It may take you the rest of your life, but you would replace all the trauma muddying up your memories with new memories you wanted to remember. New memories filled with laughter, affection, trust, and adventure.

One day at a time. 

Rhysand could go pound sand though.

XxXx

Previous Chapter / Bonus: Chapter 2.5 / Next Chapter (coming soon)

A/N: Don't worry the next part is going to be more like the first chapter. There will be like two more chapters sprinkled in that have a more serious tone, but the rest will be fluff, drama, and tomfoolery a plenty. Stay tuned for cheeky Cassian in the next update!!

Tag List: @f4iry-bell @jediknightjana @microwaveallthedemons @olive-main

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @5onedirection5

@brieflyclassymortal @hauntedstudentobservationus

[lostbookmark]

Read the original story here

WHISPERED VOWS Masterlist here

Summary: You thought planning your wedding was going to be a magical memory. You didn't realize that it might make you second guess everything. 

Pairing: Fiancée Yoongi x Insecure F. Reader

Genre: Romance, Angst, Smut, Hurt-Comfort

Warnings: Explicit Sex, Toxic Family Dynamics, Arguments,  Sex Toys, Self Doubt, Over Thinking, Yoongi Overworking Himself,

A/N : Here is a super small teaser for Whispered Vows. I'm hoping in about 2 weeks or so, I'll feel comfortable enough to start posting. Enjoy!

Entering the code to Yoongi's studio, you watch him as he sits at his desk with big headphones draped over his ears. His head was bobbing up and down to music that he was working on, and the clicking sound of his keyboard filled the quiet room. Closing the door, you walk over to him and gently place your hands on his shoulders, massaging them slowly. He groans, and his head falls forward in pleasure. You can feel his stiff shoulders start to relax under your touch. Sighing, he reaches around the back of his chair and pulls you into his lap. Yoongi takes off his headphones, tosses them gently on his desk, and gives you a quick kiss before resting his head on your shoulder. You run your hands through his dark hair, trying to comfort yourself from the stress of the day.

“How was lunch?” he asked, pulling his head away from you to look you in the eyes.

“There was no lunch. There were, however, five different wedding venues,” you tell him, and he furrowed his eyebrows, looking at you questioningly.

“What? I thought you told your mom to stop that,” he said, eyes drifted back to his screen. His slim fingers go back to clicking away on his mouse.

“I did, but you know that she won't listen,” you say, pulling on the black strings of his hoodie. You twist them tightly around one another and let go just to have them unravel. “One of them held 300 people and cost about 20 thousand dollars.”

“Excuse me?” he says, looking at you with wide eyes. You fully have his attention now. “20,000, 300? Who needs 300 people at a wedding? We are not spending 20k on a venue. A beautiful dress that I get to rip off you at the end of the night…sure.... but not the venue.”

You roll your eyes at him and shove him with your shoulder lightly with a small smile on your face. “Yeah I know, but supposedly it's going to be an extravagant event with a lot of important people. With you being all rich and famous….I have to impress people. I was told we need the best champagne, chandeliers, fondues, and the perfect sunset,” you explain.

“Rich and famous,” he said with a laugh. “That’s just stupid. Unless....is that what you want?” He asks you, eyes flicker between you and the screen .

“Of course not. What do you want?” You counter as your fingers continue to twist the strings of his hoodie.

“I want what you want,” he said distractedly, not even looking at you this time. His fingers continued to click away at his mouse. His focus was back on the crowded screen, which was his computer monitor as he watched colorful waves move across the screen.

Yoongi has been busy. Maybe that's why you haven't set a date or had any details figured out yet. He's been pulling long nights in the studio just to come home a couple of nights a week to sleep for a few hours and shower. He was usually gone by the time you woke up on those nights. The last thing that you wanted to do was bother him with questions about your future wedding. You didn't think centerpieces were high on his priority list right now. He promised you that this was only temporary, but honestly, you're not sure. Several artists that they have signed are growing in popularity, and the demand for songs are coming in strong. He's tired. You can see it in his face, and you can't see this stopping anytime soon.

[unactive-shroom]

Take Aim!

Characters: Inumaki Toge

Warning: Gun mention (in a fair game)

a.n: Take a shot of alcohol every time I switch from Toge to Inumaki omg

Inumaki was pissed.

You didn’t need to hear his digruntled ‘Tuna mayo’ nor see his face to tell this, because you were just as mad as he was.

The smug attendee at the fair game, however, was not.

“Well, that’ll be another 300 yen if you wanna win your girl that cute plushie over there!” he smiled at the two of you, flashing his yellow teeth in that smug smile.

Inumaki grunted and went to pull out another handful of cash, before you placed a hand on his arm. “Toge, really, we should move on. We can get it online with Gojo’s card later, or something. I don’t mind!”

He gently pushed your arm away and angrily shoved the cash towards the vendor, determined to get that plushie for you. You groaned beside him, pulling on his arm once again.

“Okay wait, can you at least let me try this time?”

He laughed and let out a “Salmon” in such a tone that you knew he was recalling your terrible aim during the Kyoto exchange event, where the ball very nearly hit Itadori, who was drinking water behind you in the stands.

Regardless, he handed you the rusty old shotgun and gave you a peck on the cheek for good luck. You turned the gun over in your hands. The plastic pellets were already loaded - three to be exact. Despite your terrible aim in baseball, you were actually pretty decent with guns. Your uncle was a hunter, and you spent countless summers shooting at trees and cans, since you refused to hurt a poor animal. You raised the gun onto your shoulders and took aim.

Ting! With perfect aim, you skillfully hit the first can down. You could sense Inumaki grin beside you, but you didn’t break your focus. You had a plushie to win, and a boyfriend to impress.

Ting! The second one can fell down and you were certain you saw the vendor frown slightly, before resuming his cocky grin. “Well, you still have three cans to hit, sunshine, and with one bullet I don't think that's very-”

Ting! Ting! Ting! Shooting from an angle, you managed to knock down one can, bringing down the other ones with it. You and Toge grinned as you high fived excitedly and turned to the vendor.

“… You cheated.”

“Uhm? No I didn’t? I won fair and square!”

“Nah, you can’t shoot from an angle. Rules ‘r rules, miss.”

“But you didn’t say that at all! You litterally said the only rule was three bullets, and to stand behind the line. I did that!” You cried indignantly, but the vendor had already turned away, suddenly becoming very fascinated by the cash in his pouch.

You pouted, about to turn to your boyfriend to whine about the whole situation, only to find that he had removed the hood around his mouth.

“Give her whatever plushie she wants.”

The vendor immediately turned around and smiled expectantly.

“um… I’ll take that.. big sanrio one, please.”

The vendor begrudgingly handed over the massive plushie to you, and you and Toge began to leave the arcade section of the fair. The second you had left the area, Inumaki took a swig from a cough bottle. You immediately engulfed him in a massive hug, plushie and all.

“Thank you! I love you! But also please don’t use your cursed speech for something silly like a plush from a fair, it’s not worth the pain in your throat, Inu.”

He hugged you back with a croaky “Tuna, tuna”, before spotting Itadori and Nobara dragging a dizzy Megumi off some crazy looking ride.

They immediately ran over, in awe of the massive plushie in your arms.

“Huuh?? Did Inumaki really win this for you, y/n? That’s crazy!”

You giggled as you grabbed Inumaki’s hand, a grin spreading across your face.

“’Course he did, he’s such a gentleman!”

Inumaki returned the hood to his face to cover the pink blush spreading across his face, but not before Panda and Maki returned, immediately poking fun at how much of a softie he’s become.

Requests r open, but very slow.

[winterrrnight]

always? always.

PAIRING: frat!rafe cameron x gn!ex bsf!reader

SUMMARY: you and rafe were best friends, but you parted ways in high school for reasons unknown. but what happens when you get a text from him, asking you to come over?

WARNINGS: abuse, ward being a shitty dad, swearing, bruises, cuts, blood, hurt/comfort. it talks explicitly about physical and emotional abuse!

EDITH SPEAKS: so. this is actually one of my works for my 300 followers celly and it was requested by @bejeweledreverie, but I accidentally posted their request without any actual content in it 🥲 so anyways, Annie, I hope you enjoy reading! <3

I got a little carried away, and usually I don't write themes like this, I think it turned out pretty good! Let me know any thoughts you may have 💞 this is set right in the beginning of S1!

PROMPT REQUESTED: "you came." "you called."

300 followers celebration (now closed) || navigation

This is strange. This is never supposed to happen. Rafe Cameron, out of all the people, has texted you if you can come over if you aren’t busy.

Where is this coming from?

You stare at the text for minutes, trying to figure out maybe there’s something which will show you this is all just a bluff. But it seems genuine. Really genuine.

And that’s what is concerning you.

You have known Rafe since basically forever, and you were close when you were little. But something happened in high school, something which you still haven’t figured out exactly what it is, that he basically refuses to do anything but detest you. You’ve tried to understand what it is; tried your level best to separate each strand of the situation to figure what exactly did you do that made him act this way. But you returned with no luck, and the best thing you could do was accept it, and move on from it.

As you think more and more about the text, the more it bothers you. It tugs on your heartstrings and you start to feel concerned for him. Fuck it, you whisper to yourself and get up from your bed to go to him.

As you’re driving to his place, you turn the situation over and over in your head. Maybe it is a prank, maybe it’s just some practical joke.

Or maybe, just maybe, he actually does need your help.

Even though the last one seems the one which has the least probability to happen, yet you’re on your way, as if you’re still his best friend.

You park your car right outside Tannyhill and make your way to its porch. You take a deep breath, trying your level best to calm down your nerves, and then you ring the bell.

The moment swells as you wait for someone to open the door for you, the only thing audible in your ears being your own heartbeat. Finally the door opens, and Rafe is standing right opposite you, in a condition that makes you gasp.

His nose is bloody and there’s a deep cut on his right cheek. Sweat and sticky tears shine on his face, and he’s almost trembling when he’s standing, holding the door open for you.

“Rafe?” You mumble softly, your breathing erratic and your eyes wide as you try to comprehend the situation at hand. Rafe Cameron texted you to come over, and when you do, you see he’s beat up.

Rafe isn’t one to back up from a fight and you know that. If a fight breaks out at school, you know, no matter what, the other person is going to be the one left with bruises all over them. Not Rafe.

It’s never Rafe.

But right now, he’s almost on the verge of breaking down, all covered in blood, and you know exactly who’s the cause of it.

Ward.

It’s been happening since you’ve known him. Ward has never been satisfied with him. He has always had a sense of control over Rafe that gives him a superiority complex and makes him think he can do whatever his heart desires.

And that’s what made Rafe so cold.

So cold from love, and touch.

But with you, he used to be relaxed. You were just kids, but you’d be comforting him, letting him know he’s okay.

But when your separation happened, you never knew how he’s been doing, but never also asked him, because Rafe never really responded well to you.

But now that he’s asked you to come, after not being close for years, you know this is something huge.

Rafe is avoiding all sorts of eye contact with you, his gaze drifting to his shoes. You are still standing at the porch, your eyes desperately trying to find his.

“You came,” he softly mumbles, his gaze fixated at the floor.

“You called,” you breathe out.

His eyes train up to yours, blue eyes – which aren’t icy how you usually see them, but soft and full of hurt. Your heart almost breaks seeing him in this condition.

He silently steps aside to make way for you. You enter inside Tannyhill, and you realize you haven't been in here in the last few years except for occasionally at a party Rafe has thrown which your friend has dragged you to. You had almost forgotten the hugeness of the mansion, and how silent it feels when there’s not many people in it.

Rafe walks ahead of you and climbs up his stairs and up to his room. You silently follow him, even though your mind remembers all the paths like the back of your hand.

Rafe reaches his room and he grips onto the door knob, and you notice his knuckles are bloody too; definitely from punching something a little too hard. You peel your gaze away from him, the blood and the bruises making you a little uncomfortable.

Rafe opens the door and you both walk inside. The room is completely disheveled; the pillows thrown around, the duvet all wrinkly and messed up, a cluttered desk, and the worst: a hole in the wall. You’re quick to connect the dots when you realize the hole and his bleeding knuckles are connected.

Rafe is now sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands and his fingers are pulling on his hair strands. You sigh at the sight and sit next to him, a small distance between you two. Rafe has never been one to like physical touch, so you’re careful to not touch him in any way, when your heart is breaking at the sight and all you want to do is softly caress his back.

He looks up from his hand towards you. “I’m sorry for calling you at such a short notice,” he mumbles. “I- I didn’t have anyone else to call,”

You shake your head at him, a sympathetic look in your eyes. “It’s okay Rafe. What happened?”

He breaks your eye contact and looks at the floor, his gaze not wavering. His forehead is creased from stress, and you can see his chest heaving as he’s taking deep breaths.

“It’s getting worse,” he whispers so faintly, the words get lost in the air around you. “So much worse,”

“Where is he right now?” you softly ask.

“Cameron Development,” he sniffs. “It’s just, I can’t fight back. When it's him, I can never fight back. I feel like a little boy, completely lost and vulnerable. He plays with my feelings. One day he’s telling me he’s proud of me, and the next? Hitting me like I’m some toy,” he whispers. “I’m, I’m done with this shit.” He looks up at you, his eyes boring into yours. “And you’re the only one who knows about it,”

You intake a sharp breath at his words, them striking a chord in you. You have never known what to exactly do in these situations, all you do is help him calm down, listen to what he has to say, clean up his wounds, and ask him to just hope for it all to end. But it's been years. It hasn’t ended yet. Why will it ever end any time soon?

You feel your own eyes pricked by tears, but you try your best to not let them fall. Rafe is so good at hiding his true feelings behind a carefully curated façade, no one ever suspects him to be going through so much shit.

“Apparently I need to get my shit together,” he chuckles dryly, when you both know there is nothing humorous about this situation. “Because if I don’t, I’ll be a shitty heir to the family business. I won’t deserve it,”

“Rafe, I know for a fact you won’t be a shitty heir. You’ll be good, heck, you’ll be great,” you say. “I have so much faith in you. That’s just how Ward is. I don’t want you listening to him, okay? He’s fucked in the head. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.” You get up from his bed and stand in front of him, letting out your hand for him. “Come on, I’ll clean you up, yeah? All that blood and stuff,”

He only nods at your words and takes your hand, and he gets up. You walk to his bathroom where he has a first aid kit kept. Rafe sits on the sink and you stand in front of him, the first aid kit in your hand.

You firstly take a wet towel to clean the dried up blood from his face. You rub it gently over his face, cleaning all the blood and sweat off him.

His breathing starts to slow, and his muscles start to visibly relax as he’s letting you carefully patch him up. You can see his eyes are fluttered close, the creases in his forehead now completely absent, and he looks relaxed.

“Listen…” You mumble softly, as you're preparing a cotton pad with some antiseptic on top of it. “You don’t have long left before you can move out, yeah? It’s all almost done. You’re almost done with it.” You smile gently, as you very carefully start to dab the cotton pad on his bruises. “You’ve been so strong all your life, and now, it’s almost done. You’ll live far away from Ward, where he can’t say anything to you, yeah?”

He winces a little as the antiseptic burns him, but he doesn’t push you away. He stays fixed in his seat, his eyes closed, as he hears your words and lets you treat him.

A silence falls around you both as you start to put the band aids where they are needed. You take a step back to look if you’ve covered him okay, and it looks like you have.

“All done,” You smile, screwing the cap of the antiseptic back and keeping it in the box. Rafe opens his eyes, a soft look taking over his features as he watches you clean everything up and set it all aside.

“I’m, I’m sorry…” he whispers quietly. You look at him with a confused expression on your face.

“What for?” You mutter, not really knowing where he’s coming from.

“For pushing you away, I didn’t want to do that. It was the shittiest thing I’ve ever done. You’re the only one who understands me, who listens to me. Everyone just thinks I’m this privileged boy with a shit ton of money,” he shakes his head. “But you, you’ve seen it all through it. And I don’t think I can ever be this way with anyone else.”

You sigh at him, his words starting to sink in me. “I just want to know why you pushed me away.” You whisper. “We were best friends, Rafe,”

“I- I hated seeing you hanging out with the Pogues,” he mutters quietly. “I didn’t like losing you to them.”

You think hard about what he’s saying, and you realize he’s right. When you started at a new high school, it was overwhelming to say the very least. Pope was one of your study buddies in your class, and through him you met the rest of his friend group. To say they were living their life to the fullest is an understatement. They were enjoying every single moment of it.

“I know they live on the edge, they like doing adventurous things, and you’ve always seeked adventure just like that,” he continues, “it just hurts so much seeing you get with them. We parted ways, and the only thing I thought I could’ve done was to hate you. And, now that I think about it, I was just being petty, I know. I just, I just wish to have you back,”

The tears start to roll down your cheeks, your eyes red and your heart loud. You instantly wrap your arms around Rafe, clutching him tightly to you.

“I’m sorry,” You whisper, my head in the crook of his neck. “I’m really sorry I did that. It’s my fault we separated. It’s all my fault and I’m really sorry about that,”

Rafe’s hands reach for your back as he gently rubs it, the motion soothing and relaxing. “It’s okay, it really is. I was being a little child,” he softly chuckles. He holds onto your shoulders and gently pulls you back, looking into your eyes. “Just, don’t leave me again, yeah? I can’t do this life thing without you,”

You nod your head at his words, a soft smile taking over you as you feel your tears coming to a stop. “I promise to be by your side.” you say, your words firm.

“Always?” He asks, a hopeful glint in his eyes.

You sigh at his words, your smile still tugging on the corners of your lips.

“Always.”

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