#Resilient Necklace

[cloaksandcapes]

The second part of our Resilient set empowers you when you are in danger and all on your own. Perfect for a sneaky lil' fella who needs to get out of dodge quick.

The Inside Out reference is in this one, do you see it?

Resilient Necklace

Wondrous Item, rare, accessory set (3)

“An odd necklace decorated with beads of several different colors and sizes. It also has two charms on it shaped like an elephant, and a moon.”

While you wear this necklace, you are empowered when in danger, and out of range of your allies. If your allies are more than 60 feet away from you, and out of sight, and you are at less than half your maximum hit points you gain the following bonuses: your speed increases by 10 feet, you have a +5 bonus to saving throws, and advantage on ability checks. Additionally, if you use your full movement, and action to dash, you can use your bonus action to dash as well. Resilient. This accessory is part of a set, if you have two or more of that set you gain a bonus while wearing it. For each piece of the set you wear you gain a +1 bonus to saving throws.

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[amysweet]

👌Joyful Living: Motivation Unleashed

Calmness anchors amidst life's turbulence.

Choose kindness, it's contagious.

Believe in yourself, love yourself always.

Embrace your uniqueness fearlessly.

Stillness fortifies the spirit's resilience.

Tap here for instant motivation, free gift.😻

[pickingupmymercedes]

Of thorns and blooms - Lewis Hamilton

request: "Can I request a Journalist reader, who lewis has his eye on and she interviews him and smexy antics ensue after the gathering. She wears a light up floral crown which lewis finds so cute and when they they celebrate an anniversary, he gives her an actual crown." - @omgsuperstarg

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Fashion Journalist! Reader!

wordcount: +3K

a/n: It took me sooo long to get the tone to this one right, but I hope it was worth the wait.

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

Y/n adjusted her dress for the hundredth time as she waited for the next person she would interview, the humidity in the air boiling them all in the enclosed paradise the famous steps of the MET. The buzz of the Gala was like a living entity. And tonight, she wasn't just a fashion journalist, she was a guest, courtesy of a hand-delivered invitation from Anna Wintour herself.

A small proud smile played on her lips. It had been a long road, from the early days working in college fashion blogs to the owner of her own digital media platform. She had conquered every step on the ladder the had envisaged for her career, and the MET Gala was the cherry on top.

Her gaze swept the red carpet, catching a flash of black that snagged on her breath. Lewis.

They'd met a few times before, most notably for his iconic Vanity Fair cover in 2022. Shot in pink, in none other than Valentino, it had been a bold choice, and she had made it justice in the interview. I was a peek into the soul of a man who rarely had let himself be seen that way. It was raw, honest, and had garnered her more praise than any piece she'd ever written.

On the human level there had also been something else, a connection beyond the professional aura, but it had remained just that – a spark.

Over the years, they'd stayed in loose contact. She would congratulate him on a good race, he would message whenever he read one of her articles, a selfie once, holding her printed fashion annual he'd found at an airport in Dubai.

It felt like a secret language, a shared appreciation in their vastly different worlds.

And that night, he looked…untouchable.

A vision in a custom Burberry creation. Although not far from the usual black, his overcoat was anything but ordinary, adorned with hand-embroidered floral motifs that shimmered under the camera flashes, the thorns in his necklace a powerful statement. Heritage and resilience.

As Lewis neared her corner of the press pen, a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. His eyes scanned the crowd, and when they landed on her, a flicker shone within them. He diverted his path slightly, heading straight for her.

"Y/n!" he boomed, his voice surprisingly warm for someone who always tried to maintain his stoicism.

"Sir Lewis Hamilton" she replied, offering a professional smile. "Looking sharp."

He chuckled, a low rumble that sent a shiver down her spine. "You clean up nice yourself, Voltaire."

"Voltaire?" she raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in her eyes.

“Your floral crown. You quoted Voltaire on gardens being the only art that imitated nature in your preview of the met" He gestured towards her head, where a crown of intricately woven white flowers sat, each petal tipped with tiny LED lights that cast a soft glow. "It looks incredible by the way."

Her smile widened. "Maria Grazia Chiuri and I had a blast designing this piece. We wanted to honor the history of the floral crown, worn for centuries, but with a modern twist."

Lewis leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You always manage to find the hidden meaning, don't you?"

She met his gaze, the intensity surely not lost to her. "Fashion is all about meaning, Lewis. It's a language, a way to express ourselves." His gaze holding on to hers as she continued “Your statement in this Burberry. It's a powerful one”

He tilted his head, a playful glint in his eyes, but just as he was about to answer back a microphone was thrust in front of them. A reporter, eager to get a quote looking impatient.

"Mr. Hamilton," the reporter began, "your outfit is quite…unexpected. Can you tell us the inspiration behind it?"

Lewis straightened his shoulders, slipping back into his professional persona. He launched into a detailed explanation of the Burberry design, his voice smooth and practiced. Y/n listened, captivated by his words and by the way his gaze flickered back to her every few seconds, a silent promise of something.

When the interview ended, the reporter scurried away. Lewis turned back to her; his smile warm. "They only gave me a few minutes," he said with mock disappointment.

"Well," she teased, "perhaps you could tell me the "real" story later," she finished, mirroring his playful tone.

A slow grin spread across Lewis's face. "Perhaps" he replied winking, a gesture that would have sent a lesser woman reeling. "I’ll find you later." He gestured towards the throng of celebrities and socialites milling about.

As Y/n wandered into the museum, she navigated the wave of guests with small talks and greetings alike. Her platform had gained traction over the past months, and her presence was becoming increasingly sought-after. But tonight, the glamor felt secondary as the show stoppers stood behind glasses of exhibitions.

As she stood and admired one of Balmain’s first collections, a familiar figure caught her eye. Lewis, leaning casually against a pillar, a glass of champagne in his hand. He was alone, just observing her, a smile breaking across his face as he saw she had noticed him, he made his way towards her, his movements graceful.

"There you are," a low rumble in his chest. "I thought I'd lost you."

"Hardly," she replied, a playful glint in her eyes.

"So," he began, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "tell me about this secret language of fashion."

"Where do I even begin?" she laughed, a genuine, carefree sound. "Every stitch, every embellishment, every cut – it all tells a story. A story of who you are, where you come from and how you want to be perceived."

The conversation flowed easily, a back-and-forth about the art of fashion, their contrasting worlds, and the subtle messages woven into every outfit. Lewis, she discovered, was surprisingly well-versed in fashion history, his knowledge going beyond the surface. He spoke of iconic designers, groundbreaking trends, and the evolution of style through the ages, his voice filled with genuine passion as he recounted how he had learned so much from her own words.

"You know," Lewis said, his voice softer now, "you're not like anyone else I've ever met."

" This one is not gonna cut it" she asked, her heart skipping a beat.

"Right…" he said, his gaze locking on hers. "But I meant it though. You look at the story behind people. That’s rare."

His words hit her like a sucker punch, laying bare a truth she hadn't dared to public admit. She had always craved for connection with people, and fashion, she had discovered, was her way to reach for those who held their stories and dreams in their eyes and heart.

Heat rose to her cheeks, and she looked away, breaking the intense eye contact. "Perhaps you see the same," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He leaned closer; his breath warm on her ear. "Tell me about your dreams, Y/n. What stories are you trying to tell?"

And then, when she couldn’t avoid his gaze on her anymore, when the silence of his question had almost drowned her, a booming voice cut through the air. "Lewis! There you are. We have to get going."

Lewis sighed, pushing himself away from the wall. "Right" he said, a touch of regret in his voice before he turned abruptly to Y/n, as if he had just decided to take a jump "I have a proposition for you."

Intrigued, Y/n raised an eyebrow. "A proposition? Do elaborate, Hamilton."

He leaned in again, close enough for his lips to brush against her ear. “Are you, by any chance, willing to pass on those other after parties and come to mine?”

Y/n seemed to be taken aback, but just like before, when she was about to answer him, he shot her a look “I’ll text you the details. I’d love to know your stories.”  And with a final lingering look at her, Lewis offered a charming smile. "Until later."

The afterparty held a low-key energy, a contrast to the frenzy of the Met. Y/n found herself at Lewis's expansive New York City apartment, surprised by the choice of venue. It wasn't the club she'd thought of, but a tastefully decorated space that felt more like a home than a celebrity crash pad.

Lewis had introduced her to a motley crew of people. Some of his friends, but mostly, a mix of young, up-and-coming designers, photographers Y/n knew by reputation, and even a couple of journalists she had came across an article or two. The air buzzed with conversations, a refreshing change from the interactions of the Met.

As the night wore on, the crowd thinned. Y/n found herself gravitating towards a corner where Lewis stood, deep in conversation with someone she remembered to have seen at some shooting before.

"That's Kelly," Lewis said, noticing Y/n's approach. "A design prodigy. Just landed a gig with Channel"

Kelly's smile widened as Lewis introduced them. "It's an honor to meet you, Y/n," she said, her voice brimming with excitement. "I've been a huge fan for a while now."

They chatted for a while, the struggles and triumphs of breaking into the fashion world. Looking at the young woman's vibrant energy, Y/n couldn't help but feel a sense of pride in the platform she'd created.

But as Kelly was whisked away by another group, a comfortable silence settled between Y/n and Lewis.

He gestured towards an empty stool beside him. "Mind if I steal you for a bit?"

Y/n accepted the invitation, a playful glint in her eyes. "Only if you answer a question for me first."

"Shoot," he said, taking a swig from his drink.

"This isn't exactly the afterparty I expected," she said, gesturing to the relaxed setting. "Why here?"

Lewis chuckled, a low rumble that made her feel inadequately naïve "Maybe this is the real me," he said. "The part that doesn't crave the constant spotlight."

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conversational whisper. "I thought you'd like this kind of party. I like to distance myself from the buzz when I can"

Y/n nodded, a smile playing on her lips. "A safe space."

"Something like that," he replied, his gaze lingering on her for a beat too long.

"So," Lewis began, breaking the building tension "I’m still waiting to hear about your dreams"

And so, for some ungodly pull, at a rather uncomfortable stool, she opened up to a man she had never really expected to create any kind of connection. Maybe, exactly because she never so that coming, it felt so easy to tell him her most guarded hopes.

She spoke of her platform as a way to democratize fashion, to give a voice to those who felt unseen, unheard. She spoke of empowering individuals to express themselves through who they really were, regardless of social status or bank balance.

As Y/n talked, she noticed Lewis's eyes gleaming with genuine interest. He wasn't just listening politely, he interest genuine, his questions insightful and thought-provoking. And she wondered if it was really that unexpected to find this depth hidden beneath him.

"That's incredible" Lewis said, his voice filled with admiration. “You’re giving people the tools for them to tell their stories."

"Exactly" Y/n said, a sense of understanding as he smiled with her. "It's about self-expression, about telling the world who you are."

A thoughtful frown etched itself onto Lewis's face as she leaned into the counter. "You know," he said, pausing mid-sentence, "you're quite a puzzle, Y/n."

Y/n raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in her eyes. "Me? A puzzle?”

"There's this incredible fire in you" he continued, his voice low and husky, "a passion for giving others a voice. But then there's this… " he trailed off, gesturing vaguely.

"What?" she scoffed playfully. "I always thought I such was an open book."

Lewis chuckled; a dark, sexy sound that surely didn’t go unnoticed. "You talk about empowering others, yet I get the feeling there's a whole story you haven't shared of where that desire comes from"

Their connection had been simmering throughout the night, unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. Now, with Lewis's gaze holding hers captive, it threatened to tip over.

The conversation around them seemed to fade away, swallowed by the growing awareness between them. Y/n felt his unspoken questions echoing in her mind, a challenge she couldn't ignore.

As the night wore on, the guests gradually dwindled. One by one, they bid farewell to Lewis, leaving him and Y/n alone amidst the empty bottles and scattered laughter.

Y/n found her gaze drawn to him again. He stood by the window, bathed in the soft glow of the city lights, his profile sharp and captivating. The urge to break the silence, to bridge the growing gap between them, became overwhelming.

She rose from the stool, her movements deliberate, and walked towards him. He turned, his surprise evident in his eyes.

"Everyone's gone, I should go" she said softly, her voice barely a whisper.

"Don’t. Please" he replied, his gaze still locked on hers. "I’d love if you could stay and"

He didn't get to finish his sentence. Y/n cut him off, stopping just inches away from him. The air crackled with electricity, the unspoken desire a tangible force between them.

She glanced at the faint outline of his abdomen in the fabric of his Dior shirt, her fingers tracing invisible circles on the soft fabric. Then, in a bold move, she let her nails lightly scratch across his chest, sending a jolt of heat through him.

Lewis's breath hitched. He pulled her closer by her waist, his eyes burning into hers.

Their lips met in a heated kiss, a clash of urgency and teeth. Lewis's hands roamed freely over her back, his touch numbing her to the surroundings. He was hungry for all of her.

Y/n found herself caught in the current, her own desire rising to meet his. His lips traveled down her neck, leaving a trail of hot kisses.

A dark part of her, a voice fueled by the intoxicating aura of him, entertained the idea of becoming just another name on his long list of conquests.

But then, as his hand reached for her thigh, a wave of clarity put an end to the haze. This wasn't a one-night stand she craved. This connection, potent and undeniable, deserved more.

Y/n broke the kiss, her breath coming out in ragged gasps. "Lewis," she whispered, her voice husky.

He stared at her, confusion, concern and desire evident in his eyes.

"Dinner first," she said, a playful smirk gracing her lips. "Then maybe we can explore this mystery you see in me."

A slow smile spread across Lewis's face, the heat in his eyes softening to amusement. "Dinner it is," he agreed, his voice raspy. "But consider this a warning. I don't give up easily."

Sunlight danced across the Aegean Sea, glowing through the large round window of the yacht's cabin. Y/n stood before the vanity, applying a final touch of lipstick, her reflection a picture of contentment.

Five years. Five years since that MET and Lewis's afterparty, a whirlwind that had swept them off their feet and turned their world upside down.

A soft knock at the door startled her. "Come in," she called out, her voice filled with a hint of anticipation.

The door creaked open, and Lewis stepped inside. He was a vision in his crisp white linens, his hair free from the braids.

But it was the velvety box in his hand that held her attention.

"There you are," he said, a playful glint in his eyes as he walked towards her.

Y/n watched him through the mirror, her heart still skipping a beat whenever he was around. He stopped behind her, his warmth radiating through her back.

"What's that?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

"A little something for my favorite fashion journalist" he replied, his breath tickling her ear as he leaned close.

He opened the box, inside, nestled on a bed of white satin, lay a breathtaking piece of jewelry – a floral crown crafted from delicate diamonds. Each petal was meticulously designed, some adorned with tiny thorns, others bursting into bloom.

It was both graceful and powerful. And it wasn’t quite a necklace, nor quite a tiara. It was a piece of art.

"Lewis," she breathed, her voice filled with awe. "It's…incredible."

He took the crown from the box, his touch gentle as he held it up to the light. "Anne Wintour helped me design it," he admitted, a hint of pride in his voice. "She said it reminded her of your outfit at the Met Gala, all those years ago."

Y/n held her breath as she looked at the jewelry. The floral crown, a memory of their initial spark, now reimagined with diamonds. The strength and beauty of their love that had blossomed despite adversity.

"The thorns," he said, her voice barely a whisper, "they represent the challenges we've faced, the distance, the different worlds..."

"And the flowers," he finished after clasping it to her neck, his voice husky with emotion, "represent our love, always blooming, even in the face of those challenges."

He adjust it to her skin, his touch gentle. "It's meant to be worn by someone who sees the world differently, who tells stories with every thread" he said, his gaze holding hers.

He cupped her hand in his, his eyes brimming with love. "Someone who wears her heart on her sleeve," he continued, his voice low and husky.

She turned and their lips met slowly, a lingering kiss that spoke volumes of their love and shared journey.

"Happy anniversary, Y/n," he whispered, pulling away but not letting go, his eyes shining brighter than any star.

"Happy anniversary, Lewis" she replied, the diamond floral piece catching the sunlight and reflecting a thousand tiny rainbows in their eyes.

______________________________________________________________

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[capslocked]

KINKVEMBER DAY: 7

[prompt: praise kink]

male reader x shen xiaoting

7k words

Well - from a glance, Xiaoting is flawless.

Every photographer makes the same movement as soon as she steps foot onto the stage - almost as if she's commanding them - but it's not a fair competition and she knows it.

The tiny black dress wrapped around her waist, hugging every meticulous angle in its stretch, isn't exactly the most practical of options, but then again nor was the sleeveless cut or the low-backend, nor the slit in the skirt that shows however much leg you're curious to see, nor the five-inch Louboutins with little ribbons at the ankles, crystals in their mesh like a real-life glass slipper - so, truly, anything about this outfit.

But in this industry, red carpets are about one thing: image.

(Something Xiaoting wields in excess.)

She pauses the subtle sashay of her hips mid-way across the stage, and pivots around, straightening out the waves in her hair, done-up and perfect-in-pink, over her shoulders. She lets the flash of every camera illuminate the swell of her lips in full - reflect and shimmer in the sequence of diamonds dangling under her ears. But it's all in that little smirk, the tilt of her chin. Everything working together to sell the moment; how breathtakingly beautiful she is, how proud, confident and seemingly indifferent to all the commotion happening around her - to every person calling her name and pleading for her to look in this specific direction.

You can watch how deliberate she holds her posture. See it. Understand it. Watch how she tips her head. The genuine kind of smile that could drive anyone to absolute ruin.

Maybe the more obvious: how the cameras love her - love the flash, the shine and glitter and sparkle of the fabric, love the turn of a heel onto where her legs are poised, her profile a perfect angle for every shot and more and more and more.

There's not even the slightest suggestion of just how overwhelmed she is.

-

"You're not supposed to be back here," is the very first thing you hear, as soon as Xiaoting catches your reflection in the vanity mirror.

You hold up a press pass with a headshot that loosely looks like you. Like in a really dark, kind of out-of-focus photo sort of way. Xiaoting simply lets out a slightly disapproving sigh.

"Someone's probably looking for that, you know."

"What's the worst thing that could happen? Someone doesn't get to ask you what your favorite color is, or what you had for breakfast? God forbid we need to know your TMI."

She slips the crystal bracelet off the end of her narrow wrist and places it gently next to the red carpet gear strewn across the surface in front of her. A necklace. The earrings, similar in their shimmer. A matching headband, an evening clutch in white. It's all sitting, not necessarily disorganized, but it's in the mess that Xiaoting is all the while searching for things; lip gloss and makeup, small hair clips.

"You could get us both in trouble, for starters."

When she looks up at you, briefly, there's an attempt at a scolding expression - a short-lived one, how it quickly gives way to a grin, a laugh, all the things she can't help when it's you in particular.

"I'll make sure it finds its way back where I found it," and with a hand over her shoulder, "or at least somewhere close enough. If anyone asks."

Xiaoting bounces an impossibly sweet smile off the mirror at you when her eyes find yours again. And while she starts unclipping pins from her hair, lifting and tousling and adjusting the curls into a more familiar shape, you're almost entranced in the way her shoulders loosen and her eyelashes flutter. In this light, she's even more devastating: an illusion of something both fragile, and immensely resilient.

"At the very least," she says, "I won't hold my breath for anyone else to find their way into my dressing room anytime soon."

She gets a hold of a simple clip, pulls a stray strand of pink off her cheek, and tucks it behind her ear. The gesture is fluid, elegant even, and so singular.

She really is, gorgeous.

The fact that you have to occasionally remind her of that is a different maddening issue entirely. You've always wondered - and always will continue to wonder, really - why it is the prettiest girls seem to have the hardest time understanding they're beautiful. It makes you crazy, makes your head hurt.

There's an entire world worth of things for her to fixate her attention on: her job, her fans and career; a hundred more names and faces to learn - people who would probably agree to hang the stars in the sky for her, given the chance, the mere opportunity. But instead she can only bring herself to stare into a mirror and compare notes and point out all these things she doesn't feel ready for.

This interview, or her performance, or the next.

"They're talking about me. Those 'insiders'," she explains, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the voices in the hallway. "Said, my styling this past year has been too 'soft.' Too 'girly.' No one's buying it," and with a pout: "now, or then, apparently"

"Always works for me," you tell her, in a way that implies it's absolutely none of their business at the end of the day; what colors Xiaoting shows up in, how she wears her makeup and dresses, her shoes or perfume.

She floats her fingers up to the dip of her collarbone, weaving them into your hand. The contented look on her face, now a near permanent fixture in the space she keeps between the two of you, suggests that of all her accessories - gifts and borrowed things she wears in a perpetual game of dress-up - you're the one she would prefer most.

"Well," she says, fixing you a mischievous twist of her brow, "you'd say that if I was up there wearing nothing at all."

"Oh, not a doubt in my mind."

(As usual, the both of you laugh far too much.

As usual, neither of you manage to care.

Your lives have always been about soft edges. A little nonsense here and there, so long as it means having more of her.)

She brings your knuckles to her lips, careful and reserved, and holds the tips of her fingers gently to your neck. "How much more do you have tonight?"

"The rest of the hour is probably asking too much." You help Xiaoting onto her feet, arms wrapping her middle, and with a kiss dropped into her hair, you tell her, "should probably report in, let someone know I haven't gotten myself expelled."

"Thought you said you were a terrible liar."

"Oh, I am," you say. "That's just how much trouble I've already been making for myself tonight."

Xiaoting watches you kiss her shoulder, her neck, all in amusement, eyes never breaking contact as your lips brush and linger against the delicate shape of her wrist. A shiver in her exhale - almost a laugh, an 'I'm listening,' in a form of its own - and you find her body shifting into a natural and familiar hold; the outline of her mouth so unbelievably tempting when it parts so naturally - that when it comes down to a choice: Xiaoting against you, you and her in her private room, the hustle and bustle, and rush-hustle of the building and people and machines outside your door -

It really doesn't take too much convincing.

"Fifteen minutes. They'll start wondering," you tell her, already dipping forward to capture her in your arms. She falls right back, perfectly content as though she doesn't belong anywhere else. "We'd have to be really quick."

"You're bad," Xiaoting hums, winding further into your arms, smiling between the warm, warm kisses you're trailing along the collar of her dress, where the zipper is resting and ready to be drawn down.

The moment is candid: you pressing your lips into the bare skin of her shoulder, following it up with something that's part laugh, and part the kind of sigh people make after too long without sleep. You're already struggling against the curve of her waist - the swell of her hips, all her curves - while your nose nuzzles in deeper, a delicate exploration into the bend of her neck, against her shoulder, the hint of perfume. 

"Only one of us can be perfect, sweetheart." The damn truth, even if she hears it all the time and from everyone else. "You're gonna have to settle.”

You watch her expression melt into that self-composed, self-confident mien when you say it - in a quiet, contented kind of way; an ethereal sort of assurance. As though she was never meant to be touched by anyone, much less held by you, but somehow decided to allow it nonetheless. That look in her eye, it makes your heart twist. Every damn time.

"What about an accident," she muses, "something keeping you longer. Twenty maybe?"

"Oh," you chuckle. "Those happen in the hallway and parking lot. Where everyone can see. Never behind the scenes, for a totally unlikely and unrelated reason."

"Technicalities."

She turns to face you, fully, eyes lit and shimmery under the room's lighting; pink hair, all shades of glitter and silk and the smoothest, warmest skin. Your touch grazes up her sides, palms smoothing over the fine print, the sequins in the fabric, her hands all the while busy weaving, needily, around your waist, underneath the line of your shirt, finding and tracing along the ridges in your hips and spine.

Xiaoting wants you - plain and simple as that. The look on her face says as much.

And if you don't touch her now, kiss and feel her against you - all of it at once - she'll make sure you regret ever prioritizing anything over her. Over the two of you, and how perfectly and neatly you fit together, even if that means you're both absent for press calls, or a segment, or an interview she can't be late to. She'll blame you and it'll be okay.

"Fourteen minutes now," you inform her. "If it’s something you're counting."

"Give or take a few," Xiaoting smiles. Her words slip against your cheek, hot and honey-coated. It's tempting. Her teeth find your jawline and the gentle nip against your skin is hard to ignore. "Did you lock the door?"

"Believe it or not, that was the first thing I did."

And with her hips in your palms, you steal a kiss, because you can - because she's kissing you right back - her forearms wrapping over your shoulders, holding you tight around your neck, and, ahh - Xiaoting's mouth - how eagerly, so desperately, she parts your lips and slips her tongue over your teeth, humming, mumbling happily into a second and third and fourth kiss. Then, once the heat of the moment sweeps in, melting into something slower, sweeter, lingering, a little deeper, it's another.

And another after that.

She leans into you, the rise and fall, slow-down-then-start-again, of her chest and of her breathing and of the tiny, stifled noises she’s kissing into your lips. Only you're pinching the fabric around her waist, slowly lifting the hem of her skirt further up her thighs and reminding her that there's a promise for slow later, that she can take all the time in the world to map and remember the planes and edges of your body; trace the curves of every little sensitive spot and learn again how she fits into your hands, in the time and space that's left to the two of you alone.

"Thirteen-"

"Minutes," she echoes breathily against your ear and over the sound of her fingers in your belt. "I know. Got it."

Xiaoting's hasty. She has to be; reaching and fumbling to pop open your pants while the heat of her mouth finds you first, her tongue sliding smooth across your throat, chin, the warmth and the taste, then along the corner of your mouth - your tongue chasing hers and turning it into a mess that's as intimate and satisfying as it is clumsy; breath catching in both your mouths, hands intertwining, needing the contact with just as much fervent abandon.

Off, off, off, she's murmuring into you, thumbs perched dangerously on your waist, dipping into the fabric, tracing the rim, taking a tease down a little farther with each lazy caress, and, in the very back of your mind, there's a small voice in agreement that insists you are most definitely in no hurry at all.

It grows louder when the small shape of Xiaoting's palm is all the way down the rise of your pants, all over where you're beginning to grow hard - straining and twitching and almost painfully, impatiently interested. You hold her closer and clutch harder because the need is like a burn - one that's seared itself comfortably, wonderfully between your hips, where you feel each brush and curve and fond stroke of her touch.

Her eyes lift to meet yours, gleaming and knowing and laughing, no doubt aware that you're both going to be wrecked no matter which of these games she wins.

"Nothing we can't solve here and now." She tells you.

"True."

"I'll get my mouth on you later, make it all better."

"Later?" Your voice, completely a mess and breaking just enough, forces its way between a kiss that feels anything but. You're pleading for her, into her lips. "Oh, is that a promise, sweetheart?"

"A promise," Xiaoting gasps. "Or a threat. Depends how fast you're ready for me."

"Hush." And you hold her mouth open with yours, devour and drink the sounds falling from her tongue, each one that starts off shallow then trails deeper and deeper and deeper, until her hands have settled over you, and her fingers are finally pushing below the hem, and working the length of your cock, up and down and along it all.

"Hey,” she says, far too inviting, “aren't you supposed to be, like, tearing off this dress by now?"

Xiaoting smirks up at you. With a slight motion of her hand, the other having come to wrap fully around your shaft, the two fingers twisting along your tip, spreading the beading moisture into a long stroke.

"Very gentlemanly of you, wanting to keep it all nice and put together-" and with a wiggle of her brows, "-unsuspicious."

You clench your teeth through a gasp - a jolt at the sudden brush of her fingertips over the base, further down. Xiaoting has that mischief to her - she always has - a certain inclination to press and test the boundaries until they're unrecognizable, to poke and prod where she shouldn't, only the slightest bit concerned.

"Trust me, I would. Only this is a dress I can't afford to ruin, sweetheart." You're leaning her against the vanity, freeing one of her hands to press around behind her, against the cold, cluttered countertop, feeling how the sharp breath in her lungs goes soft and hot immediately, wanting.

"In that case," she tells you, a knowing tilt in her mouth, "you'll just have to ruin me in it."

That's a little closer to your budget given how fast your arm slips under her hip, pulling her up onto the vanity and angling her into you. Her skirt ruffles and follows, the material all too eager to keep you and the lithe frame of her body nice and snug together. There's that sharp gasp in her chest again, at the hand you're running up her thighs; an approval to your arrangement in the sound of her laughter, to your kiss, and all the fever-filled strokes jerking your cock that she's busying herself with again.

You can feel an urge you both share and want to make real and tangible, to peel down and past and over those tiny black panties; feel the heat rising, the wetness there, and all the eager, eager noises of her pleasure.

"Ten minutes." Your teeth are grazing into her lip, her mouth, while she whimpers so pretty into your throat. "Does that put any ideas in your head?"

"Nearly everything." Xiaoting lets your pants fall and uses the back of her heel to skid them down around your feet. "But maybe, especially your cock right here, if you’re going to slide it so slowly over me-" she sucks on her next breath, holding her hand where her panties are; smoothing against you with her hips rocking forward.

You feel her head drop, slightly, when she whispers into a heated kiss, "right between, the most tender way, where I'm aching the most."

"I bet you'd look beautiful with it," you say, all kinds of things, leaning and mumbling into her neck, all that exposed skin. "My cum on you. Sitting so good right here, in such a tight little-"

She stops your teasing with her kiss, pushing forward to the point where her ass is bumping right against your hips, your hand, your cock; coaxing you in closer.

And then, a particularly stern warning, probably warranted, sneaks out through the bite of her lip; just barely restrained: "I swear to god if you make a mess anywhere - don’t, if you know what's best for you.”

"That's a pretty roundabout way of asking me to cum inside you, Xiaoting. Wording matters."

"Telling." Her smile is all kinds of sly; all for you to witness and tuck safely in your pocket later. "Not asking."

"We’ll see what we can do with nine minutes," you tell her, and your cock is snug against the lace of her underwear - right where she's so fucking wet - you can already hear it in the little, jerking huffs in her voice and on her breath and how your hands are touching her through the fabric. How between hot, clumsy kisses, she's lifting and drawing her body as close as possible and curling into you.

(God.)

"Easy," she mouths, all hot and hazy as she drags the lacy band of elastic aside. It's your turn to inhale and jerk and gasp, but there's hardly anything there to catch you, just her whisper that says, "there you go, honey, fill me up real slow. Right to the very, very top," her voice arching high when you've begun to nudge your cock into her, opening her up and up and up with a slow, steady thrust. "Just - like - that."

And in the seconds, maybe minutes (you’re trying not to lose track), that follow, you are holding your breath against the heat blossoming through her cheek. Against Xiaoting, flushed and whimpering, hands buried in her dress and her hips starting to roll back on your cock. It's a tiny adjustment; nowhere to go but deeper, further - grinding together however you can manage.

It's one thing to love each other quietly, discretely and with all that discretion.

It's another entirely, in times like these, to give in to a raw-edge impulse that hits suddenly and leaves just as fast. Your hips snap in and in and in, Xiaoting's chest rising and rising, her head turned and pressed into the shoulder of your shirt, her hand already caught in a fistful of sleeve. And you - the friction is so soft and so good, a slick, easy glide of your cock - full - all the way to the very last inch.

Just her seedy, whimpering whine fills the back of your neck and your ear, and her arms and her legs locked in around you, like a coil ready to burst, that ache coming to a head.

The ends of her hair are soft and sweet where you gather a fistful of pink around your wrist, hold - pull, like a taut string. Xiaoting gasps a fluttering note as her chin tips up, the smooth canvas of her throat begging to be kissed and roughed up in just the right places. Reddening like the insides of her thighs, the heat there, where they're pinched around your waist - delicate little marks of where you're fucking her open and bare and deep and so well.

You could drink up each and every noise - all the keening and humming, the ruffled, strung-out sounds; how you're both breathing into a shared mess of gasping and panting, of Xiaoting whimpering into your throat, clinging on like she'll die otherwise. "Faster," she pleads all desperate and urgent. "More. Fuck this pussy like it deserves, don't you want it? So wet, can't you feeling how I'm aching?"

You can. Hot and wet and absolute.

You can feel the shudder-wreck, the absolute throe - there's not an ounce left between you; nothing but her slick, warm cunt clutching and hugging your cock, letting it stretch her apart and fill her again and again, the little ridge between your hips slipping over her clit on a forward, upward stroke and grinding there, with a shaky hand cradling her lower back for support while you drive back into the thrust.

"Ting, fucking christ - Ting, your tight little pussy is incredible." You groan into her skin. "Taking me, fucking, taking every, last, inch-"

"I can feel you fucking throbbing," Xiaoting tells you, all teasing and exasperated as she lets your name turn into a series of vibrating hums against your lips. "You're going to make me fucking lose it, the way you're hitting me inside."

See, you fit together, inside-and-outside so perfect; that when you begin to really fuck Xiaoting, when she's making it clear, over, and over, yes, harder, give it to me, and the table she's sitting on is giving away each-and-every one of her whimpers, you lose yourself in the rhythm and pace and the fact that Xiaoting's creaming cunt is working itself hot and messy and pulsating around you; so fucking tight, tight, - slick all around - almost drawing you in, then resisting and tensing every-time your cock finds just the deepest angle.

It's something to push, something that makes you greedy and drive her ass into the cabinet even more; make sure you're slipping along her walls just enough, and doing so with every few inches or less that you're managing to drive, working over a pressure so sensitive it might be making her see stars, every time a thumb digs a little deeper into her hip bone.

"All the way, baby," she's saying, whispering, making you want to fuck the words out of her in broken pieces. "So. Close. Just a little-"

She's gone, her back arched - bending into an incredible sight. And there's the most beautiful look on her face, even under the frantic-urgent rush. Your hands are all over her: pressing into the divots above her hips; petting the expanse between her tits, then down again, feeling out her ribcage, her belly, in between her thighs and parting them wider - like if she were any more spread open, she'd be coming right off the table.

Then, the thumb tangled into the sleeve of her dress, the rough pad of the other rubbing circles over her swollen clit - here you'll figure she'll cum; she's never shy about it - but it's more a question of how many times. How it always builds up and comes apart.

You're obsessed, really, with the details: her eyelids fluttering, the sounds of her skin sliding down onto the cabinets, her lips that can never get themselves closed.

"Oh, Ting," you're panting, licking all over her parted mouth, "do you need-"

Her nails begin to cut half-crescents into the small of your back, where she's been gripping at you; a moan falls straight out from her tongue, straight into your own, the closest she'll ever come to asking for anything: but it's easy.

"You're so fucking pretty, baby, I'll give you whatever you need-"

You slide your fingers higher up her folds, pushing onto her hot cunt right over the spot where your cock is disappearing inside her.

"I know that's what you need to be fucked silly, right? Need some extra friction so I can have the entire inside of this fucking cunt dripping-"

Xiaoting makes a noise that tells you, good guess. And you're playing her closer and closer to her orgasm, watching her teeth sink into her own lip, knowing that she's the one on a timer - which makes it all the easier, because you know exactly what to say next, because you've played this game enough - when you've already been fucking her and fingering her through one or two and her noises are telling you her body needs just one more, and then, the words usually roll right out, not the slightest bit contrived:

"That's it, sweetheart, you look so fucking good. So, so pretty cumming on my cock, baby. You're fucking gorgeous, you know that? I can't get enough of you."

Her mouth falls open, eyes screwing tight with it - the praise, the way you can talk her right into it every fucking time - the way it all but kills her: even when she's getting pumped full of pre-cum and sleeved around your cock like a glove, you know that sometimes the words are the only thing she's chasing, and her jaw starts to trembling just like the rest of her. This full body tension, head to toe of perfection you're whispering in her ear. She's pressing her heels harder than before against the back of your legs, digging, her whole chest shaking for a gasp of air she doesn't seem to ever be able to fully catch.

"But god, I wish you were looking at me," you're begging, sincere, with a deep sort of pining, when you get the the sharp twist of her neck, like it takes everything in her, then, like it's a miracle - those lidded, still-water eyes focused right on you. "I want to make you fall apart, just looking at me, sweetheart."

(Your poor heart. An obsession. So in love with her.)

The kiss you steal from her lips is deeper, your tongues playing a familiar song, the push, pull - how easy and perfect she fits.

When she cums, it always starts quiet, not like what she's just started doing: the kind of cries and moans that begin to make it past her teeth, desperate and panting, her fingers crushing down in place where they're pressed to your skin. Those whimpers that start quiet, get loud, fast, and then Xiaoting's arching right up from the table and clenching her entire body. With you inside her, she's so wrapped up in how good it is, the pleasure spiking past her pussy and into her veins.

"Shh," you soothe her, lovingly brushing her hair to the side when her breath shudders hard; the mess you made, sliding a palm against her cheek when the first few tears gather, the way they always do when Xiaoting's overwhelmed and torn down in such a good, beautiful way. 

You could kiss her, when you feel the curve of her trembling lips. You do, again-again; slip and wet and parted and sliding when Xiaoting lets you hold the base of her chin between your forefinger and thumb, and bring your mouths together like that.

You could hold the moment longer. Keep kissing her and not moving - except Xiaoting has that meek, "Fuck me," mumbled into your open mouth, her half-wits returning and giving her the very start of a wicked grin - all sloppy with orgasm. "However you want, whatever will make you cum fast-"

"Turn around for me. I'm going to show you how pretty you are, looking just like that-"

"Y-Yeah- '' Xiaoting is trying, her joints trembling as she moves her body. She's so good, listening, rolling onto the surface of the table with her ass up, palms spread out and supporting her into this perfect line. Xiaoting's defining the curve: where her lower back and tight little ass begins and ends, right up into her shoulders and spine. Her hair has fallen across one side, and now you can finally see how much she's blushing in the mirror, the messes that her eye makeup has smudged into, how good she's been, and now how sweet and pliable and worked open her muscles are.

The view alone could have you blowing your load before you can even do it properly inside her.

But, god - the fact that her dress was hanging down on one shoulder, then on none, exposing her naked skin entirely; the fact that you can't resist grabbing a hand around a waist-full of her body and dragging her back closer, slotting your thighs under hers and her ass up against you, cock sliding into her still-clenching cunt without the help of your hands, just finding it where it belonged. You give it to her like she's meant to take. Fast. Hard. Deep. Making sure each-time your cock is in its base-deep place and sliding right back out, pulling slick, creamy strands out from her fucked-out pussy. Bathing you in her want, her need, pooling along the base of your cock; seeping everywhere.

There's just so much of it. The sounds echoing off the empty walls, so distinct, unmistakable, so full and thick. The way your whole body seems to tighten and tense along with hers - everything tight, you can see it, your eyes sweeping from Xiaoting's thighs to the reflection of how she just takes you. Shaking each time, the lines of her body wobble forward when your hips land a heavy thrust and slide along every bit velvety-wet inside her: no room for your cum when she's this overflowing, you figure, wondering how full of it she could even get.

"Fuck," the word just slides off you. "Fucking god, you're the best fuck," you praise her. Like heaven.

Because Your hand is in her hair again, wrapped up in and smoothing over the tangles; feeling her like silk. But now you're grabbing too - holding her steady, a fistful between the roots; you want her back arched, canted just that one angle higher that you know would push her past all limits.

“Oh my god,” she gasps out, once your get her knee planted up on the counter - once she's spread herself even further for the weight of your body. "That's it - holy shit, please-more-"

There are little whispers too - stuff that makes your cock twitch a few times, pulsing in warning - not even fully aware that she's cumming down all over your waist, praises like the hottest of filth, please and yes and I need it and fuck and fucking christ, keep going and don't stop don't stop please baby I'll do anything anything-

Xiaoting's voice reaches the same high pitch she does when her clit is getting hit, not sure what part of her body you're touching or just the overwhelming sensation, but god she doesn't know which way to turn her neck and face. She just ends up taking it all in, breathing in the gravity of the moment - her reflection, yours, the feeling - a tremor building up, her eyes flickering back-forth when she realizes they've started to close, forcing herself to look at the both of you.

You fuck your cock through each inch of her quivering cunt, each one hotter, tighter, wetter than the last - until you're spilling cum - cumming deep and fast inside her -

Reaching so far she can feel the thick pool of it getting fucked further into her with every shallow snap of your hips; her ass flushing back up against your stomach. Filling her to the brim - enough to feel it drip and seep and slide.

And she doesn't stop, the way she has her hips rolling down your length and staying there, your cock rooted into her deepest spot. If there's one more thing she gets off on it's being filled, milking the remnants, emptying you, and - because she's almost fucking teasing you, you feel it when she's clenching the remaining dredges right out of your body; out and leaking hot along your over-sensitised skin. The sharp sting of it has your hands tight on her waist, her ass spilling through the gaps of your fingers - deciding what you'll do.

"Three minutes," she says, panting, "is enough-"

You squeeze through the sculpted round of her ass. Spank it. Knead it.

"You want me to fuck another one into you - can you take that? You'd be such a good girl if you can take a fucking like that."

"I mean it," Xiaoting rasps, hips still lifted and angled toward you, as she meets you in the mirror; her eyes looking past your reflection, still coming down, wrecked and fucked raw, but making the message clear. "I'll make it easy for you."

And with that's she got her hand on your still-hard cock; not nearly enough softness in her voice for the rough grip and the sloppy pumping - fucking filth out of her still, if there was ever any hope of getting it out the way she's pulling and using and moving the slick all over you, spilling it onto the floor. "Think I can make you cum again, right here and now."

The thing about Xiaoting is:

She makes bad decisions, but always with the best intentions. That's why you always know what she'll say.

Because it's almost always the same answer: a pair of crossed wrists and a coy-eagerness that's enough of an invitation for you to make use of what she's given.

And this is the exact way you find yourself dragging the fabric of her dress down her shoulder, her middle, her breasts falling back down from their bounce when you unwind it, then twisting the end tightly into itself before shoving it into the soft valley of her mouth.

I love your tits, you know that?" you tell her, mouth open and hot against her shoulder blade. “So fucking pretty all over, Ting, your entire body's amazing and it does things to me-if I could, I would keep my cum inside this tiny little pussy, over and over, keep filling it. Make your tummy swell for me, sweet baby, and never let a single drop-"

"Do it-" she moans out, words garbled by the fabric. Her eyes are wide and full of the darkest innocence, like anything could happen; anything you wished. "Do it, your fucking cock, want to feel you-"

You spank her again, and she keens.

The mirror is showing you how her chest reddens under the rush of your hands kneading at her, almost violent, before sliding down the back-insides of her thigh, pushing, "But, what you look like with my cock buried inside you, stretched out and still so fucking tiny around me."

It's not new. It's what makes Xiaoting give you the dirtiest, sexiest little hum around the cloth wedged inside her mouth.

Then her cunt clenches down on your cock, and you're groaning, "christ," watching the way her face tugs at the stretch, watching, when her back is pushed out again - the angle. You're lining up, sucking in the full and naked and glistening display of her body before letting your hips fuck into hers again. It feels even better than the first time: tightening like a vise around the thickness of you, your cum pouring back inside her, then with her eyes fixed to yours in the mirror, you get to watch her lips straining; a drooling, whimpering mess.

Then. You're slamming her waist into the table. Rough, reckless. Desperate to reach another edge, rough enough that she can barely look up from her bowed elbows, elegant features twisted into something a little more awful, a little more pretty - just there, and - and - 

A third time. Four. More.

Xiaoting's whimpering, just so spent she has nothing else left, your cock filling her up so full and hot with your spill; she's sloppy and flushed and you're pressing her up into the cool surface of the mirror, with her legs giving in when she collapses over her heels and nearly tumbles over; her own body weighing nothing.

If she asked, "carry me," in any way, you'd be on her like clockwork; you'd get her turned around into a loose-limbed pile, a leg thrown over each of her waist; she'd already have her cheek nestled against your jaw, halfway asleep, a warm bundle pressed up and waiting to get tucked into bed and swept into all of the things that would make her purr and melt; blankets and warm-clothes and showers and tending.

You'd always make a show out of sweeping her off her feet. Because the thing is, Xiaoting deserves it.

And you let her know that:

"You're always the sweetest, aren't you? Taking a fucking like that," you tell her, burying the dying gasps of a laugh right into the sweat-sticky back of her neck. You can feel her throat vibrating out a small sound, her brain almost definitely not able to formulate words, maybe only just registering the tones of your voice. "You are just so breathtakingly gorgeous, babe, the prettiest baby. The fucking world must be upside down, because no one tells you nearly often enough."

And -

Xiaoting - really, above all else, is fucking gorgeous. Because her tired laugh echoes a small part of itself straight down your spine, filling all the dips between each of your vertebrae. Genuine smile and all.

It has your skin crawling back to life, warming up.

There's a murmured 'thank you' said somewhere into the back of her hand, between her pinky finger and her ring, a small, stifled breath that pulls on her tired voice; it's a sleepy sound, like honey, and maybe that's why you choose to tell her one more time.

You glance at the clock on the wall. It's been a good fifteen-plus-extra minutes. You can live with that.

"Told you we'd be late," you say, smoothing out the fabric of her dress.

Which means this is the second time she says: "Nothing there we can’t solve with a little..."

"Carelessness?"

"Misdirection. Pretty convenient for some of us," Xiaoting murmurs with the lingering sweetness of your kiss on her lips. "Who have that charming talent with words."

She looks up, wincing and dabbing at the dried tracks on her cheeks where her eyelashes have swept away all the makeup and tears, like a soft brush sweeping away the layer of snow, she lets her head rest there in your palm and the other soothes, warm, on the back of her neck - her shoulders a little slack when you feel her whole body relax.

"Love you," Xiaoting says, after a heavy breath; a shaky exhale, just under her tongue; "even when we're a little crazy."

Your cheeks warm as they squish themselves around her grin.

"Love you. Now hold still," you say - taking it slow, kissing the damp pink curls right behind her ear. Then, for the most part, it's back to business. Back to normal.

Makeup wipes and wet washcloths. Clearing and setting the furniture upright. Hastily undoing the locks, so that to anyone who's passing by and smelling the raw, irrefutable evidence of sex and sin, they can turn away and think twice - no one's fault except the wicked thoughts swirling and forming in the back of their thoughts.

(No matter how many times you do, it's no different with Xiaoting; her smile turns the wheels in your head - still spinning. You can't help it when she laughs with her eyes still half-mast - fucked-out; a headiness, her tone like velvet.)

And the 'yes, we do,' on her breath when she hums again, is the beginning of an I-told-you-so, when you tell her, "c’mon, we've got places to be."

[plomegranate]

i love palestinian and arab culture so much.

my grandma wearing thobes around the house and making us tamriyeh. my cousins wedding when we all wore thobes and keffiyehs and took photos downtown and we danced with someone playing the guitar on the street and this lady stopping us to tell us we all looked so beautiful. walking the graduation stage in a thobe. the girl who liked to guess arab peoples ethnicities telling me "you're wearing tatreez... do you want me to write 'palestinian' on your forehead?" the keffiyeh my brother keeps on the drivers seat of his car.

my dad sending me off to my last semester of college with 2 pomegranates and a jar of palestinian olive oil. my cousins wife coming up with new ways to make zaatar and cheese pastries. me and my grandma sitting on the floor and making waraq 3neb- my job was to separate the leaves so she could roll them easier. my mom sending me and my brother to school with eid cookies for my teachers and tasking us with delivering some to the neighbors. my aunt glaring at me and piling more food on my plate and then asking if i was still hungry (i wasnt). my mom always telling me to invite my friends and cousins over for dinner and asking me what they like to eat. my family getting my dad knafeh instead of cake for his birthday. the man who told me i made the "best fetteh in the western hemisphere".

the man in the shawarma shop who gave me my fries for free and baklava i didnt order because we spoke about being palestinian while he took my order. the person on tumblr who i bonded with because we are from the same palestinian city. the girl i met on campus who exclaimed "youre palestinian? me too!" because i was wearing my keffiyeh. the girl in my class that showed me the artwork about palestine her dad made and donated for fundraising. the couple in the grocery store who noticed my palestinian shirt and talked with me for 20 minutes and ended up being a family friend. the silly palestinian kids i tutored sighing in disappointment when i told them i was born in america because they were hoping that id have been born "somewhere cooler". my friends family who bought me dinner despite me being there by chance and having met me for the first time the day before.

the boys starting uncoordinated dabke lines in my high school's hallways. the songs about the longing and love for our land. the festivals and parties and gatherings where everything smells like shisha and oud. memories of waiting in the car for an hour as my parents talked at the doorway of their friends homes. my cousins and i showing up at each others homes with cake or fruit or games as if it was the first time we ever visited even though we always say "you dont have to".

kids stubbornly helping to clean and make tea after a meal while being told to go sit down because they are guests. the necklaces in the shape of our home countries. people hugging and laughing and acting as if theyve known each other for years because they come from the same city or know people with the same last name. the day i finally got to bully my friends into letting me pay the bill because i had a job and they were still students. my moms friend who calls us every time she's at the grocery store to see if we need something

palestinian people are so resilient and hardworking and charitable. they love their culture and their community and are so quick to share and welcome anyone in. everyday i am so thankful and proud to be part of such a warm and lovely culture

[teapartyprincess4two]

heyyy can u pls do sfw/nsfw matt with tough gf😮‍💨😮‍💨

Tough- M. Sturniolo

pairing: Tough!reader x Boyfriend!Matt

classification: SFW & NSFW head cannons

inspiration: request^^

warnings: some 18+ content, use of y/n, established relationship

summary: head cannons of Matt with a tough girlfriend!

—

☆SFW

For your entire life you’ve been classified using one word: tough. You’re extremely resilient, stubborn, and hardworking, and these are all qualities Matt loves about you.

☆ You refuse to ask for help, even when you desperately need it and most times Matt doesn’t even know you needed help to begin with.

☆ A flat tire stares back at you, taunting and challenging you to change it.

☆ You roll up your sleeves and throw your hair up in a pony tail, gathering the tools necessary to swap the tire out.

☆ Sweat is dripping down your face and glistening against your shoulders. “Babe? What are you doing?” Matt asks, watching tentatively from the porch.

☆ “Changing this damn tire,” you grunt, tightening the last bolt before throwing the wrench back into the tool box.

☆ You prefer comfort so your wardrobe is a mix between girly and tomboy, consisting mainly of graphic t-shirts and baggy jeans.

☆ “I’m ready,” you say, hopping off the last step as you enter the living room.

☆ Matt leans against the couch, peering behind him to catch a glimpse of you. “Is that my shirt?” he asks, getting up to examine your outfit better.

☆ “Yup. Let’s go, we’re gonna be late,” you reply, placing a cap over your straightened hair and adjusting your plethora of necklaces.

☆ “She lowkey got that shit on though,” Chris chuckles from beside Matt, earning himself a playful push.

☆ Sometimes you don’t measure your words or your tone, forgetting that you’re talking to your boyfriend and not one of your ‘homies.’

☆ When the conversation is normal, he ignores it. But when your tone meanders into rude territory, he immediately puts an end to it.

☆ “Dude, what the fuck?! I cleaned that shit yesterday! How is it already dirty, bro?” you exclaim, hands pointing accusatorially at Matt.

☆ “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just talk to me like that,” he responds, jaw clenched. “Let’s start over, yeah?”

☆ You take a deep breath, exhaling all your anger before replying, “Babe, what the heck?! I cleaned that thing yesterday! How is it already dirty, baby?”

☆ Matt knows you threw the pet names in there for show, but he appreciates you trying, even if it is laced with sarcasm.

☆ You’re insanely strong and when you’re not at home or at work, you’re at the gym.

☆ “I’ll be back in like an hour, okay? We can order something for dinner when I get back,” you peck Matt’s check, slinging your duffel back over your shoulder.

☆ “Hmm okay,” he murmurs, delivering a quick slap to your ass.

☆ Matt’s grateful that you aren’t overly affectionate in public, mostly because he’s extremely reserved and prefers to keep your relationship private.

☆ The most you’ll do is hold his hand, hug him, or kiss his cheek. Sometimes you’ll be even less affectionate when around his friends and siblings.

☆ That doesn’t mean you don’t mark your territory though, especially when you get jealous.

☆ “Hi baby,” your voice is high-pitched and excited, a very unusual mix coming from you. You cling to Matt’s side as another girl tries chatting him up.

☆ “Hi,” he replies, wrapping an arm around you and resting his hand on your ass. He’s slightly confused, but quickly realizes you’re jealous.

☆ When you start kissing, the girl finally gets the hint and leaves. “Dumb bitch,” you grumble, pulling away from Matt slightly.

☆ He chuckles and pulls you back in, showing you he only has eyes for you.

☆ “Need help?” Matt asks from behind you, watching as you struggle to reach something from the top shelf.

☆ “Nope. Almost got it,” you reply, your tongue poking out in concentration.

☆ Matt pushes against your backside, wrapping a strong arm around your waist as he reaches over you.

☆ “Here,” he hands the item to you, watching the frustration leave your face.

☆ Arguments, although they’re few and far between, can escalate very quickly between you two.

☆ You’re both stubborn, so no matter what you always believe you’re right.

☆ Angry, hurtful words are exchanged and before you know it you’re both storming off in opposite directions.

☆ You’re not one to cry easily, but if the argument is frustrating enough the tears will start flowing.

☆ “Y/n?” Matt asks tentatively, peering into your shared bedroom to find you curled up under the blankets. Your small sniffles fill the room.

☆ A frown forms on his face as he joins you under the covers, immediately you pulling into him. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, pecking your forehead. “Me too,” you hiccup, burying your face in his chest.

☆ You’re not afraid to slap Matt’s ass, especially after he does it to you.

☆ At first he used to hate it, but now he knows to expect it.

☆ Usually you’ll sneak your hand into the back pocket of his pants afterwards, walking around like that no matter where you are.

☆ A long list of to-do’s is constantly forming in your mind, even on your days off, and you’re not afraid to get bossy so it can all get done.

☆ “Matt, you mow the lawn and wash the cars. I’ll clean the house and do the laundry,” you instruct.

☆ “So bossy,” he laughs.

☆ “Or you can just do all of it?” you suggest with a quirked brow and a sassy hand on your hip. “No ma’am, I’m going.”

☆ “Mhm that’s what I thought.”

☆NSFW

Your tough girl attitude can sometimes get you in trouble, earning you punishments that put you in your place.

☆ When you’re together in private, Matt sees a side of you that you never show the world.

☆ You’re sweet and soft, juxtaposing the tough girl demeanor you usually display. If you ever act up in public, though, Matt is quick to remind you of this when you’re in private.

☆ “Wanna act stupid? Yeah?” He grunts, hips rocking against you at an ungodly pace.

☆ You whimper, too fucked out to respond. “That’s what I fucking thought,” his harsh words are followed by a hand wrapping around your throat.

☆ Your smart mouth is usually what gets you in trouble. “You think you look cute talking to me like that? Embarrassing me in front of all our friends?”

☆ He holds a firm grip of your face, forcing you to make eye contact as you reply with a hum.

☆ That’s enough for him to shove you into the bed, face down ass up. He slips into you without hesitation, hips snapping so harshly against your skin that the sound echoes throughout the room.

☆ “Not gonna stop until you learn your lesson,” he growls, pulling your hair into a ponytail and using it as leverage to fuck you harder.

☆ The pleasure is so good that you don’t even want it to stop, you just use your smart remarks to egg him on.

☆ Other times, your attitude travels into the bedroom and you have Matt beneath you completely overstimulated.

☆ “Y/n— fuck! I can’t anymore,” his words are choked, his eyes squeezing shut as he tries to focus on lasting longer.

☆ “Yes you can baby, I know you can” you purr, rocking your hips back and forth on his cock.

☆ Without another warning, his hips are stuttering as his hot cum paints your walls. That was his fourth orgasm and you show no signs of stopping soon.

☆ He loves teasing you because he knows you’ll get riled up enough to dominate him.

☆ He’s leaned against the headboard, eagerly awaiting your next move.

☆ You crawl over to him, situating yourself over his crotch. Instinctively, his hands travel to your hips, a firm grip pushing you down on his erection.

☆ A tsk escapes your lips, “You’re not gonna get what you want that easily, baby. You’re gonna have to work for it.”

☆ Your words put him in a trance and he’s ready to comply to your every command.

—

MASTERLIST

A/n: she (me) is not tuff - L.A.M.B👼🏻💗

—

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[kachowden]

Concept

Yandere M!Therapist x reader

Tw: Manipulative, Implied nsfw (?), power dynamic(?),

Cameron didnt know when it started, or how. His job was to help people. To be there to listen to them, an impartial voice for people who struggled.

He was supposed to help.

But god did you make it ever so hard.

He remembered his first impression of you, and your story. He had his fair share of attractive patients, though he’d never been attracted to them. Or almost anyone really. He found it he viewed all his clients solely as his patients. People he needed, wanted to help. He couldn’t see them in any other way. But alas, he’d be a filthy liar if he said that his heart hadn’t fluttered and his cheeks hadn’t warmed at his first sight of you.

It was easy to brush off though. His morals were still uptight and resilient. No patient relationships. He was sure it would stay that way as well.

Your story was sad, as it often was for all his patients. He sympathized with you, it was his job to do so, and he occasionally asked you to elaborate on certain phrases or feelings you used.

You didn’t cuss like many of his patients did. Though it could’ve been because you weren’t comfortable with him just yet.

He liked the way you spoke though. It was delicate. Not necessarily your voice, but just the way you phrased things. Like you knew the worlds secrets but kept them to yourself. You seemed complex in a way he couldn’t describe. Though perhaps he was giving you too much credit. Maybe you just liked to read.

To him, it seemed you had long since become, to some extent, accepting of the things you dealt with, and truly just needed someone to listen to you. Perhaps tell you that you weren’t over reacting.

You were funny. Possibly a cope, but he didn’t mind much. He couldn’t help himself from grinning and laughing a few times, which you always seemed proud of.

It made him feel weird.

At the end of the session you told him you’d be coming back the following week. That you enjoyed talking to him.

He would never tell you how excited he had been for your next appointment.

Eventually, as time went on, and he began seeing you more, he began to feel something.

A fluttering sensation when he spoke to you.

A deep warmth that swelled all over his skin, and left him feeling almost giddy.

He slowly started being more responsive. More than his job obligated him to be anyway. He asked questions. Casual ones at first. Though they increased with each session.

It started to feel like you were two friends just hanging out together. Chatting about everything and anything. There were still moments where you would discuss more pressing topics. Like the guy who wouldn’t leave you alone, and how he suddenly disappeared one day after one of your sessions.

He assured you that the man must’ve given up, and that possibly the advice he’d given you had helped. You seemed unsettled for a moment, but the soft smile you sent him after, accompanied by a sweet “thank you”, made him feel as if a sleepless night or two didn’t matter so much.

Things got a bit more complicated after that.

He wasn’t quite sure when, but he started seeking your praise and approval. Your attention.

He started dressing up. Simple at first. A new shirt. More form fitting pants. Maybe a nice watch or necklace.

He had the money. So that wasn’t an issue for him. He could take care of you.

Over time though, the simple compliments weren’t enough. He wanted you to stare. He wanted your eyes all over him. He wanted you to stare down at him like he was something you needed. That you couldn’t live with out.

A few buttons left apart. A tighter shirt. Even tighter pants. Maybe even a little makeup. Nothing fancy. He just wanted you to compliment his skill. He had a few sisters to thank for that.

He remembered you had offhandedly mentioned how good he looked red once.

He wore it almost every session after that.

He loved watching the way your eyes would snap to him when you’d step into his office. The way your eyes would roam for a moment before you looked away out of respect. No. Stare more. Longer. Undress me with your eyes. Please please please.

You offhandedly asked why he had been so well dressed, the first time it happened. He was a bit embarrassed. Especially by the realization of why he had been dressing up. He told you he was going on a date. A very loud part of him wanted to see a reaction. A sign. Even the smallest one that showed you liked him. That you were interested in him.

But you smiled. That beautiful, insufferable, tormenting, lovely smile.

He hated it.

Be angry. Be jealous. Do something. Anything. Want him need him. Do it do it do it doitdoit

It’s not enough.

Before he knew it, he was sabotaging your social life left and right.

“Oh how cruel of them.”

“They shouldn’t have done that. It hurt didn’t it?”

“They don’t know you”

“You don’t need them.”

He thanked his career at times like this.

He knew what buttons to push. What strings to pull. You relied on him.

Your visits became more frequent.

The “hands to yourself policy” was discarded. You leaned on him. Laid your head in his lap (after many many attempts at persuasion). His well manicured fingers traced your skin. He’d hum. Give his thoughts.

And slowly sunk his claws deep into you.

You needed therapy. His therapy. You needed him.

Almost as much as he needed you.

————————————-

A/n: Woo! A human! That’s a first. Anyway I hope you guys like him :) <3 I do not condone yandere behavior this is purely fiction <3

[adamsrcnan]

OKAY OKAY here we goooo an annoyingly long-ish post about all my thoughts on The Sunshine Court

Spoilers Spoilers Spoilersss you've been warned

First things first it is so interesting to see Nora writing from not one but TWO new people's perspective. Jean's perspective is just devastating being inside his head is heartbreaking the constant fear and panic and how much of his energy is used on just pushing down every memory of what was done to him. His coping mechanisms are terrifying and i truly do hope by the end of book 2 he has a healthier way of dealing with it bc baby boy stop hurting yourself :( Every sentence was so painful to read. But also his resilience the entire time to get through it no matter what, god i fucking love him!!! He is a fighter.

Jeremy's perspective is sooooo refreshing. He is such a little sweetheart i could cry. The fact that he sends hand written letters and he's so caring and genuine but he can also be so stern. When he dropped that "i asked you a question" to Lucas fkehdjdfjdh OK SIR. I'M SAT. His relationship with the family butler is so endearing as well i need more background on that for sure! My only one criticism is that he didn't have enough pov chapters and i'm hoping we'll learn more in the second book of course because there's still so much about him and his (dysfunctional? toxic?) family dynamic that we don't know yet but also i'm greedy and i wanna know EVEYTHING about him !!!

Kevin and Jean are so just tragic it actually breaks my fucking heart like "you didn't have to slit my throat on the way out" JEAN??? and "promise me you won't try again. I can't lose you." KEVIN??? And the fact that Jean to this day is still keeping that promise. Also Jean's obvious but secret long term crush on Kevin the way it's subtly dropped every time Jean has to stamp down on his desire's and "temptations" GOD PLEASE I CAN'T STAND IT

SPEAKING OF!!! BISEXUAL JEAN ??? BI JEAN??? BI JEANNNN !!!!

Neil and Jean oh my God like where do i even start?? The guilt Jean feels at what happened to Neil in the Nest and him finally calling him by his name after Riko's death and telling him his game was good. And Neil seriously needs to give himself more credit for how much of a caring person he is because the way he indirectly told Jean that he thinks he is worth saving and didn't even hesitate before asking Stuart to send someone after That Guy after what Jean told him. Neil Josten the man that you are!!!

Jean's little sister Elodie what a beautiful name. Them being so close and him reading to her. The way he found out about her death jolted me differently. It was so awful and i'm so sorry Jean didn't get to see her grow up and meet her again.

Renee and Jean oh my god. Jean thinking she's beautiful (bitch me toooo) And the whole right person wrong time ugh i can't stand it. Him wearing her necklace all the time, enough that Jeremy always notices it. And unabashedly stealing her picture from the foxes lounge. Like he did not give a fuck. He said this one is mine. One good reason to stay alive being rainbows i'm gonna FKSJSKDHDH. Theirs would be such a soft love.

Speaking of soft loves Laila and Cat are EVERYTHINGGGG. God they are so cute with their little domestic life and their rich gay boy son who crashes on their couch with his cardboard cut out dog. That whole friendship dynamic is beautiful. Their fierce protectiveness and care over Jean as well and the patience they have with him even after the little kitchen incident. When Cat took Jean out for a drive on her motorcycle god that was such a heart warming moment and Jean helping them cook as well and becoming the girls' little sous chef it's so cute so endearing !!!

FINALLY FINALLY THE JEREJEAN DYNAMIC

PLEASE I'M GONNA SCREAM

Jeremy being the one who told Jean that Riko was dead i don't even know what to begin with THAT like hhhhhhh. The way they're both stupidly attracted to each other but won't/can't do anything about it. THE WHOLE "say yes Jeremy" SCENE WTF WAS THATTT I WAS GOING INSANEEEE. Both of them having to stop mid sentence when they catch the other looking FINE as hell. Jean being so obvious that even Lucas picks up on the way he looks at Jeremy. Jeremy being there to ground Jean in a Moment and helping him come down from it. Grabbing his face and telling him he's okay. Moving into the room with him to make him feel more comfortable !! The way Jean grabs Jeremy's chin (boiiiii). Jeremy constantly reminding Jean that he is NOT A RAVEN ANYMORE no matter how many times he has to say it. Jeremy saying he'll wait as long as it takes until Jean speaks to him. JEREMY GIVING HIM A HUG AND JEAN CLUTCHING DESPERATELY TO HIS SHIRT FUUCUFHDHSJHSSUHDH and then the "will you help me?" And the "Anything you need" AND THEY'RE GOING TO TAKE A CERAMICS CLASS TOGETHER?!?!?!!!! i can't i can't i can't i caaan'ttt

There's so much more to say but i'm gonna leave it at this for now because i need to go re-read it again and take my time with it this time round but i really could not have asked for anything better Nora truly outdid herself here !!! I'm forever grateful she blessed us with this after so long.

[loserboyfriendrjl]

“Sirius should be, out of the two of them, the one who joins his ranks.” Orion Black’s voice echoed down the hall, as he stepped down the long corridor.

“Categorically no.” Walburga Black snapped.

“It’s the Dark Lord’s wish. He believes Sirius would be an asset to them.”

“Considering the possibility that he does join, which he will not, because I will not allow it, if he dies, what will we do? Make Regulus the heir?”

“Precisely. He would be the better heir, either way; he’s much more obedient and malleable.”

“However obedient he is, Sirius possesses the qualities a heir to our house needs; determination, resilience, strength and intelligence, above all, which would make him the suitable candidate.”

“Are you implying that Regulus is not appropriate enough for the role, Walburga?”

“I am implying Regulus resembles you entirely, Orion,” She hissed.

Sirius attentively listened to his parents’ conversation from the tapestry room. His eyes were fixated on the wall, his gold-woven ancestors looking at him from the tapestry. He rolled his eyes. His previous namesake scolded him.

“That is not the appropriate behaviour for a bearer of our noble name,” He said, tutting.

Sirius got up from the dark, velvety cushion and pulled the curtains over his great-grandfather’s portrait, who let out an indignant noise.

His parents entered the room. His father had walked in first — he was a tall, slender man, with black hair down to his ears, and he was dressed as if he was about to leave the house. Sirius’ mother stood behind him, a willowy woman with pale skin and long, straight black hair, falling down her back. Her neck was adorned with her necklace with the family crest, and the skirt of her dress brushed the dark, polished floor.

“What are you doing here, boy?” Orion demanded.

“Observing,” He answered, standing up and making his way to the tapestry. “Am I not allowed to do that now, either?”

“Your brother announced us that you snuck out of the house last night and ventured out to Muggle London.” His mother’s voice was cold, yet she was no longer intimidating to Sirius; even on her heels, he was quite taller than him. “Is that so?”

“No.” Sirius lied through his teeth. “And even if I did, Regulus has the habit of not minding his own business. Maybe you should teach him that, father, since you mind your business so much you’re not often around.”

Sirius and Orion shot each other poisonous glares. He stood about five centimetres taller than his father, yet their eyes met with the same raging fury.

“You insolent—”

“Orion, I thought you said you had to meet Abraxas Malfoy,” Walburga sighed.

His eyes turned into slits. “We will have an important conversation later. I expect you to be home, not anywhere else, by the time I return from the Ministry.”

Sirius nodded, as his father left the room. His mother’s eyes lingered in the tapestry, right where her family’s names were; Walburga, Orion, Sirius, Regulus. Stars and saints.

All sinners.

[mirandasidefics]

But Home is Nowhere- Chapter 11

Pairing(s): Lucien x Plus Size Reader, Azriel x Plus Size Reader, and Ruhn Dannan x Plus Size Reader.

Summary: Ruhn supports Reader as she continues to heal. The two come to an agreement regarding her use of Azriel's tonic on the nights where she struggles the most. As their friendship progresses, so do their feelings towards each other. Reader opens up and shares parts of herself that no one, not even Lucien, knows about her. So, what happens when Ruhn makes an idiotic mistake?

Also, Lucien has a confusing dream.

Word Count: 16K

Warnings: Feelings of hopelessness, loneliness, grief, angst, conflicting emotions, mentions of substance use, Reader being dense af, smut (18+/MDNI), oral (f receiving), masturbation (male), making out/kissing, secondhand embarrassment (aka Ruhn's a dumbass).

Author's Note: This is a heavy Ruhn centered chapter. And we have his POV! I decided that I couldn't sufficiently tell his and Reader's part of the story without his POV. The final scene is split between the Reader and Ruhn's POV as there is a lot going on in each of their heads. I did a lot of research into what the ingredients for Azriel's Mother's tonic could be, and I settled on it being a similar product to laudanum (opium mixed with hard liquor). There are some added natural sleep-inducing herbs as well. The "black gum" that Ruhn mentions is the equivalent to opium (heroin). For those that recognize the song, I didn't include all of the lyrics, but Reader does sing the entire song. Ruhn's focus just goes in and out so what the audience sees is what sticks in his head. I think that is all.

As always, a HUGE thank you to my beta readers!

Series Masterlist Divider by @/tsunami-of-tears

Previous: Chapter 10 Next: Chapter 12

Ruhn noted how (Y/N) had been quiet since leaving the party. Which was unusual as typically their nightly routine included each of them talking about their day, at least the parts whenever they weren’t together. Tonight though, she was silent as she moved about the room. Something was on her mind, he could tell; but whether or not to try and get the information out of her or let her share it on her own was the question he found himself asking now. She kicked off the small heels and unclasped the delicate necklace, setting it on the smooth top of the vanity. 

“Could you help me?” Her voice sounded distant. She turned her back towards him, lifting her hair away from the ties that secured the deep red dress to her frame. He hummed his acknowledgment and pulled at the laces, loosening the dress. He caught sight of a strip of vivid blue-violet fabric stretching across her back. Her hands quickly grasped the front of her dress, pressing it to her chest to keep it from falling. She nodded her thanks and rushed into the bathroom to finish undressing. 

Ruhn started to undress himself as well, unbuttoning the dark silver cotton blend dress shirt that he wore. He sat on the edge of the bed to pull off his socks when he looked up into the mirror on the dresser directly in front of the bed. His breath caught in his throat. The door to the bathroom had not shut all the way, a fact that she must have been unaware of as she pranced around in the sinfully sexy lace bra and pantie set. He couldn’t help but wonder if that was something she picked out for herself, or if his sister had yet again decided to meddle. It wouldn’t be the first time. He couldn’t help but notice the color of this particular set was his favorite color. 

Ruhn knew he should have looked away. That he should have stood up and turned around to give her that privacy, but he simply couldn’t. Instead, he sat on the bed with his bare chest exposed and just watched. She was so beautiful. Not just on the outside, no. He saw how beautiful her heart and mind were as well. Her compassion and resilience were aspects of her being that he respected and adored. 

She moved with grace as she set about removing her makeup. He had to bite his lip to suppress the longing groan as he watched her bend over the sink. The lace panties high enough to expose the delicious curve of her ass cheeks. Thank fucking Urd she couldn’t smell his arousal, but she would be able to see and feel his hard cock if he couldn’t get a hold of himself. 

He shook his head, resisting the urge to physically slap himself to get moving again. He quickly undressed, remaining in his boxer briefs. Their shared body heat always seemed to keep him warm enough. She certainly never complained about his lack of apparel either. The thought made him smile slightly. Plus, it wasn’t like he could easily pack up his former belongings with his old house being watched. And he had seen no point in purchasing any new pajamas from any of the vendors in Velaris, even though Rhysand did supply him with a decent paycheck. What he was being paid for he honestly didn’t quite know. He held no official title that he was aware of, and apart from training with Cassian and Azriel the only thing he did was care for (Y/N). But that wasn’t a job. As far as he was concerned he was just spending time with his friend. 

Ruhn could hear her feet pacing back and forth on the tiles of the bathroom. Wordlessly he went over to the dresser and pulled out one of her nightgowns. Truth be told he’d much prefer her to join him in bed with the outfit she currently had on, even if he had no plans to touch her without her permission. But he knew that she preferred to be a little bit more covered. Ruhn gently knocked on the door, careful to face away so as to give her a semblance of privacy while he held out the silk nightgown. She took it from his grasp, giving a small thanks.  

This had also become part of their routine. If she intentionally forgot her night clothes or not, he didn’t mind helping her in this way. He knew that she was dressed when the door opened the rest of the way. He immediately noticed that the blue straps of her bra were nowhere to be seen alongside the thin straps of the nightgown.  He had to take a deep breath to calm himself knowing that she wasn’t wearing anything underneath. He slipped into the room next to her so that he could wash his face and brush his teeth. The whole scene was perfectly domestic. 

A part of him longed for more, but he didn’t want to overstep or make any assumptions on her feelings. Especially after her forced separation from Lucien. It had taken several nights of restless and disturbed sleep before she felt comfortable having Ruhn close to her. He didn’t mind waiting until she had become comfortable. 

He would wait as long as needed. He had his own shit to sort through, much of which he just pushed to the side. He had his theories about the last female he even thought of getting close to, before she turned out to be someone that he considered an enemy. But (Y/N), he knew that she didn’t deserve to be compared to anyone else. So he kept finding things about her that were completely different to ensure that his feelings for her were not an attempt to fill a hole that had been left behind. 

Ruhn had grown close to the woman over the past few years together. There was no doubt in his mind that she was important to him and everything that was going on. He believed that he must have been equally as important to her since she had been more receptive to his attempts to comfort her. He honestly found it difficult to keep his hands to himself most of the time. There was something about being in physical contact with her that he craved. Even if that contact was as fleeting as a quick kiss to her brow, he needed her. And on the rare occasions that she returned the gestures, he felt more grounded than he had in his entire life. She brought him a sense of peace that he would be eternally grateful for. Especially since he never got to experience this feeling with - no he would not think about her. Lidia was gone. It was as simple as that, and nothing more.There was no sense comparing all that he had in his life now with something that was entirely unknown.

He shook his head, ridding his mind of the shifter’s memory. At least for the time being. His focus returned to the human standing next to him. Her head tilted to the side by a fraction, studying him. Ruhn took the opportunity to pull her into a hug and kiss the top of her forehead. Lacing her fingers with his, they made their way back to the bed. Pulling back the covers he climbed in, and she soon followed. Most nights they would fall asleep simply laying next to each other. Tonight however, she rolled on her side to face him.

“Everything alright?” He asked, lifting his arm to create a space for her. Tentatively she curled up next to him, eyes seeking permission to rest her head on his chest. He curled his fingers, beckoning her to come closer.  

“I’m just in my feelings,” She admitted, her arm wrapped around his torso and her head resting on the space between his shoulder and pectoral. He wrapped his arm around her back, resting his hand on her hip. She let out a deep relaxed sigh. He hummed in response, moving his thumb in a soothing gesture. He knew her well enough to know when she didn’t feel like talking about a subject. So, if silent comfort was what she needed then that is what he would give. Not long after his eyelids began to droop and he drifted off to sleep. 

A soft melody drifted and wound its way through the townhouse like a withered visage of a specter. The melancholic chords of a piano slowly brought Ruhn to an awakened state. He stretched his arm out across the bed, in hopes of curling it around the soft feminine figure whose warmth he’d grown accustomed to. Only that side of the mattress was cold and empty. 

With a jolt his senses went on high alert. It took a moment for his mind to process that the music was not from his imagination, but from within the townhouse. There was only one person that would be playing the instrument, (Y/N). Nyx had asked her to sing at the most recent Winter Solstice celebrations, to which she nervously agreed. She shared a few songs that she said were from her world’s winter celebrations. Apparently not all humans strictly celebrated the Solstice, but something called Christmas. She accompanied herself on the piano that night and took to practicing ever since. 

With his adrenaline subsiding he slowly climbed out of bed and proceeded to make his way downstairs to check on the human manipulating the ivory keys. He pulled the shadows that waited on the edges of the room towards himself, readying them to strike any threat that may be waiting, tricking him into believing that she was safe. He didn’t know why he suddenly thought that she could be at risk in one of the safety places for her, but the concern was there nonetheless. 

The halls were dark as he made his way through, following the sound of the piano. By the time he reached the door of the small library on the ground floor he was able to make out the familiar sultry voice of (Y/N)’s singing.  He released a breath, comforted by the reassurance that she was safe.  

It's not simple to say

Most days I don't recognize me 

With her attention on the keys of the piano, the woman hadn’t noticed him entering the small space. While she tried to keep her voice low, it carried and resonated throughout the entire home. 

It's not easy to know

I'm not anything like I used to be

Although it's true

I was never attention’s sweet center

I still remember that girl

Ruhn enjoyed listening to her voice. The warmth that it embodied reminded him of the nights they spent curled up in blankets by the fire together. 

She's imperfect but she tries

She is good but she lies

He watched as her expression changed from concentration to sadness. 

She is hard on herself

She is broken and won't ask for help

His breath caught in his throat as he listened, the lyrics carrying a certain unspoken weight. 

She is messy but she's kind

She is lonely most of the time

He marveled at the way she navigated from one part of her voice to the next. Seamless despite the weight that her sadness must have added. 

She is gone but she used to be mine 

His heart clenched as she finished the first chorus. It quickly became obvious that her playing and singing was more than just a source of entertainment. She needed this. He realized that music was her outlet. Many of the Fae had a natural love of music in some way. Her affinity could be yet another indication that she truly had Fae heritage, even distantly as they all suspected. While he was no musician himself, he was still intrinsically drawn to its beautiful complexity. Lilting melodies, full and robust harmonies, and driving beats all stirring parts of him that made him remember he was alive. He enjoyed music, but (Y/N)? In this instance she was music. Her entire body became much more than just an instrument. It was a vessel. One that embodied everything she was feeling, calling it to the surface and expelling it in a beautifully sonorous experience. 

And you're not what I asked for

If I'm honest

I know I would give it all back

For a chance to start over

Her voice built, commanding that it be heard. Ruhn decided that he loved hearing her voice and would encourage her to use it at every opportunity. 

For the girl that I knew 

Who’ll be reckless just enough

Who can hurt but

Who learns how to toughen up when she's bruised

And gets used by a man who can’t love 

He couldn’t help but wonder if some of these lyrics held any specific meaning for her, or if it was the overall message that she resonated with. He was slightly aware that she had a past with ex-lovers. She didn’t really provide much in the way of details, but he knew she had been hurt. He was also aware that she often didn’t feel worthy of being truly loved, often having been used. Ruhn decided that he would ensure that she never felt that way with him. 

To fight just a little

To bring back the fire in her eyes

That's been gone but it used to be mine 

She closed her eyes, tears slipping out and descending in salty trails down her cheeks. The impassioned resonance of her voice rattled every surface of the room as she held the note. He felt every ounce of the turmoil and longing that she had been holding inside. The gravity of the loss she was experiencing. It was pouring out of her, crashing against his senses much like the way Lidia had raged against his mental shields that week in the Asteri’s dungeons.   

Used to be mine

Ruhn wanted to kick himself. Why did he suddenly think of Lidia again? The two were so different from each other. At least that’s what he thought. He never really got to know the female that risked her life for him. He did know (Y/N). Knew that she would do anything to protect those she loved. Whether through fierce words or use of the physical training she still attended daily, she was a protector with an occasional hairpin trigger. So why was he making any connection between the woman in front of him and the female that… The thought left his mind as (Y/N)’s voice cut through his defenses. 

She is messy but she's kind 

She is lonely most of the time

Her voice became brittle and shook from an exhaustion that he found himself all too familiar with. The sad smile on her lips dampened the impact her words had just moments before filled the small library. The next chord was one of finality. The soft tones clung to the air, just as tears clung to her eyelashes. 

She is gone but she used to be mine

Ruhn watched from his spot near the door as she finally looked up from where her hands continued to rest on the keys. Tears streamed down her face, and for the first time in the years he’d known her she didn’t bother trying to wipe them away. She didn’t hide her sorrow, allowing him to fully see her heart and how it was breaking. He knew she was struggling, but he had no idea she was in this much pain.

Something inside him knew that she wouldn’t shy away if he approached, so he didn’t hesitate to walk across the room to be by her side. He was in front of her in just a few quick strides. There wasn’t much room on the piano bench for the two of them to sit in a way where he could hold her close. So, after a quick glance about the room he spotted the large plush reading chair.

Taking her hand, he pulled her to her feet and along towards the chair. He noted that the chair, while surely an amazing place for her to curl up with a book, wasn’t exactly wide enough for her to sit with her legs crossing over his lap. It didn’t make a difference though; he knew that she needed to be held to feel at ease. At least, that was how it always was when she woke from a nightmare in the middle of the night. 

Typically, he would hold her as they lay on the bed together. His fingers either tracing along her skin marveling at how soft and supple it was or buried in her hair gently tugging on the strands just above the back of her neck. The action often allowed her to feel relaxed. It all depended on the level of security and protectiveness she needed to feel that night. Ruhn quickly surmised that tonight the best way to hold her would be for her to sit directly in his lap.

So, after settling on the chair, he pulled her towards him, guiding her to straddle over his hips. She complied, no hesitation in her movements as she made herself as comfortable as possible. Her nightgown inching up her thighs, revealing her skin as the fabric halted just below her hips. Her legs were able to slide in between his thighs and the arms of the chair, but just barely. He didn’t mind the pressure of her legs against his thighs, the feel of her body pressed against his helping to ground him as usual.

With near perfect practiced synchronicity Ruhn wrapped as much of himself as he could around her voluptuous frame. One hand slid along her lower back, providing support as it reached toward her hip. While the other slipped up her spine, fingers splayed out between her shoulder blades. He felt the small bumps rise along her warm skin. Her own arms wound around the top of his shoulders, her hands threading themselves into his hair. He let out a relaxed sigh at her touch, his breath ruffling her hair. She leaned forward and their bodies melded into each other’s. From this position, Ruhn would be able to easily pick her up and carry her back up stairs if needed. 

With her face buried in his neck, she continued to silently cry. The wetness from her tears contrasted with the warmth of her breath against his skin. Her nose grazed just underneath his ear. He wanted to believe that his scent was somehow calming to her as her muscles relaxed the longer they sat in that position. Eventually, she broke the silence.  

“Today was my brother’s birthday,” She whispered. Her shuddering breath fanned across his neck sending the briefest of shivers through him. Ruhn wasn’t sure how to respond, or if he should respond at all. He opted to remain silent, instead taking one hand and tenderly rubbing it along her back. She moved her own arms from around his neck to wrap them around his torso before fully relaxing into his hold on her. Ruhn smiled at the fact that their positioning probably made her look like an overgrown child. Urd knows that he caught her holding Nyx in the very same position many times trying to get him to calm down.

“My brother should be 30,” She continued. “I-I had never missed his birthday before…now I’ve missed three.” Her voice cracked from trying to keep her emotions in check and holding back her sobs. Tears still flowed, but Ruhn could tell that she was on the verge of breaking. With a kiss to her temple he let her continue all the same, knowing that she needed to process through her feelings.

“How many more am I going to miss?” She sucked in a harsh breath. “I don’t want to be here anymore. I just want to go home.” Her body began to tremble slightly, a signal the dam was ever closer to breaking. His hand continued to rub her back as his other squeezed at her hip, silently letting her know he was still listening. She didn’t need words from him anyway right now. He had quickly learned how to tell when she wanted his opinion on matters versus just silent comfort. 

“I miss my family so much,” The words tumbled out, nearly blending in with the sob that she finally allowed herself to release. Ruhn pulled her closer to him and he felt her fingers press deeply into his shoulders. She gripped him as if he was the only thing preventing her from shattering entirely. He recognized that she held a quiet strength, but in his arms she suddenly became the most fragile thing in the world. Everything inside him wanted to protect her. To shield her from the pain and grief of losing everything she held dear.   

“But it’s not just them I miss,” She continued through her sobs. “I miss everything about the life I had.” Ruhn listened as she continued to vent. She talked about how close she was to finishing her dissertation, years of dedicated hard work and research now felt wasted. She also talked about her recent promotion, finally allowing her to gain a semblance of financial independence. All of this leading up to the confession that threatened to rip his own heart from his chest.

“I’ve been in survival mode for so long.” She could barely speak from how heavily she was crying. “I-I don’t even know who I am anymore.” Ruhn wasn’t sure if he could hold her any closer than he already was, but he certainly tried. Her entire body shook from the force of her crying. He shushed her, bringing a hand up to her face to cradle it against him. After a moment she lifted her head, resting her forehead against his.

Her sobbing calmed down to a few shuddering breaths. She brought her hands up to his face, cupping each side. Her nose tentatively brushed against his. Their lips were less than an inch apart, but she didn’t bring them any closer. He wanted to kiss her, but this wasn’t the way he wanted their first kiss to be. He wanted her happy when, if ever, she decided that she wanted more with him. Urd knew that he wanted more with her. 

Ruhn realized that he loved her. He loved her so damn much that even just simply waking up next to her everyday caused his heart to beat just a little bit faster. All he wanted to do was ensure she was happy, healthy, and safe. Especially safe given everything that she has been through. He vowed to himself that he would do everything in his power to make that happen. 

“I’m not going to tell you who you are, as that is for you to decide,” He stated, breath intermingling with hers. “But I can tell you what I know and see every day that I’m with you. If you want to hear it, that is.” She brushed her nose against his again. He couldn’t tell if she wanted him to be the one that closed the distance or she would give in herself. Again he knew that it would be better to wait.  

“Please,” She breathed. “Everything feels so different. Like something is missing. I-I could use a reminder.” One his hands cupped the back of her neck, his fingers threading in the hair at the base. He gave a gentle comforting tug causing her to sigh. 

“Okay,” He pushed her face back slightly so he could better look her in the eyes. “You are kind and compassionate. I see that everyday when you’re with Nyx, a child that you have no relation to and yet you treat him as if he were your own. You’re patient with him and are teaching him what it means to be empathetic to those that have experienced hardships and the trials of life. You are talented and creative. Listening to you tonight, at the celebration and just a few minutes ago, you always take my breath away. I love listening to you and I don’t think that I would ever get tired of your voice. Use it more often, in every context, not just musically. You are so strong, so resilient, and fierce. No one would fault you for wanting to hide from the world. For letting the darkness you’ve experienced swallow you whole. But you don’t. You keep fighting for your life, knowing that things will get better. Even if there are those in this court that don’t want to appreciate all that you are.” Tears were again falling from her eyes, but a small smile graced her lips. Her cheeks took on a lovely blush at his praise.  

“You have such a large capacity for love,” He brushed away her tears with his thumbs. “I know things have changed and that you feel lost. But you are not alone in the feeling because so many things have changed since you were introduced into our lives. I honestly don’t know what my life would be without you.” He set his forehead against hers, his hands back around her waist, rubbing small circles. 

“Thank you,” Her whisper was so soft. He only knew that she had spoken from the breath he felt against his lips. 

“Anytime sweetness,” He smiled, squeezing her sides. She squirmed at the touch, no doubt the sensation sent a shiver up her spine. 

“With everything that has happened, the good and the horrible, it's easy to get lost in a sea of emotions.” She revealed. “It feels like that has been happening more and more lately. They swirl around jumbling my thoughts into an incomprehensible cacophony. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there have been more nights where I just can’t sleep. Not necessarily because of the nightmares, just…from how loud everything can get. Being with you helps, but I still just wish that my brain would quiet down sometimes.” 

Ruhn hummed in thought, processing her words. He had noticed that she was more restless the past week, but he had assumed it was related to her dreams. But if she was restless due to racing thoughts there might be a solution. 

He hated the idea of her using Azriel’s tonic, but it would provide the calm she needed to sleep. He had been so scared when she wouldn’t wake when he found her after his only trip to Midgard a year ago. No matter how hard he shook her she remained unconscious. He became so panicked that he eventually placed his ear against her chest, her heartbeat slow but present. He didn’t know what to do until Azriel arrived racing up the stairs to her room. The male claimed he was on his way to check on her when his shadows notified him of Ruhn’s presence and the fact that (Y/N) wouldn’t wake. Azriel attempted to calm Ruhn down after telling him about the tonic, but he didn’t want to listen until (Y/N) was awake again.  

Once she finally woke up Ruhn demanded to know what was in it, and he wasn’t surprised to learn that it had a near lethal dosage of refined black gum mixed in. If she were to use it again it would have to be strictly monitored. He knew all too well the dangers of addiction. 

“What if,” He started, “Would taking some of the tonic help? Just a small amount, enough to help calm you.” She peered at him, her brow furrowing in thought. He loved how cute she looked, even though it was a serious topic at hand. 

“It could,” She nodded, eyes drifting towards the side with ongoing contemplation. “I just worry about pouring too much. I thought that I measured it correctly, but…” Her words trailed off as she met his gaze again. 

“What if I were to help by measuring it out for you?” He offered. “I have experience with one of the ingredients, and have an idea of what would be a good dosage for you. But I don’t want to dictate when you take it. If you feel it would be helpful, and you want my assistance I will gladly mix it up for you in some tea.” Her expression flashed with disgust at the mention of tea. 

“I’d rather swallow it as is than drink it with tea,” She stated before jokingly making a retching sound. “What if I took it with alcohol?”

“Baby, it’s already mixed with alcohol. That’s what makes it so dangerous.” 

She pouted her lips, but eventually sighed. “It would help with reducing the noise in my head?” He nodded. 

“But if you��re not comfortable with taking it we can find something else. Maybe Bryce-” She shook her head at his suggestion. 

“The tonic was the only thing that has really helped so far,” She reminded him. “I just need someone to make sure that I don’t overdo it. I’ve had my fair share of taking medications with similar properties and I always get to a point where my tolerance builds and I need more to have the same desired effect.” So she did have an understanding of the risks. Ruhn found himself relaxing a bit at that. At least he wouldn’t have to convince her to not take it daily. 

“Let’s do this then,” He offered. “You tell me when things get to be too much, and I’ll pour you the dose that fits your needs best before bed. The tonic comes with risks, but your mental health is just as important.” She nodded. 

“Do you want to go back to bed?” He asked. “Or do you want to stay down here and cuddle.” He pulled her closer, settling her hips directly over his own. He had to suppress his surprise at the feeling of her, with only his boxers separating them. 

“Cuddle in bed?” She offered. A whisper of a smile gracing her features. 

“Sounds perfect,” He returned the smile as she stood up and off his lap. Taking her hand, Ruhn led her back towards their room. 

“Wait,” She stopped at the bottom of the staircase. “What should I do when I’m in the Day Court with Lucien?”

“Does Lucien still share a bed with you in the Day Court?” Ruhn asked as he tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. A possessive part of him didn’t want to hear the answer, selfishly wanting to be the only male to keep her warm in the midnight hours. 

“No,” She responded quietly. “He sleeps in his own bed, but he does sleep in the room. We…we felt it was best given all the drama about him being mated to Elain.” Ruhn’s shoulders relaxed just ever so slightly with the news. He knew they were friends, knew that the red-headed male had been privy to a fair number of her most vulnerable moments. He had to remind himself that, based on what little information Lucien provided, there was a brief moment when their relationship had danced on the edge of the already thin line between friendship and something more. 

He had suspected that perhaps they had nearly become intimate, or at least seen each other nude. Either way he didn’t particularly like the thought of another male being so close to her in that manner. Regardless of what it was, this moment ended up being the catalyst for Lucien to diminish his presence by her side over the past year and a half. Of which Ruhn was secretly glad. While (Y/N) stated that it was a mutual decision, Lucien informed him that it was her idea and decision. So far Lucien had been true to his word of respecting that decision, even if the separation between them was clearly hurting them both. 

“I’m sure that if you explain everything that you told me, he would be more than happy to assist in keeping an eye on you,” Ruhn offered. “And if he doesn’t want to then I’ll just have to start going to the Day Court with you.” His smile was mischievous as he pulled her closer to his body. They both knew that if Ruhn, Bryce, or Hunt were to step outside of Velaris there would be too many questions surrounding them. Especially given the fact that Ruhn and Rhysand looked so similar. 

The woman rolled her eyes, “Everyone was in agreement that knowledge of travelers from other worlds needed to be kept within the confines of the Inner Circle.” Her voice took on an almost mocking tone as she repeated Rhysand’s words. “At least until it becomes necessary to share that information.”

Ruhn knew that Rhysand would only reveal the existence of other worlds if there was a direct threat that required the assistance of other leaders. The hope was that those from Midgard would be able to defeat the Asteri largely on their own, and that (Y/N) would find a way home without the other High Lords taking notice. While (Y/N) had interactions with Helion, as far as Ruhn knew he had yet been informed of her true origins. 

“I know,” Ruhn said, bringing her hand to his lips before he tugged her up the stairs. “Plus that’s your time alone with Lucien. I doubt he would want me third wheeling.” She giggled. Fucking giggled and his heart soared. 

“Just hurry up,” She pushed at his back the rest of the way up the stairs. “I wanna cuddle.”

Yet another Autumn was in full swing in Velaris marking a full 4 years since you arrived in this world. Despite your ongoing trips to the Day Court you were no closer to finding a way home. As much as that simple fact upset you, you were slowly becoming more used to your life in Prythian. Every morning was the same routine of you waking next to Ruhn and having breakfast together before Azriel and Cassian took you to the House of Wind for your self defense training. Training was followed by caring for Nyx 4 days a week. You loved your time with the little heir, but you’d be lying if you said you also didn’t love having time to do what you wanted on your days off. 

Most days you would engage in your own hobbies of reading and music, and others you would explore Velaris with someone from the Inner Circle. Well, all except for Rhysand really. Each of the other members had their merits and you didn’t mind getting to know them. You especially enjoyed occasionally joining Nesta and her friends for a book club sleepover. She practically provided you with a never ending supply of romance novels, most of which were not for the faint of heart in regards to smut. Of course, you devoured each and every one of them, but even with the friendships you were forming, you really preferred the time you spent with Ruhn. 

You were together every night, and he really had become your rock since your break down after Starfall. You always expressed your gratitude and appreciation for his support, verbally and through small gestures. However, a part of you felt bad because he did so much for you; not only did he provide comfort and support, but he ensured that Lucien was made aware of your needs as well. 

The three of you had a very open and honest conversation surrounding the tonic and Lucien spending more time with you in the Night Court. Ruhn had recognized your needs and was proactive in making sure they were met. You were constantly on the lookout for a way to return his efforts, but there never seemed to be an opportunity. 

You didn’t want to push the topic, aware that he had his own emotions to process. The loss associated with someone that you were almost certain may have been his mate, even if he didn’t recognize that himself, and being away from his friends surely was taking an emotional toll. Not to mention that his entire life had abruptly changed, being captured and tortured, only to be rescued and forced to live on a world that was not his own. It was a similar situation to yours, so who better to share his feelings with? You wanted to do something for him, support him in the ways he supported you, but you didn’t know where to start since he didn’t open up in the same way. 

Sitting on the couch in the front parlor of the townhouse, your mind wandered in and out from thinking of various ideas as you read the latest novel borrowed from Nesta. Of course, the novel was one of her favorites and she gave you a warning to only read it when you were alone. You wished you had listened, clamping your legs together at the thought of Ruhn going down on you like the male lead in the novel. Which led you to wonder if he would enjoy a blow job as a way for you to express your thanks. So far the contents of this particular novel only inspired ideas that you were certain Ruhn would want no part of,  at least not with you. You were friends, nothing more. You’d been friendzoned enough times to know that was all you’d ever be with the annoyingly handsome male. 

Apart from the fact that you had to push the dirty thoughts from your mind, it was a nice quiet afternoon. One that was made all the more enjoyable with Lucien by your side. Well, he wasn’t exactly by your side as your legs were technically draped over his lap. His own book in one hand while the other traced lazy designs on your exposed thigh. 

You smiled to yourself as his fingers drew their designs. The sensation caused a shiver to run up your spine. You were grateful the male had followed through on his promise to see you more often between trips to the Day Court, even if he was technically sneaking behind Rhysand’s back to do it. He had reassured you that if you ever became uncomfortable with the extra visits he would stick to the schedule Rhysand set. Of course, you told him that you would never push him away, that you enjoyed all the time you got to spend with your best friend. Though, that didn’t stop you from worrying. There had already been a few close calls with Azriel almost finding out. The most recent incident was a month ago. 

Lucien arrived at the townhouse, winnowing into the back garden. The two of you spent the morning of your day off lounging in your room. Ruhn had left just a few minutes prior, jokingly warning against any “funny business”. You had rolled your eyes, the notion of anything like that occurring between you and your friend was utterly ridiculous, that morning in the Day Court being a fluke. He was mated and not at all interested in any other female, especially not a human. 

The two of you spent most of the day talking and catching up. He was in the middle of  recounting an instance of Jurian making a fool of himself at one of the human markets when you heard the front door of the townhouse open. You knew that Ruhn wouldn't be back for at least another hour. So whomever was downstairs was someone you were not expecting. 

“(Y/N)?” Azriel’s voice floated up the stairs. Of course, it had to be one of the worst people to show up unexpectedly. Your eyes went wide, looking at Lucien whose eyes were equally wide. 

“Under the bed!” You whisper shouted to the red-head. The two of you scrambled getting Lucien underneath your bed. You had just resettled on top of the mattress from fixing the sheets when Azriel’s head popped up around the corner of your door frame. 

The conversation between the two of you was short with him asking if you wanted to go to a new bakery that had just opened. You politely declined, claiming that you weren’t feeling the best and were probably going to take a nap. If one thing could be said, Azriel had become much better about respecting your boundaries, so he excused himself and offered to go with you another time. 

After hearing the front door close again, you rushed over to the top of the stairs to make sure that he truly left. When you returned to your room, you quickly shut the door and locked it just in case someone else decided to show up unannounced. You made your way back over to the bed and dropped down to the ground. Lifting the bedskirt you started to laugh. 

“Comfy?” You asked, a wide grin spreading across your face as you looked at the male. Lucien was lying on his stomach, hair mussed from the effort in maneuvering himself around while under your mattress. 

“Hardly.” His voice was less than amused as he attempted to crawl back out. The sight was one of the most entertaining you had witnessed in quite some time. His slow wiggling army crawl made him look more like a worm than the formidable predator that you knew Fae males to be. You couldn’t help but laugh loudly and fully. You laughed so hard that tears were streaming from your face and a slight pain bloomed on your side. You had not laughed like that since before your arrival in this world. The only thing that stopped you was the fact that you nearly triggered a coughing fit. 

“This makes me feel like a teenager again,” You admitted between laughs. “When I had to hide my boyfriend from my parents. Azriel has a bit of a tendency to act like such a dad!” You erupted into another bout of boisterous laughter. “Daddy Az!” Lucien just stared at you, his expression torn between amusement and irritation. You just continued to cackle.  

The two of you couldn’t always hide out in your bedroom though. Which is how you ended up in your current position on the couch, the dark gray curtains of the picture window overlooking the cobblestone street drawn shut. Your eyes focused back on the book in front of you. You kept your face as neutral as possible as the two main characters started to engage in a downright raunchy sex scene. You were no stranger to smutty stories, but the level of detail this author included was not what you were expecting. There was honestly no real plot to this book, just bold erotica. 

The passage of the book ignited a longing in your core. Again, you were forced to rub your thighs together to try to alleviate the desire building inside you. Lucien’s fingers stopped their movement, carefully squeezing your thigh. You couldn’t tell if it was in response to anything you were doing or if he just wasn’t paying attention. Regardless, you recognized that your body was reacting to the scene too strongly. Fuck, you needed to get laid. Five years without sex is way too long. 

You were so engrossed in your novel and the thoughts surrounding the passage that you didn’t hear the voices of those approaching the townhouse. You also didn’t hear the group enter and make their way into the parlor. 

“Aww, aren’t you two sweet?” Bryce cooed from the entryway. Your body jolted from surprise. One would have thought the book in your hands burned your skin with how quickly you dropped it. That was nothing compared to the shriek you let out when Ruhn’s face appeared next to your shoulder. 

“What are you reading?” His deep voice sent heat straight to your core. Goosebumps rose up along your arms as his breath fanned across your ear. He gave you a quick peck of a kiss to your cheek before leaning down to pick up the book. You felt Lucien’s grip on your thigh tighten before it went back to tracing indiscriminate patterns. His attention went to Bryce and Hunt, striking up a conversation with them. You reached for the book, but when you failed to answer Ruhn quickly enough, he pulled the novel away before you could get a decent grasp on it. 

“Hey! I am reading that!” You screeched at the dark haired male. You attempted to go for the book again, but Ruhn pranced out of your reach. 

“Well, isn’t this interesting.” He mused before exaggerating the clearing of his throat. The next sentence that came out of his mouth consisted of the most explicit erotica you had ever heard in your life. There was nothing left to the imagination at the graphic detail the author laid out. You felt the color drain from your face as the other three individuals immediately stopped their conversation while Ruhn continued to read in an overly dramatic fashion. 

“I begged him for his seed. Begged him to fill me. I-” Ruhn scrunched his face as his eyes scanned the page. “Fucking Hel I’m not saying that out loud. You know if you’re interested in this material all you have to do is ask. I’d be glad to show you first hand.” Ruhn dangled the book in front of your face. A smirk stretching across his features. 

Your hands reached for the book again, “Give that back.” You demanded. Your face burned red from the embarrassment that filled your chest. Ruhn pulled the book out of your reach a second time. Placing the corner of the novel against his cheek he hummed in playful contemplation. 

“No.” His statement was simple. “If you want it, come get it.” With that he raced out of the room. 

“Fucking asshole!” You seethed under your breath. Your embarrassment clouded your better judgment. A part of you knew that you fell for whatever scheme he was planning, but another part of you didn’t care as butterflies filled your stomach.  

“You’re such a child!” You shouted, swinging your legs to the side of the couch. Without a second thought you raced after him, barely registering Bryce’s comment. 

“She’s aware that she's just in that long tank top and panties right?” Bryce snickered.  

As you rounded the corner into the front hall you saw the back door slam shut. You ran for the door, quickly following him into the back garden. You stomped over to Ruhn, his bright eyes lit up like the night sky. You weren’t about to give him the satisfaction of you having to ask a third time to return the book, so you simply held out your hand expectantly. 

You honestly shouldn’t have expected that he would return the book so easily. No, Ruhn Danaan was a jerk that enjoyed teasing you at every possible opportunity. He held the book high above his head, completely out of your reach. But boy, did you make a spectacle of yourself trying to retrieve the item responsible for your shame. You jumped, arm extended upwards hoping to wrap your fingers around the book’s spine, only for Ruhn to move the book to his other hand. You smacked his chest and made a second attempt to jump for the book. However, you lost your balance as your foot landed on the tip of Ruhn’s boot. 

The male caught you, his arms slipping around your waist to steady you. With the book now within your sights as it rested on your hip you spun yourself around with the hopes to finally catch it. Alas, you were bested by his supernatural Fae reflexes. His arm was back in the air, the book dangling above his head. His other arm tightened around you, pulling your back flush against his chest. 

“Come on sweetness,” He mocked. His lips pressed against your ear. “You can do better than that can’t you?” You growled in frustration. The male just laughed, kissing the top of your head. 

“Would you stop that,” You warned, attempting and failing to push his face away from yours. You didn’t want him to know the effect that his lips and breath against your skin caused. The shiver that traveled down your spine. The way your legs turned to jelly. You were grateful that his arm was around you, certain that your knees would give out otherwise. Desire built within you the longer he held you close, wrapped in his warmth. 

“Did you know that when you’re aroused your scent takes on a slight hint of amber musk?” He crooned. He hadn’t moved his lips from their spot against your ear lobe. “It surprisingly complements the vanilla and honey very well.” Your eyes went wide and you whipped your head around to face him. You knew that the Fae had a more sensitive sense of smell, but you had been uncertain of the extent of this ability. The idea that anyone would be able to smell hormonal changes or emotions as if this were a poorly written omegaverse story, made you nervous. Knowing Ruhn was able to tell when you were aroused…You were absolutely mortified. 

“Aww baby, don’t worry,” He tried to reassure you, but the teasing tone to his voice never dissipated. “I’m certain that I’m the only one to have picked up on that.” He paused, his voice almost clipped. “Perhaps Lucien too.” You groaned. It was one thing for Ruhn to notice and become familiar with your scent. He lived with you and slept next to you every night. Somehow you felt even more embarrassed to know that Lucien could also tell. You made a vow to never read another smutty book in either of their presences ever again.  

“Just, give me the book Ruhn,” You were rapidly getting tired of this game.

“I will, if you tell me something about you that no one else knows,” He finally let you go. “And gimme a kiss.” 

“A kiss? Really?” You were exasperated and leveled him with a glare. “Aren’t we both a bit old to act like immature and hormonal teenagers?” 

“Maybe,” He mused, swinging the book in front of your face. “It doesn’t have to be more than a simple little peck.” You rolled your eyes. You stood there, tapping your foot with your hands on your hips as you pondered what to tell him. 

“Fine,” You bemoaned. “Seeing as no one has asked me yet, I’ll let you know when my birthday is, and my exact age.” You crooked your finger, beckoning him to come closer. Once he was close enough, you wrapped your hand around the back of his neck. You allowed your fingers to thread in his hair, his own hand coming to rest on your hip. 

You had no idea where the sudden boldness came from, but you wanted to get back at him just a little. So, using your most seductive sounding voice you whispered the information into his year. Since you weren’t entirely sure if either Prythian or Midgard used the same calendar as your world, you gave an approximation of days after one of the main solar holidays which your birthday landed on. Had you angled your head differently you would have seen how his eyes practically rolled to the back of his head at the sound of your voice. What you did note was the tightening of his grip on your hip. You then topped off your performance with a small kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

“Oh that’s not fair. That was hardly a kiss.” He complained. “And there’s no way you’re that age.” 

“I most certainly am. And you should have been more specific about the type of kiss you wanted,” You explained, offering him a sweet smile. “Book please.” Holding out both of your hands you patiently waited for him to comply. With an exaggerated sigh, he placed the racy novel into your awaiting hands. You beamed up at the male, lips parting to make a sarcastic remark when someone behind you cleared their throat. Lucien stood on the wooden deck, shifting from one foot to the next. 

“I should be getting back to the human lands,” He announced, eyes focusing on Ruhn. A harsh expression crossed his features. 

“Okay,” You nodded, choosing to ignore how Lucien’s gaze never left the other male’s, and quickly ran up to him. He opened his arms, enveloping you in a hug as part of your usual parting routine. You embraced him as well, taking in a deep breath as you pressed your nose against his neck. You knew that your sense of smell wasn’t anything like the Fae’s, incapable of picking out each and every specific scent that made up the whole. But that didn’t stop you from wanting to memorize the way he smelled. You couldn’t put your finger on any one particular fragrance, the only thing your mind could determine was that he just smelled like a warm and cozy autumn afternoon. Ruhn had his own scent in your mind as well. Again, nothing that you could describe beyond the way it made you feel at ease and secure.  

Lucien held you close, his own face buried against your neck. Perhaps he also found comfort in the way you smelled. You suddenly remembered Ruhn’s comment, of the two of them being able to smell your arousal. Carefully you pulled away from Lucien before wishing him a safe journey back to his shared home with Vassa and Jurian. The males gave each other a small nod, and within the blink of an eye Lucien was gone. 

Lucien had lost count of how many times he read the passage in the center of the page of his open book. His attention continuously strayed to the woman whose legs were draped over his lap. Her attention focused on the novel in her own hands lent to her by Nesta, eyes darting side to side as her gaze swept over what must have been truly tantalizing material. Especially if the intoxicatingly sweet aroma spilling off her was anything to go by.

It took effort for him to keep his breaths steady, fighting against the desperate desire to inhale deeply every time the breeze brushed through the open window and ruffling her hair. His left hand rested across her plump thighs, fingertips tracing lazy designs along the outer side. Every now and again the softest hum would slip past her lips. The sound caused his cock to twitch against the fabric of his trousers.

The scent of her arousal was thick and heady. He glanced over to her, careful not to rouse suspicion that he was watching. A thin lacy off-white strap of her light blue cotton top slipped off her shoulder. The simple item was one that Bryce had given her for the Winter Solstice last year, and her breasts looked sinful whenever she wore it. Another breeze flitted past, and Lucien watched as her nipples peaked underneath the fabric. Mother above; he had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop the groan that wanted out.

An eternity passed by as he debated on giving up his attempts to read entirely. The need to taste her was damn near overwhelming. That desire quickly won out. Without another thought he allowed his fingers to trail higher up the exposed silken flesh of her thigh, slowly moving towards the apex between her legs. He delicately brushed over the outline of her pubic mound before moving on to the opposite leg. He watched intently as her breath became shallow, hitching when his fingers teased over the sensitive area again. Her eyes stopped their flitting movement from taking in the words on the pages before her, however, she didn’t bring her attention to him. Instead, she parted her legs just enough for him to dip his hand between them. A silent invitation.

He accepted the gift that was offered to him, and curled his fingers between the limbs, pressing the outside of his pinky against the thin fabric of her matching panties. Ever since their trip to the Day Court she stopped wearing any articles of clothing that would obscure her legs from his view when they were alone together. He had no complaints, secretly loving the fact that she felt confident enough to show them off. Her breath hitched again. A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth, pleased with the reaction he was eliciting from her. He moved his hand up and down, dragging the edge of it along her folds. She spread her legs a little further, and Lucien felt the damp spot that had seeped through the cotton material. 

Lucien turned his head to better look at the woman. Her book swayed in her grip as her eyes fluttered shut from the pleasure she was already feeling. He pressed his hand further between her legs and hooked his pinky finger under the fabric separating her flesh from his. He smirked with satisfaction; she was absolutely soaked. She whimpered as his finger wriggled in between her folds, inching closer to that precious bundle. Her body went taut as soon as he made contact, and her eyes found him. His grin was triumphant.

Her book fell to the side, thumping against the carpet beneath the couch they lounged upon. Lucien tossed aside his own book, not caring where it landed in the parlor. He twisted to face her, her legs falling open for him. Wordlessly his hand traveled up to the waistband of her underwear and began to pull down. Lifting her hips, she allowed him to remove the garment. His mouth watered at the sight of her glistening cunt before him. He maneuvered himself lower, bracing his forearms on the cushions. Gently pulling on her leg to bring her closer, she then angled her hips to give him better access to her center. He kissed his way up the inside of one thigh, gently blowing warm air over her folds, and kissed back down the opposite thigh. She stifled a moan at the contact. He wrapped one arm around the thigh resting against the back of the couch, pinning her in place. His other hand traced up the inside of her opposite leg, gently pushing it further out, opening her to him completely.

He looked at her again, her chest rising and falling from breathlessness. She made no move to stop him, so he descended upon her. He brushed his nose along the seam of her entrance. Her inhale sharp and sudden as he trailed it over her clit. His tongue soon followed, dragging along from the base of her entrance, dipping in to collect her honeyed essence on his tongue. He moaned at her flavor, his cock now hard and straining against his trousers. His tongue languidly found its way up to her clit, gently circling around it. The needy whimper she made was music to his ears, encouraging him to recreate an intricate dance over her sensitive pearl. 

He brought his hand up and spread her lips, before flicking over her bud with the strong muscle. She cried out, her hand winding its way into his hair. He grinned in satisfaction as she held him close to her. He gave his undivided attention to that bundle of nerves. Alternating between the tip and flat of his tongue pressing against her. She called his name when he wrapped his lips around her pearl and sucked. Her head was thrown back in complete bliss. She didn’t hold back any of her pleasured moans, and he relished the sound.

He buried his face further into her, moving to dip his tongue deep in her core. Her hips bucked, seeking more stimulation. Lucien was all too happy to oblige. A quick kiss to her clit and he backed away. Running his fingers through her wetness, he coated the digits before sinking two into her awaiting opening. He almost came from the pleasured cry she released.

Encouraged by her voice, his lips wrapped around her pearl again. He thrust his fingers a few times, feeling along the velvety walls for the spot that would make her see stars. Upon finding it, he began to massage the spot with the pads of his fingers. More of her essence flowed from her, dripping onto the cushions below and coating the fabric with evidence from how good he was making her feel.

He could stay here, licking her core for hours if she’d let him. Cauldron, he prayed she would let him. She was so sweet, with just the right hint of musk. She squirmed her hips, but his grip on her only tightened. Her walls began to clamp around his long fingers as they continued to massage against that soft spot. Pride filled his chest. She was going to come soon, surprisingly quickly too. Not wanting to disappoint his love he wrapped his lips around her clit again and sucked harshly. She cried out as her legs began to shake. Lucien sped up the pace of his fingers inside her, matching it with the flicking of his tongue against her bud. Within seconds she came. Hard. Her walls pulsated with the pounding of her heart. He slowed his movements, but didn’t stop, wanting to savor the taste of her just a little longer.

The sound of thunder roared through the manor, instantly jolting Lucien from the dream. He growled at the fact that nature had the gall to disturb and wake him. He turned his head to the side to see the chilled droplets of water splattering against the window of his room. The human lands were always dreary this time of year. Actually, to be honest they were dreary in general, regardless of the time of year. However, that was probably to be expected south of the wall. Even with the wall gone these past five years magic had largely stayed within the Prythian Fae lands. 

Lucien groaned again, his hands rubbing along his face. He threw off the cream colored wool blanket, leaving him only covered by the matching cotton sheet. He shifted his legs only to feel the sheet get caught on his hard cock. Looking down he grunted in frustration. This hadn’t been his first sex dream, but it was the first where (Y/N) was involved. 

He was with her just the day before and wondered if this was the reason she occupied his thoughts. Her scent had been intoxicating as they sat on the couch together, basking in each other’s company. If he had to be honest with himself the dream was just a manifestation of the actions he wanted to take before they were interrupted. He groaned again. He shouldn’t be thinking of her this way. She was his friend. Yet, he couldn’t help it when the memory of her bare breasts would sneak past his defenses in the middle of the day. 

He took several deep breaths, hoping that would help him calm down. After a few minutes he could no longer stand the throbbing sensation of his member. Pulling the sheets back he looked down at his body. His cock stretched up towards his navel, hovering just above his torso. The tip glistened as lighting lit up the room. He sighed, having no choice other than to take care of the issue. 

Lucien allowed his hand to traverse down his body. If he was going to do this he may as well make it enjoyable. His large hand reached the part of him begging for attention. Gently he traced the tips of his fingers down the underside of his shaft, the touch caused him to hiss through his teeth. He continued on downward to massage his scrotum. His hips canted up as pleasure bloomed. He called forth an image of Elain in his mind. Surely it was permissible for him to think of his mate in this context, even if she was still processing the mating bond and didn’t appear to want anything to do with him. They had the time for her to process and come to a decision. So, he could let his imagination build an idea of her in his head. 

His hand went to his shaft, thumb spreading the pearl beads of liquid that flowed out. He continued to hold the picture of Elain in his mind, but it was a struggle. He kept having to consciously drag his mind back to her as it kept wandering to thoughts of (Y/N). His hand caressed along his length until it was flush against his base, squeezing as it traveled down. He performed the same action as his hand returned to the head of his cock. More liquid spilled forth and the image of (Y/N)’s tongue licking the substance from his tip slammed to the forefront of his mind. 

He moaned at the mental image of the woman, bent over between his legs. He spread them further apart ever so slightly as to make space for her body. He truly wondered what her mouth would feel like wrapped around him. How far would she be able to take him? Would she have to use her hand to caress what she couldn’t fit? How would her mouth compare to being inside her. He could easily picture her perched above him, slowly lowering herself to allow his cock to breach her warm cunt. 

Lucien warmed his hand to the temperature he imagined would wrap around him once he was fully sheathed inside. The moan that left his lips was louder than he intended. He quickly brought his free hand to his lips to muffle any other sounds that may slip out without his permission. 

He picked up the pace as he continued to picture her bouncing above him. An image of the way her breasts would bounce with the movement entered his mind. He remembered how full and heavy they looked. Gods, he had desperately wanted to wrap his lips around her peaked nipples that morning in the Day Court. 

He wondered if things would have been any different if they had given into their desires that night, or even that morning when they sobered up. Would he be able to act upon the thoughts that filtered through? Allow himself to sink deep into her warmth as they made love?  His hand continued running up and down, up and down, giving quick and firm squeezes as needed along the most sensitive parts of his shaft. He could feel pressure building in the pit of his lower abdomen, his balls tightening by a fraction. His hand moved faster as the mental version of (Y/N) rotating her hips. She would do her best to reach her own climax, wanting her euphoria to peak in time with him. 

Lucien stroked his member a few more times before that pressure boiled over. Ropes of cum spurted forth, coating parts of his abdomen. The orgasm went on longer than any he had before. A second wave caused his seed to dribble over his hand. His hand slowed and eventually stopped. 

Pulling away from his softening length he slowed his breathing. He sat up, bringing his legs over the side of the bed. Standing, he walked over to the small pitcher and basin that rested on the top of the narrow dresser in the corner of his room. He quickly cleaned himself off and returned to the bed. As he returned to a horizontal position the reality of what he did finally caught up with him. 

He came to the thought of his best friend riding him. Why? What the hell was wrong with him? It was true he missed her, despite spending more time with her in secret. Maybe that was the reason the image of her was called to his mind. Since Elain continued to push him aside, his mind instead conjured the female he missed the most, giving him pleasure he didn’t even know he craved. 

It was hard to admit, but the time spent with the otherworldly woman occupied his thoughts more and more frequently. He could only assume that his growing affection was due to the time spent with her. (Y/N) never truly wanted him out of her life. Their agreement to separate was just to stop the others from talking and meddling in what should have been just between him and his friend.  

Besides, he didn’t believe that she would be interested in him in that regard. Not when she had become so close to Ruhn. The way that the male looked at her, his need to constantly touch her and her easy acceptance of that affection sent a pang through Lucien’s chest. Yes, she was more likely to be interested in Ruhn than him. Lucien made himself believe his feelings weren’t more than a quick and fleeting infatuation anyway. She could actually create a life with Ruhn. Lucien concluded that he should let her have that life, if she so chooses. He would be perfectly content to continue their friendship. 

With his thoughts starting to settle, he listened to the rain that continued its assault on the manor he shared with Vassa and Jurian. Soon after he drifted off to sleep, but his dreams wouldn’t so easily let her go. Later that morning, Lucien found himself repeating the cycle from the night before. Perhaps he was in more trouble than he wanted to admit. 

The smell of sauteed garlic filled the townhouse when you entered. Having just returned from the Day Court with Lucien, your stomach rumbled. The week you spent there had been fruitless yet again. You were starting to believe that the information you so desperately sought simply did not exist. It had been too long without any real headway. Which didn’t make any sense. According to Nesta, one of the Night Court priestesses had, at one point, compiled research regarding other worlds. Therefore, the sources should reasonably exist. Then again, her research was more about proving the existence of other worlds, not necessarily travel between them. 

Still you clung on to some version of hope. For your next trip you were planning on going to a much older library set in the middle of the Day Court territory. According to Helion it was the oldest library in Prythian, built along the edge of a river. He explained that not only did the library house books and scrolls, but it held artifacts as well. You had to admit that you were excited for that aspect. If you couldn’t find a way home you could at least learn as much about this land that you found yourself in. 

“Ouch! Shit!” Ruhn’s shout interrupted your thoughts. You made your way into the kitchen to see said male using one hand to pour scalding water into the basin of the sink. He shook his other hand at his side, likely from the splash of the water as it hit the porcelain.  

“What is all this?” You asked, glancing around at the chaos. The kitchen island was covered in debris from cut vegetables, herbs, and what appeared to be a partial cheese wedge. At least three saucepans were on the stove top, not including the large pot he held. Ruhn chuckled nervously as he twisted to face you. 

“You’re, uh, a bit early,” He set the pot back on the stovetop. “I was hoping to have this done by the time you got here.” You were utterly confused. 

“That doesn’t answer my question,” You pointed out. You made your way further into the kitchen, the smell of garlic and onion making your stomach growl. 

“Well, I would hope that’s a bit obvious.” He smiled and your stomach filled with butterflies. “But in case it isn’t, I made you dinner.” You didn’t know how to react. It was by far one of the sweetest gestures you had received in a while. It seemed that most of the people in your life were fond of giving gifts, so something as simple as a homemade dinner was new.   

“Okay,” You still didn’t understand why he would go through this trouble of making dinner. “Why?” You couldn’t help but be cautious. While Ruhn had given you no reason to doubt his intentions, gestures like this reminded you of a past negative relationship. One of your ex’s would perform these grand gestures or even small acts of service, only to remind you of his “generosity” when he wanted something. 

Ruhn didn’t answer, but simply smiled as he continued moving about the kitchen. Cooked noodles and a few veggies were tossed into a white sauce that bubbled on the stove top. He gathered a couple of plates, setting them on the only clear spot between the stove and sink. One of his shadows managed to fetch a pair of crystal wine glasses from the cupboard. You could smell the sharp sweetness of the pale wine as he poured half a glass for you.  

“Come on Ruhn,” You placed a hand on top of his to gain his attention. “What is this all for?” 

“Today’s your birthday isn’t it?” The question rattled you. It took a few seconds for you to begin the mental calculations, and sure enough he was right. Today was your birthday. Ruhn had resumed plating the pasta dish, and therefore missed your stunned expression, surprised by the fact that he remembered. Then again, he was the only one that even knew. The reminder that no one else had even bothered to ask in the years that you had been here stung. However, you were determined to not let that ruin his thoughtfulness. 

“Follow me,” He instructed, rounding his way around the island, both plates in hand and piled high with the best smelling white wine garlic sauce that you could imagine. Excited for what the night could bring you followed as he instructed. 

You had gotten through half of your meal when Ruhn placed a rectangular black box slightly larger than your palm on the table directly in front of you. Your laughter fizzled out as you stared at the object. The butterflies were back, swirling around and threatening to fly up and out of your throat. You hadn’t expected any of this, neither dinner nor a gift, when you told him of your birthday. 

“Happy Birthday, again,” He smiled. The expression was so genuine and filled with adoration. Your heart stuttered. You looked between him and the box with wide eyes. It had been nearly four years without anyone even bothering to ask about your birthday. You were aware of everyone else’s birthdays, and at least the approximate time for Cassian’s. Everyone else received at the very least well wishes and at most celebrations were held. Yet still no one had directly asked you about yours. 

“That’s not,” You had to swallow the lump that was forming. You could only point to the object lying before you. “That’s not-”

“It’s not jewelry,” He chuckled, “If that’s what you’re worried about.” You let out a relieved sigh. 

“What is it then?” 

“You’ll have to open it if you want to find out.” He reasoned, sliding the box closer towards you. With nervous fingers you reached for it. The item was simple and reminded you of thick cardboard. The lid slid off easily, the bottom half thunking slightly against the wooden table top. Inside was what resembled a smartphone. The large black screen was dark and reflected the lights from the small chandelier above. 

Confusion crossed your features. What were you supposed to do with a cell phone living in Prythian? You couldn’t exactly use it. There were no cell towers or access to any network that would allow you to make calls or send messages. The only thing that it could be used for is a place to store music and photos. Maybe even a game that didn’t require any internet. You also had no way of keeping the phone powered up. From what you could gather, faelights and firstlight were entirely different energy sources from each other and different from the energy sources you had on Earth. So what was the reason for a gift like this? It wasn’t as if you weren’t grateful, just confused. 

“Turn it on,” Ruhn encouraged. He clearly knew something that you didn’t. You could tell the male was eager for you to find out whatever it was he had planned. You followed his instruction, powering on the device. The screen lit up, slowly going from one load screen to the next. The names of the manufacturing company and service provider were different from your own, yet still provided a sense of familiarity. When the phone finally loaded, you were greeted with an image you thought would be forever lost to you. 

The background image of the phone’s home screen was the most recent picture you had taken of your nephew before your life had changed. For the briefest of moments everything went still as you stared at the image. You had no words. You weren’t even sure if you were breathing as the tears brimmed your eyes. 

Slowly Ruhn reached over, tapping one of the two icons and a music player replaced your homescreen. He scrolled down, titles of songs flying by. It took you a moment to realize that you recognized some of them. Your brows furrowed, confusion blooming yet again. You tried to remember if there had ever been any discussion of your world having the same songs or artists as those on Midgard, but your mind came up empty. There was no way…

Your question was answered as Ruhn backed out of the music app and opened the phone’s image gallery. Your gasp was audible. Tiles of images from your life on Earth filled the screen. You scrolled through the gallery. Eventually you came to a few that you didn’t initially recognize. You clicked on the tile, causing it to expand. The image of you holding Nyx at your first Starfall forced the tears to drip from your eyes. You scrolled right to view another image. One where Ruhn had joined you and the little heir. Waves of longing washed over you. 

“I-I…H-,” You lifted your hand towards your throat as you struggled to find your voice. “How?” Your tongue felt heavy as you tried to retain some composure. You couldn’t look at the male, afraid that you wouldn’t be able to hold yourself together. This was without a doubt the most thoughtful gift you had received in your life. 

“I asked my friend, Declan,” Ruhn explained, his voice uncharacteristically soft and timid. “He’s a tech genius.” You continued to scroll through the new images. You had been completely unaware that your picture was being taken as often as it was, most of the images being candid shots of you and Ruhn together. You almost didn’t recognize yourself. Not just because your body had clearly adjusted to a life with less processed foods and regular exercise, but you appeared happy in every picture with the male. Genuinely happy. When did that happen?

“Why?” The question was a hushed whisper. This didn’t make any sense. Why would he do this for you? Why was he doing anything for you? Even if Lucien asked him to help make sure you stayed safe, Ruhn was under no obligation to go to the extent that he has for you. So why? 

“Dec managed to transfer over most of the music and photo data that was on your phone,”

Ruhn continued, dragging his chair closer towards you. “We weren’t even sure if it would work, but I’m happy it did.” 

“What do you mean?” He looked puzzled, as if the answer, his motivation was the most obvious thing in the world. The obvious reason would be that he considered you a friend. But that reason alone wasn’t sufficient for all that he did. 

“I-I don’t understand,” Words were failing you as you continued to stare at the phone. “Why…are you so good to me?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He continued to speak as if the answer was obvious. “You deserve to feel special and cared for. You’re important to me and I…care about you.” 

“You care about me?” You finally turned to look at him. 

“Yes.” He smiled again. 

“You asked your friend to-” You had to swallow before your words got away from you. “This…all of this is because you care about me?”

“Yes.” His chuckle was gentle as he brushed his knuckles against the side of your face. You hadn’t realized how close his face was to yours. Your eyes flitted down to the curve of his full mouth, and before you could stop yourself you pressed your lips against his. Your body felt alight, zapped and thrumming with electricity. You pulled away just as quickly, eyes going wide. You didn’t mean to kiss him. Or at least, you think you didn’t mean to. Your emotions just took over. Surely he would understand that it was an accident.  

“I’m…I’m sor-” But your words were muffled as he chased your kiss with one of his own. As your lips met for a second time, everything slowed down and sped up simultaneously. Ruhn’s hold on you felt like a dream, his large warm hands cradling your face. Electricity skittered down your spine as one of the hands moved towards the back of your neck. A familiar gentle tug at your roots settled the nerves that raced through your veins. 

As you eased into the kiss, your hands came to rest on his shoulders to help ground yourself. You felt as if you were floating; though you weren’t entirely sure that you would have minded if you never came back down. All thoughts in your mind jumbled and turned fuzzy as his lips caressed and melded with your own. With each passing second you craved more of him.  

You almost wondered if he was able to read your thoughts when his hands drifted down your body, dancing over every curve until they found the small of your back. He pulled you closer towards the edge of your chair, before separating your mouths, breaths intermingling between you. 

Quicker than you could comprehend, you felt your body being lifted. The next thing you knew you were planted on the table top with Ruhn placed between your thighs as he towered over you. Plates and utensils clanged against each other and your wine glasses rattled from the force your bodies had on the wood. Your head was forced to angle up in order to reach his lips again. As you reconnected, Ruhn’s tongue traced along the seam of your closed lips. Without any hesitation you opened up to him, allowing him the opportunity to explore. 

Kissing Ruhn made you feel alive, blood vibrating with the racing of your heart. Goosebumps rose along every inch of skin as his hands wandered over your body. His kiss was all encompassing, every one of your senses on high alert and zoned in on the feel of him against you. The only sounds in the room consisted of your mingled breaths and the repeated meeting of your lips. 

Ruhn’s calloused hand traveled down the side of your waist, passing over your hips to come to rest on your lower left thigh. Fingers wrapped around the back of your knee, grip tight and secure. In a fluid motion he tugged you forward, wrapping the limb around his hip. The movement caused you to fall back, but you caught yourself on your elbows. Ruhn leaned over you, pushing you further back to lay flat against the table. 

Excitement raced through you at the thought of him taking you in the middle of the dining room. Ruhn’s mouth separated from yours and began to trace along the side of your neck. His quick breaths tickled your skin. Your hands traveled up his arms, one lingering on his bicep while the other continued to wrap tightly in his hair. You guided him to a spot on your neck that made your toes curl. Ruhn sucked on the spot of your pulse point, just below your ear. You whimpered at the tingling sensation that shot down the right side of your body, warmth spreading throughout your core. Gods, you wanted him. Wanted him sheathed deep inside you, rutting and grinding to bring you to the brink of an orgasm. 

“Fuck Ruhn,” You moaned. He grunted in reply, doubling down on his attention to that spot on your neck. Something nagged at the back of your mind, but you shoved it aside. Soon his lips trailed further down, kissing their way along the front of your throat and collar bones. His head dipped lower, down to your cleavage. 

“Ruhn,” You whined. “Slow-slow down.” However, it appeared he was too lost in his lust to have heard you. That nagging sensation in the back of your mind appeared again. 

“Ruhn, baby,” You tried to gain his attention again. “I need-”

“I love it when you say my name.” His mouth moved back as he hummed, lowering the collar of your dress. In another motion he moved aside the cup of your bra, exposing one breast to the cool air of the dining room. You could feel the bud peak from the sudden lack of warmth. His nose brushed around your nipple, and your hips canted up toward his pelvis. Your response surly was a favorable one as in the next instance his mouth enveloped the stiff bud. 

“Oh Gods!” You pulled at the roots of his midnight hair as his tongue began to gently lave over your nipple. “Ruhn, please wa-”

“It’s okay Lidia. I’ve got you.” His words forced reality to slam back into you like the coldest winter winds. 

“What did you just say?” You grabbed his face, forcing Ruhn to look at you. The blue of his irises were nearly obscured by the blown pupils. “Ruhn!” 

“What?” Ruhn blinked in surprise at the strength the woman used to push him away. His hands had to brace themselves on the edge of the table so that he didn’t fall on top of her. 

“You just called me Lidia,” Her voice was strained. The expression on her features a mix of emotions, each one vying to overtake the other to gain control of how she would react.   

“No,” Ruhn’s voice was breathless as he reeled back to a standing position above her. “No. Fuck…I-I didn’t...” Guilt washed over him as he looked at the woman before him. What the fuck was wrong with him? He didn’t mean to say that name. He knew that he was with (Y/N). He was ecstatic that he was finally getting to hold and touch her in the way he craved since well before their first Starfall. He allowed his mind to be clouded by lust.

“Was she…was Lidia the female that saved your life?” (Y/N)’s tone was somber, yet held a slight wobble. Ruhn looked down, afraid to meet her pained gaze. He noticed that her naked breast was still on display. Her eyes followed his stare and she hastily fixed her dress to cover herself.

“I…” He tried to swallow his shame. “Yes, but I didn’t-” 

“Yet you did Ruhn,” She moved off the table. Arms wrapping around herself, she sat back in her chair.

“She doesn’t mean anything,” He tried to reassure her, but even he knew that it was a lie. He didn’t understand, honestly he didn’t allow himself to understand exactly what Lidia meant to him. His feelings were jumbled like a pile of worms. A perfect reflection of how he currently felt looking at how she caved in on herself. 

The situation with Lidida was complex to say the least. He had grown to care for Agent Daybright. Hel, he had suspicions that there was something greater at work that brought them together. That was until he found out who she really was. Day, his Day, was none other than The Hind. The very same female known for hunting down and destroying any rebel life that dared make itself known on her radar. But Lidia had been a double agent. Years later and Ruhn was still trying to wrap his head around this revelation.  

“Don’t. Don’t do that.” (Y/N) begged. Ruhn couldn’t focus his attention on the present moment. 

“Do what? Baby I-” 

“DON’T LIE TO ME!” Her bitter yell shot down his spine. “Please.” He was shocked that she yelled, actually yelled. He couldn’t blame her for that though. He called her by another female’s name. Something that no one deserved, but especially her. Ruhn knew that (Y/N)  already had doubts and insecurities. He had vowed to himself that he would build her up, make her see just how desirable and worth loving she was. He thought he had finally succeeded when she initiated that first kiss. Yet despite his physical attention being on her, his use of the wrong name unraveled everything in an instant. 

“I’m not an idiot, so please do not try to play this off,” She began, her voice taking on an edge of cynicism. However, she took a breath before continuing. “I recognize that it’s complicated, at least from what little Bryce told me, but Lidia clearly meant something to you.” Complicated was putting it in the most simplistic of terms. When he found out who Lidia was, he felt betrayed. Played like a fiddle for a fool. It didn’t matter how much the female tried to talk to him through whatever bond had been forged. It didn’t matter how he would always regret shutting her out during that week, only for her to die making sure that he got out safe and alive.  

“Bryce talked to you about Lidia?” Ruhn’s own voice hardened. He felt like he had been punched in the gut. He had intentionally never mentioned Lidia’s name to (Y/N) before. He didn’t see the need since the female was no longer living and all of his attention was focused on the woman by his side day in and day out. 

“Well you certainly didn’t,” She snapped. “And I still had to ask her several times before she finally gave any information.” The (h/c) woman sighed, shoulders slumping forward from an invisible heaviness. 

“Why did you ask her?” Ruhn knew the answer. Ruhn knew that he rarely even talked about the events that lead to him getting involved with the human rebellion against the Asteri. But it was for good reason. His life had been completely turned upside down, he didn’t want to add on to anyone else’s shit. It didn’t matter that Hunt argued that (Y/N) would understand. Ruhn didn’t want to add the burden of his feelings on to her, not with all she had been through.  

“You wouldn’t open up, and I didn’t know what else to do!” She almost seemed defeated by her growing frustration. “Did you really think that I didn’t notice there were days where you were struggling? Did you think I didn’t notice when you became distant? Your gaze unfocused and attention elsewhere? Did you think that I wouldn’t listen?” Her accusation stung. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to tell her. Ruhn couldn’t. He couldn’t tell her any of this. For all that he wanted he just couldn’t open up to her. It was his job to take care of her, not the other way around. Not when her existence meant so much. But he had failed her too. He hurt her and there was no excuse. His throat constricted with remorse. 

“We’ve spent nearly four years getting to know each other,” The soft laugh that escaped her sounded beaten and on the verge of breaking. “Three of those years have been spent sleeping in the same bed almost every night. You have supported me in ways that I will never ever be able to repay. You know so much about me and my needs. I know next to nothing about you.” She wiped at her cheek, flicking away the tear that managed to slip past. He wanted to reassure her, but all he could manage was to remain silent and unmoving. The shame kept him frozen. Who knew that a single name could cause such turmoil?  

“I’ve tried Ruhn. I have asked questions about your life and your interests. All to see if you would open up to me in the ways I have shared with you; but I feel constantly shut out from anything that is meaningful. I don’t know what else to do.” Another silent tear slipped down. She sounded so tired. 

“I know that everyone heals in their own time, and I don’t want to force you to do something that you are not ready for. But if there is to be anything between us,” Her tone became a plea, “If there are any genuine feelings, then I need you to share yourself with me. I want to know who you are and support you when you need comfort. It is only fair.” Ruhn knew that she was right. That Hunt was right. She would be the only one that would be able to understand the upheaval and veering trajectory that his life had taken. 

“I also,” She suddenly became much more hesitant. “I also need to know that you are able to differentiate me from her.  I shouldn’t have to compete with a ghost. I deserve more than to be a consolation prize.” Her last statement felt like a slap in the face. He knew she didn’t deserve that, but he also recognized how easy it was for her to feel that way. Lidia essentially gave her life for Ruhn. He would forever feel responsible and grateful to her. So when he referred to the woman in front of him by his almost lover, he made all of her insecurities come true. 

“I am so sorry,” His voice cracked, desperate to apologize. “That was a fucking shitty thing for me to do. You don’t deserve that. I-I know that. I just…” How was he supposed to explain something that he didn’t fully understand?

“It’s fine,” The words were clipped, acidic and dismissive. This situation was a far cry from fine as she looked away. He wished she would rage and lash out at him, not this quiet acceptance of suffering. Didn’t she feel safe enough to speak her mind and show all of her emotions with him? 

“You don’t need to explain anything tonight. Take the time that you need, and know that I am here if  you need me,” The sentiment was sincere, even if her voice felt empty as she continued to stare off into the corner. “But I think that it may be best for us to sleep in separate rooms. At least for a few days.” His breath shuddered, throat closing as he held back his own tears, but he nodded his agreement. He didn’t want to be separated from her, but understood why she wanted some space. 

“Do-” He cleared his throat. “Do you want the tonic then?” He fiddled with one of the rings on his hand. He sent a shadow to collect the bottle from the spot he kept it stored. 

“Yes,” Her tone wavered. “I can mix it though. You should get some rest.” The bright clinking of the bottle hitting the table was deafening in the now quiet dining room. Ruhn watched in silence as she uncorked her liquid salvation, splashing a few drops into the rest of her wine. He didn’t stop her. Her gaze remained averted, fingers gracefully lingering on the stem of the clear glass. He moved to get a better look at her. 

“(Y/N),” His voice died in his throat at the emptiness he found in her gaze. She shifted her face ever further away, a clear indication that their conversation for the evening was over. 

General tag list: @loving-and-dreaming

Series tag list: @jenniferpendragon @impossibelle @sweet-chai-amore @myheartfollower @iimichie

@fightmedraco @nikkitch0703 @eerievixen @ang-taylorsversion

@randomness-it-is @thehighlordishere @rachelnicolee @hardcoremarvelfan @awkardnerd @sundayysunshine

@jpgtae @cheneyq @morganwdarius @latinxbipride @catharticlovewriter

[vulpes-fennec]

Meddle About

Summary: A birchin sounded like a good idea to Elain...that is, until she finds Lucien Vanserra already occupying it in nothing but a towel.

This was inspired after seeing @krem-does-stuff's amazingly HOT art of Lucien (NSFW version here) | Read on AO3

WARNINGS: SMUT

“Achoo!” A loud sneeze tore out of Elain’s lithe body. Being sick had reverted her back to human-level senses, which was absolutely abysmal. At least her particularly violent sneeze cleared her nose a bit. Elain sniffled, wiping her nose with a handkerchief.  

Elain had been fine, two days ago, when she and her sisters visited their father’s headstone. Now, she felt like she was at death’s door. She couldn’t smell anything. Her ears felt clogged. She sneezed every other minute, and had curled up into a ball under thick blankets in hopes of feeling warm again.

Gods, she had carried Nyx for a good portion of the outing. Elain was nearly in tears when she informed Feyre and Rhys of her illness, so afraid was she of passing the sickness unto her newborn nephew. 

“Don’t you worry, Elain. Nyx will be fine,” Feyre had repeatedly told her. “Fae children are far more resilient than human babies.” After Feyre’s assurances calmed her down, Elain only hoped she would recover in time for Nesta and Cassian’s mating ceremony next week. 

Aside from her sickness, another reason Elain was holed up in her room was because Lucien Vanserra was visiting with new reports. The Winter Solstice had been the last time her mate had visited Velaris. What was Lucien up to outside of emissary duties? Elain could hardly say. If her mate inquired about her, Elain wasn’t aware of it either. Every other day, she half-wondered if Lucien’s prolonged distance was because he knew of what happened between her and Azriel during Solstice. 

Not that it mattered. She had barely acknowledged the shadowsinger in the months since, the hurt of being called “a mistake” still raw in her heart. Graysen had offered her his hand, then rejected her. Azriel had given her a beautiful necklace, then rescinded his kiss. 

Two rejections in a row. 

Men—males—truly sucked. Elain didn’t have much faith in “third time being the charm” with Lucien…no matter how many times her thoughts lingered on the handsome cut of his jaw, the striking slash of his scar, and the brilliance of his long hair over the last few months. She reminded herself that she barely knew Lucien, and he seemed content to keep it that way given how far away he stayed. 

Elain shivered more violently, her body racked with chills. At that moment, her eye caught the newly-built birchin in the budding River House garden. The wooden structure beckoned her, promising hot air that would clear her congestion and warm her up in no time. 

Chills were her body’s way of fighting fever, but Elain’s muscles and joints were aching so, so painfully. She glanced out the window again. A brief respite from the suffering wouldn’t hurt her, right? Elain clambered out of bed, wrapping a shawl around herself.

Surely Lucien would have left already—it had been two hours. The River House was utterly silent when she opened the bedroom door. She ventured down the hall on tip-toes, avoiding the route that would take her past Rhys and Feyre’s study. Elain exhaled a sigh of relief when she made it to the garden without seeing that tell-tale flash of red hair. 

With its quaint size, thick wooden panels, and steam drifting from the small chimney in its thatched roof, the birchin was the most inviting thing she had ever seen. Elain stepped through and she sighed contentedly, the warm embrace of the air already working magic on her chills.

It was dim inside, for the only light came in from small glazed windows on the roof. There wasn’t much she could see in front of her. Elain had never been inside a birchin before, but vaguely recalled Feyre saying nudity was necessary for the optimal experience. So she took off her shoes, placed her wool shawl on the bench, and fumbled with the buttons of her linen dress in the low light. 

Elain turned her head around furtively, a casual act that was second nature before taking off her undergarments, and froze. Her sharp gasp came half a second later. 

Lucien Vanserra was in the birchin, utterly naked save for a towel draped over his lap. 

Elain whirled around fully, her eyes adjusting well enough to take in tousled Lucien’s hair. How could she have missed it earlier? Shoulder length strands hung loose, glowing orange like hot coals. Lucien sat on the stone bench at the opposite wall, his broad shoulders elegantly slanted as he leaned back on one hand. Another noise of surprise slipped out of Elain’s mouth when she glimpsed the sculpted lines of Lucien’s chest on full display. 

A corner of Lucien’s full mouth curved upwards slowly, his mismatched eyes shamelessly drinking in what was in front of him. 

“Please, don’t stop on my account,” her mate chuckled lowly. 

“Y-you!” Elain sputtered, backing up until the backs of her knees hit her bench. Her heart pounded. “How long have you been in here?” 

Lucien shrugged irreverently, his foxy smile deepening. 

“Only a couple minutes. How kind of you to join me today.” He’d always spoken to her in a reserved tone, but today, his voice had taken on a sarcastic edge. Was this Lucien’s true personality? 

“You need to leave.” Elain crossed her arms across her chest. She was still wearing a plain white pair of panties, and a strappy undershirt over her lilac bra, but she might as well be naked. Lucien was actually naked. She felt faint, like she couldn’t quite catch her breath at how much of his alluring brown skin was exposed. 

“I don’t recall this being your house,” Lucien raised an eyebrow. His arrogant expression grew more infuriatingly beautiful with each passing second. “Besides, I was here first.” 

“I am sick,” Elain shot back, “and I require some time in the birchin to recuperate.” 

A brief expression of concern flashed across her mate’s handsome face, before being replaced by a gleaming smile. It was all teeth, no friendliness to be found. It was a struggle to maintain eye contact with the male, especially when his form invited attention elsewhere. 

“Well, maybe you need to learn to share,” Lucien retorted, gesturing with his free hand. “There’s plenty of space in here. Make yourself comfortable.”

Elain glared at him with all the heat she could muster in her sickly state. To put her clothes on and walk out would be admitting defeat. She needed the birchin, and would not be made to leave! Besides, part of her was intrigued by the brazen attitude that seemed so far removed from the reserved, polite courtier she knew. So Elain stubbornly sat down. 

Lucien’s eyes gleamed with no small satisfaction. 

“You are a pervert,” Elain accused, “watching a lady undress from the shadows. You wouldn’t have said anything until I caught you.” 

Lucien snorted. “When you walked in, you looked directly at me and began to undress, no? You also should have been able to scent me before you even entered the birchin. All signs pointed to your enthusiasm—” 

“Do not put this on me,” Elain snapped. “It is dark in here, and you know it. And must I remind you again that I am sick? My senses are dulled…besides. How vain of you to assume I would know your scent—because I don’t.”

That was a lie. She knew Lucien’s scent like the back of her hand, with the notes of crisp apple and sun-warmed skin that lingered in her memory long after they faded from the jacket he’d given her. 

Lucien smirked, “if you’re unfamiliar with it, you could come closer to find out.”

Elain’s heart skipped a beat. No male had ever been so forwardly flirtatious with her before. Perhaps Lucien had fallen ill himself, if he was acting like this. 

“I am perfectly fine where I’m at,” she muttered, scooching until her back leaned against the warm panels. 

“Suit yourself.” Lucien stretched his arms up slowly, breathing in deeply. Elain’s wide brown eyes followed his every movement, entranced by the fluidity of muscles and brown skin. 

Lucien shifted to the side and propped a leg up on the bench, revealing a chiseled calf and length of muscled thigh. Elain held her breath when the towel over his lap moved accordingly.

It was a dangerously small towel. The edge of it had slipped slightly, revealing a thin trail of hair that extended from his navel past the hem. If she had just sat one more foot to the right, she might be able to see…to see—Elain’s blood thundered in her ears. She realized a split second later she was holding her breath in anticipation. 

Lucien laughed softly, and Elain tore her eyes up from his lap to meet his mirthful gaze. The roaring in her head only grew louder when she realized he had adjusted his position on purpose. Cauldron boil and fry her.

“Lech.”

“You seem to enjoy it.” Her mate inclined his head, russet and gold eyes glittering with amusement. Elain met his gaze with equal parts challenge and indignation. Unfortunately, it became the perfect opportunity to notice how the scars running down the left side of his face were a shade paler than his brown skin. The raised marks were so brutally beautiful that Elain’s breath hitched slightly. 

It was only now that Elain realized her chills had evaporated, thanks to a combination of the birchin’s temperature and the growing tension between her and Lucien. For her mate sat across the all-too-small birchin with the casual grace of a god, all sharp lines and powerful stillness. 

Having never seen Lucien shirtless before, Elain absent-mindedly chewed her bottom lip as she drank in the rounded biceps, corded forearms, and chiseled abdomen. To think those muscles had been hiding under fine clothes the entire time!

She wondered if Lucien had ever considered unbuttoning the top three buttons of his shirts come summer. The style would expose a nice patch of his chest for her appreciation. And he had to be training regularly to maintain such a physique…her mouth watered at the thought of his powerful thighs flexing and pumping as he exercised. 

Elain’s attention was drawn to Lucien’s chest rising and falling more deeply, his nostrils flaring. Her arousal. He could scent it. Fuck. Her cheeks grew hot. 

“Do you mind?” he grinned at her again, sharp teeth gleaming. “Who’s the pervert now?” 

“I think you need to get your nose checked,” Elain bit back, feigning nonchalance even though all she wanted to do was run her hands across his bare chest. “Because I don’t feel anything for you.”

From the moment she stepped into the birchin, Lucien sought to fluster her. Two could play this game: Elain was determined to gain the upper hand. Her fingers shook slightly—this time from nerves—as she tugged her strappy undershirt off. Would Lucien like what he saw? Her pale stomach, her small breasts? 

From the way his russet eye darkened, he certainly did. 

“Is that so?” Lucien murmured, his eyes trailing down her body with blatant hunger. “The removal of clothing usually precedes…other…activities.” 

“Don’t be silly. I’ve just b-been feeling a bit—a bit h-h-hot,” Elain stuttered as Lucien spread his thighs a tad wider. Gods, when was that towel going to fall off? 

It was half-true. Small beads of perspiration were now forming at her temples, mugging her exposed skin. The air was also visibly shimmered from the heat. Perhaps staying in the birchin for a prolonged period of time was messing with her good sense.  

Elain leaned back, quietly observing her mate. He mirrored her as well, blinking slowly with a satisfied twitch of his lips. The flame of desire in his eyes tingled her skin with anticipatory goosebumps as his gaze traveled down her body.

With a discreet sniffle, Elain’s nasal passages finally cleared up. Lucien’s arousal hit her like a tidal wave. Oh fuck. The musky scent, mixed with his signature warmth, brought forth a series of reprehensible urges. How the hell did Lucien still sit there, all nonchalant, even after scenting her arousal? Elain was ready to jump his bones after one whiff of his. Wanted to lick the gleaming rivulet of sweat on the side of his throat, wrap her legs around his sculpted waist, and nip the tip of his pointed ear. 

The Mother herself would blush at Elain’s unholy thoughts.

She needed to see Lucien more visibly affected. Perhaps more drastic measures were needed to elicit a stronger reaction from him. Elain had never been particularly skilled in the arts of seduction, having relied on proper courting behaviors with Graysen and the other human men. But she had to try.

Praying she didn’t look like a fool, Elain slipped a bra strap off her shoulder. 

Lucien blinked rapidly, straightening with renewed alertness. 

Elain slowly moved the other strap down, fluttering her eyelashes for an added measure. She paused her fingers before she unclasped the hook. 

Lucien growled, almost inaudibly. 

Elain unhooked her bra but didn’t remove it yet. 

“Don’t be a tease.” His voice was nearly guttural. 

“You think that’s teasing?” It was Elain’s turn to smile as she dropped the garment. Lucien’s loud groan at the sight of her bare breasts thrilled her with its brazenness. “Just wait.”

She had lifted those lines straight from a smutty book, but if Lucien found them cheesy, he did not show it. Elain trailed a hand up her stomach, up the valley of her breasts, around their curves. She squeezed the soft mounds and sighed, like she always did in the privacy of her own room. Except now, she was putting on a show for Lucien. 

A male she hardly knew. Yet, the sheer reverence in his eyes and the sensual parting of his mouth made it seem as if they’d been intimate many times before. Elain felt no oily shame in expressing herself like this—in fact, his smoldering expression only emboldened her to show all the parts she’d hid away before.

“Yes.” Lucien’s voice was little more than a low rumble. “Touch yourself for me.” 

Elain tipped her head back, exposing her smooth throat slightly, and let out a moan. Lucien’s golden eye turned molten at the sound. He ran his tongue over his lips. 

“Fuck,” Lucien growled. “How rude of me, to only watch and not offer anything in return.” He reached for the towel in his lap, slow enough for Elain to deny him if she wanted. Elain’s heart cracked a little at how Lucien held himself back. As if he did so because of all the times she’d spurned him before. 

So she reached deep within her, to where that golden thread lay coiled around her, and sent a small pulse of encouragement. A willing signal to her mate.  

The towel was fully off now.

Elain’s doe eyes widened into saucers. The v-shaped grooves of Lucien’s hips narrowed into a trimmed thatch of red hair, and then a fully erect cock. Her mate leaned back, running his thumb over his cock’s rounded head, swiping the glistening precum. 

Her mouth parted slightly, when she realized his already large hand did not quite cover the entire length of his shaft as he moved his fist up and down. Gods…he was truly beautiful. 

It was hard to believe that this wasn’t a dream. hHer mate, sitting mere feet away from her, was stroking his cock while watching her. Slowly, luxuriously, as if he had all the time in the world to do this. And she was the reason for his arousal. Wetness pooled at Elain’s core, dampening her underwear.

She’d gotten Lucien to groan and swear. Had seen him entirely naked. Had him pleasuring himself to her. But Elain still selfishly wanted one thing: to hear her name on his lips. Elain shoved down her pride and got up, quickly crossing the distance between them before she could change her mind. 

Lucien’s brows raised in surprise when she stopped a half-step away from him, brown curls cascading over her breasts, her cheeks flushed prettily. Elain glanced down at his cock and swallowed nervously. Later. She could touch him later. Right now, she wanted Lucien to say her name. 

“Come here,” Lucien murmured, his voice soft. Elain didn’t move, so he reached out, his large hands encircling her waist. She shivered at her mate’s solid touch, the small circles he rubbed with his thumbs making her impossibly heady. 

“This could be part of my grand plan to get you sick,” she said breathily, her knees weak.

“Mmmm, well aren’t you being cruel?” Lucien’s fingers hooked her panties at the hip and gently tugged her closer. “I don’t think I would mind.” His finger brushed her slit through the fabric of her underwear. 

“You’re so wet for me.” Lucien sounded a bit dazed now, as if he couldn’t believe he was touching her. Elain blushed. “Come here, Elain,” Lucien said again.

That was the final straw. Elain obligingly lowered herself then, spreading her legs to straddle Lucien’s muscular thighs. Lucien’s erect cock rested against her bare stomach, precum smearing across her skin. But she didn’t mind, instead, she snaked her arms around his neck to pull closer.

Elain found herself having to look up at Lucien’s chiseled features, the charged mix of emotions in his russet eye. “I want to kiss you,” she breathed, her rosebud mouth just inches away from his. “I want to kiss you, Lucien.”

Her mate shuddered underneath Elain when she uttered his name. 

“Who am I to deny you, my lady?” 

Their kiss, fraught with years’ worth of longing and built-up tension, was the release Elain never knew she needed until now. It was like coming home at last. She let out a small noise—a mixture between a sob and a moan—and pushed up against him for another one. 

“Shit, Elain,” Lucien groaned. “Your mouth...gods help me.” He pulled her closer by wrapping an arm around her, fingers grazing the underside of her breast. His other hand supported the back of her head, tilting her up to kiss him better. 

Elain only threaded her fingers through his silky locks, shifting her hips rhythmically to grind against his thigh in response. The noise Lucien made was unapologetically obscene. 

She felt like she was burning up now, the birchin’s steam and the little breaths they shared blurring the passage of time. How many times did she kiss him, did his hands brush her body sweetly? Elain couldn’t remember. She arched her back, brushing her peaked nipples against his broad chest. They both groaned. 

Her core tightened deliciously, like a band ready to snap. 

“Elain,” Lucien rasped, pulling away. Elain ignored him, trying to meld herself to the heat of his body. 

“I want you, Lucien,” she mumbled, rolling her hips against him. “Please…I’m so close.” Elain craned her neck up and made a disappointed noise when her lips failed to find his.

“Elain, Elain,” Lucien repeated, his hands tightening around her waist with some urgency.

The fact that he wasn’t kissing her anymore was like a splash of cold water on her face. “I’m sorry.” Elain stopped, disentangling her arms from his neck. She braced herself for rejection again.

“No, don’t be.” Lucien’s face was pained, his breathing still a bit ragged. Color had stained his high cheekbones, his mouth now swollen from her kisses. He still held her in his lap, a bit possessively, and Elain took some comfort in that fact. 

“Believe me…I want to keep going. But our first time shouldn’t be in a birchin.” 

Elain’s heart quickened, the reality of their situation sinking in. Gods, what was she doing? She had stripped until nearly naked, and proceeded to ride Lucien’s thigh in the River House birchin, of all places. 

His cock grazing her navel was considerably larger than Graysen’s, yet…Lucien seemed to have full confidence that it would fit. Her core tightened again at the possibility of what he intended to do with her. 

“I was so close,” was all Elain could say ruefully, still staring down at her mate’s cock. 

Lucien tilted her chin up. “I know, Elain,” he replied, voice laced with remorse. “But…soon.” His long fingers absent-mindedly trailed up and down her waist, sending tingles down Elain’s spine. 

“You’re not helping,” she said faintly. Lucien’s hands regretfully stopped moving. 

“Sorry, sweet pea.” Sweet pea. Her heart swelled at Lucien’s pet name for her.  

“Will…will you be at Nesta and Cassian’s mating ceremony?” Elain asked after a moment’s hesitation. “What…what about then?” 

“Is my lady inviting me to her bed?” Lucien teased with a roguish grin. “Or do you wish for me to take you in a more unconventional location?” 

“Don’t be so scandalous.” Elain scrunched her nose at him.

“And riding me in a birchin isn’t? My, my, I look forward to seeing what you consider scandalous.” Elain grumbled with annoyance and tried to shove his shoulder, but Lucien quickly caught her hand and pressed a chaste kiss against her inner wrist. His soft smile was like the sun breaking through rain clouds. “I’m a flexible male. We’ll continue our fun next week.” 

[dark-and-kawaii]

I'm curious. Got any relationship headcanons for Lofn and Zevlor?

˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱‧₊˚ 𝓛𝓸𝓯𝓷 & 𝓩𝓮𝓿𝓵𝓸𝓻 ˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱‧₊˚

This is such a lovely ask thank you leopard <3 I have so many but these are some of my favorites xoxo Hope you enjoy them!!

♡ Once Zevlor settles into Thay he crafts a necklace from his armor, taking a fragment of the gold plating and turning it into a necklace for her. It might not be the typical adornment for royalty, but he hopes she’ll cherish it as a token of gratitude. And she wears it everyday, never taking it off her neck. She wears it with so much pride.

♡ It’s cute actually, because Lofn also gifted him a necklace. It’s a silver chain with one of her scales on it, just as her mother and father did with one another years ago.

♡ They have a hidden spot in the Castles garden where they meet under the cover of the night. She even had her most trusted friend Condyr set up a bath within the bushes that can only be accessed by her and Zevlor… and Condyr lol. They both bathe with one another surrounded by exotic flowers, their own little sanctuary. They often share stories of their pasts, read to one another, and I’m sure a child or two were made here ;).

♡ Lofn has two dragons, one that has been in the family for generations and then the Amethyst dragon which she claimed on her own. Both which are very protective and loyal to her, never taking a liking to anyone other than her and the other blood family, but they’ve taken a liking to Zevlor. When Zevlor is around them with her you’ll find them occasionally nudging him affectionately with their snouts. The one who’s been in the family allows Zevlor to mount him, allowing Zevlor to dance in the skies with Lofn and the Amethyst dragon.

♡ Zevlor, always being the knight in shining armor he is, sleeps on the side closest to the door, ready to defend Lofn from any threat should any arrive.

♡ Lofn and Zevlor often spar together. Their sessions a blend of skill and playful competition. Always admiring one another’s skills and sweaty body, she always finds a good way to distract him to gain the upper hand ;3 and she always tries to find a way where she can land atop of him or vice versa. Zevlor admires Lofn’s grace and strength, while Lofn appreciates Zevlor’s resilience and cunning.

[matchalovertrait]

OC Deep Dive Questionnaire Tag

A set of 20 questions to get to know your oc! I was tagged by @elderwisp :) thank you so much. To nobody's surprise, this will be about Dulce LOL

What uncommon/common fear do they have? I find this funny and ironic (kinda spoilery too for the future. If you know, you know) but she's scared of the dark.

Do they have any pet peeves? When people chew with their mouths open or double dip.

What are 3 items you can find in their bedroom? Polaroids, plants, and pretty things.

What do they notice first in a person? Their taste in fashion. She likes meeting all different kinds of people and finds their different styles fascinating.

On a scale of 1 to 10, how high is their pain tolerance? 7

Do they go into fight or flight mode when under pressure? It depends because she's neurodivergent but incredibly resilient. If she's not feeling too overwhelmed, she goes into fight mode and doesn't back down. If she is feeling way too overwhelmed, she'll go into flight mode and probably cry.

Do they come from a big family/are they a family person? Her immediate family is pretty small. There's her mom, Noemí, dad, Erick, and older brother, Ángel. Even though her parents had to work a lot in her childhood, she is still close to them and loves them immensely. Dulce and her brother have a really good relationship too.

What animal represents them best? A fox :) I talk about it more here.

What is a smell that they dislike? She doesn't like the smell of vanilla in fragrances! It's too strong for her.

Have they broken any bones? I'm surprised she hasn't...

How would a stranger likely describe them? Easy to talk to.

Are they a night owl or a morning bird? Morning bird, like the rest of her family. They start getting up at 4 or 5 in the morning, even on weekends.

What is a flavor they hate and a flavor they love? She doesn't like blue cheese. She doesn't get it and she probably never will. She loves tomatoes, though!

Do they have any hobbies? Cooking, posting on her Instagram, and playing basketball.

Boom, surprise birthday party! How do they react to surprises? Oh, she loves surprises!! And just being celebrated in general LOL. She would join in and start partying and posing for pictures.

Do they like to wear jewelry? Yes! I try to not add too many jewelry or accessories to her yet, because she's still a teen and I want to differentiate my teens and young adults more. However, she likes wearing gold earrings, rings, and necklaces like her mom. She wants a belly button piercing too but her mom would not like that 🙈

Do they have neat or messy handwriting? She has neat and cute handwriting, you will see that in a future post :)

What are two emotions they feel the most? Joy (bruh) and annoyance.

Do they have a favorite fabric? Nahhh, she likes all of them.

What kind of accent do they have? She lives in Tartosa, Italy, so she has an Italian accent. She also speaks English and Spanish because her parents used the one-parent one-language method with her and Ángel ever since they were babies. I imagine that Erick is from Ohio, so that's the accent that Dulce speaks with in English. Noemí is from Jalisco, Mexico, so Dulce speaks with that accent in Spanish.

I tag: @miralure @ruthplaysthesims @authorspirit @smulie @gooretrait

@babzyz @spicasims @anamoon63 @living-undead @stargirl-trait

@groovetrys @gaeulssims @mdshh @yugybee @nzrowe

@changingplumbob @linalinsims @simmenycricket @aurorangen @elysiantrait

@akitasimblr @windslar @peachypiichi @bouncytrait @wrixie

@cawthorntales @coatedinhoney @yibsygerbits @swallowprettybird @bloomingkyras

@ktysh @berrycactus @virtualfolk @deardiaryts4 @seriallovertrait

[shoshansims]

Grishaverse Lookbook: Genya Safin (Part III)

Here is the final part of Genya Safin's lookbook! I had so much fun dressing her, but I think I'm even more excited for the next few Grishaverse characters. A reminder that Genya’s outfits are red because she’s a corporalki grisha. If you have any fictional character requests for lookbooks, feel free to send them! Part three covers swimwear through cold weather categories. If I made a mistake with attributing the custom content, please let me know. You can find the credits under the cut. ♡

Swimwear 01. faded flame

clothes: dress ♡ @joliebean accessories: eye patch ♡ @pralinesims

Swimwear 02. sunset

clothes: swimsuit ♡ saliwa accessories: eye patch ♡ @pralinesims

Swimwear 03. legend

clothes: bikini set ♡ saliwa accessories: eye patch ♡ @pralinesims

Hot Weather 01. more beautiful than ever

clothes: dress | high heels ♡ @nolan-sims | @jius-sims accessories: eye patch | necklace | bracelets ♡ @pralinesims | @enriques4 | @suzuesims

Hot Weather 02. too pretty

clothes: dress | flats ♡ @trillyke | @jius-sims accessories: eye patch | necklace | watch ♡ @pralinesims | @enriques4 | @giuliettasims

Hot Weather 03. luminous and resilient

clothes: top | skirt | wedges ♡ @joliebean | @arethabee | @jius-sims accessories: eye patch | necklace | bracelet ♡ @pralinesims | @enriques4 | @suzuesims

Hot Weather 04. the best we can

clothes: dress | sandals ♡ @rimings | @jius-sims accessories: eye patch | necklace | bracelet ♡ @pralinesims | @enriques4 | @suzuesims

Cold Weather 01. red and blue

clothes: coat | leggings | boots ♡ @joliebean | @miikocc | @jius-sims accessories: eye patch | headwear | gloves ♡ @caio-cc | @joliebean

Cold Weather 02. in charge

clothes: coat | boots ♡ @rimings | @jius-sims accessories: eye patch | necklace | headwear | gloves | tights ♡ @pralinesims | @enriques4 | @joliebean | @ice-creamforbreakfast | @sentate

pose credits ♡ @roselipaofficial | @helgatisha

hair credits ♡ @enriques4

eyeshadow credits ♡ @crypticsim

eyeliner + eyelash credits ♡ @pralinesims | @crypticsim

blush credits ♡ @pralinesims

lipstick credits ♡ @pralinesims

And finally, content credits for the genetic features ♡ @twisted-cat | @pralinesims | @northernsiberiawinds | @magichandcc

Thank you so much to all the wonderful creators who contributed to this lookbook. ♡

[sotwk]

Historical Event in the SotWK AU:

The (Non)Involvement of Thranduil in the Sack of Erebor

Could Thranduil have helped kill Smaug and save Erebor?

Disclaimer: The content in this post is mostly headcanon created for the SotWK AU, founded on canon details from the books and movies.

Context: Timeline of Thranduil's History in the Third Age

c. TA 1000-2000 - Thranduil, his family, and their people spend one thousand years fighting and enduring against the rise of Dol Guldur and the darkness and evil creatures that have infested and overrun the southern regions of Greenwood the Great.

Alas, by TA 2000:

Nearly all the woodlands south of the Old Forest Road had been abandoned.

The Woodland Realm's population had been reduced to nearly half of the great number it reached during the Golden Age of Thranduil's rule.

Many Silvans were killed by the onslaught of spiders, orcs, and other dark creatures or poisoned by the sick forest itself (air, water, food). A few even faded from grief and despair, which never before happened to the resilient Silvans.

The Silvans' famously high birthing rate dropped to nearly zero, leading to a "lost generation" and fears of gradual extinction.

TA 2063 - Crown Prince Mirion dies in direct combat against the Necromancer, resulting in Thranduil's vengeful razing of the fortress (SotWK HC), and the Council of the Wise's investigation (through Gandalf), all of which forces Sauron to abandon Dol Guldur. This begins the period known as the Watchful Peace. 

During the 400 years of the Watchful Peace, the Silvans regain hope and courage, and with that, their ability and desire to have children again.

TA 2210 - Thorin I abandons Erebor to join his kin in the Grey Mountains in TA 2210. The Lonely Mountain is abandoned for three-hundred and eighty years. 

TA 2460 - The Watchful Peace ends. Sauron returns with increased strength to Dol Guldur.

TA 2509 - Princess Itarildë’s mother, Nimeithel (oc), dies trying to defend her cousin Celebrían from the Orcs. Lady Celebrían sails to the Undying Lands the following year, and Queen Maereth is devastated by the loss of her two dearest friends.

TA 2589 - When their halls in the Grey Mountains come under attack by Cold-drakes, Prince Arvellas dies attempting to aid the Dwarves (defying his father's orders for the only time in his life). Dáin I and younger brother Frór are both slain, and Thrór inherits the kingship.

TA 2590 - King Thrór returns to Erebor with the Arkenstone to re-establish the Kingdom under the Mountain. Thrór's younger brother Grór leads others to the Iron Hills.

TA 2601 - Prince Turhir leaves Mirkwood, unable to cope with the trauma and guilt over his brothers' deaths. (Further details withheld to avoid fic spoilers.) His departure strains Thranduil and Maereth's marriage in a way it has never suffered before.

TA 2746 - Thorin (Oakenshield) is born in Erebor. Maereth sends gifts to honor the birth of the new prince, in an attempt to heal the friendship with the House of Durin that was broken after Arvellas's death. The gifts are accepted, but the rekindled friendship remains tenuous, especially since Thranduil has lost his desire to remain allies with the Dwarves he holds responsible for Arvellas's death.

TA 2760 - The continuing strain on their marriage forces Maereth and Thranduil to agree they need time apart. Maereth leaves Mirkwood to reside in Imladris for several years. (This is the only separation they have in the 2,900 years of their marriage.)

TA 2765 - Thranduil (trying to prove to his willingness for peace with the Dwarves again, as Maereth wants of him) commissions the jewel-smiths of Erebor to make a necklace from the White Gems of Lasgalen. However, when he comes to claim the finished necklace, he is turned away by Thrór, who (under the influence of dragon-sickness) claims that the gems were ill-begotten treasure from Khazad-dûm, and belonged to the Durins by birthright. Thranduil holds in his anger at the insult and does not press the matter, not wishing to completely sever the alliance that means so much to his wife.

TA 2770 - Smaug lays waste to the town of Dale and captures Erebor with all of its treasure.

tldr: Thranduil was not at his best when Smaug came to attack Erebor. He had many problems of his own, and he had very legitimate grievances against Thrór and his kin.

Unfortunately, Thrór was never forthcoming with his grandson, Thorin, about the deep history between the Durins and Thranduil's family, so as far as Thorin and his people believed, the Elvenking and his family just "lacked all honor". Nothing could have been further from the truth.

How did Thranduil react upon hearing of the attack?

The Elvenqueen was still in Imladris during the attack, and was therefore not present to give Thranduil council. Because of their separation, Maereth's mind was closed off to Thranduil's, and so she could not be reached through ósanwe. The younger princes, Gelir and Legolas, lacked the ability to telepathically communicate across that great a distance.

It was Gelir and Legolas who pushed their father to ride out with their army to help the Dwarves. Even though the bitterness of Arvellas's death still remained, Thranduil heeded his sons.

They had a solid plan to kill Smaug.

Thranduil had fought against fire-breathing dragons during the War of Wrath, and he knew what it would take to kill one: nothing short of a hero's self-sacrifice.

There was one weapon in Mirkwood that was surely powerful enough to pierce dragon hide and flesh: the great broadsword (or claymore) of the late Crown Prince Mirion.

Mirion's sword was forged by the prince himself (he was the best bladesmith in the realm), and was made from a special steel sourced from Khazad-dûm centuries before its fall. (Thranduil's sword was made from this same steel, which was also crafted by Mirion and given to his father as a gift.)

The sword was so large and heavy, only three people were known to be able to wield it: Mirion, Thranduil, and Turhir. Only Mirion had the strength and sufficient practice to wield it single-handed when needed.

Therefore, any attack using the sword would have to be carried out by the Elvenking himself.

For reference, Mirion's broadsword is about as massive as "Ice", Ned Stark's Valyrian sword from Game of Thrones.

In order to defeat Smaug, Thranduil's strategy would have been to attack the dragon himself with the sword. Gelir, Legolas, and the rest of his army would provide enough diversion to allow the Elvenking to get close without being burned by dragonfire.

What actually happened during the attack?

Thranduil was gripped by indecision and did not act as soon as he received the news of Smaug's descent. He already knew that any action they take against the dragon would mean loss of life for his people, and that made him hesitate, which caused some delay.

But he DID gather his army, his last two sons (who refused to be left behind), and marched out with the intention of engaging.

However, once Thranduil saw with his own eyes he fiery wrath of Smaug and the destruction he was capable of, and sensed the dragon's greed and evilness, the reality of the situation and the weight of old memories crashed down on him full force.

He remembered how he almost died from dragonfire, how painful those burns were, and how long it took him to recover from the physical and emotional scars. (And he only survived due to Valinor-level healing!) Did he want his soldiers to suffer the same, even if they survived?

He remembered that he had already lost one son (Arvellas) to dragons, who gave his life to help these same Dwarves, and received little gratitude for it in return. Was he ready to risk his last two sons?

And lastly, Thranduil realized, with almost full certainly, that killing Smaug would cost him his life. Was he ready to leave his wife a widow, his sons fatherless, and grandson saddled with the burden of kingship in such dark times?

The answer to all those questions was NO. So he made the difficult decision to turn back.

Thranduil's real mistake (that you can fault him for. Maybe.)

An argument could be made that even if Thranduil didn't want to directly engage with Smaug, he could still have sent his army to shield the Dwarves of Erebor and the people of Dale and help them get to safety. Less civilian lives could have been lost.

They didn't have to completely turn around and go home. They could have still tried to to something--as his sons (especially Gelir) would argue later on.

However, at that point, Thranduil choked on his reluctance to risk anything any further, after everything his family and kingdom had already been through. His sons were especially chomping at the bit to slay the dragon, and things could have easily gotten out of hand if they stepped into the same field as Smaug.

By retreating completely, Thranduil eliminated all risk.

And yes, the bitterness of Thrór's treatment (those damn jewels), and the way Arvellas's death was handled (the Durins never properly honored the prince's sacrifice) still lingered. It certainly factored in the decision to (selfishly?) leave the Dwarves to their fate.

Thranduil HAD warned Thrór "of what his greed would summon", especially after the fatal attack of the cold-drakes on the Grey Mountains. And Thrór certainly did not listen.

What was fair, then? How much responsibility still fell on Thranduil to help the Durins, given all these facts?

Aid was delivered in the aftermath; but the Dwarves considered it "too little, too late".

When Smaug had finally locked himself up in Erebor with his precious treasure, Thranduil did send out aid to the refugees of both Erebor and Dale. When Elvenqueen Maereth finally returned from Imladris, she spearheaded this effort.

Mind you, it's not like Mirkwood was swimming in excess resources at this time. But they still gave whatever they could to the thousands displaced, including medical aid, food and clothing, and even temporary shelter.

The men of Dale accepted the aid and help in finding new dwellings, including resettling in Esgaroth.

The Dwarves accepted the Elves' aid, but only to some extent.

Thrór wanted Thranduil to prove his allegiance by helping them to force Smaug out of the mountain, which of course Thranduil flatly refused to do.

The proud and angry Durins therefore declared him and his people faithless, and chose to move south to Dunland, instead of accepting Maereth's offer to help them rebuild near Mirkwood.

The Elvenqueen's final attempt to reconcile her family and people with the House of Durin would be during the War of the Dwarves and Orcs (TA 2793). However, her tragic death only worsened the divide between Thranduil and the House of Durin; we see this in Thorin's anger during his capture in the events of The Hobbit.

It all ends happily.

Healing and reconciliation would finally be achieved a century and a half later, during the Battle of Five Armies (TA 2941), where the Elves of Mirkwood play a role in saving the lives of King Thorin and his nephews. Once Erebor is reclaimed by the Durins, the two kingdoms become fierce allies and remain so for the rest of their histories.

(Yes, the SotWK AU is proud to be a Durins Live AU. &lt;3 )

This HC post was written in response to an Anonymous request for a "Family Historical Event" submitted back in July 2023.

For more Thranduil/Mirkwood headcanons: SotWK HC Masterlist

Tag List: @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @achromaticerebus @acornsandoaktrees @aduialel @asianbutnotjapanese @auttumnsayshi @blueberryrock @conversacomsmaug @elan-ho-detto-elan-15 @entishramblings @fizzyxcustard @friendofthefellowshipsnerdblog @glassgulls @heilith @heranintomyknife23times @ladyweaslette @laneynoir @lathalea @lemonivall @quickslvxrr @spacecluster @stormchaser819 @talkdifferently6 @tamryniel @tamurilofrivendell

Other useful links:

Introduction to SotWK

Fanfiction Masterlist

Fanfiction Request Guidelines

[lunarw0rks]

Old Bones | Chapter Eleven

Summary: After fleeing a toxic relationship, you fear for your safety and hire a bodyguard. He's masked, impassible, and damn good at what he does.

Warning(s): PTSD/abuse themes, explicit content (18+), strong language, depictions of nightmares/panic attacks, hurt/comfort, smut, p in v sex, unprotected s*x, hehe

Word Count: 6.2k

A/N: Watch by Billie Eilish + Fine Line by Harry Styles inspired this chapter. Not proofread entirely, so don't mind mistakes. Enjoy!

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ GHOST MASTERLIST // have a request? ⋆ ⚘ 🕊 ˚✧ ₊˚ʚ prev. chapter | next chapter | ao3 ver. | playlist ꒦꒷ O.B MASTERLIST

Watch Me Burn

“Think this is the last of it.” Simon huffs, setting down the last box.

You were finally back there, standing in the middle of the home Cal and you once shared. Selling it was too much of a hassle, and it was decently sized. Perhaps it was a calm before a storm; how tranquil you felt standing in the middle of the entrance hall. Or the kitchen, the dining room, worst of all—the bedroom.

But you were here now, and he was soon to be cremated. There was no room for dwelling, at least that’s what you’ve been telling yourself. And Simon? His awkwardness has been well disguised if there is any left by now.

The drunken kiss—it was just that; a drunken kiss.

With the horrible shit you two had been through to land you here, unresolved tension became the new way of communicating. You began to think you both fed on the chaos like if things were too calm, the world would implode.

“Thank you.” You say, playing with the new house keys. Internally, you were showing gratitude for more than just him moving a few boxes, it was how resilient he had been, despite all your baggage and unpredictability.

He merely nods, reaching into his pocket for his carton of cigarettes. He was going to leave you to do… whatever it was you needed to do in order to be comfortable here. Simon hadn’t expected you to ever want to be back here, to want to spend your new riches on travel.

However, if Simon learned anything about you during these months; life on the road didn’t suit you, especially not with him. And in truth, he had no plans once you got settled here. At first, he was going to move straight to his next op, forget about this one.

It was abundantly clear he was well past self-control, though. That’s what frightened him the most.

You turned yourself in a circle a few times, admiring the high ceilings and decor still left behind. It was the same as Christmas Eve, only the evidence of Cal’s tantrum had been long cleaned up. He really wasn’t here when he was hunting you—he had sent a housesitter, most likely, given the fact that there wasn’t a speck of dust in the main living area.

There were only small reminders; the scuffs on the hardwood, the dents by the china cabinet, and a nasty scratch in the dining table from the night you left. You’d be lying if looking at the damages didn’t paint a vivid image of each blow that causes them.

When you gazed at the scuffed hardwood, you remembered the way he flipped the table the first time you fought. Then, the china cabinet—merely a cabinet of things for him to hurl in your direction. Worst of all, the dining table with a scratch from the knife you grabbed, scraping across the oak when he dragged you across it.

In each small area, you were rewatching the moment as a numb spectator, as if you had a third-person viewing of your fight for your life.

You hadn’t realized, but you had been literally walking down memory lane, physically tracing your fingertips along each reminder. “Found this in the truck, must’ve fallen out of your bag.” His sudden presence startled you, but it was a blessing. Any longer, and you would’ve probably ripped up the real estate papers and kept moving.

He was outstretching one of your necklaces, one you definitely didn’t want to be left behind. “Thank you,” you said it again, a double entendre barely concealed with your wavering voice. His poker face made it hard to decipher his awareness—for all you knew he could be feeling nothing towards you.

Simon’s eyes found the dent in the wall, recalling just how long your fingertips skimmed it, the nauseous look on your face. He debated on this next move, but his feet found a position behind you anyway since you didn’t take the jewelry from him yet.

“I hate the carpet. And everything in the dining room.” His subtle breath was the only thing alerting you of his close proximity, or you probably wouldn’t have even noticed. Two hands came in front of you, opening the necklace and slowly wrapping it around the base of your neck. If you hadn’t just been morbidly reminiscing, perhaps your breathing would’ve changed a bit.

He clicked the necklace in place, his gruff voice gentle and appreciative, “so get rid of it all.” It was almost a whisper like he was giving you the permission you didn’t need but were so obviously asking him for. It was your home to renovate, not his.

Simon’s breath smelled of fresh cigarette smoke, lingering in a cloud around you even after his simple words concluded. A hand lingered on your shoulder, giving it a small pat, before he retreated out to the untouched living room.

There was no sense in keeping the reminders, and none of it was to your taste. It was time to get to work if you had any shot of moving on from Cal.

Once you got started, you found it hard to stop.

Tearing out furniture and ripping up the carpet was surprisingly therapeutic, even with the emotional baggage the material things carried. The place was empty, but not understimulating. To you, it was a pleasing blank canvas you had full power to refurbish and leave the old behind. Cleaning up the mess was just an afterthought, but soothing to your soreness from all the handy work.

Of course, Simon would carry heavy things out, or assist in moving something for you. But when you were aggressively hammering a nail and grunting? He… found it beneficial to stay out of your way, with no clue whose face you might’ve been picturing while doing it.

The kitchen was shockingly tidy; the fridge was empty, as were the cabinets. You tackled that room last, disinfecting and placing the few food items you brought with you. Of course, it was a depressing sight; all those cabinets with only a few canned items and some granola bars. On the bright side, you’d only ever seen Simon eat once, so he wasn’t your worry.

Groceries would be a task for tomorrow. For now, you need to rest your legs and feet.

Simon claimed the spare room, which once was Cal’s office. You peered inside of it when you strolled down the hall—he had already laid out a blanket and pillow on the daybed. It was nice enough, for someone like him, at least.

You were taking advantage of the king-sized bed, though. Not one night in your marriage, did you ever get it to yourself. Sometimes you would snuggle in it, hopeful that this would be the night Cal didn’t come up the stairs and join you—or more commonly, that he would be too drunk to drive home.

He never was, of course; a natural buzzkill and energy vampire.

But it was yours now, the whole master bedroom. It had the nicest view of all the rooms; two large windows above the nightstand that overlooked the street, the bed in between them, and a fireplace seating area in the corner. Not that you ever needed this much room, or could even fill the space with all your belongings, but you had earned the right to spoil yourself. It was your home as much as it was his, even though it didn’t feel that way with Cal.

You practically expelled all the air in your lungs, the second your back hit the plush mattress. You sprawled out, almost in a starfish position as you looked around at your new room. The walls had always been kept white, as did the sheets—allowing you to picture it entirely renovated, to your design taste.

Though, if you had another minute of thinking about renovation, you would’ve lost your mind. You hadn’t even taken off your shoes, and your eyes were fluttering shut. In all honesty, you were too worn out to care about the position you were in, or the shoes still on your feet.

—

You sat up in the bed, feeling yourself in the exact position you had snoozed. You looked at the alarm clock to your right, red numbers being one of the only sources of light.

12:32 AM

Clearly, you needed it, because you hadn’t even moved in your sleep, or pulled the covers up. You reached up a hand, rubbing your tired eyes. Of course, you were now wide awake at midnight. Just your luck.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, embraced by the softness of the bed beneath you. A warm tingle was overtaking you like you were taking a soothing shower or bath. It was perfect… Too good to be true, right?

The bedroom was the same, nothing disturbed. But, as comforting as it was, something was off balance. There was no faint sound of the TV downstairs or the occasional clearing of his throat, only the white noise of the AC.

Now that you’ve moved and gathered your bearings—it was icy cold, more than what could be blowing from the vents. And… there was a mumble growing louder; a man’s voice you couldn’t decipher from your room.

Your legs swung off the edge of the bed, taking an instinctual look over your shoulder as if searching for the source of this ill feeling. There was no monster in the shadows, or a hand from under the bed grasping at your ankle. Not even the feeling of a presence—but you knew there was one. Who was talking, at this hour? The confusion made your brows knit, and your mouth hang open slightly.

Normally, you would’ve just got up and investigated the sound. But, getting to your feet was taking some courage right now, and you were moving about half the speed you would any other time. When you turned your head toward the bathroom, the door was still open—the washroom was nothing but a pitch-black abyss right now.

And the closet? You were too shaky to go in that direction, shaking your head at the idea immediately. That left the door in and out of the bedroom, where the muffle was coming from somewhere in the home.

You fingered the brumal knob, feeling it sting against your steaming flesh. The air was cold, causing goosebumps, but you were simultaneously burning up from a feeling of impending doom. The hinges cracked, almost sounding similar to the low-octave male voice still audible.

The door opened and it was… the hallway. The same way it was when you went to sleep, only illuminated by one of the sconces. Still, the sound was coming from the spare room. When you looked, there was a near-blinding light coming from under the door.

A hushed, growly whisper went past you—no, through you, like a stranger passing you on the street while speaking. You shivered again, eyes darting down each side of the hall. Down the steps, it was like the master bath, a dark abyss you didn’t want to trek through.

That left the spare room in all its blinding glory, and whoever, whatever was behind the door. This time, you pushed forward with all the speed you could muster. Not even a light jog, as if you had the weight of the Earth constricting your joints.

The muffle got louder, even overbearing when you opened the door to the spare room. It wasn’t the empty room with stray boxes and tools—it wasn’t your house at all. You squinted and held up your forearm to shield the light, taking several seconds for your eyes to adjust. It was the large windows—those large windows from the office building. And now, you could hear the voice clearer now.

You turned the corner and saw yourself. The moment Cal was creeping up on you, touching your waist. Though you were watching it from a different angle, seemingly watching it play out the same way it happened—it wasn’t. The woman you were watching, she wasn’t moving, not budging against his hands. She was… just standing there, white-knuckling the glass of whiskey her husband poured for her. He leaned closer, and as he tightened the grip on her waist, you felt two hands on yours, two that felt very lucid. So tight you felt like the assailant had sharp claws.

You could smell him; the stench of whiskey and cruelty warm on your neck. But you couldn’t speak, not scream, or resist. Just like the replay of the day he died, you were standing there like her, the guilt of being weak-kneed made you sick.

He could’ve clawed you in half, how harshly he was holding you in place. It was like a mockery of watching what would’ve happened if you didn’t break the glass over his head—and he was making you watch. Every second, every struggle, every cruel thing Cal would’ve said if you let him touch you.

This wasn’t you. You wanted to bellow at her to fight him, and more so at yourself for not making a run for it. Why couldn’t you move? Despite his hands feeling like they were going to tear you in half? It was pure humiliation—the woman in front of you that once got off the kitchen floor on Christmas Eve, now a face of blood and bone.

You turned around slowly, feeling salty tears go from your face all the way down to your lips.

His sneer would’ve been seen for miles—the sadism written on Cal’s face as if he was still feeding on your tears, even in death, even in your dreams. It wasn’t just his mortal face, it was the one he was left with in death—a spewing bullet wound through the forehead soaking you in his blood.

You could taste it after a few seconds, the metallic taste coating your face and body the closer he leaned in. His lips brushed against yours, just like the day they did in the office. The crimson was filling your mouth, causing you to hack and reach for your throat.

Your shoes squeaked against the marble floor of the office, looking down and seeing gallons of the stuff pooling. You could feel his blood trickle and seep into the fabric of your clothes, in the whites of your eyes with an excruciating burn.

As badly as you wanted to call out his name, your mouth was too coated to get the words out. It was hot, so hot it made you stumble. Your vision was gone—replaced by the blood that flooded your irises. You felt yourself nearly fall, as you ripped yourself from his grip.

You were palming through the ruby of your vision, arms outstretched. Though you couldn’t see, you could still feel him looming over you, watching in amusement as the pools of blood squelched under your feet.

Then, you felt your hands grip something, or someone. You hung on for dear life, blinking away the currant that washed your vision. It still seared, still coated your throat and face, but you could finally make out the figure; Simon.

You blinked rapidly, a chest cough followed by more blood as you watched him. He was staring straight ahead at first, until he felt you beating on his chest, yanking on the fabric of his clothes, just like you had done when strangled. The lifeless version of Cal, he had fizzled out the second Simon approached, nowhere to be seen in the shadows of the office anymore. As well as the alternate version of Cal and you—they were gone too.

Left in the room, it was you and Simon. One soaked with blood, gasping for breath. The other was tattered and seething at the sight.

Simon’s eyes widened as if he had just now noticed you. His hulking, veiny hands are outstretched, cupping each side of your saturated face, taking a step closer to you. Under the mask, you could see the fabric move, like he was speaking to you—but your sound was muffled again.

You plummet from a great height. Adrenaline-fueled rush courses through your veins, instantly jolting your senses awake. The wind roars past your ears with an ear-piercing howl. Your stomach clenches and churns, a sensation that feels like a roller coaster taking a wild descent. The feeling of weightlessness washes over you as if gravity has momentarily lost its grip, leaving you suspended in a free-falling void.

The pit of your stomach seems to drop with each passing moment as if trying to catch up to the plummeting rest of your body.

The blackness seizes hastily—your view is of widened amber eyes, and you can feel the same hands cupping your cheeks, just like the nightmare. The burn in your throat wasn’t from blood, it was from your screaming. The searing in your eyes, it was stemming from the tears streaming down your cheeks.

For the first few seconds, you were still half-in, half-out, pounding on his chest with all the shaky strength you could muster.

“Look at me, look at me.” Simon kept repeating it, only gripping the sides of your face faster. If he wasn’t restricting you, you were surely going to hurt yourself or him, so he had to. You were hyperventilating, still stuck in that dream-like state of terror and the threat of him attacking you. His pressing weight was caging you in place, no matter how much you yelped and thrashed to get running.

In a swift movement, Simon tugged at the edge of his mask, pulling it entirely off his head. “It’s me, it’s me!” He raised his voice, his identity now in your full sight. When he was wearing the mask, he probably appeared more like a masked intruder than a comforting soul—he had to snap you out of this, even if it meant breaking his own rules.

You could see him now; a chiseled jaw and protruding eyes cloaked by years of dark circles, a faint stubble across his chin, and that scar you had touched a few nights ago. It wasn’t an assailant or Cal, it was Simon.

Your hollers halted, now only quiet sobs against his chest. Everything in the dream felt so vivid, so real, lucid enough you were controlling your every movement, but not enough to rid yourself of the threat. The adrenaline you felt during the night terror left you unable to shut your eyes or stop wailing as if you were being actively hunted for sport.

“I’m sorry. It felt too real, Simon.” You whispered against his chest, one hand digging your nails deep into his bicep. His knees were on either side of your waist, anchoring you up enough to use him as a pillow. It seemed the only way he could successfully wake you was to straddle your frame, to cup your cheeks.

What he had done in the present, injected its way into the night terror—perhaps the reason it all felt too real.

“I know.” A calloused thumb stroked your cheek, his head resting against the crook of your neck. He didn’t need to ask the source of the nightmare, and he wasn’t going to. It was a natural reaction, being in this house all day reminded of your worst memories. You tried to hide it throughout the day, but Simon was too observant for his own good.

When he heard your shrieks in the next room, half-asleep on the daybed, he knew. This would’ve happened eventually. Just because Cal was dead, didn’t mean he was dead to you. His ghost still loomed in every room of that place, a constricting weight on your shoulders.

He had witnessed his fair share of adrenaline highs and experienced plenty on his own too. Only then, he didn’t have the luxury of a shoulder to cry on. There was no way in hell he would damn you to that same loneliness he had, no matter how much his inner voice bellowed at him to put the mask back on.

“Sit up, you won’t be so shaky.” Once hovering over you, he eased up, a gentle tug on your wrist to get you sitting up. Eyes still wide, tear stains on yourself and the fabrics of the bed. He looked behind him, seeing the armchair by the fireplace. Simon guided you to it, allowing you to sit down somewhere other than the bed occupied with memories.

He dropped to his knees in front of you slowly, a fist finding your ankle. You flashed a look of confusion, but you weren’t in any position to protest. It felt safe, despite the outward appearance Simon had—broody and dripping with masculinity.

His fingers found the tongue of the shoes you fell asleep wearing, pulling them off slowly.

“Better?” He asks, figuring out the answer quite quickly based on your silence. You nodded in response, wiping your cheeks with your sleeve. It felt the same as it did when you were younger; embarrassed for being afraid of a nightmare. It was just that—a nightmare, but that didn’t mean you didn’t feel every bit of it.

The light from the hallway was the only thing allowing you to see his face; washed out by the golden tint of the light bulb, but pleasing to look at. “Thank you, Simon.” God, how many times you said it that day, probably too many times. He would never accept it, not since the beginning of this road, and especially not after what happened at the apartment.

But, without his mask, he didn’t have his usual safety net of anonymity. His face was as blank as you expected it would be, aside from the slight scowl on his lips. “Stop sayin’ that.” He wanted to get up, but his palm remained wrapped around your calf, gazing at you with confliction.

You tilted your head to the side, leaning against the backrest of the armchair, “yeah, but I meant it.”

“I know you did,” he replied, his speech still a mumble even without the mask, “that’s why I said not to.” Simon didn’t deserve the gratitude, as far as he was concerned. Especially not from you. The last thing on your mind should be thanking him, being kind to him, and even looking him in the eye. But you did—every single day.

“You know you don’t have to stay, right?” You asked, the flicker of the hall light still concealing his pout slightly. You didn’t mean here, you meant in general; he didn’t have to, but he always did. You inhaled sharply, feeling his thumb still caressing your calf soothingly. “And… I’m not upset with you. You have to know that, at least.”

Perhaps it was the fog in your mind or the nerves still working overdrive, but his silence was too still for your liking. It wasn’t distaste, it was his old habits keeping him from indulging.

The hand was removed quickly and placed back on his own knee. You heard the shuffle of his pant fabric like he was going to stand up and leave the bedroom. But he didn’t—his head dropped in the direction of the floor.

“Simon?” Your tone was hushed, eyes squinted with unsettle.

“Stop it.” He grumbled, the whites of his eyes still glowing within the dim lighting. Simon blinked slowly when he met your gaze again, unable to accept the perturb. There was so much he wanted to say, but he didn’t. That much was obvious.

He heard you stammer, a sentence cut short when he spoke so firmly. “Stop being so fuckin’ nice to me.” Though the words themselves were harsh, it was nothing more than a defeated whisper—a plea to halt your tenderness before he lost all self-control.

What he desired was to find the mask he flung only minutes ago, slip it on, and slam the door behind him. His presence remained; a commanding voice, despite being the one kneeling in front of you. And you? Ever persistent, and he despised it with every fiber of his being.

You scoffed, but it was coming from a place of intense empathy.  “Am I supposed to scream at you? Beat you bloody?” The question hung in the air for a few seconds, followed by a snappy retort. He would never let himself relax, even feel, could he?

“No, you need to stop treating me like someone you deserve. You’re not that stupid.” Simon hissed with a slight roll of his eye. You clutched each armrest tightly, mouth slightly hung open from his self-pity.

His shell was breaking—the umbrage was just the last futile attempt at restricting you before it shattered completely. When that happened—and it would—he had but a clue about his next step. Why had he remained in this spot for so long, kneeling so closely to you?

“Why did you stay then? The night at the cabin, after Cal?” It surely wasn’t because he had to. You were onto him, and you weren’t going to let him go now, not unless he packed up and left right this second.

His stammer said enough, the tightened grip on his own appendage as if he was squeezing the reply from his own body. If he said what he wanted to, it wouldn’t be something cruel. He couldn’t be cold to you. That’s what frightened him the most.

You hunched forward slightly, a hovering hand on his shoulder. Simon tensed out of reflex, but didn’t physically stop you—he couldn’t anymore. Tonight was a breaking point, and his face had been in your sights for several minutes now.

“Don’t do this.” Finally, he gathered his bearings and clamped a hand around your wrist, the sheer size of his hand swallowing yours entirely. He let out a heavy breath, his glowing eyes burning holes into yours.

Your reply was as simple as blunt as you could muster; a one-worded question you’ve had for a long time. “Why?”

His fingers clenched a little tighter, expecting you to squirm. But you didn’t. “Because I won’t be able to stop myself,” he blinked slowly, eyes drooping with the small sliver of weakness he was showing you right now. Who said you wanted him to stop? In fact, nothing about you did. Not even your reddened eyes, or the tension you carried. It was a simple concept to grasp, but someone as stubborn as himself hadn’t. Yet.

This time, it was you who initiated the intimacy. It wasn’t sensuality; it was reassurance—something Simon needed desperately. You pressed your forehead against his, fingers finding the stubble you could finally touch.

He breathed heavily into the kiss, an instinctual hand protecting the back of your head when he pushed your weight back into the armchair. Somewhere in it, he had stood up again, able to deepen the lip contact by hovering over you. Simon should’ve fought it, but he didn’t. He wanted you to pull away and realize how ridiculous he felt against you, but you did not.

His lips pulled away with a moist squelch, still a hand on the back of your head. The drunken kiss was messy and heated. This was stone-cold sober—much needed and full of feelings. Simon seemed to be searching for hesitance, any excuse to halt his desires. You only breathed heavily from the loss of air, unblinking and desperate for more.

You nodded slightly, an unspoken plea for that part of him that couldn’t stop himself. Though it seemed like you were leading things, you didn’t have a clue what the hell you were doing either. It just felt right at the moment. After the nod, his free hand clasped the collar of your shirt, pulling you to your feet. He scanned the room around him, though he already memorized the layout the first time he walked in. It was as if he was searching for prying eyes that weren’t there—an instinct when his face was visible.

Instead of the sides of your head, his fingers found your waist, digging into them as he backed you against the dresser. Without a struggle on his end, he lifted you on top of it so he could stand between your parted thighs.

It couldn’t be the bed; it was too domestic for the both of you. He needed somewhere you could easily pull away from him and walk away, as he’d convinced himself you were going to. There was no way this act would carry out completely, right? The rational portion of you had to be buried deep in your lust.

Simon’s fingers gave your waistband a tug, pulling your bottoms off entirely. His eyes remained trained on yours the entire time, expecting some sort of resistance. Hell, he was expecting a slap on his cheek that never came. You wanted this; you wanted him.

The pad of his finger found your swollen clit, rubbing paced circles on the nerves. You felt your breath hitch at the sensation, a clench around the wooden edge of the dresser. Despite how much you wanted this, it was like an out-of-character blur. Simon, being the face to match the lustful hands? You never thought of that as a sight you’d see, never in a million years.

His heavy breathing was just as arousing, how lustfully he was watching despite not being the one being touched. Words weren’t coming out, but the language of stares was all the two of you needed right now. Simon could keep searching for refusal, but he wasn’t going to find it. Not while he was massaging your clit so intimately.

The pleasure built rather quickly, as did the pace of your hips rocking against his hands. It had been so long since you touched yourself, let alone a sexual partner doing it for you. When his finger ceased, you let out a small mewl from the emptiness.

From the moonlight illuminating his features, your eyes wandered at the sound of his belt unbuckling. He did it with such haste, such experience. He unzipped his jeans next, pulling them down to his knees to allow access.

Instinctively, you outstretched a hand to palm him through his boxers. It was what you were used to: I do something for you, you have to do the same for me.

“No.” Simon hissed, placing your hands back at your sides. It wasn’t because he didn’t want you to stroke him—he didn’t want the focus on him. You seeing his face was all the focus he could handle right now.

You kept your hands on either side of you, respecting the boundary he had put up, though you didn’t understand its purpose. He pulled down on the waistband of his black boxers, stroking himself for a few seconds, followed by another hiss. Simon stepped back to his original position between your thighs again, only he pulled them further apart—enough for his wide frame to fit comfortably.

You felt his length pressing against your folds, the knuckle of his hand on your inner thigh as he guided it into position. Before he did, he searched for a nod again, or anything, really. You obliged, bracing yourself by clamping down on his shoulder. It had been a long time since you had sex, so it wasn’t going to be particularly comfortable at first. A man of Simon’s stature, no matter the amount of arousal that pooled—you would have to be eased into it.

He guided the tip in first, eyes darting up and down as he slowly pushed his hips forward, his length coated in the lubricating slick caused by his fingers. You let out a pleasured gasp, not yet feeling the stretch that was coming.

When he was sure of the next phase, he placed his lips against your gasping ones, silencing the inevitable whine of discomfort. Still at a snail's pace, he entered even deeper, enough that you needed to sit with him like that for a moment. It was just that; discomfort, not pain. Yet another factor of intimacy you weren’t accustomed to as of late. “Is that… good?” He whispered against your mouth, still only thrusting a portion of himself out—and slowly.

Since he’d given you time to adjust, the discomfort did fizzle away. “More,” you replied, a slight nod of your head. Now, you were arguably enjoying the sensation more than he was.

This time, he didn’t wait for a refusal.

With an abrupter thrust, he bottomed out inside you. It wasn’t roughness, not yet—just his way of ripping off the bandaid. His lips found yours again, allowing you to bite down on his lower lip at the sudden stretch. The angle he was at; you sitting on top of the dresser with your hips slightly raised, and him standing, it felt euphoric, not agonizing.

“Shit…” A guttural groan fell from his lips as his movements began, methodical and pleasuring for both of you. Every sound you made, every little reaction; it made him twitch deep inside you. This is what he wanted when you two finally gave in—you, writhing in front of him and forced to do nothing but enjoy it.

His tip kissed your cervix with each pump, just enough to make your eyes roll slightly. What the hell you two were doing, the consequences tomorrow, none of it mattered. Lust truly did cloud the two of you this moment, and he wasn’t going to stop unless you asked him.

You felt tears prick at your eyes, but it wasn’t from pain or repulsion. It was from how long you had gone without this shared feeling of desire, the closeness of two people. Simon slowed his movements, wiping away the tear with his thumb. He could tell, it wasn’t a fear of him or the past that haunted you—it was pure satisfaction.

You needed this, no, deserved this from someone who truly deserved you.

His experienced hands found your hips, tugging you closer so your chests were touching. You let out another sharp gasp, holding onto him just as tightly. The tug allowed him to hit a deeper spot inside your walls if that was even possible.

The change in position allowed you to raise your knees higher against him, so much you probably could’ve placed your feet up on the dresser. Simon grunted and increased his speed, one hand on your thigh, and the other a flat palm against the wall in front of him. The furniture piece hit the wall with each relentless thrust, the thumb masked by your shared moans of delight. And they were becoming desperate ones, plain desperate.

Your stomach was doing flips, tightening and churning the longer he went at it like this. And Simon, his head leaned back ever so slightly, he was close too. There was no turning back now, too deep in the sensations. But still, you iron gripped him—as if pleading for him not to pull away—something he had no intention of doing.

“Let it out, love.” He rasped in your ear, his hips still going an uninterrupted pound. Love. The unexpected pet name made your already shaking knees turn to putty. You truly would only last seconds at best, especially with that accent smothering you.

What once was a moan with each thrust, now became a growing holler. That breaking point that had been bubbling, the one he gave you permission to, finally struck you—destructively. Each muscle in your abdomen constricted, your head thrown back against the wall at the feeling of euphoria hitting an all-time high. Simon’s hand, once gripping your thigh, was now protecting the back of your head as it thrashed against the wall. His tongue traced along your jaw and chin, the combination of sensations only prolonging the interval.

His fist balled in your hair, just enough to only cause an enjoyable sting. He leaned back slightly to have a better view of his length going in and out of you. The sounds of your high delighted him, the final permission for him to enjoy his own climax.

When he felt a more violent twitch, he pulled himself out, using his hand to finish the rest. Still, he wouldn’t allow you to touch him, you were sure of that. You panted heavily, mouth still agape in awe of the attraction you felt towards this. Your fingers clenched the sides of the dresser once pulled away, feeling the spew of his cum land on your folds.

Simon trembled slightly, giving one of your clothed breasts a yearning squeeze as he drained himself of his seed.

Then, clarity hit him as quickly as his climax did. “You wanted that, right?” He whispered, eyes now full of searching rather than lust. God, his cluelessness would be the death of him before any enemy. You quickly nodded, now slightly more slumped than before. You thought it was obvious, but he did always have a way of shocking you—in more ways than one, now.

Inside, you were shaking your head and smacking sense into him for his own stubbornness.

“Simon,” you panted, tightening your thighs around his waist, “just shut up. Please.” You pushed your head against into chest, using it as a surface to catch your breath on. The sensations you felt replayed already, leaving you sensitive and breathless, but heinously calm in spite of what you two had just done.

It happened so quickly, but it wasn’t regretful or dissatisfying. It was the exact opposite.

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