#weather forecast update today

[umangharyana]

Aaj ka Mausam: देशभर में सर्दी का कहर जारी, कोहरे, बर्फबारी और बारिश से जनजीवन प्रभावित

Aaj ka Mausam 17 Jan 2025 : देश के कई हिस्सों में सर्दी अपने चरम पर है। कोहरा, बर्फबारी और बारिश ने आम जनजीवन को प्रभावित कर दिया है। भारतीय मौसम विभाग (IMD) ने कई राज्यों में अलर्ट जारी किया है। आइए जानते हैं प्रमुख राज्यों का मौसम हाल। दिल्ली: राष्ट्रीय राजधानी दिल्ली में कोहरे का असर गहराया। 117 फ्लाइट्स लेट हुईं और 10 रद्द करनी पड़ीं। इसके अलावा, 27 ट्रेनें भी देरी से पहुंचीं। आज दिल्ली का…

[newschakra]

राजस्थान में अगले चार दिन गिरेगा पारा, ठंड बढ़ेगी:शेखावाटी में 15 डिग्री तक पहुंचा रात का तापमान, बाड़मेर-जोधपुर में दिन में गर्मी

न्यूज़ चक्र। राजस्थान के शेखावाटी में गुलाबी सर्दी ने दस्तक दे दी है। सीकर, झुंझुनूं और चूरू के एरिया में रात का तापमान 15 डिग्री सेल्सियस तक आ गया। मौसम विशेषज्ञों ने अगले 2-3 दिन प्रदेश में मौसम साफ रहने और तापमान में उतार-चढ़ाव की संभावना जताई है। वहीं, उदयपुर, जोधपुर, कोटा संभाग के जिले में मंगलवार को दिन का टेम्प्रेच�� 2 डिग्री तक बढ़ गया। पिछले 24 घंटे की बात करें तो सबसे ज्यादा गर्मी कल…

[mahamid110]

👉আজকের আবহাওয়ার খবর ( Today's Weather News )

👉Al Jazeera English | Live

👉Alternative to Google AdSense

[mhlivenews]

Marathwada Rain: मराठवाड्यात पावसामुळे ६३ गावे बाधित; दोन दिवसांत पाच जणांचा मृत्यू, पंचनाम्यांचे आदेश

Marathwada Rain Update: पावसामुळे जालना जिल्ह्यातील १५, परभणीतील २६, बीड जिल्ह्यातील १२, लातूर जिल्ह्यातील ९ तर हिंगोली जिल्ह्यातील एक गाव बाधित झाले आहे. तर आतापर्यंत लहान मोठे मिळून ३०० हून अधिक जनावरे दगावले आहेत. महाराष्ट्र टाइम्सmarathwada 5 death rain म. टा. प्रतिनिधी, छत्रपती संभाजीनगर : मराठवाड्यात दोन दिवसांमध्ये झालेल्या पावसामुळे ६३ गावे बाधित झाली असून, पाच जणांचा मृत्यू झाल्याची…

[aanews69]

All our links in one place:https://sleekbio.com/aanews69Visit our Patreonhttps://www.patreon.com/DNPLServicesWe deliver stories. We also give you guides, tip...

[banglakhobor]

আজ রবিবার জলপাইগুড়ি ও আলিপুরদুয়ার জেলার আবহাওয়া কেমন থাকতে পারে?

জলপাইগুড়ি ও আলিপুরদুয়ার: উত্তরবঙ্গের (North Bengal) তরাই  অঞ্চলের অন্যতম এক উল্লেখযোগ্য  জলপাইগুড়ি (Jalpaiguri) ও আলিপুরদুয়ার (Alipurduar) জেলা। এর মধ্যে জলপাইগুড়ি (Jalpaiguri) এটি একটি পুরসভা (Corporation Area)  এলাকা। এই তিস্তা (Tista River) ও  করলা (Karala River) নদীর তীরে অবস্থিত এই শহরটি। এই করলা (Karala River) এই নদীটিকে জলপাইগুড়ি জেলার (Jalpaiguri) টেমস  নদী বলা হয়ে থাকে। দেখে নেওয়া…

[shaktiknowledgeblog]

IMD Alert | IMD | Weather Forecast | Weather Forecast Today | Delhi weather | imd city weather | Delhi | weather update

IMD Weather Forecast: Delhi will rain once again, know how the weather will be in your state According to the Meteorological Department, the maximum temperature for the early days of the month of April can be 30 degrees। At the same time, the heat in the early days of March had broken many records। But due to the rain before Saturday, the capital Delhi sky was cloudy and the weather remained…

[coralinnii]

congratulations on the 2.7k followers 🎉🎉 you really deserve it^^ you're writing is just so good and amazing i'm so happy more people recognise your talent <3 (also i really like the fact that you opened your requests for 27h it's really a fun way to remember that you got 2.7k followers hhhh)

So i'd like to request, if it's alright with you, yuu staying at crewel's or train's place during the holidays and the messages they exchange with (riddle, ruggie, vil, epel) , just yuu having a long distance relationship with the boys if it makes sense!! you can make it platonic or romantic, I don't mind either as long as you have fun writing it ^-^

thank you in advance and again congratulations, i'm really happy for you! have a nice day <3

❋ It Doesn’t Matter Where I Am, I’m Yours ❋

↳ long-distance relationship with him over the holidays

feat: Riddle ⭑ Ruggie ⭑ Vil ⭑ Epel

genre: fluffy romance

note: no pronouns used with the reader, established relationships, reader is implied to be Yuu since Grim comes with them, reader is staying with Crewel in Riddle and Ruggie’s ver. and with Trein in Vil and Epel’s ver., nicknames are used as terms of endearment (rose and my love in Riddle’s ver., sweet lil thing in Ruggie’s ver., sweet potato in Vil’s ver.,)

How did I choose who reader stays with? With a coin flip and it somehow worked out this way :p Hope you enjoy it!

2.7K Followers Writing Event

Riddle’s mother insisted he returned home and Professor Crewel offered demanded that you stay with him over the holidays after finding out that the cafeteria ghosts would be gone throughout the break.

If you two were still new into the relationship, Riddle was anxious over this separation, he's gotten used to the routine of seeing you every day and he can't imagine a day without you, let alone a month. The sweet redhead insisted you keep in contact with him every day, no matter what.

He knew that his mother would set him a schedule filled to the minute with studies and magic practice but he managed to convince her to give him 30 minutes with his phone, in the guise of keeping updated with his dormmates as the Housewarden. He may even try to wake up a little earlier just to text you good morning

teenage rebellion?

But Riddle is not the most familiar with texting slang and lingo, being the type to write out every message with proper grammar, spelling, and explanation points.

At first, he sounded like, albeit sweet, a daily weather update. Riddle once read in a book that a good conversation starter is “Nice weather we have” and just went with it.

As the days went by, Riddle has gotten more comfortable and soon the 30 minutes doesn’t seem enough for him. He wants to tell you more about his hometown (even if he couldn’t leave his home), mention how Trey and Chenya would occasionally sneak a visit, even little tidbits of something he learned from his studies you might find interesting, anything to spend time with you.

If you send him random videos you found online, Riddle would be so confused and won’t understand the humour of it but will text you it was funny just to make you happy (this precious confused child).

Whenever Riddle unintentionally texts you something sweet, Crewel gives you an exasperated look your way as your joyous gushing would startle the puppies.

But Crewel sighs with a little smile on his lips and let you be, better Riddle than those trouble-making Heartslabyul duo. At least with Grim, his trained dogs can keep him in check while the two of you are here.

Riddle is incredibly happy to be able to speak with you everyday but secretly he’s mentally counting the days when he could see you again at school.

His messages

“Good morning, Rose. Today is forecasted to be windy where you are. Be sure to stay warm”

“The cat is adorable. However, I do not understand what is a “blep”.”

“Grim was reprimanded by Crewel and his dogs for trying to steal extra snacks? Perhaps Heartslabyul should adopt a few as well”

“It’s already 2 minutes before I must get ready for sleep? It’s unfortunate but I must go for today. Good night, my love. I will greet you first thing in the morning”

Ruggie was surprised that you were going to stay with Professor Crewel this holiday break but he was going to be busy with seasonal part-time jobs anyway so he wasn’t planning on visiting you (Crewel would’ve sent his dogs on him if he did, anyway).

Due to his irregular work schedules, you couldn’t predict when Ruggie would text you. Different part-time jobs would give him different break times so you and Grim could be helping Crewel to feed his puppies and suddenly you had to hide the cute text your boyfriend sent you from a suspicious Crewel.

“Pup, who was that?”

“Just Ruggie…don’t look, it’s embarrassing!”

Ruggie may even write over-the-top lovey-dovey messages to you, partly to annoy Crewel, but mostly because he does mean them

But sometimes Ruggie would get too tuckered out to text you and would apologize for not replying as soon as he could the next day.

It’s understandable, though. Which is why you tried to text more to lift his spirits, so that everytime he opens up his messages, he reads your little motivational messages.

“Don’t forget to eat lots, my hardworking hyena! I’m so proud of you <3”

Ruggie’s coworkers won’t get a single explanation to Ruggie’s sudden burst of energy in the second half of the day, nor his wagging tail. But they can guess that is something to do with you, judging by the goofy smile the hyena beastman has on throughout his shift.

His grandmother is very aware of your presence in Ruggie’s life, not that he’s very subtle. She sees the way Ruggie gets a toothy grin so early in the morning just by looking at his phone, or the way his ears perk up when his phone vibrates.

His messages

“Mornin’, sweet lil thing. How’s life with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Grumpy? Shyehehe, wouldn’t be surprised if he gave ya some homework while ya there”

“Grandma made some of her famous donuts. When we come back, I’ll make some for ya so look forward it”

“The kids are badgering me to show ‘em the pic of ya. Even Grandma is curious! She wanna know who’s been making me so happy so…do ya mind?”

“It’s weird. Even with my work and the kids, I still feel kinda bored. I wanna see ya soon. I can’t believe that I might want school to actually open sooner”

Holidays would be a busy time for Vil. Even if he specified that he’s prioritizing his studies, he would occasionally agree to a gig or two, just to ensure he stays relevant in the business.

Funnily enough, Professor Trein offered to house you during the holidays since his wife heard that you were spending the holidays all alone in your depreciated dorm (what’s the difference with any other day, though?) and wouldn’t let that be. Both Trein and Vil live in the Shaftlands but it was still miles away from each other and with Vil’s busy life, you couldn’t really see each other over the break.

Cautious of his situation, Vil is careful with when and where he is when he’s messaging. It’s not that his agency would ever let anybody with ill intentions come close to him, but he doesn’t want to drag into this world where social vultures could harm you.

Vil’s texts are professional but always sweet and filled with concern for you. Asking you how was your day, if you have eaten yet, and if you remembered to take care of yourself (then reprimand you if you did forget).

In the comfort of his home, Vil would video call you as he does his skincare routine, content with listening to you as you tell him about your day and talking about the most random things, because you look so beautiful to him when you do.

If you gush about how amazing the Shaftlands was as Trein and his wife showed you and Grim around, Vil would entertain the thought of showing you around his hometown with you. Just the two of you.

One day, Vil’s father was passing by as the two of you were on your video calls which is when Vil finally introduces you to his father. The older man is pleased to finally meet the one who’s making his son so happy and even excited to return to school. Vil chose not to comment on this.

His messages

“It may not be as cold there as it is here, but be sure to put on your moisturizer. Just because I’m not there to take care of you doesn’t mean you have a day off, sweet potato”

“Oh, you saw my interview this afternoon? Well of course, I was nothing short of pure elegance. But thank you, my dear. I truly appreciate your kind words. Hmm? Of course, I will tell you my next appearance”

“Sweet potato, your eyes seem tired today. Are you alright? You stayed up watching movies? Good grief, I told you how bad that was…you were watching my early works? …That is no excuse, we can watch them together when we return to college”

“Professor Trein told you and Grim that you could visit my town sometime next week? Hmm, I will discuss with my agent and I will show you around myself. Hmm? No, it’s no trouble. What inconsiderate man would think a date with his beloved would be trouble. I will see you soon”

Epel was surprised that you were actually going to be closer than he realized when you told him that you were staying with Professor Trein and his family over the break.

However, Trein’s town still isn’t exactly close and Epel was going to help out his family on the farm throughout the break anyway so the two of you couldn’t meet up as much as you really wanted to.

Texting while he was working outside wasn’t easy with the gloves Epel had to deal with so he opted with taking pictures, voice messages, and video calls whenever he could. He sends you pictures of some of the newly harvested apples and raves over the great harvest this year, which you found absolutely adorable (but you kept that to yourself).

He tried his very best to be sneaky about his calls to you though, because the townspeople would tease him and gush about young love whenever they catch him sending messages on the job.

“Look at my lil’ apple. All grown up an’ smitten”

“Grandma!”

It wasn’t any less embarrassing on your end as Trein’s daughters were also staying during the holidays and quickly caught you on your phone leaving cute messages for Epel. They’ve taken up the older sister role and lovingly grill you over your relationship.

“Does he give you flowers or chocolates? No? Hmph, how disappointing”

“He may be a hard worker, but if he isn’t a gentleman, he’s not husband material!”

The sisters were only a little bit impressed when after you jokingly told Epel about that embarrassing conversation, there was a crate of genuine Harveston apple juice. Atop of the crate, there was a note formally wishing the Trein family well and thanking them for taking care of you.

Epel may have wanted to prove to you he can be a man, but now he also wants to prove he’s a gentleman…and also husband material.

His messages

“Is it cold where ya are? Be sure to get real cozy and warm. Huh, Grim’s been complaining? Haha, Shaftlands chills ain’t no joke”

“The town’s real happy about the harvest this season. Gonna be another year of delicious foods this time around. I really wanna share with ya when we get back to school”

“Do you like the apple juice I sent ya? It’s made with the apples I picked myself, you know. Gotta only be the best for ya afterall”

“Grandma has been naggin’ to bring ya over to visit. To be honest…I want that too. I miss ya a lot”

[evanchantingpeters]

How I met Evan Peters (Fanfic - Part 3)

Pairings ─ Evan Peters x Y/N (fem reader)

Genre ─ Smut/fluff, Romance

Summary ─ Just as Y/N thought she had it all figured out in LA, her world spins out of control when Evan Peters storms in like a tornado. Their electrifying hook-up leaves her reeling, but waking up alone, she fears the worst. Then, a note appears—his number and an invitation to a date teasing her with a chance. What starts as a romantic evening quickly spirals into a frenzy of hide-and-seek and sex.

Warnings ─ Swearing, semi-public, oral (both receiving), doggy, shower sex, overstimulation, fingering, nipple teasing, spanking, vaginal sex, extra smutty—you savvy pros, you know the game inside out ;)

Read Part 1 here and Part 2 here.

Word count ─ 5K

18+ This is ADULT content. I’m not your mummy to supervise your net access. If you’re a minor, do NOT read!

@evanchantingpeters — All rights reserved. Please do not modify, translate, or plagiarise my content.

You stir awake, blinking sleep away and squinting against the sunlight that streams through your curtains. A lazy smile curves your lips as you stretch, reaching out for...empty sheets. Mmhh, you just love the taste of nothing.

Evan’s not here... Emotional damage, even if what you had was an agreed one-off fling.

A soft groan escapes you as you fumble for your phone, the bright screen momentarily blinding you. 9:30. As you bury your nose into his pillowcase, you inhale deeply, catching a generous whiff of his essence’s sweet residue. You sigh deeply as your eyes land on the bedside table. His missing keys solidify the reality that he’s bounced, and you can’t help but frown.

“I feel like his side hoe when I should be the main character,” you think aloud, grumbling, and it’s giving trauma dumping and anxious attachment. What a refreshing concoction of disaster.

But what really puzzles you is the extra blanket draped over your duvet like a surprise guest. You wrack your brain, trying to recall if you snuggled up in it during the night, but it’s as hazy as trying to piece together a fuzzy Freudian dream.

With a resigned sigh, you roll out of bed, already craving his warmth. Mindlessly scrolling through your phone, you distract yourself with social media updates, news snippets, and the day’s weather forecast while you shuffle to the kitchen for your morning caffeine fix. A pang of disappointment hangs around like a lost sock in the dryer, but you refuse to let it dim your day and activate your female rage.

Or so you tell yourself.

Podcast blaring in the background, you tiptoe your way to the bathroom, facing your reflection in the mirror. You impulsively retrace the invisible path of Evan’s touch on you—from lips to chin, jawline, and neck down your cleavage and stomach. Each sensation has left its mark, and you can’t get enough of the sweet echoes. You sniff through your hair and arms in a desperate attempt to capture his scent on you—a tantalising hint of cinnamon and the musk of his natural oils that never fails to make your knees go weak.

You hop into the shower, letting the scalding water wash away your frustrations. Emerging revitalised and ready to conquer the day, you hastily throw on your work clothes and toss your keys and lanyard into your bag.

And that’s when you spot it by the entrance door—the note board. That bold black marker circling today’s 9 pm to 6 am time slot on your shift calendar, an arrow pointing directly to a message, practically winking at you, “Dinner and quality time with Evan. Text this number for more details.” Your heart somersaults with joy as you read the note over and over again, a goofy grin spreading across your face like wildfire.

You press a quick kiss to the note, folding it carefully and tucking it away as if it holds all the secrets of the universe. With a sense of anticipation bubbling in your chest, you dash out the door, already fashionably late.

On the subway, you retrieve the scrap of paper, tracing your fingers over his elegant handwriting with a soft smile. With a sarcastic tonality, you already craft your message, “I thought ghosts just floated around, they don’t ask you out.”

Within seconds, his response lights up your screen. “Morning to you too. Slept well? I’m the upgraded phantom version. Meet your Casper tonight at 9?”

You can’t help but giggle at his wit. Another text pops up, complete with coordinates to the restaurant he’s inviting you. The excitement builds inside you like a shaken soda bottle, and you’re practically fizzing with anticipation to see what the night has in store.

Time seems to trudge along at a sloth’s pace as you grind through your shift at the boutique. You flash your best retail smile as you serve customers on the cash register. Though, your mind is a million miles away, replaying the reel of moments with Evan; those moments when you convinced yourself that your insides were gonna spill out while he was going to town on you.

Half-heartedly, you tidy up the shop floor, picking up stray items and straightening displays. But let’s be real, your fingers move mechanically, and your brain is on autopilot as your thoughts wander back to the anticipation of tonight’s date. The enthusiasm is buzzing through you like a sugar rush, making it damn near impossible to focus on folding clothes or rearranging racks.

Each interaction with a customer is a blur as you absentmindedly tackle the fitting room. They might as well be talking to a mannequin for all you care. Your mind is firmly planted in Evan-land, where every moment is hot and heavy, and you’re too busy mentally undressing him for the umpteenth time.

“Girl, let me in your bubble, would you?” The voice of Trisha, your department’s jokester, slices through your daydreaming like a ninja with a chainsaw.

You blink, momentarily disoriented, before bursting into laughter at her impeccable timing. “Trish!” you exclaim, relishing in her knack to crack you up with her quirky humour. “Sorry, this bubble is strictly reserved for someone today.”

Her giggle rings out like music in the store as she playfully rolls her eyes. “Fine, fine! You do you, boo. Just make sure to save some of that magic for the rest of us in Stylista Gine, deal?”

With a saucy wink, she sashays off to attend to her own tasks, leaving you to shake off your giggles. The minutes tick by, and eventually, your shift mercifully comes to an end. With a sigh of relief and a bounce in your step, you clock out, knowing that soon you’ll be back in Evan’s arms (and on his dick).

You hastily trod along Sunset Boulevard, your sleek dark coat swinging with each step, and your little black dress add an extra sway to your stride. You’re practically power-walking in heels, like you’re in a race against time and your destination is the finish line.

Arriving at the hotel he’s staying at, you adjust the strap of your black stilettos around your ankle, ensuring no wardrobe malfunctions with your stocking will disrupt your night. With your heart thudding, you breeze through the sliding doors and past the reception. 

The tantalising scent of watermelon cocktail teases your senses as you strut in the bar restaurant, scoping out the room with mounting anticipation.

“Hi there, reservation for Peters?” you inquire, shooting a charming smile at the host, your racing emotions briefly receding.

Reciprocating with a polite grin, he quickly checks his tablet before nodding in confirmation. “Got it! Table 8. Right this way, miss,” he affirms, extending his arm in a welcoming gesture. 

Following the host, you can’t help but feel a surge of excitement as you round the corner and spot Evan’s back at the table. He looks effortlessly handsome in his blazer, like he’s just stepped out of a magazine spread, making your stomach churn with blissful nerves.

“Looks like my date’s here, thanks,” you note quietly with a soft smile.

“Awesome! Enjoy,” the host replies cheerfully, heading back to his post.

As you approach Evan, you lean in and give his shoulder a cheeky squeeze—a silent yet affectionate greeting that speaks volume. His gaze lights up with recognition, and he practically jumps from his chair, his grin widening as he’s eyeing you from top to bottom.

“Hey!” he exclaims, his voice laced with enthusiasm. “My eyes needed a bit of a warning for this stunner. Your fit’s so sleek, it looks tailor-made,” he adds shortly after, beaming, as you flow in a warm hug, his arms clinging around you like he never wants to let go.

With a crooked smirk, you blurt out with a touch of sarcasm, “Thanks. I picked it up with you in mind.”

His eyes widen in surprise, his grin expanding by the second. “Seriously?” he squeaks, visually delighted by the notion. 

You giggle, shaking your head. “Nah, but imagine if I did,” you fire back, your hearty laughter dancing in the air like confetti.

Before you know it, an electric tension fills the space between you as you stand mere inches apart, locked in a silent yet smouldering gaze.

“Are we on a ‘try not to kiss’ challenge?” he spills out, his voice an alluring murmur as his minty breath pleasantly prickles your skin.

A sly smile tugs at your lips. “Let’s see who caves and closes the gap first,” you hum as you flicker between his lips and his eyes. He feels the tension coil in his gut but forces it down with a hard gulp. 

Leaning in closer, his breath mingles with yours as he whispers, “You gotta give your best shot not to kiss me, then,” his tone carrying a seductive undertone that sends a delicious thrill rushing through you.

“You wish. No chance I’m smudging my tinted lip balm,” you retort and playfully pinch his nose, punctuating your mocking banter with a wink.

With a graceful flip of your hair and a coy smile, you ease into your chair, feeling the heat of his gaze on you, all self-assured about the sensual spell you’ve cast over him. 

He’s practically eye-fucking you right now, and you’re loving it.

“If that’s your idea of payback for sneaking out this morning, Y/N, I’ve been running errands and exploring new job prospects for next year,” he explains earnestly, handing you a straw for your cocktail and cutlery for your appetisers.

“And I may or may not have picked up a little something for you,” he announces next, pulling out a wrapped box from his blazer pocket, mischief sparkling in his eyes.

Your playful vibe evaporates, replaced by a whirlwind of shock and emotion. “Shut the…front door, no way,” you utter sheepishly as you cautiously reach for the unexpected gift.

With a throaty chuckle at your reaction, he jerks his eyebrows upwards, silently encouraging you to dive into the gift.

You eagerly rip open the packaging, gasping in disbelief. “Roland Barthes, Mythologies…Oh my days,” you cry out, unable to believe your luck. Your eyes flit to the curious glances from other patrons in the corner, and you swiftly tone your enthusiasm down a notch.

He nods in understanding, smiling fondly at you. “Yep, saw his Lover’s Discourse on your bedside table, and the bookmark was dangling on the final pages,” he justifies, a knowing twinkle in his gaze.

Overwhelmed with emotion, you slide the book in your bag and rise from your seat. “Ugh, Evan! Thanks a ton, you’re the best,” you gush, your voice thick with gratitude as you move closer to him.

He stands up too, his eyes fixed on yours, soft with affection. Stepping closer, his dark eyes dart from your lips to your eyes, as if he’s wordlessly asking for permission. Instead, he reaches out to pull you into a hug, but you gently lift his chin and crane your neck, sealing his plush, pink lips in a brief yet tender peck.

As you break the kiss, Evan blinks in surprise, seemingly caught off guard by the sudden shift in energy. His eyes search yours, silently questioning the unspoken feelings that hover between you, his own heart pounding with anticipation.

“Why did that take so long today?” he sighs against your ear, softly touching his lips. His voice, like honey dripping from velvet, resounds in your ears like a melody as he delicately brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. His eyes—the colour of rich black chocolate—are glued on yours, and the gravitational pull of his euphoric visual abyss draws you in.

Your heart flutters at the intensity of his gaze, feeling the heat expand through you. “It took long for momentum,” you retort, your tone light with playful teasing as you flash him a coy smile and sit back down.

The buffalo cauliflower bites aren’t the only thing heating up at your table; your conversation’s spicier than a jalapeño popper and with more layers than a double-decker with extra cheese. One minute you’re debating the perfect burrito toppings, embarrassing childhood nicknames, weird dreams, European cinema and 80s bands, and the next, you’re digging into careers, beliefs, goals, and life’s deepest truths.

It’s like a game of emotional Jenga—one block, or in this case, one topic leads to another, and before you could utter ‘Evan, eat me,’ you’ve both laid your souls bare without even realising it.

Fully immersed in the flirtatious banter, Evan beckons invitingly to the seat beside him with a subtle tilt of his head. “Why don’t you slide here, so I can properly admire your outfit?” he mumbles in a husky timbre, his eyes ablaze with desire.

But just as the tension between you ignites like a volcano lava, the waiter interrupts with his timely arrival. “What can I get for you both?” he interjects, shattering the moment. 

With a mischievous glint in your eye, you gesture Evan to go first, shooting him a ‘hold up, let me cook,’ look. With a bold move, you slip off your shoe under the table and discreetly brush your foot against his pant leg.

You feel him stiffen as he places his order, his composure wearing out. Stifling a giggle, you almost sadistically enjoy his flustered state as he clumsily fumbles and drops his menu, the clatter against the plate resonating like a thunderbolt. 

He’s a ten, but he stumbles over his words and over-apologises when aroused in the most inappropriate settings. Take my money, that bumps him up to a solid thirty.  

“Would you like extra cheese with that?” the waiter chimes in, oblivious to the charged atmosphere crackling between you.

Evan nods, swallowing thickly as your foot ventures higher up his thigh, stoking the flames of his growing hardness.

“And you, miss?”

“Eh? Umm, double everything, please. I’ll have what he’s having. Thanks,” you mutter with a half smile, your leg rubbing against his throbbing erection to a fever pitch.

As the waiter marches to the kitchen, Evan clenches his jaw, frustration painted all over his stormy gaze. He bunches his cloth napkin from his lap and tosses it onto his plate, blowing out a sharp, exasperated breath.

“Evan,” you call out with an apologetic expression, watching him push his chair with the backs of his knees and storm off to the bathroom.

You shoulder the heavy door and step into the empty men’s bathroom, your insides wounding themselves in knots. You scan the room, hunting for any trace of Evan, until your gaze lands on the locked door at the end. Curiosity gnaws at you, nudging you to investigate.

With a hesitant knock, you signal your presence. Before you can react, the door swings open, and Evan’s dark eyes greet you from the other side as he pulls you into the room.

The door clicks shut behind you as you quickly take in the gold-hued surroundings: a lavish toilet, a gleaming sink, and a long bench strewn with plush towels and designer toiletries. The place gives you a babushka-esque feel—a mini, fully-equipped restroom within the main one, and it’s like stepping into a VIP sanctuary.

Though, as you register Evan’s proximity, his body pressed flush against yours, your thoughts scatter like marbles on a polished floor, and pleasure sparks sizzle through your veins like a live wire.

“Hey,” you bleat, feeling the tension twist in your gut as you swallow hard, trying to steady yourself. 

His strong arms cradle your waist. He draws you into a tight embrace until you’re cocooned on his lap, the heat of his body searing into your skin.

You cross your legs as he closes the distance between you, his veiny hands fondling and squeezing your thighs greedily and possessively. 

“Evan,” you croak out, clearing your throat to ground yourself as he strokes your cheek with his knuckle. “I realise that might have been a bit much for public display…and I’m sorry,” you mumble, flashing him an apologetic look before averting your gaze.

But his expression remains stern, a furrow creasing his brow as he lets out an exaggerated huff—eyes hooded and mouth set in a grim line. “That won’t fix it, I’m afraid. I’m still hurt and embarrassed.” 

You quirk a brow at him, a hint of defiance in your gaze as you meet his unwavering stare. “And what do you suggest now?” you challenge with a sly smirk, a daring spark igniting in your face.

His lips curl into a sinister smile as he leans in, his scorching breath against your ear sending a tremor down your backbone. “Get on your knees, and use this beautiful mouth of yours to show me just how sorry you are,” he whispers as he’s massaging your tits, his words like an electric current buzzing through you at a high voltage.

You snort, your hand weaving through his silky hair as you draw him closer. “Oh, you think you’ve won? I’d be more than happy to suck you up—day and night, overtime included,” you purr, your voice husky with longing as you sink to your knees.

Positioned between his legs, you look up at him with a mischievous smile. “Someone’s suffering in there,” you coo and outline his stiff shaft with your tongue, feeling him twitch beneath the smooth fabric, aching for freedom.

Pinned against the wall, he sucks in a breath through gritted teeth, his hips buckling forward in desperate response.

The button of his slacks loosely holds on, barely containing his throbbing beast from bursting it open. Gripping the cold metal of his zipper between your teeth, you drag it down slowly, your pussy dripping as his low growl rumbles from his chest like distant thunder when he finally finds release.

You reach up, flipping down the elastic waistband of his boxers so you can slip your hand in, dragging your fingers along his pulsing crimson tip.

“Suck it, don’t tease,” he commands, his tone rigid and thick with desire. You comply without hesitation, eagerly licking off the subtle traces of his seed off the tip, twirling your tongue around it.

Your mouth is immediately slick with his precum, the thick fluid coating the corners of your lips. The heady scent drives you wild as you savour every drop of his essence. You keep using your tongue to smear some of it to the underside of the head, teasing at the ridges and pressing into the squishy flesh of his head.

He bites down on his lips, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he battles to muffle his grunts, his body quivering with need.  

When you finally close your lips around his painfully hard cock, he reacts with a sharp intake of breath. His fingers thread through your hair as he breathlessly whines your name like a fervent prayer. From that angle, his dimples appear as dark slits along his cheeks, adding to his rugged allure.

You meet his gaze with a sultry mewl of pleasure, giving your throat more room to take him in harder and deeper into your mouth. Flattening your tongue, you glide lower on him as you hold onto his pelvis until his head crushes the back of your throat, testing your gag reflex.

Challenge accepted; you handle him like a pro.

“Y/N, you’re… oh, fuck… No,” he sputters out with an intense shudder, rubbing his eyes as he fights the overwhelming tide of his impending orgasm.

“Load me,” you exhale teasingly as you pull him out of your mouth only to pump him back down with renewed hunger. He intertwines his fingers with yours, guiding your movements as you kick off a slow, torturous rhythmic ordeal just to gauge his reaction.

With a choked moan, he tightens his grip, sticking his convulsing cock all the way down with urgency, thrusting in your mouth with a ruthless pace.

His move and the resonance of his deep voice send a surge of heat to your core that consumes you, tripling the moisture in your panties.

You want him in ways that will add new sins to the bible.

Each time you rise, you suck his tip with fervour before slamming back down on his throbbing length. The symphony of moans he’s emitting are almost sinful—you’ve never gotten soaking wet just from hearing a man groan. He’s gonna be the death of your ovaries.

As you steal a gaze upwards, his abs glistening with a sheen of sweat, you watch his head fall back. “No,” he breathes out repetitively, his chest heaving and his Adam’s apple bobbing—a tell-tale sign that he’s on the brink of letting his load spray onto anything in the room.

His balls tighten, cock pulsing as his thrusts into your mouth turn sloppy and messy. Blinded by pleasure, his mind goes blank as he teeters on the edge.

Still panting, he hauls you off him more forcefully, his fingers hooking onto the hem of your stockings. You notice his nose scrunch up in clear disapproval as he glares at your lips—swollen and shining with wetness—immediately stripping you off your undergarments with raw intensity.

Flipping you over so your upper body’s bent over the wooden bench, he gropes your ass cheek before slapping it harshly, making you squeal with excitement. “Why do I have to say no twice?” he growls, his voice ringing with dominance as he claims you as his own.

You’re ovulating, so your audacity and inhibitions are thrown to the wind, acting like you’ve been dick-deprived your entire life. “I wanna tick you off so much you show no mercy. Just take me already,” you demand, your voice heavy with despair.

With a guttural groan, he obliges, rutting his hips as he lines up his leaking tip with your entrance. The moment he meets your wet folds, you both gasp in unison as he plunges in you. The sensation of him filling you up sparks fireworks as he humps you in long, steady thrusts, his velvet plush head bumping against your swollen clit with a delicious friction.

Your cries threaten to spill out, but his hand clamps gently over your mouth to shush you, his dark eyes flashing with warning. “We have to be quiet, baby,” he rasps, his voice tinged with lust. You turn over your shoulder and nod underneath his grasp, your half-lidded eyes glazing with pleasure.

A muffled yelp roars against his palm as he drills his aching cock deeper inside of you. You grip the edge of the bench tightly, and the sound of it banging against the wall echoes through the room, adding a primal rhythm to your ecstasy. The sensation of your slithery walls stretching to accommodate his thick dick is nothing short of mind-blowing for both of you.

Using the bench for leverage, he thrusts harder, his hand trailing up to caress the curve of your ribs as you writhe beneath him. “Fuck, I love your wet little pussy,” he hisses with primitive desire. “Cum for me, Y/N, all over my dick.”

“I’m getting there, baby. I wanna drown in your juices,” you moan, feeling his jaw slacken against your back as your walls pulse around his throbbing cock.

Just as the bench keeps bashing against the concrete wall in sync with your rising orgasms, a sudden crash breaks the intensity of the moment. The yellow paint plastic box from above the shelf tumbles down—its contents splattering over both of you and the wall, creating an impromptu abstract masterpiece in the spur of the moment.

You both freeze, paint trickling down your bodies, adding vibrant hues to your flushed skin. Evan blinks in surprise, his hands still gripping your hips as he takes in the colourful chaos engulfing you.

“Well, we certainly went hard on the paint,” he quips, trying to lighten the mood despite the unexpected interruption.

You chuckle nervously as you survey the lively mess. “Looks like we got more than we bargained for tonight,” you shoot back, your voice filled with playful mischief.

With a wicked smirk, Evan swipes paint off your cheek, leaving a colourful streak between you two as you embrace. “We’ve got a cleanup on our hands before we can get back to what we—” His words are abruptly cut off by approaching footsteps.

Though the intoxicating passion still clouds your mind, one detail arises with sobering clarity: You’re screwed (literally). 

“You hit it off with the first three cubicles, I’ll handle the ones from the end, and we’ll meet in the middle,” a deep man’s voice echoes from outside, sending a jolt of panic through both of you. 

Evan winces and involuntarily grabs your hand. Your body stiffens as you lace your clammy fingers with his, the paint already forming a small puddle at your feet.

Acting on pure instinct, he ushers you deeper into the toilet, using his foot to discreetly slide the torn condom wrapper closer to your hiding spot.

“What’s the plan now?” you mouth. Your palms are raised in a questioning gesture, fingers wiggling subtly, as your breath comes in shallow, shaky huffs.

Evan shrugs. “That was a plot twist, didn’t see it coming,” he replies, barely audible in his hushed response.

You hang onto his shirt for dear life, your face taking a ghost-like pale complexion as you weigh the consequences of the trouble you’re about to get in. “The door’s locked, but there’s a little slot under it. Shall I wait up here until they’re gone?” you pantomime your words, attempting to convey your plan to Evan with the finesse of a silent movie star. But as you try to hoist yourself up and chamber onto the toilet seat, you slip, almost tumbling backward.

Evan swoops in to catch you like a superhero, his forehead wrinkled by worry lines, eyes wide with alarm. “You good?” he whispers urgently, pressing a finger to his lips in a frantic plea for silence.

You nod vigorously, gesturing toward the door with exaggerated motions, communicating your escape plan like you’re on the charades: “Let’s go check if we’re clear, then sneak out.”

Nodding in silent agreement, he unlocks the door with a flick of his wrist. Poking his head out, he peers cautiously into the corridor. You stretch up on your tiptoes, craning your neck to peek out over his shoulder, scanning the corridor for any sign of movement.

Finding no one in sight, you both spring into action with the speed and stealth of seasoned spies. You snatch up as much toilet roll as you can, using it to hastily wipe away the evidence of your paint mishap. The paper becomes saturated with soap and water as you scrub your life away, determined to leave no trace behind.

Before you know it, Evan seizes your hand, purse and shoes, and you skitter out of the bathroom like you’re escaping a high-security prison. You zip past the slightly open doors of the other stalls, and as you weave the maze of hallways, you catch a glimpse of the two cleaning men hard at work—one wielding a toilet spray like a weapon on the lead, while the other, two doors ahead, diligently mops the floor.

 

You burst out of the bathroom, hearts racing and adrenaline pumping, feeling like you just pulled off the heist of the century. In the dimly lit corridor between the toilets and the restaurant, you exchange triumphant grins, basking in the rush of your daring gateway. With a quick, victorious high five, you’re both ready for the next phase of your adventure.

But before you can catch your breath, Evan pulls you close, his lips crashing against yours in a fiery kiss that sets you on fire. His tongue dances with yours, igniting a fierce passion between you. As his hands start to wander along your ass and clit, you can’t resist and melt into his touch, a soft moan slipping off you.

Reality hits you like a freight train, and you protest against his lips, reluctantly swatting his hands away and pushing him back gently. “You can’t waltz back to your table looking like nuggets dipped in mayo, and I don’t have a spare wardrobe stashed in my purse,” you whine. With a determined swipe, you rub off a scuff mark from his cheek, your thumb tracing the contours of his face as he nods in understanding.

“Okay, let’s go,” he says, and without missing a beat, he takes your hand and leads you in the direction of the toilet. But as you reach the door, he steers you towards the emergency door instead. Throwing yourselves outside, you’re met with the frigid night air, an uninviting shock after the warmth of the restaurant.

The cold bites at your skin, raising goosebumps along your arms. But Evan is quick to replace your coat, which still hangs off your table chair, and envelops you in an embrace, rubbing your arms to warm you up.

You cling to him, his body heat a comforting embrace as he cups your hands in his, blowing warm breath into them. The moon casts a soft glow over a secluded pond before you, tucked away from the hustle and bustle of the hotel.

“I’ve got good and bad news,” Evan chirps, his voice tinged with a mischievous undertone. You raise an eyebrow, curiosity piqued as you lean closer to him, flakes of paint dropping off your arms as he intensifies his rubbing.

“Spill the good news first. Enough shocks for today, I wanna buy myself some time.” 

“The good news is,” he begins, a grin spreading across his face, “my rented place is over there,” he reveals and points behind you. You follow his gaze to the tall complex of flats that extend from the main hotel.

You hum in acknowledgment, planting a quick peck on his lips. “Alright… and what’s the bad news?” you inquire, already bracing yourself for whatever curveball he’s about to throw your way.

“The bad news is that if we wanna keep the prying eyes at bay,” he continues, his eyes fixed on you in mounting suspense, “we’ve got some climbing to do.”

The grass crunches under your feet as you wade through the greenery, your heels sinking into the mud with each step. You duck under the low archway in the middle and reach the towering fence.

“Damn, that’s taller than I thought,” he mutters, eyeing the fence with a furrowed brow.

“Piece of cake,” you counter with a coy smile, tossing your heels on the other end. You make the first move by planting your toes on a cracked piece in the wall, gripping the hurdle tightly to propel yourself upwards.

As he gives you an extra push, his hands boldly grazing your ass, a mischievous sparkle gleams in his eyes. “Speaking of cakes,” he cheers, squeezing your curves as his eyes linger on the enticing view of your cunt beneath your dress, his grin broad and cocky.

“Stay focused, dude,” you hiss, playfully waving him away as you divert your attention back to the task at hand.

With a hint of concern in his voice, Evan watches you climb, ready to catch you if you falter. “Take it slow, Y/N. With this velocity, you gotta use one leg at a time...” he advises, his arms poised to assist you.

Rolling your eyes, you brush off his instruction. “The mansplaining’s redundant, Peters. I’ve got this,” you scold jokingly, confidently manoeuvring over the obstacles.

“It’s hard... oh, mind your head on the branches…” he mumbles, absentmindedly repeating “it’s hard” as he observes your every move with a mix of awe and disbelief.

When you safely tumble over to the other side, he can’t help but chuckle nervously, astonished by your agility. “Oh, that was easy…it was really easy, actually” he mumbles with a shake of his head, mouth agape, still processing your swift ascent.

“Come on, slowpoke,” you taunt, your voice laced with playful challenge. You dust off your hands, the thrill of the escape still coursing through your veins.

“I’m just taking my time,” he defends as he carefully navigates his way over the fence. 

“Says the guy who played Quicksilver,” you mock, giggling, and run your tongue along your teeth with a cheeky smile.

As Evan finally makes it over the fence, he stumbles on a loose stone, his footing giving way beneath him. You gasp, lunging forward to catch him as he starts to fall backward, his arms flailing wildly as he tries to regain his balance.

“Watch out!” you cry out, and you manage to pull him back from the brink of spraining his ankle on the way down. 

He winces in pain, clutching his leg as he tries to stand. “Ouch, that was close,” he groans, his breath hitched. 

Concern floods through you as you help him to his feet, supporting him as he tests his injured ankle. “You okay?” you ask, worry evident in your voice.

Evan nods, his expression strained. “I think so,” he replies, clenching his jaw against the discomfort.

You sigh, realising that your adventure may have taken an unexpected turn. “Maybe we should take it easy for now, old man,” you suggest once you realise he’s fine, suppressing a laugh as you guide him back to safety.

As you playfully rib Evan with the “old man” label, he retaliates by tickling you, his fingers sending ripples of loud laughter down your spine. You squirm and wriggle, trying to escape his teasing grasp, but he’s relentless.

“Alright, alright, I give up!” you yell, breathless from both laughter and excitement. But Evan doesn’t stop there. With a mischievous glint in his eyes, he picks you up into his arms, his lips hammering against yours in a passionate kiss, his tongue swirling with yours. 

“Let me show you who’s the old man,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice dripping with desire and challenge as he carries you off.

The reception area lies deserted, and the dull glow of an overhead light seeps through the crack at the bottom of the slightly ajar cleaning storage door. 

“Anyone here?” he calls out, testingly, but there’s no response. Without wasting any time, you make a beeline for the elevator. The ding of the lift makes you jump, you launch your bodies up the stairs, bounding them up like a panther on the prowl, your feet padding down on the carpeted floor.

You creep into his room, edging the door shut until the latch clicks into place, and you pause to laugh at the yellow patches on your body. “I feel like I’ve just wrestled a pig in a mud pit.” 

“I’ve got the best way to clean it all up?” he mumbles sloppily into your lips, his arms folded around your waist, massaging your ass.

Hot water spurts out of the shower faucet, raining down marvellously on the tiled floor. You smile, holding your hand up to it and watching the paint, mostly dried now, run off your legs before landing on the ground and swirling around the drain. The temperature is heavenly, able to ease even the deepest aching of your shoulders, and your smile widens.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmurs, planting a few teasing kisses along your exposed collarbone.

You bite down your lip at the sensation. “Finger-fuck while you kiss me, first. I need it,” you huff in despair, eyes imploring.

“You wish, I deliver, baby,” he breathes out, suckling on your pulse as you lightly pump his erect shaft in your hand in your fluid motion. He seems way too horny and too into you to say no.

He grunts and grounds his hips against your inner thigh. Against the wall, his fingers dip in, gathering some of your warm, slithery wetness and splotching it over your shiny folds. His free hand claws on your face, dragging you for a breathless kiss.

“Gosh,” you moan chokingly, an exhilarating lilt in your words. Your back arches as you feel that knot in your stomach beginning to snap. The pad of his middle finger keeps tapping and circling your clit, and you feel the escalating climb of your orgasm. Your legs start to twitch, and once he realises this, his fingers slowly drift away from your weeping cunt, his slick fingers gripping your thigh.

“Wh-why?” you protest in frustration.

Without uttering a single syllable, he snatches the detachable shower head, a smirk playing on his lips as he winds the cable around his wrist. He cranks the setting to its highest level and kneels down, parting your slopping folds with a confident touch. His lips curve in a devilish smile as he takes sight of your pulsating pussy clenching around nothing, giggling as he realises he’s edged you so badly.

As he positions the shower head near your throbbing clit, you instinctively clamp your hand over your mouth, stifling the shrill whimper that threatens to escape. The sensation of the water hitting your sensitive bud forces your breath out in punchy, laboured gasps as you feel the vibrations bringing your high closer.

He laps at your cunt like it’s a melting ice cream cone, and it doesn’t take long for your sweet cream to leak out along his mouth. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, eyelids fluttering as you’re consumed by the tsunami of your looming orgasm. Each flick of his tongue sends tremors through your thighs, the wet, slick sounds filling the room.

His tongue flattens out against your clit and you let out a needy whine, your hips instinctively bucking against his mouth. He presses his face deeper into your wet folds, tongue jerking at the underside of your clit. As he licks at your entrance, he sinks his tongue into your soaking hole, you cum on his tongue, grinding his face, moaning his name in heavy, ragged pants.

As the aftershocks of your orgasm ripple through you, he stands up straight, his hands gently caressing your waistband in a soothing gesture. But you’re not done yet. With a hungry urgency, you pull him into a kiss, your lips melding together.

He backs you against the wall, hiking up your thighs and wrapping them tightly around his waist. You wrap your hand around the base of his cock, guiding him to your dripping entrance. As he slams into you, the world around you fades away, and your head lolls back in ecstasy.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” he grunts as he pounds harsher and faster in you, his balls slapping against your ass cheeks.

Your slick is trickling down his cock, creating a slippery mess on his thighs as he drives into you relentlessly. His breathing picks up pace, the air thick with the heady scent of sex and steam. You almost had him, until his hands forces your hips down onto his cock as far as they would go, his tip nudging against your cervix.

A scream tears from your lips as you squirm against his ruthless assault and bruising force. The tip of his cock brushes against that spongy spot inside you time and time again, the lewd squelching sounds of your poor, swollen cunt only a faint indicator that you were close.

In the misty haze of the shower, you catch him smirk crookedly, pleased with the visual above him. Your tits bounce tantalisingly in front of him, a tempting feast he can’t resist as he reaches out to grab them in his mouth, eager to taste every inch of your trembling body.

As the unbearably tight, hot coil in your abdomen snaps, you’re unable to contain the set of moans that spill from your lips. A tingling heat spreads across your body, your muscles contracting and burning with the intensity of your release.

His face contorts in pleasure, his brows knitting together as his jaw drops in awe. His breaths come out in hurried, choppy huffs as he pumps inside you, warm, white strings of cum painting your walls as if he marks his territory and you as his own.

“Ugh, I’m dizzy...and l look like shit,” you huff out, your voice laced with giggles. Evan stays still for a moment, burying his face into the crook of you neck.

“You’re dizzy but beautiful,” he rasps, chuckling breathlessly, and you feel your cheeks flushing. He strokes your face, his touch tender and loving as he presses soft kisses against your lips. Your tongues dance together in a sweet and intimate exchange as soft moans escape both of you.

Slowly, he pulls out. A mix of your juices coats his tip as it drips from your hole in a seductive display of your shared ecstasy.

“I want cuddles on the bed now,” he says, his voice soft and pleading, a hint of a pout playing on his lips as he gazes at you with adoration.

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Taglist: sillysillygyal, junkie4weezer, frankiesweird, divinerulerz, nickrhodeslittledarling

@evanchantingpeters — All rights reserved. Please do not modify, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[umangharyana]

UP Weather Update: सर्द हवाओं और घने कोहरे के साथ बदल रहा है मौसम का मिज़ाज

लखनऊ, उत्तर प्रदेश: रविवार को उत्तर प्रदेश के कई हिस्सों में मौसम ने करवट ली। लखनऊ में सुबह हल्की बारिश के बाद धूप ख��ली, लेकिन शाम तक सर्द हवाओं ने गलन बढ़ा दी। कानपुर का न्यूनतम तापमान 5.4 डिग्री सेल्सियस रिकॉर्ड किया गया, जो प्रदेश में सबसे कम रहा। वहीं, फतेहपुर में 6.4 और अयोध्या में 7.0 डिग्री सेल्सियस न्यूनतम तापमान दर्ज किया गया। सोमवार का मौसम पूर्वानुमान सोमवार से प्रदेश में मौसम साफ रहने…

[writingsbychlo]

SWEET LIKE SUGAR | 03

summary; your first introductions don't go as planned, putting a dampener on some otherwise good news.

word count; 12,179

notes; y'all's patience for this has been incredible, it really has been a criminal amount of time since the last update. hopefully the next one comes sooner lol but enjoy!!

The many shopping bags dangling from your arms rustled as you hurried up the front steps of the new house you called home. Over a week had passed, a full week of your new life that was still taking some effort to get used to, and yet, things finally seemed to be looking up. 

Clutched in your hands, the most prized of every new acquisition you’d made today. No matter how many paper bags filled with new clothes and decor hung from your tired arms, the small bakery box with four cupcakes inside was by far the best. This time next week, you’d be serving the cupcakes. 

A real job, earning your own money, to pay your own way. 

It was almost shocking, just how quickly your life had changed, how right Azriel had been about it. Doors that would have been shut to you as soon as you registered the house to be billed to, the district you’d lived in, were all open now. Sneers and stares had been swapped for smiles and polite greetings, and although you hated that prejudice had existed at all, Azriel was right. 

You couldn't wait to tell him so. 

Clearing the final few steps and teetering up the porch, the door swung open free of latch or key when you twisted the doorknob. Azriel was home, then. 

You had hardly kicked off your shoes beside the door in your excitement, toeing it shut, when the voices from the living room finally met your ears. Your head was still spinning, nothing in you telling you to halt, or to consider just who the people Azriel might be meeting with were, before you were spinning around that corner, smile on your face, and coming face to face with the High Lord and the Commander of the Court’s armies. 

Their gazes moved to you, Azriel’s back to you but he finally turned to look over his shoulder, the room falling silent as all attention moved to you, and your throat bobbed at the weight of it. Cassian shuffled on the couch, and Rhysand only adjusted the angle he was perched at on the arm, to look further around Azriel at you. His stare was piercing, assessing, and you found yourself shrinking under it a little, clearing your throat and dragging your gaze to your housemate. 

“I’m so sorry for interrupting. I’ll come back later, Az. I’ll just head upstairs.” Your palms were sweating, but it didn’t feel right to just ignore the other people in the room, not when their presences alone were so powerful they practically filled it. Setting down one arm’s worth of shopping bags and the boxes of pastries carefully, you padded to the centre of the room, holding your hand out halfway between them. “High Lord, General. My apologies, again. It has been an honour to meet you both, though.”

Neither moved, both just stared, your arm trembling for just a second as the moment dragged on, and neither moved to shake your hand. After too many silent seconds, heat rose to your cheeks, and you pulled your hand back, stepping backwards a couple of steps. Perhaps it had been too informal, perhaps you’d offended them in some way, but when Rhysand gave a huff that sounded displeased, you were sure it wasn’t just you sensing the tension anymore. 

“An honour, I’m sure.” The High Lord muttered, your eyes widening a little, gaze shooting to Azriel as he stepped up to your side, slipping the other bags from your hands as that one began to shake too, and setting them down with the rest. 

“Rhysand!” Azriel snapped, a tone in his voice that you’d never heard before, and the shock of it only sent another bout of anxiousness coursing through you. “Be polite.”

His brother only shrugged casually, like he’d been asked the weather forecast, and picked at one of his cuticles, bored. “I am being polite. As polite as I can be, anyway.”

It was a lie, thick and heavy as that penetrating violet stare found you again. You’d heard the rumours, about how charming the High Lord of Night could be, and this certainly was not him. You tried another smile anyway, and shied your gaze away from the Lord to the General. He didn’t return it, only crossing his impressive arms over a powerful chest, his size a terrifying display, only made worse by his own glare. 

Clammy sweat began to bead along your back, and you shuffled a little closer to Azriel’s side. His arm pressed to your own, the back of his palm brushing yours as it hung at his side, and it was enough comfort to at least take one deep lungful of air, before your ruler spoke again; “What is it that you want?”

“Huh?” It was impolite, and informal, but you were confused, the sound tumbling from you faster than you could stop it, and you only winced at the slight tensing of the man who’d asked it. His companion only snarled at your accidental impertinence. 

“Cass…” Azriel growled back, low and under his breath, his fingers threading gently through your own. You clung to him, so tight you were sure you’d cut off blood flow, your knuckles likely white, but you needed him to anchor you right now. 

“What, Azriel?” The tension was so thick it was stifling, you could hardly breathe. Your muscles were wound tight to stop your whole body from shaking, a nervous response, and yet somehow, you still felt like you were going to shatter at any moment. “You got yourself a fucking sugar baby! Excuse me for being concerned about what she actually wants from you!”

“She is not a sugar baby!” Your head spun, your body swaying a little, and you could’ve cried merely at Azriel’s defence of you. You could cry right now, anyway. Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth, every word forming too slowly in your head to stand up for yourself, to even understand what was going on. Thinking alone merely felt like wading through treacle, right now. 

“So, you didn’t give her the money for whatever is in those shopping bags, then?” Rhysand waved a lazy hand at your purchases, your face flushing once again, and Cassian raised a brow in a challenge, both standing united against Azriel in their questioning. Against you.

Yes, technically, you supposed Azriel did pay, but—

“That’s what I thought.” Rhysand sneered, cutting off your line of thought, and Azriel growled once again, a deeper sound, a more predatory warning. “Stay the fuck out of her head, Rhys.”

“My head?” Your squeak was embarrassing but you were too overwhelmed to care. Rhysand only scoffed, brushing invisible lint from his shoulder while Cassian rolled his eyes. Your stomach was rolling over, and you felt like the very air was being squeezed from your lungs, emotions clogging and stinging at your throat. Under their watchful eye, you’d never felt so small, so insecure, so powerless. 

“Picture a wall building around your mind.” Azriel’s voice had softened, his breath brushing over your hairline, and you wanted to turn to him, to sink into his honeyed gaze where you knew you’d find a friend, in hopes it would calm the visible full body shakes now, bring you back into your own skin. But, you couldn't look away, feeling like you were stuck on the High Lord, unable to even move. “Picture it. Don’t focus on anything else, brick by brick, build that wall. Keep building it, thicker and thicker. Work on it until they leave, I’ll explain later.”

A jerky nod was the best you could manage, and Azriel left a kiss on your temple on confirmation as you mentally laid down the first few bricks. 

“This is none of your business.” His voice hardened again, and you lost focus, cursing yourself mentally as you lost it all, the wall crumbling to dust in your mind’s eye. You could feel it, then. Feel that presence, the one that made you feel like you were being pushed out of your one body, the cramped feeling. 

He was there, embarrassment flooding you at how flawlessly he witnessed your internal struggle. He didn’t even try to prove at your thoughts again, just watching you struggle from inside your own mind, like it was nothing to him at all. 

Grasping Azriel’s hand with your other, clutching it in both now, he flexed his fingers reassuringly to you, and you tried again to do as you’d been told. One full wall, and when Rhysand finally looked away from you, you were able to snap your mind to the carpet, staring at the floor by your bare feet instead. 

“It certainly is my business. If she’s manipulating you, we’re all at risk!”

Your flinch at his shout was unstoppable. You were so wary of his powers, so frightened of Cassian sitting on the couch—

“She should be wary of my abilities, she should be terrified of Cassian!” His gaze turned back to you when you looked in horror, and you could feel the faint trickles of his horrid amusement as you realised once again you’d lost focus, lost that wall. You blinked back tears, unwilling to sink that low before them, to fall any further in their eyes. 

In your peripherals, Cassian’s arms uncrossed and he shuffled, but you were locked once again, having made the mistake to look at Rhysand again, and being unable to move away. Shadows twisted at your legs, your arms, your joined hands, drifting off of him in cool and calming waves, binding you to him, comforting you silently. You moved your attention back to that wall once again. 

“Whatever she did to you, Az, tell us! Whatever she’s holding over you, we can get you out of it, we can help you!” The warlord only grunted his agreement, shattering your focus with a single sound. And so, you started again. 

Silence. Silence dragged on longer this time, longer than any moment before. 

Azriel’s wings ruffled as he pulled them in closer, his hand tightened around your own. “It was my idea.”

“What?” They both spoke at once, incredulous and unbelieving. But you dragged in a shaky breath at the shift of power in the room, just for a split second, as he cough them off guard with his declaration. 

“It was my idea,” Azriel said again, with that lethal, icy calm. Azriel tucked you a little closer to him, a little behind his body, shielding you from them with a wing. “It was my idea to walk her home that night, it was my idea to bring her back here. It was me who convinced her to stay after she found out who I was. It was me who took her into my bed. It was me who made the offer.”

Silence, again. You’d once loved silence, now, you hated the way it felt like it was crawling across your skin, burrowing into the cracks and seeping through pores. 

“It was all me.” 

That statement settled over the room, only seeming to heighten everything, until you were sure the sound of your heart pounding was drawing out everything else, even the bustle from the streets outside. Finally, Rhysand snarled a sound of utter disgust. 

“This is ridiculous, Azriel! Can’t you see that?” Azriel did not deign to reply, and when the room became stagnant, the air almost unbreathable, it seemed the conversation had come to an end. Standing and sliding his hands into his pockets, Rhysand took a few steps closer to you both. Azriel tucked you further behind his back as Cassian followed. “Fine. Do as you please, Azriel. Let’s see how the rest of the family reacts at dinner on Saturday.”

With little else, Rhysand stalked past, not even bothering a sigh in your direction. Meaningless, inconsequential, nothing. That’s what you were to him. Cassian lingered, and you dared not to look up this time, before hearing him follow only a second later, the front door slamming shut behind him. Two sets of wings took off into the air a second later, and as they went, the heaviness in the room seemed to be sucked right out with them.

When the beating of wings finally faded, Azriel dropped your hand, spinning to you. Your face was cupped in two warm hands, guided up to meet his panicked gaze, and you still felt a little numb, shaking yourself out all the way down to your fingers, as if to regain control of your body. 

“I’m so sorry. Fuck, that was awful. I didn’t want you to come back to that, that’s not what I wanted to happen at all. I’m so sorry about them. Are you okay?” Azriel’s rambling came with a tremble to his own hands, and he leaned down, brushing a delicate kiss across both of your heat-stained cheeks. Sliding your hands up to cover his on your face, you finally nodded. 

“Your friends don’t seem to like me very much.” You finally choked out, voice raw like you’d been singing at the top of your lungs for hours, or screaming over a crowd, and Azriel gave an equally raspy laugh. His only response was sliding his hands to your waist, and tugging you into his chest, a tight embrace. 

“I don’t know why.”

“It’s okay.” You sighed, burying your face into his chest, feeling the siphon under his clothes pull with a power. “It makes sense. They think I’m using you.”

“They didn’t even let me explain! They just assume I was weak enough to let a beautiful woman manipulate me. It makes me feel like they don’t trust me, at all.” Your heart fluttered at his words, even if they were spoken with rage and anger, they still held sweetness for you, and you squeezed him once more, before stepping back from his arms, just a little.

He was all but shaking with rage, and you rolled onto your tiptoes, leaving a kiss to match the ones he’d given you upon his cheek, and he tried his best to give a small smile. It looked more like a grimace, but you appreciated it nonetheless. “Let me show you what I bought today, would that cheer you up?”

“Yes.” He mumbled, but finally came a genuine smile from him, even if it was tiny, it was something. 

Scooping up the bags for you, you were left only with the small bakery box, waving it lightly in your hands as he carried your begs further into the room and placing them beside the coffee table. “This is a little treat for us later, I hope you have a sweet tooth,”

Azriel shrugged, lips pressed shut, and you were sure a soft pink was forming on his cheekbones. “I like sweet things.”

Your eyes narrowed on him a little, closing the space between you both until you were pinching his cheek, his blush deepening as he scowled, pushing your hand away when you giggled. “Oh, so tough. Big bad spymaster, I bet you love desserts and pastries and sugar.”

“I like it a normal amount.” He deflected, catching your other hand by the wrist when you lifted it to his other cheek, and pinning them both at your sides. The scowl melted into a smile, despite how hard he tried, and your grin only stretched wider. “Oh, shut up. You should be grateful, if I didn’t like sweet things so much, you wouldn't be here!”

It was your turn to blush, your jaw dropping a little as heat crawled over your face. He raised both hands, pinching your cheek and shaking your face side to side. When you slapped his hands away, he only laughed. 

“Not so fun, is it?”

“Shut it, shadowsinger.”

His grin only got wider, and he reached for a bag, swiping up whichever his fingers found first and holding it out to you. Taking it from him after putting down the pastry box, you opened up the paper bag, peering inside at whatever you’d purchased. Fishing out the first item, you presented it to him, his brows crawling up. 

“Table mats!” 

“Table mats?” He repeated, taking the bundle from you and tugging lightly at the twine string holding them shut. The set of eight opened up after the strings came loose, and he examined each one. A lightwood mat, with the mountain range of the Night Court carved into the surface of each one, clean and beautiful polished wood under his fingertips. “I like them.”

“Yeah?”

You could only smile, pulling out the next item, one that matched. “Good, because I also got matching coasters!” On each coaster, one mountain sat with the three stars carved over the top, the crest of their Court, and he rubbed his thumb across it. “They’re perfect.”

“I also bought some mugs!”

“I have mugs.” You only scoffed, beginning to root through the bags on the floor beside the table until one clinked, the cups and saucers inside. 

“You have… very simplistic mugs.” His arms crossed over his chest. 

“Because they’re plain white and aren’t weirdly shaped?” Producing the mugs and saucers, his lips pressed together to conceal a laugh. “What are those?”

“Mugs and saucers!”

“Saucers are supposed to be around, not square! And why are the mugs striped?” He took one from your hands, inspecting it closely. “A mug is a functional item, why does it have a quote painted on the front?”

He turned it around, forcing you to look at the words across the front, the exact reason you’d chosen it, and your answering beam seemed to answer his question. 

“‘I’m not arguing, I’m just explaining why I’m right’. Really?”

“Now look at mine!” You handed it over to him, yours with blue polka-dots instead of stripes, and he gagged loudly as he read the words. 

“‘Follow your dreams, they know the way’? That’s awful.” He threw it, the mug bouncing across the couch cushions, and you caught it just before it could fall to the floor, loud bursts of laughter spilling from your lips as he shook his head. “You can’t live here anymore. You have to get out. Right now. And take your terrible mugs with you.”

“But there’s more!”

“More?” He groaned, loudly, head tipping back, and when you leaned in to jab at his shoulder, he grabbed your arm, tugging you closer. Your squeal was lost to laughter as he pinched at your side instead, stealing your intended attack and making you squirm, checking him with your hip as he did it again, an inch higher. “How many more will you inflict upon my poor cupboards?”

“I got four in total!” His assault stopped after the third pinch, your back to his chest as his arm banded around your body, holding you there until the giggles faded. “I promise, I have other stuff, stuff you’ll like.”

“How can I possibly trust your taste, now?”

“I’m here with you, aren’t I? I must have reasonably decent taste, at least.” The pinching started again, until you squirmed away to the floor, gasping for breath and kicking at his ankles as you swiped for the next bag. “You’re a menace!”

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s just see the next bag.” 

Despite his insults of your mugs and plates, you couldn't bring yourself to care, because that tension had slipped out of his shoulders once again, and he was smiling. Smiling like he’d never known a trouble in the world, smiling like nothing had gone wrong today. As he sank to kneel before you on the floor, you fetched the next bag, setting it between your bodies. 

And so, the next several hours followed, the world melting away as you went through each purchase, showing Azriel everything from new candles that smelled like pumpkins and spices, to a throw blanket for the bed, to a new set of notebooks and pens. 

Your new clothes had been folded and set in piles, and you left Azriel to wash and put away your ‘interesting’ kitchenware as you carried your new clothes up to your drawers. You’d never owned so much in the way of lovely clothes, the fabric and weaving market of Velaris were like nothing you’d ever seen before. 

When you reemerged, Azriel was standing in the living room, hands on his hips and staring at the floor. His brows were furrowed a little bit, all the empty bags had been picked up and were now sitting in a stack in his armchair, the considerable number threatening to topple over. He looked a little overwhelmed, rubbing a hand across his jaw, and your lip caught between your teeth as you stepped into the doorway. 

“Is it too much?”

“What?” His hand returned to his hip from his jaw, as his gaze moved to you. 

Waving a hand idly around in a motion of the house, you gave a small smile. “Everything I bought, is it too much?”

His eyes widened slightly, before he was making his way across the room, shaking his head. He stared for a second, frozen in motion but you could see the thoughts flicking through his eyes, before finally, he gave a heavy sigh; “I’ve never had matching mugs with someone before. My chest is tight.”

Your thoughts halted for a moment, a vulnerable look on his face as you studied him, his fingers twitching by his sides anxiously as he held your stare. Rubbing a hand over his chest for something to do, you took his hand in both of your own, rubbing your thumbs across the back of his palm. “That’s so cute, Az.”

“It’s cute?” His cheeks were growing redder by the second, and you squeezed his hand, “It’s pathetic.”

“It’s not pathetic! I’ve never had matching mugs with someone either.” He only rolled his eyes, but his fingers finally curled around your own. 

“It’s not just the mugs. The mugs are a metaphor.” That furrow was back between his brows, the blush spreading down his jaw, and you rubbed that crease softly with one finger. 

“I know. I’ve never had the metaphor, either.”

Silence fell between you both, and Azriel’s blush finally went down, until he no longer wore that expression, but was relaxed once again. His hand tightened around yours, tugging you forward, through the living room. “I laid out the rug.”

“The rug?” Your gaze fell to where he’d been standing, the new woven rug made from the softest materials you’d ever encountered was now laid out beneath the coffee table, centred perfectly before the chairs and the couch. “My rug. That was for my room.”

“What?”

“The rug, you don’t have to put it down here. I don’t want to change your whole house, Az. I just bought a coupla’ things, things I thought would make you chuckle, like the cheesy mugs.”

“But it looks so good here.” With another step, he was on the rug bare feet digging into the threads, and tugging you forward, too. Toeing off your shoes, you copied, toes digging into the soft rug, copying the little steps he was making in the plush material. “I want you to put your little touches all over this place if it makes you happy.”

Something inside of you turned to mush at that, and you looked down, seeing only the motions you both made as you shuffled across the rug, gentle laughter filling the space as you admired it. The day may not have been the best, but Azriel seemed at last a little more cheered. That lingering sadness underneath seemed to last, though. 

“Wanna’ go make dinner? We can have anything you want.”

He stepped away, leaving you to follow him as he made his way to the kitchen, and you almost had to jog to keep up with his long strides. “Hm, how about a cheese toastie?”

“A cheese toastie? C’mon, at least give me a little bit of a challenge!” Despite his protests, Azriel was before the fridge, pulling out a thick loaf of bread and several kinds of cheese, beginning to stack ingredients along the counter. 

“Fine, how about a cheese toastie and some soup?” He glanced at you over his shoulder, face a blank portrait and somehow still conveying subtle judgement, tutting under his breath. “Hey! I’ll have you know that making a good soup is challenging!”

“I’ll have you know, that I’m excellent at cooking, and I’m about to make you the best soup you’ve ever had.”

“Big claims,” You smirked, hopping up onto the counter and swinging your legs, watching as he retrieved a large pot from the cupboards, adding some water and setting it to boil on the stove. “You sure you can handle it?”

“You just watch me handle it.”

Your tongue stuck out, his matching it, and laughter filled the kitchen as he set to work. As Azriel chopped, sliced and peeled the vegetables, adding seasoning and spices, you set to work on slicing the bread and cheeses. When it was done, he retrieved them from you, stacking the bread and fillings up, and finding a pan to start grilling. 

“Make yourself useful and go lay the table.”

“Make myself useful?” A single swat to the arm, and Azriel was grinning to himself as he stirred the soup. “You are the one who keeps telling me that you’re the chef, I would be helping if you’d let me!”

“And now I’m letting you. Letting you set the table. You’re welcome.”

“You’re welcome, yeah, whatever.” You mocked, tugging open the cutlery drawer, gathering cutlery and plates, laying them out on the table. Glasses of water followed, and then you were back, peering over Azriel’s shoulder as he flipped over the two toasties, melted cheese dripping from the edges and making your mouth water. “Smells good.”

“Hm.” He grabbed for another spoon, scooping some out of the bubbling soup, and turning. Holding it up to your lips, all teasing was gone, and you parted your lips, letting him push the spoon between them slowly. Pulling it back, he waited as you swallowed, considering the flavour. “Good?”

“Really good.”

“Yeah?” Pink touched his cheeks at your confirmation, and his private smile was hidden as he turned his back to you, back to the food. “I’m glad. Go sit down, it’s almost ready.”

You did as told, propping your hand on your fist as you sat in your seat, watching him move around the kitchen, plating up your dinner. When it was ready, he sat across the table from you, eagerly waiting on his food as he waited for you to try it once again. 

Reaching one hand out across the table, palm facing up, you offered your hand to him, in the space between you both. Hesitating for only a second, Azriel slid his rough and calloused fingers over your own, holding on gently when you curled your hand around his. He stared, rubbing his thumb slowly over your knuckles as he turned your hands atop the surface, and shook his head softly to himself. 

“Eat up, Az. You’ve had a stressful day.”

He only laughed, a cheeky glint in his eye as he peered up at you through his lashes, shoulders softening further. 

No matter how far they softened, tension easing out, it was never gone entirely. Not as you sat and ate dinner together, not as you shared the pastries you had for dessert, cutting each treat in half and sharing every thought. Lingering underneath it all, in the way his smile never fully extended, or his shimmer dimmed a little too fast, you could tell the weight of the day was still dragging him down. 

He’d insisted on cleaning up, and so you’d stood side by side, him washing and you drying, the quiet eating at the space in between you both until it was too much. So, you’d filled the space by talking, and Azriel had listened to every senseless whim and joke you’d had to say, walking beside you to your bedroom door, before bidding you a quiet goodnight, and disappearing into his own. 

Only one shadow had lingered, brushing across your cheek before trailing in tendrils with the others, which were wrapped tightly around his body. Like a protective shield, or a safety blanket. As you changed for bed, every movement felt heavy, the air was heavy with the lingering emotions of the day, and you could almost taste his guilt and self-loathing in the air. 

You’d all but paced a hole in your floor as you wandered up and down thinking about it.

It didn’t feel right to leave him, but you weren’t sure of where those boundaries lay, what your limits were. If Azriel wanted company, he could’ve asked, but he didn’t exactly seem like the sort to reach out. He was the quiet, brood-in-solitude type. You had no idea what to do to help.

You were still considering it as you silently approached his bedroom door. There was a light still on, flickering dimly as the flame danced, just enough of a soft glow to perhaps be a single candle. 

Before you could back out and turn around, a single shadow snaked under the threshold, curling around your ankle, swarming quietly and securely, like a message. Before you could second-guess again, your knuckles wrapped twice against the door, the shadow darting back underneath.

A gruff noise of acknowledgement from inside welcomed you, and you stepped into the room. Feet near-silent against the carpet, the shadows were back, a wisp of cool touch around your bare calves, brushing all the way up, and stopping respectfully at the hem of your nightgown. 

Instead of venturing further, they shifted to your arms, following your every motion as you closed the door and began padding across the room toward him, feeling the twist and dance of them up your arms.

As you reached the edge of the bed, he lowered his book, a single jerk of his chin bringing his shadows darting back to him, smoothing into the creases of the bed and the shadows on the floor, all but disappearing sneakily once again. Sitting up further, he patted the space beside him, and you crawled up across the bed to kneel by his side. 

He waited patiently as you settled, your heart racing in your chest as he welcomed your company. Your comfort. You hadn't thought it through this far, what to even say to him, but only one thing came to mind;

“I got a job today,”

His eyes widened almost comically, brows shooting up his forehead, and his jaw dropped. For a heartbeat, two, he was speechless. “You got a job?”

“The desserts we had? They came from The Star Crossed Bun Bakery, and you’re lookin’ at their new waitress!” He let out a cheer, arms reaching out to drag you over his legs and into a hug, your ass planted across his thighs as his arms wrapped around your body, squeezing you to his chest. Your head shook, giggling uncontrollably as he whooped. “Well, it’s no ‘spymaster of the Night Court’, but—”

“Do you like it?” He cuts you off cleanly, no longer smiling, a serious look on his face. “Do you think it’ll make you happy?”

“I do. I think it’s perfect.”

“Then who cares what it is? It’s the best job ever, if it’ll truly bring you joy.” The sincerity in his voice made you believe him, the honesty in his eyes only confirmed it, and you couldn't tear your sights away from his own because of it. Captive, you were locked in his gaze, the wide beam on your lips dimming to something more gentle, and his arms tightened around your waist some more as you looped one of your own around his neck for support.

“I’ll be able to pay you back for everything pretty soon.” Threading your fingers a little higher, into the hairs along the back of his head a rumbling sound beat through his chest at the scratch of your nails on his scalp. 

“I told you, I don’t want you to pay me back. That money I gave you was a gift, and you used half of it to buy things for me anyway, so it barely even counts.”

“If I don’t pay you back,” You shuffled, sliding a little further down in his lap as he crooked his legs up behind you. “Then your brothers are right, I’m your sugar baby.”

His smile dimmed a little as you looked up at him, but it didn’t leave completely, and after a couple of moments of quiet, he shrugged. “Then you’re my sugar baby. I don’t care what they think.”

“I care!” Your hand slapped loosely at his arm, and he only rubbed a hand down your spine, his face impassive at your protest. Your eyes rolled fondly, cheek going to rest on his shoulder as he continued to rub your back slowly. Shuffling the blankets down around himself, he pulled them free from his lap and up and over yours instead, his hand going to rest over your covered thigh once he was done. 

“Wanna stay and cuddle for a while, sugar?” 

“Oh, gods…” The nickname is an awful play on current events, but it makes him smile once again, and so you stretch your legs out and slump a little further across him as he relaxes back into the pillows, taking you with him. 

Smoothing your hands across the front of your dress, you gave a final nod to the mirror, unwilling to let yourself overthink it any further. The four other outfits discarded on your bed were proof enough of that. Swiping up a pair of simple black heels, a matching purse and a lipstick you’d yet to wear, you let the bedroom door click shut behind you as you left. 

Downstairs, you were finally learning the ways to navigate this house, you found Azriel sitting in his favourite armchair, a loose t-shirt and sweatpants. A mug of cooling tea sat on the coffee table as his legs stretched out to reach his feet to the new rug, book in hand. Placing down the purse and the lipstick at the table by the front door, you slipped one heel on, then the other, as you walked towards him. 

“When are we leaving? You’re not dressed yet.”

His head lifted, eyes focusing intently on your outfit as he took you in, a long and sweeping gaze from head to foot. A simple black sundress, nothing special about it, but as Azriel scanned right from the hem at your ankles to the liner behind your lashes, you felt special.

Holding out his hand, you took it, and he twirled you simply before him, a smile pulling on your lips as you moved in a circle before his seat. 

“Leaving for what?” He eventually said, dropping your fingers after running his thumb across your knuckles. “Why are you dressed up?”

“Family dinner!” His eyes narrowed. “It’s tonight!” His smile fell, lips pursing in a scowl, and he shook his head. 

“We’re not going to that.”

“But it’s your family!” 

“Yeah, and they were assholes. Besides, you didn’t sign up to deal with their shit.” His focus moved back to his book, and you took it from his hands, ignoring the sound of protest he gave off, sliding the bookmark between the pages, and putting it out of his reach. 

“I kinda’ did sign up for it. Wasn’t that one of the main points of our… agreement?” Leaning your thigh on the edge of his chair, he was forced to look up and meet your gaze. “To go to events with you, so you’re not alone.”

His frown only deepened. The sight of it made you want to rage, hating that expression on his face, and you sunk onto the chair, threading a hand into his hair like you’d done a day prior, playing lightly. 

“Besides, I’m going to have to meet them all eventually, Az. If they’re all going to hate me, might as well get it done in one sitting, huh?”

He only groaned, leaning forward to brace his forehead against your thigh, grumbling at your chuckle as your hand followed, back to his hair. Running one scarred hand over the material adorning your calves, he huffed out a warm breath against your leg. “You look so beautiful in your new dress.”

“Thank you.” Your heart fluttered a little at the pure tone of his voice.

“Are you sure you want to go?”

“I didn’t get all dressed up for nothin’. C’mon, have a little faith in me. I can handle it.” Another pass of your fingers through his hair, and he twisted his head, to rest his cheek in its place. “I’ve been practising my mental wall-building skills, I have to test them out.”

“Alright, alright.” He sighed, lingering a second longer before heaving himself to his feet with a whine, stretching his arms over his head and his wings out to their full spread, the display of them mesmerising as you watched them move. “Just give me five minutes to get dressed.”

As he passed by, he dipped, leaving a swift kiss on your cheek and dashing from the room, his footsteps becoming silent the further he got. There was a bashful smile on your lips, fingers reaching up to softly trace the spot where you could feel his lips, still tingling, as heat flooded over your cheeks in a wave. By the time you’d finally come around to yourself, it was to straighten up the cushions, carry away his mug to the kitchen and put the bottle of wine you’d spent half a day choosing out yesterday onto the counter. 

Using the mirror hung in the hallway, you were still applying your lipstick when Azriel, true to his word, arrived only minutes after departing, now dressed. He was attempting to smooth down his hair as he arrived by your side. Now donned in dress pants and a smart button-up shirt, all in black, he waved his hands over himself. “Now I match you.”

“Oh, please, you exclusively wear all black.” 

His answering smirk made your eyes roll, focus returning to the mirror to finish your lipstick application. “Fine, you matched me then.”

You scoffed. He only leaned one shoulder against the wall, crossing his ankles as he waited, watching you. That blush came crawling back. “Stop staring at me while I pout at the mirror.”

“It’s adorable.”

“Make yourself useful and go get the wine from the kitchen.” You finished up, tucking the lipstick inside of your purse and swiping a cardigan from the coat hooks, wrapping it over your shoulders before he returned. His brows were raised when he did, holding up the corked bottle in his hands. “What? I bought it with the last of my savings. It’s the best I could afford, but it’s still pretty good, I think. There were tasters at the winery.”

“Oh, so is that why you were so smiley and giggly when you came home yesterday? You were tipsy?”

His free hand landed on your hip, and your eyes narrowed on him. “I was not tipsy!”

“Sure.” He teased, your eyes rolling some more. You reached up, distracting him effectively enough by smoothing down the last of his untamed hair, hands settling on his shoulders. Beneath the buttons of his chest, a soft blue pulsed from under the fabric, and your hands smoothed down slowly to rest on that place. It hummed with warmth, the siphon underneath all but buzzing with the power it contained. 

A quick flicker told you the ones on his hands were there, nor were the ones on his knees, or his shoulders. “These are beautiful.”

He was quiet, too quiet, and when your eyes found his, he was staring with what you could only describe as awe. 

“What?”

“Nothing. It’s just…” His lips parted, but no sound came out, struggling to find his words for a moment, and you waited patiently for him to open up. “They mean something. I scare people, and they’re part of that image. You’re not scared of them? Of me?”

“Not one thing about you scares me, Azriel.” His grin told you enough, that your answer had found someplace deep inside of him, where it was needed, and he bowed his head enough to rest his forehead with your own. “Why are you wearing one tonight? You don’t wear them to bed.”

“Because I didn’t trust myself.”

“To do what?” You mused, his head finally rising, but his hand still squeezed your waist, sliding around a little further to band around your body. 

“Not to lose control if they’re unkind to you again.” It was your turn to be struck deep, and you knew by the bob in his throat that he caught the hitch in your breath. Silence fell between you both, a moment dragging on for eternity and yet somehow being over far too quickly, when he shook his head softly. You don’t know what he read on your face, whether it was the surprise or adoration, or none of it at all. When he spoke again, it was with a raspy voice, dragging like gravel; “Ready to go?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

He hesitated, only for a second as he pulled back, shadows wrapping tightly around your bodies while he waited for your nod of confirmation. Then, they coiled, blocking out all of the light and clearing only when the ground had fallen from your feet and been found once again. Before you stood the sprawling estate owned by the High Lord and Lady. If you hadn't known you were coming here, it would have been an easy guess. 

Casual grandeur, understated beauty but breathtaking nonetheless. Colourful flowers lined rows around the base of the house, the river rushing softly across rocks behind you, faelights casting a warm glow over the cobbled path leading up to the main house. Step after step, you walked beside Azriel, his hand a warm and grounding presence on your lower back, comfort in every swipe of his thumb over your spine as you made your way up to the house. 

As soon as the front door was opened, shadows darted in ahead of you both, instinct pulling them from the darkness to scope out every corner of the room before returning, nothing to report of the safe and familiar environment. Laughter was spilling out, every step further into the luxurious home carried that warmth and carefree happiness. 

The room finally came into view, a large wooden dining table, decorated with candles, wine glasses, flowers and baskets of bread, the members around the table spread out comfortably, and you checked off mentally who was here, based on what Azriel had told you. Lucien, Elain’s mate, was not in attendance tonight. Nor was Varian, Amren’s lover. Four empty seats sat around the table, which went silent, as all attention fell to your entry. 

 “You’ve got to be kidding me, Azriel.”

“What?” He pasted on a cocky look, masking the feelings you knew were roiling underneath his expression, his fingers twitching against your back. “You said come to dinner, see how the rest of the family reacts, so here we are.”

“I meant you alone,” The High Lord growled, and you checked those walls you’d been practising with were still intact, not failing to miss the snarl Rhysand let out as a cool feeling brushed over those barriers. Testing. Confused looks painted some of the faces at the table, looking between you both in the doorway, and the host sitting at the head, who looked as though he might actually burst from his anger. “This is inappropriate.”

Azriel pointedly ignored him, a slight pressure on your back nudging you forward, guiding you to two of the empty seats, pulling out the one beside Morrigan for you to sit in. Mumbling a quiet thank you, you sank into the seat, the incriminating stares laid onto you by everyone present only grew heavier when Azriel left a kiss on the top of your head in acknowledgement. 

Not one to be ignored, Rhysand let his words burst free, “You cannot just bring your sugar-baby to dinner with the family!”

“Oh, but you can bring Tamlin’s kidnapped bride?”

You felt your muscles lock up at that smoothly spoken insult, the temperature in the room dropping several degrees, and when you looked up, they were locked in a stare, glaring at one another viciously. 

Then Amren laughed, and you let it shake you back into motion, sliding the wine bottle out of Azriel’s white-knuckled grip as he moved to take his seat beside you. 

“Azriel.” The single word was growled, so low and threatening, and a burst of night-kissed power rippled along the table, shaking glasses and cutlery. “Feyre is my mate, it’s different.”

“Not really,” Azriel all but chirped, defiance on every word, and nausea rolled in your stomach that he’d act this way over you. He sat, and you reached out, placing a hand gently on his forearm, squeezing. He placed a hand over your own, but didn’t look your way. “She may be your mate, but at the time she was merely Tamlin’s bride whom you stole from her wedding, on her wedding day, on a fucking technicality!”

“I knew she was my mate, and she was begging for help!” He slammed a hand down on the table, the cutlery shaking and rattling again, and you squeezed Azriel’s arm. He squeezed back. “She wasn’t just some whore from the gods-damned pleasure house!”

At that, the room seemed to freeze over. Not even Amren laughed now, and you knew the weight of that one word. The word that Rhysand had been branded with, the slur that was muttered behind his back for so long after the events Under the Mountain, and your heart thudded painfully hard in your chest, nerves taking over. 

Their staring lasted for a second longer, before Azriel’s chair screeched back across the tiles. He stood, holding his hand out to you. 

“Stand up, sweetheart. We’re leaving.”

“What?” Your gaze moved from his gaze to his eyes, and he wiggled his fingers, expression softening every second he looked at you. 

“Az, wait, please stay.” Morrigan offered from your side. “I haven’t seen you for months, please stay.”

You remembered Azriel telling you that Morrigan had been away, he wasn’t even sure she’d be here tonight, she’d been on another continent playing the charming courtier for a while, and showing her girlfriend the bigger world. His eyes shuttered with regret and disappointment as he glanced at her. “I’ll see you another time, Mor. You should come over sometime.”

His hand dropped to your shoulder as his focus returned to you, squeezing lightly. Beneath his shirt, blue glowed so bright it lit up the fibres of his shirt now, straining to control his feelings. “C’mon, sweets. Let’s go home.”

“Azriel, please stay.” This time, it was the High Lady who spoke, all gazes moving to her as she effortlessly commanded the room. 

“Fey, I’m sorry.” Finally, regret leaked into Azriel’s voice, no longer that firm and cruel tone, but the one you were so familiar with was back. “You know I didn’t mean any insult by it. Coming here was a mistake, and we should go.”

Rhysand huffed at those words, agreeing with that sound, but his wife only shook her head. “You made a valid point, Azriel. You didn’t say anything that wasn’t true. I was just Tamlin’s bride, and before that, I was just a poor girl who was hunting in the woods.” Her sights moved to you then, your heart freezing as you were acknowledged directly, “I would have done anything to get by, too.” She shrugged, offering a small smile that did more to comfort you than she might ever know. Then she cut a sharp look at her husband. “We do what we must to survive.”

“I’m fine, Az. We should stay.” He looked torn, whole body shuddering a little with restraint, but he eventually sank into his seat again, tucking himself under the table. Lifting the bottle you held up in the air, you hoped your hands were shaking enough to be visible. “We brought some wine.”

“We have wine,” Rhysand muttered, but snapped his fingers, and let two new wine glasses appear before you and Azriel, angry expression still on his face. A silent conversation of some kind seemed to take place between him and his wife, because, after a moment of sharp looks and flickering expressions, he sighed, shoulders slumping. He picked up a bottle of his own wine, however, making sure that the expensive label was facing in your direction as he poured it. 

Opposite you, the High Lady’s sister, Nesta, chugged her glass, finishing the near-full one off in one burst, and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand before holding the now empty glass out to you. “I love that wine, used to drink it all the time. Rhysand won’t buy anything that isn’t at least half as old as he is, but expensive isn’t always better. Can I get some of that?”

Perking up a little bit, your over-eager nod would’ve been embarrassing, if Azriel’s hand didn’t shoot out faster than you could react yourself, taking the glass from her and bringing it closer to you both. Placing it down with your glasses, he took the bottle from you, uncorking it, and pouring three glasses, before passing her’s back. You didn’t miss the grateful smile on his face for her offered olive branch, or her curt nod in reply. 

Dinner was soon served, by two wraith-like women by the names of Nuala and Cerridwen, who were silent as they moved through the room. Sat before you was a plate of some of the most decadent food you’d ever seen, a meal you’d rarely ever been able to afford to treat yourself to, and it was a simple weekend gathering for them. 

Several different sets of cutlery were laid out before you, matching forks and spoons and knives of different sizes, all presumably for different purposes, and the cloying knot of shame and embarrassment gathered within you as everyone else seemed to know exactly which one to go for, and you had no idea. 

A shadow swirled around one finger, before darting down to the cutlery, racing along a fork and nudging it just an inch to the side. Rhysand’s eyes were on you, you could feel the heavy stare as you picked it up cautiously, and the knife the shadow motioned you to as well, before offering a polite smile and digging into the food just like everyone else. 

Azriel glanced down, brow raising in a barely-noticeable tick to check on you, and your dip of a nod was good enough to encourage him. The conversation seemed to flow on around the both of you, but rarely ever ventured enough to include you. Azriel would talk more often, occasionally a question was darted in your direction, but never anything that required more than a one or two-word answer. 

The plates were cleared and you were a little relieved to have made it through, trying not to slouch in your seat, or do anything else that would only add to the bad reputation you’d already managed to be burdened with. 

It was only the first course, a shock that came when a second, much larger plate of even more expensive and exquisite-looking food was placed before you. Shadow’s signalled you in again, and your half-drained wine glass was refilled, shared between you and Azriel with what was left of the bottle you’d brought. 

The once sweet wine practically tasted sour in your mouth now as you plastered on a smile to get through the next stage of this evening. You weren’t here to have fun, though. You weren’t here to be liked, even if it would have been nice to make some friends. You were here to support Azriel, to give him the comfort and company he needed. 

The more you looked around, the more you could see what he meant. The High Lord and Lady were not shy about their affections, practically curled into one another the entire time, touches frequent and sweet words murmured. Morrigan had been talking with Nesta for almost thirty minutes about her girlfriend, who must’ve been one of Nesta’s friends, and her mate was just as attentive. Cassian had eaten half of Nesta’s starter, what he hadn't gotten himself she’d fed to him with a smirk and kissed away any traces, even going so far as to lick the corner of his mouth when she thought nobody was looking. 

Amren was silent and stealthy, reading her book and talking to nobody. You were sure if Varian had been present, or Lucien for Elain, it would have been even more unbearable. No wonder he was willing to extend such offers just for some relief. 

Reaching out and placing a hand on his forearm, he jumped slightly, his cutlery clattering on his plate as his head whipped to you. Eyes a little wide as you trailed that hand down, he unfurled his fist a little, gaze never straying, as your hand closed atop his palm. With a squeeze, his lips flickered at the edges, a slow blink offered, before putting down his knife and turning his hand over to hold yours properly. 

All eyes were on you, you were sure some looks dirty, but it didn’t matter. You were looking at him. At the smile he wore, the warmth creeping back in at the edges of his expression, the gratitude and the affection and the kindness. The Azriel you were so familiar with. 

Somehow, just reaching for him, made the rest of dinner easier for you too. 

It didn’t matter that nobody spoke to you for more than a minute or two, because you were far too distracted by the feeling of his hand in yours. 

It didn’t matter that the dirty looks and double-edged questions never quite ceased, because when Azriel left a kiss on your temple and smoothed his hand over your hair after the plates had been cleared, your mind was practically empty for several moments.

It didn’t matter that you felt out of place, because with your head on his shoulder, and his cheek atop your crown, you’d never felt more at home. 

Dessert was finally served, a decadent-looking chocolate cake and a round of coffees and teas, that made you grateful the meal was finally drawing to a close. It took all of your strength to pull away from Azriel, to sit properly once again to appreciate the cake before you. 

“So, where were you living before…” Nesta waves her spoon idly around the room, before plunging it back into her dessert and taking another mouthful, “All this?” 

“Before I met Azriel, or before I came to the Night Court?” You raised a brow, and she smirked around her spoon, shrugging. Azriel swiped his thumb across your knuckles, drawing your attention to him momentarily. He was staring at your collapsed hands, sitting before him on the table and watching his thumb moving slowly across your skin.

“Both.” Was all she gave, intrigue covering her tone. 

You squeezed at Azriel’s hand, his attention snapping to you, and you raised your brows, a silent question if he was alright. He only nodded, letting that small smile touch his lips for a brief moment. “Well, before I moved to the Night Court, I was travelling, mostly. I wasn’t settled, I was trying to find where I wanted to set up some roots, and then I heard all about the Court of Dreams, and it sounded perfect for me, I always felt a little out of place at home.”

“So, when you arrived here, you just stumbled across our lovely shadowsinger?”

“We kinda’... stumbled across each other, I guess.” You squeeze Azriel’s hand again, his smile directed at the table this time as he squeezed back, before shuffling his chair an inch closer to your own. “We met in… well, I’m sure you’ve heard where we met, how we met, that whole tale, already. I was living in a shabby little apartment, and he did not like it very much.”

“Your place was atrocious, it should have been condemned.” He muttered, and your giggle at least made him smile, a one-shouldered shrug when Nesta rose her brows. “Seriously, Nesta, it made your apartment look like this place.”

He’d said a variation of that exact same thing to you already, the teasing scoff tumbling from your lips, pinching at his arm, and he jumped in shock, but did not take back the allegation. Instead, he only picked up your hand, eyes glittering a little as he kissed the back of it, diffusing any taunts you might have been building and melting them to utter mush. 

“That bad, huh?” She chuckled, crossing her arms as she leaned back in her chair, utterly satisfied with the meal that had been provided. As you were, so full you could barely function anymore, on some of the best food you’d ever had. 

“Whatever you’re picturing, double it.” Azriel groaned, sending a ripple of soft laughter between the three of you. 

“So, what do you do now? I’m assuming not working at the place you met.” A loaded question, that was for sure, and you felt Azriel tense up beside you. The other chatter around the table seemed to quiet down, all attention falling to you now, and you cleared your throat before speaking up;

“I just got a new job, at a bakery-café in the market square.” In your periphery, you caught the sharp glance Azriel cut to one end of the table, a pointed glare to serve words he didn’t need to speak, before pulling his focus back. “It’s called Star-Crossed Bun, have you ever been?”

She let out a groan, eyes closing and head falling back as she patted her stomach. “I love Star-Crossed Bun, they make these little caramel cupcakes that are incredible. The girls and I go every week after training, on Fridays.”

“Perhaps I’ll see you in there, then!”

She only hummed, her gaze sweeping over you in a suddenly assessing way, and you wondered what had gone wrong. The conversation seemed to be flowing so well, it almost seemed like you’d made at least one friend at this dinner, and now her focus had turned from lazy and relaxed to sharp and calculating. “Have you ever held a sword before?”

“No. I think I’d drop one, or take off some of my own fingers if I even tried.”

Another hum. Another calculating stare. “You should come to training with us. I think Emerie and Gwyn would love to meet you.”

“Oh?” Your heart felt like it skipped over a beat, a grin coming back to her lips, her features softening again, and she shrugged. “Like… your sort of training?”

“You don’t have to be a warrior or anything, or come all the time. We could even just show you some simple self-defence. I think you’d like it, and you’d get to meet some new people in this court, and make some friends.” 

“That sounds amazing, I’d love to!” Another squeeze from Azriel, before pulling your hand closer to his own, wrapping his second one around both of yours, and smiling to himself. “When is it?”

“Oh, well, Thursdays are cardio days, but Cassian and I are there every day. We train at the House of Wind, just show up whenever you can.”

A bolt of ice struck through you, tension filling your body once again, and that horrible sinking feeling of knowing something had been too good to be true froze over inside of you at the mention of the commander beside her. “I’ll let you know. I’m not too sure how I’d get there, I can’t rely on Az to winnow me everywhere.”

You tried your best to keep your tone light, to brush it off casually, and hopefully find a different way to bond with her. She’d mentioned the caramel cupcakes you could surely see her at the café, or bring some to the next dinner, perhaps— “Is it because I said cardio? Because if you come on Thursdays, I can make cardio fun, I swear!”

Your laugh felt empty now, and Azriel sat up a little straighter beside you, ready to speak. “It’s not the cardio, it’s Cassian. He terrifies her.”

The smile dropped from Nesta’s face, and she sat up straight too, her eyes narrowing as she glanced between you and Azriel, and her mate. “What?”

“No, no. That’s not it at all—”

“When you go full ‘Commander of Death’ on someone you’ve never met before, in their own home, while someone else picks through their brain like it’s a toy basket without even introducing themselves, it’s a little scary.” 

“Azriel!” Your snap was harsh, a heaviness falling over an already silent table now, as both the culprits seemed to have moved their attention to their brother, the rest of the guests merely watching with curiosity. 

“Sorry. I just…” Azriel heaved a sigh, slumping down in his seat until the tips of his wings were brushing the floor. “It wasn’t fair. You did nothing wrong, and it’s been bothering me since that day. You fucking hid behind me, in your own home! You looked more scared than the night we met, and you made me promise not to murder you.” A nostalgic smile brushed his face for half a second, an apology for his outburst already shining in his eyes when he looked at you fully. “You can’t expect me to just let that go.”

He was concerned, worrying beginning to stitch into his features, and even though he’d opened up about how you felt without your permission, you knew it wasn’t with bad intentions. He just wanted to protect you, and above all, that made you feel far more for him than irritation. “We’ll talk about it later.��� You whispered, and he only nodded, leaning in to place a soft kiss on your forehead that left you blushing. 

“You don’t have to train with Cassian.” Nesta only gave a brutal look in Cassian’s direction, who at least looked a little sheepish at the accusation, but any time you looked at him, all you could see was the scowl, the look in his eyes as if he’d kill you, and like it. “I mean, he’ll be there, but I’ll make sure he’s nowhere near you. And I promise, he wouldn't hurt you, even if he looks like a brute. I hope you do choose to come, I’d really like to see you.”

“I think you should go.” Azriel’s whisper was just for you to hear, and when you turned, his face was close to yours, so close you were almost cross-eyed to look at him. “She’s right, Emerie and Gwyn would like you a lot.”

“I’ll winnow you up sometimes too, if you’d like. So you don’t feel like you’re always asking Az.” When your eyes, and everyone else’s, moved to Mor in shock, she only finished off the red wine in her glass and shrugged. “Oh, please. Some people are being so melodramatic about all of this. Besides, Emerie would give me shit if I got home and told her I hadn't offered, anyway.”

“So it’s settled. You’ll come to training this week, give it a go.” Nesta smirked, and you guessed she might be used to getting her way by now, if the sparkle in her eyes was anything to go by. “Just one little trial session.”

All eyes were on you, even Azriel, and you caved with a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “Okay, fine. I’ll be there.”

Nesta beamed to herself, cheering lightly, and Cassian gave a gruff chuckle as he leaned in to kiss her cheek. Averting your gaze towards Azriel as he now stared longingly at your cake, it was your turn to laugh. 

“Would you like the rest of it?”

“Only if you’re not going to eat it.” Even as he spoke, though, he was lifting his spoon again, “We can share it?”

“Sure.” You confirmed, and he took off a chunk of it, offering it to you first. You almost accepted, but the thought of letting him feed you felt far too intimate in a room full of people who hated you. 

His eyes narrowed slightly, and then he nodded, settling further back in his seat and dragging the plate to sit between you both. 

When that plate was finally clear, Azriel didn’t hesitate to finish off his wine, slouching back into his seat as far as his wings would let him, one stretched out behind half of your chair, too. His hand reached out, settling on your elbow and shaking you gently from the conversation you’d been listening to Elain and Morrigan have about the former’s gardening crop this summer. 

“Are you ready to leave?” He offered, fingers flexing on your arm before sliding away.

“Are you?” 

“Yes. I’m…” He glanced around, shrugging when Cassian’s focus lay solely on him, and clearing his throat to speak a little louder. “I’m tired, I’d like to go home.” 

“Thank you for staying, Az.” His High Lady said, voice as delicate as ever, and her tone dipped far closer to professionalism than friendly as she moved to you. “Thank you both for coming.”

“Thank you for having us. The food was lovely, the company even more so.” You matched her tone, a smile and a glance around the table without truly meeting anybody’s gaze. Azriel stood, extending his hand to you, and taking your purse in his other. Standing with him, Azriel dipped halfway into a far more dramatic exit, waving a hand cordially. 

“It’s been a pleasure. Shall we see you next week?”

The question hung like fog in the air, blinding and disabling, and Rhys’ jaw ticked as he considered it. “If it makes you happy, I suppose we will be.” He finally ground out, expression as tight and sharp as it was polite. 

“If we don’t have plans, we’ll be here.” It was Azriel’s wicked way of lighting the tension, and even Rhys offered a chuckle, finally ending their stalemate, even as he rolled his eyes. He waved a hand at you both, and Azriel’s ran along your back, shadows clouding you in, your breath held until you were finally back in the familiar corridors of Azriel’s home. 

The breath slipped free with a heavy sigh. Putting down your purse, you turned toward the coat rack, not making it very far before two hands were settling on your shoulders, stilling your movements. In the hallways mirror, you could see Azriel behind you, wings tucked in tight, shadows bustling like busy streets, chaos as he took half a step closer. He lowered, forehead resting on the back of your head, after leaving a kiss there.

“Are you mad at me?” Azriel asked, peeling your cardigan down your arms slowly, the warmth of his body leaking into you from behind, and you could only give a soft laugh. As he hung it up on the coat hooks, you turned to face him, still closer to his height as you balanced in your heels, arms looping easily around his neck. 

“I’m not mad at you.” He sighed again at that, his hands coming to rest on your hips this time, pulling you a little closer, until you could practically feel the pulsing of the siphon beneath his shirt, mimicking a heartbeat. “I just don’t want you making enemies of your family over me. I can defend myself, and you don’t have to pick between them or me.”

He didn’t respond, only leaning in to give another sweet kiss, this one to the tip of your nose. Running your hands over his shoulders and down his arms, thick muscles were taut and lined with lingering tension once again.

“Why don’t I make us some tea, and bring it upstairs for us? We can sit and read for a while.”

“I’d like that.”

Using him for balance to kick off your heels before letting him go, he padded away through the house as you made your way to the kitchen. Once the water was set to boil and you’d chosen a relaxing brew for the evening’s choice, you took your time to prepare for bed yourself.

A tray with two steaming mugs on and a jar of honey later, and you were carrying it slowly through the house towards the bedroom, shadows flickering along, crawling in the tight corners of the walls as you walked. 

By the time you were nudging your way through Azriel’s half-cracked door, he was just settling in at the cushions of his bed, glancing up to watch you set the tray on the bedside table on the opposite side. 

“You’re not in bed yet.”

Not a question but a statement, and he only shrugged, peeling back the covers on both sides of the bed, and crawling in himself, spreading his wings to sit comfortably. “I was just thinking about stuff, is all.”

“Are you okay?” He gave a hollow laugh, rolling his head slowly on his shoulders to look at you, accepting the mug you held out to him with a quiet thanks, sniffling the steam that came off and loosing a breath filled with worries. 

“I should be asking you that after tonight. I never should have taken you there.”

“In case you’ve forgotten, it was my choice to go. I had to convince you to take me, so you’re not allowed to carry the guilt of it all.” He notched a brow a little higher, blowing on the surface of his tea, and amusement flickered over his features. Just what you’d wanted. 

“I’m not allowed?”

“No. If anyone is going to take the guilt, it's me. It's mine. You can’t have it.” You offered him the honey, only to receive a small shake of his head as he sipped the first taste, and you loaded a spoonful into your own. “Are you okay, though?”

“Are you?” He countered.

“I’m fine, Az.” He didn’t look like he believed you, only staring, like he’d be able to read right into your soul. Putting down your mug, and taking a bracing breath, you laid a knee on the mattress, then another, inching across the bed before swinging a leg across his own. His eyes went wider, watching as you settled yourself into his lap, sitting on his thighs. “Give me your hands.”

“My hands?” He offered them anyway, throat bobbing in a series of swallows as you took them, rubbing your fingers across his palms slowly. 

“Azriel, look at me.” His brows dipped, and you set his hands onto your hips gently, his fingers flexing there. “Really look at me. See that I’m okay. I’m stronger than you think. I know you want to look after me, and it makes me so happy that you do. Nobody has ever wanted to look after me before. But that made me strong. I’ve always been looking out for myself, and I want you to know that. Trust me. I can handle more than you think.”

“I do trust you.” His voice cracked, and he sat up further, hauling you up his body until his chest was almost pressed to your own, his arms slipping around your back. “But there’s something. Something that makes me… I want— I just want you to be happy.”

“I am happy, Azriel. I’m happy, and I’m okay. I’m great. If that changes, I’ll tell you.” Settling your hands on his cheeks, his eyes shuttered, leaning a little further into your touch.

“You will?” 

“Do you want me to promise it?” 

He chuckled, dragging his hand up your spine, to cup the back of your neck, where the promise-brand you’d once sworn to him for all of twenty minutes had once sat. “No, I don’t want any more of those on your skin. Not even to me. Don’t make a promise unless you have no other way. If they’re not worded right, you can be held captive by someone until they die, or you find a way to fulfil the impossible. Don’t do it.”

Leaning in, your forehead rested on his own, and he tipped his face up a little, eyes closing. “Do you want me to promise to make no promises?”

Bubbling, bursting laughter ruptured from him, his body jolting under your own as his face fell to your neck instead, bunching you into his body to hold on tight. A deep, throaty sound that was irresistible, your laughter joining in. “You’re a goddamn menace, sugar.”

“Gotta’ keep you on your toes somehow.”

[juniper-sunny]

The Art in the Heart*- Chapter 3

Your first encounter with Silco outside the Undercity happens in less than ideal circumstances. It’s one thing to make friends with a troublemaker, but getting drawn into his antics is a whole other story…

Happy Ending AU | Silco x Reader | Young!Silco | F!Reader | No [Y/N] | Slow Burn | Romance | Eventual Smut | Fluff | Angst | Hurt/Comfort | Fix-It || SFW | WC: 2.8k

beta reader: @silcoitus <333

ao3 || Masterlist || Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

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Just as promised, you get a copy of the blueprints that Silco asked for the very next day. It’s tucked inside your bag of painting supplies that you bring with you for the mural. But when weeks pass without seeing him, you finally have to confront a truth that you’ve been too afraid to acknowledge: he’s not coming back. It doesn’t matter if it’s because he’s busy or because he lost interest in you. Whatever the reason, the disappointment is much easier to move on from when you face it head-on and stop denying it. You have more than enough on your plate already without taking on a stranger’s burden too.

Your work sessions are long, quiet, and peaceful without his visits disturbing you, but you can’t help but feel like the blueprints are weighing you down. It’s a silly thought, considering how they’re rolled up in a small canister that barely takes up any space. Still, every morning you double check your supplies to see that you still have them. You also find yourself losing track of time during your lunch breaks. Sitting on the rooftop ledge, staring out at the water, wondering if Silco will stop by before you get back to work. After all, you’d prefer it if he didn’t interrupt you while you were painting.

He never shows.

At least your painting is proceeding at a good pace. When Councilor Salo asks for an update on the mural, you feel confident telling him that everything is going well. He’s made some excuse as to why he can’t come to the Promenade to see it for himself yet—something about being so busy with councilor business that he can’t find time to make the trip—but you know the real reason. He’s never been on the “less respectable” side of the bridge and wants to keep it that way. It’s better if he doesn’t come, though; he’d want to be accompanied by a platoon of Enforcers, and you’re not about to bring them this close to the Undercity.

So when Salo asks for pictures of the mural, you’re more than happy to oblige if it means keeping him out of Zaun. Focusing on the bigger picture—literally—keeps you motivated as you look for a good spot to take photos of the mural. Clambering over rooftops and shimmying up pipes is a lot harder than it used to be in your youth. It’s not made any easier by the cumbersome camera slung around your shoulders, banging against your chest as you climb and jump. But after an exhausting, agonizing half-hour, you finally pull yourself up and collapse onto your destination: a shorter building with a steel roof rusting turquoise, right across the alley from your worksite.

Once you’ve caught your breath, you start taking photos, waiting patiently for each instant film to develop before taking another. The sunlight is warm and not too bright, illuminating parts of the wall that you’ve made good progress on while the blank spots are hidden in shadow. When you’ve used up a roll of film, you find yourself lingering again.

You crouch down and touch the roof that you’re standing on. The metal is cool, bumpy, and rough to the touch, flaking away as your fingertips graze the metal. But it’s the color that interests you the most.

It’s the same hue as Silco’s eyes.

________________________________________

Ever since you’ve started this job, you’ve kept a close eye on the weather forecast. You’ve been lucky so far with a streak of sunny days, but they’re diminishing as the summer wilts into autumn. The heavy rainfall tonight is unfortunate but not unexpected. All your paints are waterproof, but today you bring a different set of supplies with you to the mural. You install a collapsible awning over the roof’s ledge, along with large, heavy plastic sheets that are draped over the mural itself. It’s the first time you’ve implemented these precautions, and you worry that they might not be adequate.

If it weren’t for the councilor, you could take the rest of the day off. But he wants to see the photos you took, so he’s invited you to a business dinner at his estate. A simple debrief or dropping off the photos with his personal assistant seems to be out of the question. No, Salo wants to pat himself on the back, celebrating your “joint efforts” when you’re the one doing all the dirty work. So you make yourself presentable with some makeup, a neat hairdo, matching accessories, and a formal dress, complete with a matching umbrella. You head out to Salo’s, carrying your camera and pictures with you in a large purse.

Free meals are the best part of business dinners like these, but your anxiety about the mural makes it hard to relax. You try to savor the food, but the richness is hard to tolerate for more than a few bites, your stomach already churning from stress. At least Councilor Salo is too busy droning on and on to notice your lack of appetite. To his credit, he praises you sincerely when you show him the photos, and promises to extend the deadline if the rain ruins your artwork tonight.

When it’s time for wine and dessert, you’re glad that the night is almost over. The pleasant buzz of the rich Noxian wine lingers on your tongue, bold and sweet enough to make you interested in Salo’s ramblings about the drink’s characteristics and origins. He proposes that the conversation be moved to his upstairs office, wondering if the mural is visible from the balcony view. Playing the part of the ever-agreeable employee, you concur. You head upstairs first while Salo hangs behind to find another bottle of wine.

When you open the double doors of his office, you’re greeted by the sight of a tall man hunched over Salo’s desk, rifling through papers in the drawer.

You’re about to say hello when he looks up at you.

It’s Silco.

Your initial surprise deepens into shock—then panic, blood freezing in your veins before your body moves on its own. You slam the doors shut behind you.

“What are you doing here??” you hiss.

He says your name, incredulous. He’s stuck in place, one hand still inside the drawer. His all-black outfit and the large backpack at his feet answer your question:

He’s trying to rob the councilor.

You stride over to him and try to shove him towards the balcony. He doesn’t budge. 

Frantic, you whisper, “You have to get out of here! Salo’s on his way up!”

“Not until I find what I’m looking for,” he snarls back stubbornly. More papers are shuffled around and tossed onto the desk as he resumes his search.

You push him again. He still doesn’t move but looks irritated when you grab his wrist. He wrenches it out of your grasp to pick up a piece of paper. He skims it, flips it over, then drops it.  

“I know they’re in here somewhere,” he mutters.

“I’ll find them for you, Silco! Just get out!!”

“I can’t afford to fail again,” he whispers, agitated.

Your retort from the other day comes back to haunt you:

”You must be Piltover’s most wanted because you’re such a great thief. You did an amazing job yesterday, coming back empty-handed. I’m sure that was so good for the Undercity. Really earned Piltover’s respect with your skills.”

Regret over your words turns the wine on your tongue to bitterness. You grab his shoulder and squeeze it hard. When he looks at you again, you lock eyes with him. “I’ll find your shit for you, okay? I promise. But you have to get out now.”

He opens his mouth to respond but freezes again.

“What—” you ask. He shushes you.

Footsteps are approaching the door.

You shove the drawer closed. Silco yanks his hands out in the nick of time. He grabs his backpack.

A frenzied surge of strength allows you to pull Silco into a nearby closet. You throw yourself in next to him, pulling the door shut just as Salo enters the room.

For such a large office, the closet is a tight space. You’re now pressed up against a wall on one side, your nose squashed into Silco’s chest, shelves digging into your back, and the door crowding up against your other shoulder. He’s tall enough to wriggle one arm out to raise it above your head, resting his hand gingerly on the highest shelf. But his other arm is trapped next to yours, his elbow jammed against your wrist at an uncomfortable angle, your hand plastered flat against the door. Out of the corner of one eye, you see Silco’s backpack crammed into one of the shelves.

You twitch your neck in tiny, erratic increments, eyebrow grinding painfully against Silco’s collarbone. When you peer through the slats in the door, you see Salo’s ruby red shirt standing out among his mother-of-pearl furniture. He daintily crosses the room, calling your name.

Silco’s breath breezes across your hair, sending goosebumps rippling across your scalp.

The councilor stops in front of his desk and titters at the mess of papers.

You swallow nervously.

Salo strides out of the room, shutting the door behind him. 

You count your hammering heartbeats, pounding through your ribcage so loudly that Silco can probably feel it too.

When you count to fifty, you burst out of the closet. You catch yourself on the desk, gasping, lungs rejuvenated with fresh air as the discomfort of unconsciously holding your breath fades away.

Silco steps out nonchalantly, pulling his shirt straight. He lets out a sigh of relief but otherwise seems unperturbed. He drops his backpack at the foot of the desk and strides over to the doors, locking them.

“Are you sure you can find everything?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you say shakily. “What do you need?”

He tells you the details of all the documents he’s looking for. You take care to memorize everything he says, then swipe his backpack. When you throw it at his face, a part of you hopes that it’ll hit him, but he catches it smoothly. He slings it over his shoulders as you shove him towards the balcony again. This time, he doesn’t resist, but he looks at you with apprehension.

“I can stay if you need my help with—”

“You’re the only one who needs help tonight, Silco,” you say, irritated. You yank open the balcony doors. Sprinkling rains dot the stonework. “You better hurry before the rain gets worse.”

You glare at him to silence his protests. He raises his hands in defeat, walking backwards past you onto the landing. 

“How soon do you need your stuff?” you ask.

“Tonight would be ideal.”

That’s what you were afraid of; you were planning on asking him to meet you tomorrow at the mural. You bite your lip as you take a moment to think, then say, “Meet me at the bridge on the Zaun side. Be safe.”

“And you as well.” Silco climbs over the railing and lowers himself, looking back at you with a smile.

“Thank you,” he whispers gratefully.

Before you can tell him to leave already, he drops down out of view, disappearing into the night.

________________________________________

 You don’t know how you managed to pull it off. Maybe Janna was looking out for you tonight as you snuck back downstairs to grab your purse before rushing back to the office. The papers that Silco needed were easily found, close to the top of the drawer; he must have only been a few seconds away from finding them himself. You snap pictures of them as quickly and carefully as you can. Silco had asked you to bring the originals to him, but if Salo discovers that they’re missing, then he might grow suspicious of you. It’s a small chance but not one that you’re willing to take.

Then there’s the ordeal of fixing your makeup after it got smeared on Silco’s shirt. You’ve never been on this floor of Salo’s home before, but you get lucky and find a bathroom on your first try. You freshen up as best as you can, hoping that Salo won’t look too closely. It’s hard to keep your hands steady when they’re still shaking from adrenaline.

You bump into a maid as you leave the bathroom. It takes all your willpower to not scream in surprise, and you try to talk to her as calmly as possible. You apologize and lie about getting lost while looking for Salo’s office, and she points you in the right direction. When you meet up with him, you tell him the same lie. A casual remark about how his estate is much grander and more beautiful than Councilor Hoskel’s mansion is enough to divert any suspicions away from you; Salo is easily distracted by any mention of his hated colleague.

Finally, finally, you’re on your way to the bridge, purse stuffed full of new pictures. The skies are black and dark blue, squid-ink clouds hanging low over the horizon, dumping rain on the city. You hold your umbrella close, trying to protect your precious cargo.

You almost don’t hear him, but Silco calls out your name as you step onto the bridge. Instead of waiting for you in the Undercity, he ducks out from under the awning of a nearby shop, already soaking wet.

You swerve towards him and stomp over. Why he’s on the wrong side of the bridge is anyone’s guess, but it exacerbates your already boiling temper. When you’re sheltered from the rain, you close your umbrella and raise it to smack his legs.

 “You owe me!” you snap at him, exasperated. 

He laughs and nimbly dodges your attempt to hit him, splashing his boots in a puddle as he steps backwards. “Only if you have the goods.”

“Are you kidding me?!” you ask, indignant. “I got your stuff for you and I saved you from Stillwater! For real this time! This wasn’t just some rich guy you were trying to steal from, Silco, this was a councilor!”

“’Stealing’ seems like the wrong word to use,” he muses. “After all, they were just papers. Perhaps ‘intelligence gathering’ is a better term?”

“You cannot be serious right now,” you groan. “Is this funny to you?”

He smiles at you, but speaks solemnly. “You accomplished what I couldn’t. And you once again came to my rescue. You helped the Undercity. It wasn’t just papers you stole. It was information. That is the key to our liberation. Knowledge wins wars, not weapons. And with this—we’ll show them. We will show them all.”

“Why don’t we share knowledge somewhere we’re not getting rained on,” you grumble. 

Silco agrees, and as you step forward to open your umbrella, he smoothly takes it from you. His hand is cool and damp as it envelops yours, fingers sliding over your knuckles as he lifts the umbrella out of your grasp. As he raises it above both of your heads, he turns to you again and says your name with warmth.

“Thank you.”

His sincerity and gratitude shine through, his eyes bright even in the dim evening. Despite everything, your bad mood trickles down the drains along with the rainwater as you step underneath the umbrella, close to his side.

The two of you begin your trek into Zaun. Silco could easily jump over the deeper puddles with his longer legs, but he’s considerate enough to walk around them to accommodate your shorter stride. Maybe he’s doing it more out of consideration for your purse and the prize inside it. You have it tucked under your arm beneath your coat, clutching it tighter when you reach the other side of the bridge.

“Where do you live?” Silco asks.

“Lower Piltover. My apartment is close,” you say. “How about you?”

“I live in the Lanes.”

You mull this over. When it rains in Piltover, the water stays as clean as the city itself, sterile enough to make soup out of. But the Undercity is a different story, especially in its deeper levels. All runoff from Topside oozes through dirty pipes, acid pools, chem-gasses, Zaun gray, and countless other pollutants, making the rain positively toxic by the time it reaches the subterranean levels. Any contact with it is harmful to both the skin and lungs, and prolonged exposure can make you sick or even worse.

“Are you going to be okay getting home?” you ask.

“You’re very kind to be worrying about me. I’ll be alright.”  

You stop in your tracks and grab his elbow, pulling him to a halt. Even if you weren’t worried about the photos getting wet, it’s too unnecessarily dangerous for Silco to fight through the weather to get back home. 

“I didn’t go through all this tonight just for you to melt in the rain, Silco,” you tell him firmly. “You’re coming with me.” 

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If you liked this fic, please reblog and/or leave a comment! <3

Chapter 4

[kawaiijohn]

Good morning. Where do I even start today- trying to keep up with disaster relief is tough since a lot of my normal sources are without power or incredibly focused on doing the actual recovery.

I guess I'll start with one of the sources I get a lot of breaking news from and what he said yesterday:

Ryan Hall is a YouTube weatherman with an incredible team that delivers free weather broadcasting through his YouTube lives during major events. He's from east Kentucky and is very invested in Appalachia weather recovery and awareness. The man's a local and he's part of the reason I'm even aware of the risks heavy rains can bring in this region of the states.

And this post from the national weather service office in Greenville - Spartanburg SC, that serves a wide area around it;

"this is one (forecast) we wanted to get wrong. this is the worst event in our office's history."

This thread concludes: media was sent to Florida and so a lot of people don't quite know what's going on in appalachia- if you can I suggest reading this person's entire thread, which is too long for me to type or try to post on here and keep it readable, so try the second link under here for an unrolled thread that'll be easier for screen readers;

Minor update from yesterday's post: the governor of Tennessee finally fucking declared a state of emergency after his shitty day of prayer and fasting announcement. It took him like six hours to get off his ass and do it.

The power is still majorly out as of this morning in a vast area of the states. As you can see, a majority is in Appalachia, central Georgia, and the Florida big bend. Florida, I know for a fact, has tons of electrical technicians working to restore power and cell service.

This map really highlights the state divide from eastern Tennessee/Kentucky and the Carolinas too.

Despite the doom and gloom, a few things are starting to get better.

Quite a few dams managed to hold, and some roads in west NC are more passable, but there are so many people reporting that it was taking them upwards of seven hours to get out of Asheville, which is a major city.

Below has a few pics and statements about the state of roads late last night/early today.

The end of this tweet says "this is an absolute mega disaster for Western NC on the order of hurricane Katrina."

With how long the recovery might actually take, I'm certainly hoping it's handled better. One of the responses on this thread mentions no military presence/help as of 20 hours ago, but this has since changed with the national guard finally deploying in some areas.

Overall, fooding hit historical levels in a lot of states, with Atlanta GA even declaring a flash flood emergency at one point, which is the highest risk level of a flash flood warning - it means "get out and get up high NOW"

Rescue and recovery operations are on the way.

Local groups, storm chasers, and organizations are on the way. The national guard is deploying and helicopters are coming from volunteers and the military alike in the most affected areas.

Chris Hall, a storm chaser who works with a lot of organizations, has been driving around doing things like setting up starlink access in Asheville and helping serve hot food with a Florida based disaster recovery group since Friday.

Hell he even posted this, which if you know the waffle house index, is a little neat to see- for context, fema will look at waffle house closures in areas hit by natural disasters to gage preliminarily relief need.

Waffle houses are infamous for never closing. So for a limited menu to be served, it means this spot in GA was still hit pretty hard.

If you want to and can, here is one place with local donation resources for west NC

And different organizations and weather community types to help that are boots on the ground type volunteers with a bit more of a national focus;

If you are good at adding alt text or doing text description for screen readers, please help me with these posts. It is incredibly hard to do those sorts of things on mobile due to my own limitations.

Please be safe.

[lieslab]

The warmth in me is you

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Changbin X gn reader

Summary: Your boyfriend decides to wake you up in the coldest way possible.

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 1.4K

A/N: I'm sorry for not updating a ton lately. I took some time off of writing because I just finished writing my full-length Hyunjin fic a few days ago. This one is shorter, but I'm going to go back to writing a little longer stuff and your requests soon <3

_ _ _

Hyunjin disappeared two nights ago. Booking a trip to another country for a brand deal, Changbin had the dorm alone. At least, he did until he invited you over to spend the weekend with him. 

In the comfort of his room, the tranquility of the fan humming on low. He couldn’t sleep without the white noise. You hated the cold, but you put up with it for him and for him alone. When he pushed the blankets aside, you dove in head first. 

Tucking yourself beneath the tangled warmth, you basked in his presence; the scent of spiced herbs and something alluding to pine. After balling yourself into the blankets and scooting to get comfortable, you’d curl up next to his body. He’d grumble about your warmth, but you’d shush him. Insisting he enjoyed your sudden presence, he’d huff and roll his eyes, but he did. 

He wouldn’t admit it. He put up this fake act for far too long. On the outside, it looked like he wasn’t thrilled about your presence, but you knew he loved it deep down. Why else would he wrap his arm around your body and pull you closer? Warm or not, he loved the evenings just as much as you did. 

Before eight in the morning, he left you alone. Without his body, you tossed and turned in the bed. Your arms outstretched and your limbs spread in every direction. Whether it was on your stomach and turned diagonal on the king-sized bed or upside down, your body changed directions all the time. Unaware and sound asleep, your limbs had a mind of their own. 

Outside, winter weather clouded the skies. Today? A chance of flurries. You complained about it last night during the winter storm. Hours slipped by and as they did, more and more snow built up outside. 

A blanket of white covered the dead grass. Silent and large flakes drifted. The added gusts of wind sent it in every direction. People tucked in the safety of their vehicles struggled to see. Forecasters sent out warnings. Your phone vibrated every so often with new announcements. 

The entire time, you complained. The freezing cold air, dry nasal cavities, the chapped lips, you hated all of it. Winter wonderland left you grumpy and unhappy. Changbin tried to get you to enjoy bits and pieces of it, but it didn’t really work. 

Your hands and feet grew sensitive to the temperature as you aged. As silly as it sounded, you swore your body aged faster than others. In such cold weather, your joints ached and your back hurt. No matter how many layers you bundled up in, you couldn’t stay warm. Most days, you avoided the outdoors and wicked weather when you could. 

Changbin, on the other hand, found nostalgia in snow. It reminded him of being a kid again. Back when his mom forced him into a snowsuit, thick gloves, a protective hat, and a scarf. He chased after his older sister, nearly falling over the thick insulated neon pants built into his snowsuit. 

When he fell victim to his snow boots and tripped, he hit the snow hard.  Face first, he’d jerk upright with red cheeks and wide eyes. Snow dusted his eyebrows and clung to his eyelashes. His sister pointed and laughed. In the distance, his mother would tell him to get up and brush off the snow. Amusement laced her voice and she could never stop herself from pulling out the digital camera to capture the moments. 

Those memories sat back at home. Perched on his mother’s bookshelf, leather bound album-after-album sat with photos of the family. From elementary school days to high school graduation and beyond, his mother took photos of everything. 

Changbin disappeared outside to peek at the snow. It took him a few moments to shove open the front door. Last night, the wind pushed a large snow drift against it. When he pushed open the door, he gasped at all the snow before him. 

Clad in a black t-shirt and plaid pajama pants, a hand flew to his mouth. His head jerked back to the hall, the direction of his bedroom where you slept. His eyes went back to the snow. Part of him wanted to keep the peace, but mischief bumped at his hip. 

He finally slowly shut the door and worked quickly. He grabbed his winter boots and yours. Back in the bedroom, he wiggled your sleeping form into your winter boots and squirmed into his own. When you jerked awake, no doubt you’d be pissed off, but he couldn’t help it. 

You looked so cute when you grew upset. Your eyebrows furrowed and your lips poked out. Your glare would be as cold as the winter weather, but he’d manage. Your forgiveness could be swayed with warm cuddles and soup. 

Sound asleep, you remained unaware of the icy horror awaiting you. As quietly as he could, Changbin scooped his burly arms beneath your warm body. Further and further, he took you from your warmth and headed outside. 

In the safety of the white weather, he stepped from the dorm, walked a few feet outside, picked the largest snowbank, and let go of your body. A cheesy grin filled his face, he held his breath, and then- 

“AH!” 

You shrieked and jerked upright. Cold snow soaked your pants and your t-shirt. Your legs kicked and your arms scrambled. Snow sat in every direction. Changbin’s mischievous giggle filled your ears from behind. 

Soaking through your skin, the cold weather hit your bones instantly. You scrambled to get up, arms flinging in every direction. The stinging snow painted you freezing. Your body jerked upright and you pushed yourself to unsteady feet. 

“Seo Changbin!” 

“Uh-oh.” 

“I’m going to kill you!” 

“Nuh-uh! You love me too much for that.” He cooed and pressed his thumb and index finger into a heart. Desperate aeygo shot your way, but it did nothing to settle the anger building in your bones. His cheeks poked out, his finger pressed against the side of his face. As cringy as it was, it softened your heart, but not today. 

His cuteness ended with a handful of splattered snow to his face. Between the sudden silence and shock, more laughter filled the air. He cried out and pawed at his face. The past and present collided. The difference between fifteen years flicked between boyhood and growing into a man. 

“That was mean!” 

“You started it!” 

He grabbed a fist full of snow and whirled it your way. You shrieked and dodged, falling into another pile of snow in the process. The quiet morning shattered with bickering and cries from cold snow. 

When the two of you finished antagonizing one another five minutes later, you couldn’t breathe. Your lungs ached and compressed from the cold. The warmth of your skin faded. Bright red discoloration smeared along your cheeks and the tip of your nose. Across from you, Changbin’s face matched. 

“I-” You sucked in a deep breath. “I give up. It’s t-too cold to continue and I-” 

“I can’t feel my fingers.” 

“Me neither.” 

“Let’s go!” He hurried over, grabbed your waist, and hauled you over his shoulders. You shrieked and he giggled again. No matter the time or the place, he loved to show off. 

Picking you up and slinging you over his shoulder with ease, it was his favorite thing to do. Showing off his strength felt so special to him. Not everyone could carry their significant other with ease. Usually, you’d beg for him to put you down, but today you didn’t. 

Your body fell over his shoulder, limp and defeated. The cold air frosts your lungs. Puffs of warm air drifted into the sky and blended into the snow. 

Back inside, he stomped his feet on the inside rug. Chunks of snow fell off his boots. As he kicked off his, you shoved your feet together and kicked yours off, too. Your boots hit the ground and bounced in two different directions. Once they were off, your head slumped over his shoulder. 

“I’m never going to be warm again,” you mumbled. 

“Oh, you poor thing. Binnie’s got you, don’t worry. We’re going to go take a hot shower. When we’re finished, I’ll make you hot chocolate.” 

“Can I cuddle you?” 

“If it’ll make you feel better, yeah.” 

“I’m going to crawl into your muscles and live there forever.” 

“Do not.” 

“You can’t stop me.” 

“I’ll throw you in the snow again.” 

“Seo Changbin!” 

“Hey, don’t test me!” 

The two of you bickered all the way to the shower; despite the freezing cold feeling lacing your body, he still made your heart feel warm and fuzzy on the inside.

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lia-linny @seungnishi @stellasays45 @emilyywhyy @rockstarkkami @flightlessackerman @danihwang882 @inlovewithstraykids @velvetmoonlght

Masterlist

Taglist and inbox rules

Ko-fi

[pwblant]

03. can’t a guy get coffee?

seeing your text, you watch as he makes his way over the counter to order from you. “sooo what drinks do you recommend?” he says as his eyes wander over your face, analyzing it.

“people seem to order our matcha and coffee drinks a lot.” you say, half expecting him to do something that’d embarrass you.

“great, i’ll order both.” he says proudly.

“oh, did you come here with someone?” you ask.

“no. just wanted to help you earn money for my drycleaning. sorry for coming off as rude by the way.” he said as he let out a small laugh, exposing his gorgeous gummy smile. he kinda reminded you of a black cat for some reason.

“alright then, I’ll serve them at your table. it’s 18 total.” you say with a follow-up smile, touched by his sudden change in heart.

the two of you exchange smiles before he turns around to go sit back down at his table.

you bring over the tray filled with a flavorful and delicious aroma over to its designated table.

“hi ! here’s your order, enjoy.” you say, handing out his drinks.

“wait ! before you go back, take this one. do you like matcha? if not, i could take it and you can have the coffee.” he says.

“what?”

“take one.” he says persistently, both drinks already reached out just for you to grab.

“i can’t do that.” you say as you push his hands away from you.

“yes you can, i’m the one who paid for it.” he insisted.

“no.”

“pleaaseee? my hands are getting really cold.” he says while looking up at you with puppy eyes, about to sulk.

“what is wrong with this guy…” you thought to yourself.

“fine.” you give in and let out a sigh in defeat as you grab the cold cup of matcha, thanking him for it as you made your way back to the counter.

4pm is just around the corner and your shift had just ended. you should've listened to the weather forecast saying that the weather would be unpredictable today, it’s pouring outside - just your luck!

“shit, what do i do? i’m gonna get sick,” you say, disappointed at the situation you’re in at the moment.

just as you make up your mind to run through the rain, avoid the puddles, and cover your head as you do so considering the fact that your place is just nearby, a white umbrella suddenly towers over you. you look around to see who this umbrella belongs to, only to see that it’s.. him, again?

“oh—what are you doing here?” you question him.

“i was just about to leave too, take this.” he says, handing you his umbrella.

“and what about you?” you ask.

“i can manage.” he replies.

“no no, lets go together. where are you headed?” you offer.

“i’m going back. my manager’s the one picking me up today, so i don't really need it anyway.” he says.

“oh—well, thank you, i guess?” you say as you send a small smile at him.

masterlist | next

— updating every sunday/thursday!

TAGLIST : OPEN (comment to be added)

@binoyu @sqh3e

[radiojamming]

Hey guys! We're looking at another severe weather outbreak tomorrow evening/night and it's shaping up to potentially get nasty. Like, bad enough that storm chasers I know are already either leaving for southern Kansas and northern Oklahoma, or backing out entirely because they're worried about what's going to happen. Last time, the post I made got a little bit of traction, so I thought I'd go for it again on the off chance that it's helpful at all.

Here are the following regions currently set to be impacted, according to today's (5/24) outlook from the Storm Prediction Center:

MODERATE (MDT): Oklahoma City, OK; Tulsa, OK; Wichita, KS; Norman, OK; Lawton, OK

ENHANCED (ENH): Kansas City, MO; Overland Park, KS; Kansas City, KS; Topeka, KS; Olathe, KS

SLIGHT (SLGT): Lincoln, NE; Springfield, MO; Abilene, TX; St. Joseph, MO; Fayetteville, AR

MARGINAL (MRGL): Dallas, TX; Columbus, OH; Fort Worth, TX; Cleveland, OH; Omaha, NE

The SPC will update this forecast tomorrow (5/25) morning and will monitor it throughout the day and make changes if need be.

Here are my tips (as well as @fruitsmother's great advice!) from the outbreak two weeks ago.

Another great resource for right-to-the-minute weather updates is Ryan Hall, who will more than likely livestream tomorrow and is great about providing watches and warnings as they come in and giving advice about what to do. He also runs a 501(c)(3) non-profit The Y'All Squad that provides assistance and relief in areas hit by severe weather events.

Just to hit some key points for this forecast and reiterate the biggest pieces of advice:

These storms are forecasted to produce damaging winds, large hail, and potentially strong or violent tornadoes. These storms may hit during the night, meaning there will be low visibility. Do not just rely on sight to monitor the weather; rotation may occur right above you and not all tornadoes are immediately visible. Listen to NOAA weather radio, news stations, or any other resource you may have.

If the weather gets bad, go to a basement or the lowest level of a building. If the building doesn't have a basement, go to the most interior room (usually a bathroom or closet) with no windows. If in a bathroom, consider bringing in couch cushions, pillows, or a mattress to cover yourself in case of falling debris.

Stay away from windows, especially with the potential for high winds and hail. Do not open your windows (see: common tornado myths).

DO NOT GO OUTSIDE TO WATCH. Even if there isn't a tornado, flying debris and huge pieces of hail falling at incredible speeds are a real issue! If you've never gotten clocked in the head with an ice chunk, now is not the time to find out how it feels!

If you haven't already done so, now is the best time to consider your severe weather plan and set up your safe place. Some items you might want to have on hand are things like flashlights or lanterns, extra batteries, phone chargers, food, water, clothing, blankets, several days' worth of medicine if needed, and a first aid kit. If you have pets, it might be best to put pet carriers, extra food, water, leashes, or anything else you may need in this area as well.

Review some basic first aid skills and tips.

If you're on the road, do not go up under an overpass. This is very '90s advice and has been proven either ineffective or outright dangerous. Go into a ditch and try to get yourself as low as possible.

In the worst case scenario of a tornado or other destructive event (microbursts, derechos, etc.), be a help, not a hindrance! Don't clog roadways; allow emergency personnel to get where they need to go!

Just as well, this is not a day for amateur storm chasers. Chaser convergence has been a real problem this year and as we've learned (unfortunately) in the past, tornadoes don't always follow their usual rules, which can put even the most seasoned chaser in danger. This is going to be a great day to watch Pecos Hank or Skip Talbot videos while being as safe as possible.

I'll keep you guys updated as the models from the SPC change or if anything else comes up. Mostly, stay safe!