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[sugairsstuff]

Hii,

I have a request I love protective Rhys so can you do a Rhys x reader where someone insults her and Rhys gets all overprotective and angry, like how dare they insult my mate🤭

I hope you have a great day and thank u for writing it

Bye❤️

i’m sorry for taking so long to write this! i hope you enjoy my spin on the prompt <3

i’m flattered

rhysand x fem/reader

warnings: none

description: a noble has quite a lot to say regarding your appointment to high lady. as much as you’d like to do it yourself, your loving mate swoops in to put them in their place.

Coming to the Court of Nightmares to play pretend in these political dances veiled in the disguise of a party was never something you were excited about through all your immortal years of knowing Rhysand. So, naturally, you were feeling an extra weight of anxiety now that you would be attending as the High Lady of the Night Court—therefore a major piece in what was originally just Rhysand and the Court of Nightmare’s game of chess. You understood your mate morphed himself into an entirely different person as he believed that the one way to keep this imbalanced section of the Night Court under order was to keep them intimidated with the illusion of a cruel leader—for who would challenge someone who held no moral bounds?

While your mate had years—if not centuries—of practice in carefully carving this mask to wear at a ball that wasn’t even a masquerade, you had only been High Lady for two years. Before that, you kept your head low or simply did not attend the events held in this part of the court. It goes without saying that you were extremely prone to criticism, which was especially worrying in a place that was kept under control through the guise that they were not allowed to question their authority.

Alas, your lover insisted that it would be better for you to attend with him. Rhysand promised that you were safe there in his company (and that the food and drinks would be to your liking), while urging that it was better to show your face and prove that these Fae did not make you afraid than stay behind and let them mumble amongst themselves. Because, of course, this court was no longer run by only the High Lord, so now you needed to demand respect as well.

Standing in the mirror, you decide that at least it was somehow easing to be wearing such an elegant gown to the ball. With long sleeves and a deep plunge, your black dress hugs your curves and falls over your hips to the floor. You thought it was a nice touch that the ends of the long skirt are flecked in white that gave the illusion you had just waded through a pool of stars. Your hair is done up nicely as well to flaunt your neck and the silver jewels decorating it, the light piece of jewelry falling deep on your chest.

“I’m wondering if bringing you may be a mistake after all,” a familiar voice hums lovingly behind you. You whirl around from the mirror, brows furrowed as you watch your mate expectantly for an explanation.

Rhysand chuckles, raising his hands in a surrendering gesture as he pushes himself off of the doorframe he was leaning against, “You are one beautiful distraction, darling. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to stay focused on politics when I have the brightest star in Prythian right at my side. That’s all.”

You roll your eyes regardless of the fact you’re now sure you didn’t need to put blush on when doing your make up earlier. “Oh, yeah, cover it up, Mr. High Lord,” you huff in faux annoyance, though perhaps some real insecurity.

Rhysand was quick to notice that, and even quicker to invade your personal space by wrapping an arm around your waist and guiding you to his chest. “Don’t forget Mr. High Lord needs his Mrs. High Lady there,” he coos, grinning when his cheesy words evoke a sweet laugh from your lips.

You decide to change the topic rather than continue to brood over the inevitable reality of the ball you are about to be an unwanted spotlight in. “Is everyone else ready?” you ask, thinking of your friends who also are expected to be attending due to political reasons. Azriel, Cassian, and even Mor were always expected to at least show their faces.

Rhysand nods idly, clearly too distracted by you to shift his mind to be thinking about them. “They’re waiting, but I’m sure they won’t mind it if we’re a little late,” he says, grinning like a feline as he leans down over you to try and capture your lips with his. You evade Rhysand’s flirtatious attempts to seduce you by leaning back and resting your palm against his chest.

“Nuh-uh. No way am I being late to this thing,” though you pause and return his playful grin, “though if it goes well, maybe we can celebrate later. The zipper on this dress is pretty difficult to undo,” you hum.

“I’d be glad to lend a hand with that.” he winks, smiling like a fool as his boyish attitude earns yet another laugh from you.

Rhysand was a tempting sight to be seen, though. It appears as though he wanted to make you two look like dynastic royalty with the way you both are dressed, perhaps to look utterly untouchable to the rebellious crowd you are about to endure. His suit was pitch black, tailored perfectly to hug his V-shaped waist and embroidered with deep purple lacing at its hems. His sleek black hair is pushed back with what you assume is gel, though either by Rhysand’s doing or its own failure some of raven strands had fallen down over his forehead. You couldn’t help but make the allusion of you being the stars and him being the milky way.

“Alright, let’s go before you get too carried away,” you insist. And with that, Rhysand pulls you closer to him and winnows you to where your friends wait—some more impatiently, as Azriel stands with his arms crossed and an accusing expression at the two of you for being late.

By the time you arrive in the Court of Nightmares, you realize the party wasn’t starting without Rhysand and you. The throne room was done up extravagantly to meet the expectations of the High Fae citizens of Hewn City, the pure silver decorations a stark contrast to the deep, shiny ebony that the room was etched from.

Beautiful faces all around the room turn to watch you and your mate enter, their drinks idle in their hands and their conversations paused so that they can get a good look at the new High Lady. You swallow, keeping your chin up and moving on to the main floor alongside your mate. The back of Rhysand’s hand brushes yours, and when you turn to look up at him you see that he’s offering you his arm. You link your elbow with his, allowing him to lead you the rest of the way into the parted crowds.

When the pair of you begin to near the dais, you see only one throne sits at the centre of it. Rhysand seems to have this planned, though, as he gently guides you away and lets go of your elbow once you reach a small cluster of nobles. Of course, it all came down to symbolism and perception, because rulers who are supposed to be equals should have their own thrones to sit, and holding on to you when not walking would be seen as more controlling than chivalrous.

“High Lord, it’s been quite some time since you’ve visited,” one of the Fae spoke. Her features were sharp and dark, brought out by her even darker makeup. To your surprise, she turns to look at you, “And you’re not alone. You must be our new High Lady, I’ve never seen you at any of the parties here.” the nameless female hums, her gaze dragging down along you. You can see in her brown eyes she finds nothing to criticize as she releases a small ‘hmph’ of both disappointment and approval.

“Yes, I am. I’m glad to finally have the opportunity to visit Hewn City properly.” you respond, offering a small, neutral smile. You decided that maybe if you treat these people politely, and not allow any snide remarks to outwardly anger you, they would see you as immune to their judgment and would back down.

The female raises her brow. Rhysand later would tell you her name is Emelia, daughter of a family known for trades. But when you glance to your side, you realize your mate has been pulled aside with Mor in what looks like an unpleasant conversation with Keir, the steward of Hewn City.

Emelia decides to strike while you’re alone, having no respect for someone who, technically, wasn’t her direct authority, “Well, that makes it sounds like you weren’t allowed to visit the Court. Why, does your High Lord keep you at arm’s length?” she drawls, sipping her golden-flaked wine in a weak attempt to hide her triumphant smirk.

Your back straightens, stunned for only a moment at her implication. “Well, it’s just a little difficult finding free time to revel so often when there are duties I must see to for the Night Court as a whole. I’m not sure if you will understand, however, considering how many of these occasions you’ve mentioned you spend your time going to.” you quip, quickly realizing that being nice and courteous to people wouldn’t work, and that Rhysand was unfortunately right to maintain equilibrium in Hewn City through intimidation.

You leave Emelia fuming in your wake, not bidding her a farewell as you head to Rhysand who now converses with Keir alone. Your mate looks relieved when he sees you coming, moving like a wisp in your black dress across the ebony throne room. The male to his left, however, looks less than pleased to see you coming in contrast.

“Keir,” you greet as Rhysand bends to kiss your cheek in loving greeting.

Keir only says your name in return before looking to Rhysand. “Well, that’s all from me, enjoy your fun, Rhysand.” he says, sending a scrutinizing look your way before departing.

Your mate lets him go without the satisfaction of a response. Rhysand sighs, turning to face you and reaching a hand to adjust the positioning of your necklace. His hand brushes against your collarbone as you meet his eyes. “Was she giving you trouble?” he says, recalling that he had to leave you with Emelia, “I felt some tension on your end of the bond,” he murmurs, careful of the level of his voice due to the room being full of prying, pointy ears.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” you assure him, taking your turn to do some adjusting by straightening the sculpted fabric of his overcoat. You thought you had managed yourself well with Emelia, who you assume was somewhere between a jealous young female to another rebellious citizen spewing the opinions fed to her by others, and your confidence began to return until you and Rhysand were silent enough for a conversation to reach your ears.

“Look at her. Dressed like a queen and yet she does nothing for the Night Court,” a male voice scoffed. You hear female and male voices laughing almost forcefully in adoration. The male continues, his voice only slightly muffled from the crowd and the distant music, “All I’m saying is, I don’t even work in politics and I could probably do a better job than her.”

After some more irritating cackling, a female voice pipes in, “The dress is tacky, anyway.”

With your heart in your stomach, you don’t even have the chance to look around and locate the owners of these voices as you notice your mate has already walked the few feet over to the small group near the edge of the throne room.

You worry that following after your mate and standing there as he, you assume, chides the yapping male, you make your way to the nearby refreshment table. Azriel thankfully stands there, who seems to be avidly trying to blend into the wall in order to avoid conversing with the unpleasant guests.

“Pretend we’re having a conversation. I’m eavesdropping.” you tell him once you arrive, and Azriel responds with a joking ‘yes, ma’am’ as you become another one of the pointy-eared eavesdroppers.

“Cielo,” you hear Rhysand drawl, a wicked grin on his face as he inserts himself into their conversation. Satisfaction begins to lift your heart back into place as the group’s laughter comes to an abrupt halt.

“Are you implying you think you’d be a better High Lady for me?” Rhysand hums, brow raising at Cielo, who now looks stiff with embarrassment. “Really, I had no idea you harboured such feelings for me, I’m truly flattered.” Rhysand continues just enough so that Cielo’s friends have turned their amusement to their rather humiliated looking pal.

Rhysand takes a step forward, a few inches taller than the glaring male. “I’d hate to break your heart, but if you ever speak about your High Lady and my mate in such a disgusting manner again, I will make an example out of you as to exactly what the punishment is for disrespecting your authority.” and just as his friends began to snicker, Rhysand’s sharp violet gaze turns to them. “And that goes for all of you,” he snaps. Rhysand stalks away, leaving the small crowd of Fae in silence as he finds you next to Azriel.

“You know,” you say cheekily, “I could’ve handled that, too.”

Rhysand sighs as he takes a glass of wine from the table, likely wanting some alcohol to stroke away the flames of his temper. “I know, darling. Sorry for beating you to it, I just couldn’t stand by and listen to them spit bullshit like that.” he scoffs. You can’t be bothered to be mad—too busy gleaming in triumph and pride over your love’s protectiveness.

“Well, I think they learned their lesson,” you giggle, glancing to the group who now watch you and Rhysand in weariness rather than entitlement.

“Good. If they can’t appreciate what you do for them, they could at least keep their mouths shut.” he hisses. You rest your hand on Rhysand’s elbow to bring his attention back to you.

“Why don’t we dance? That way, no one can judge us for not speaking to anyone.” you suggest.

Rhysand takes your hand and kisses the back of it, “I like the sound of that.” he agrees.

After a night full of dancing and more inevitable political conversations, you and Rhysand winnow back to the House of Wind as you call it a night. You find yourself standing in front of your long mirror, trying to reach back to undo the finicky zipper of your dress. You see Rhysand take a step closer to you in the mirror and feel as his hands snake into place on each side of your waist.

“So, how about that celebrating?” he grins to your reflection.

[sugairsstuff]

Would you accept requests for Haarlep? Thanks!

hello! it depends what kind of request it is since i don’t really know haarlep’s character <3

[sugairsstuff]

hello! i know i’ve been gone for a bit of time because i’ve been busy with education, so i’d just like to say that requests are still open!

here are some of the fandoms i will write for:

🪷 acotar

🪷 baldur’s gate 3

🪷 throne of glass

🪷 the cruel prince

🪷 lord of the rings/the hobbit

🪷 harry potter

🪷 the hunger games

i’m currently working on an x reader request for kili and an x reader request for rhysand. <3

[sugairsstuff]

Any sneak previews on the fics you're working on?

hey friend! exam week starts tomorrow so i’m sorry for kind of falling off the face of the earth… after this week i hope to become more active on writing requests! here’s a little bit i took from one of the drafts i was working on a couple weeks ago :)

——————————————————————————

For as your song plays, there are friends slinging their arms over each other and attempting to drunkenly sing along, and there are two pairs of lovers dancing in the corners to it through their laughter, and even Kili’s group of family and friends are causing a raucous of joy amongst themselves.

——————————————————————————

[sugairsstuff]

Are requests open?

they are! i am currently working on drafts.

[sugairsstuff]

may i request general relationship headcanons for both astarion and cardan greenbriar (separate) 🥺💕 i love them both sm and it’s great to find a blog that writes for both!

it’s double trouble with this pair! i’d love to give you some fuel for your fire <3 here’s some things i think about haha, i hope you enjoy!

also i kept it sfw because i wasn’t sure!

relationship headcanons

astarion ancunín and cardan greenbriar

warnings: very brief sexual mentions

(credit to @cafekitsune for the divider)

astarion ancunín 💫

🌙you and astarion share playful banter. a lot. naturally, he’s always the winner of your little battles of wits- or so he claims- but you both leave each other laughing by the end of your back and forth teasing. it’s another way for you two to flirt with each other apart from the more traditional ways.

🌙of course, your relationship doesn’t involve sexual intimacy for however long of a time, if ever, astarion needs. but that doesn’t mean you two don’t enjoy holding each other close. after the first hug you two shared, you become able to coax him into your arms time and time again late at night when the rest of your companions are sleep (because how dare they see him get all sappy and soft, of course), engulfing your gentle lover in the warmth his body lacks. neither of you need to speak, most of the time preferring to enjoy each other’s company quietly, listening to whatever idle ambience is stirring about beyond your tent’s walls- whether that be rustling bushes in a breeze, the rushing water of river or cave, or the hoot of an owl.

🌙it’s these moments that ground you both. those quiet ones, where nothing is said but you both hear what the other is trying to anyway. astarion is both an elf and a vampire, his body doesn’t need to sleep, but he still finds his eyelids growing heavy alongside yours as you two remain tangled together, his head resting against your chest as your fingers sleepily stroke those springy cotton curls atop his head. it’s only from gale’s babbling one day that astarion learns that people feel sleepy around those they feel safe around, and that thought crosses his mind a lot whenever he gazes at you from across camp.

🌙and when he’s not thinking of these sappy, heart wrenching thoughts, he’s (im)patiently waiting for you to forget whomever you are oh so busy with and come pay attention to him- especially if it’s gale. sorry gale.

🌙his eyes are almost always searching for you, too. and yours for him, as well. whether it’s him peering up from his book just to see you stride into camp after another one of your silly little heroic side quests (or murder sprees, if you’re dark urge), or in the midst of battle ensuring you’re not caught in the cross fire- and if you are, you best bet this rogue is sweeping in to give you back up. he does remember you once told him that if he had your back, you’d have his, too. astarion learned this meant a lot more than just protecting each other from enemies as his relationship with you progressed, finding that you two could lean on each other in emotional times of back-up, too. being so vulnerable started off difficult with him, but he reminds himself that you mean safety, you mean love, and you mean happiness to him- and these reminders help him show you those pieces of him he thought cazador buried long ago.

🌙we all know astarion is not shy when it comes to his words, but once you two become something real this act of his is broken down noticeably. don’t expect him to not crack a dirty joke, though, but do notice how- since having you at his side- he has less of a tendency to flaunt himself like a preening peacock, he becomes more comfortable with casual touching and non-sexual intimacy like mentioned before, and you even are able to render him speechless time to time with your kind, honest words to him.

🌙the kisses you two share are gentle and slow. kisses on the knuckles, wrists, cheeks, and nose before either one of you reach the other’s lips. they never last long, not long enough to tempt either one of you into something more, but they’re more than enough. your little butterfly kisses seem to settle themselves in your chests and beat their wings alongside your heart- and in astarion’s case, they beat in place of his.

🌙you two become nearly inseparable. while you were close when your relationship was just a friendship, now that it has evolved into something new, rare, and hell of a lot foreign you both can’t seem to get enough of each other. more often than not, when one of you is going out for some task, the other is close behind (and only the partner with the fanged teeth is dramatically complaining about having to go). as well, you notice that astarion begins to set up his tent closer to yours as your camp begins to change locations the closer to baldur’s gate the lot of you gets.

cardan greenbriar 🐍

🪷his tail subconsciously finds any available limb of yours- preferably coiling itself around your thigh, where it’s not noticeable enough to any who spares a meaningless glance in your direction but evident enough that someone properly looking at you would surely see. he would tell you it’s simply to give a message to wandering eyes, but that would be a half truth, as the subtle touch brings the prince turned king new blossoms within him- not the ones he bleeds, but rather those of comfort.

🪷 if you are a faerie, you most likely were apart of cardan’s friend group before he became a king, and knew him since longer. lounging about with him, locke, valerian, and nicasia, the young prince was disinterested in the rest and favoured bothering you. having to be around him so often made it difficult to ignore his clear attempts in getting under your skin, and so you eventually took it upon yourself to return the ‘favours’. and as you two spent more time together- time you both claimed you despised but in actuality you both sought it constantly- your relationship slowly grew into what it is now.

🪷 cardan would not love a hero, it is too late for such a character in his life. he does not need a person to peel away the walls he built around himself which have the words ‘the cruel prince’ carved into them. he’d rather love someone who instead saw what is beyond those walls, and take it selfishly for themself alone- he’d rather not share the sweeter sides of him with anyone but you, which means those walls must stay standing. he would fall in love with you for your ability to understand him, to not expect so much from the young prince, and he would fall in love not only with your virtues (as he would not love a villain, either) but also all your flaws that make you real.

🪷 perhaps that is why, if you are a human, he confuses his curiosity with disgust for you. humans, who live so imperfectly, so little, and yet so freely- creatures who do not look back before they jump because they do not have enough time to. people who live among the Folk and yet have no care for being good enough for them. and then cardan learned that he loved every single thing that made you human, every single thing about you that set you apart from those he was surrounded with- all equally as cruel and manipulative as him. every dimple, curve, scar, and line were all like breaths of fresh air for the forgotten prince.

🪷 either way, your love for each other crept up on both of you, until you both snapped and suddenly found your bodies entangled and lips interlocked as the world around you turned to a blur.

🪷 his kisses taste like fruity wine, only encouraging the dizziness you feel once he finally lets you escape his passionate embraces. and they have never been shy, and you have never cowered from them. he pulls you closer, you push closer, he kisses you hard, and you kiss him harder. you two challenge each other, relishing in each other’s playful competitiveness and bantering over who’s the better kisser.

🪷 for every important event cardan must hold as king of elfhame, you are there at his side. although the stubborn fae probably wouldn’t admit it, he wobbles beneath the heavy weight of the crown he didn’t even want, and still needs to learn to take these responsibilities seriously. you are his anchor, his partner in crime, the only second opinion he wants to hear- and also a good option for ruling in place of him when he slacks off.

🪷 if you are human, he tells you that you have somehow defied the laws of nature and glamoured him under your spell. he’s joking as usual, but there is really no other way he can explain the dizzying, storybook love he feels for you.

🪷 he will continue to bother you, tease you, and get under your skin even deep into your relationship. you learn that it stems from a desperate need to be seen and heard. you indulge him always, but not necessarily with snarky snips back all the time. whether you fight fire with fire or douse his with your water, the interactions are never serious and usually end in the two of you entangling your limbs together and lounging on some random velvet couch in an embrace.

[sugairsstuff]

Would you accept requests for Halsin, Wyll, Dammon, Rolan, and Zevlor? Thanks!

hey friend, of course! almost all baldur’s gate 3 characters are on the table.

[sugairsstuff]

hey… 💋 was wondering if you could write something for aragorn… you know who this is. you know what i’m asking for.

@theactofknowing yes i know who this is. here is payment. (p.s. they also write!)

(credit to @cafekitsune for the divider)

to bloom

aragorn x half-elf gn/reader

warnings: descriptions of nudity

summary: you and aragorn have known each other for years, resulting in the two of you inevitably falling in love with each other though never admitting it. though, it turns out all a love confession took was a bar of soap and you two bathing in a lake together.

Exhaustion has long since seeped into your muscles, the motion of placing one boot in front of the other becoming a rhythmic pattern you refuse to break for you know you won’t be able to pick it back up again.

Strong winds roll through the grassy fields, making a mess of your untied hair and causing your eyes to catch the billowing of a dark cloak in front of you. You raise your head slightly to gaze at the owner of the garment: reluctant heir of Gondor, unnamed leader of the little band titled the Fellowship the group of you have formed- and although commonly known as Strider, this part-elf is simply Aragorn to you.

The pair of you had been picked up by the group of hobbits you traveled with in Bree, helping them to evade the infamous Nazgûl and inevitably being brought along the daunting journey laid out for them. You had first met Aragorn years ago when he had first left Rivendell. You led a similar fate to Aragorn after you befriended him, leaving the safety of your current life for one of adventure alongside the ranger. Poets would say you were seeking meaning, you joke that you were bored.

The seed of friendship you and Aragorn had planted then was watered through the experiences you shared on your travels, the memories that wrapped themselves like vines around that bond holding you two together, and every laugh and secret you both managed out of each other in peaceful times. But then you two began to look at each softer, speak to each other quieter for the words were meant only for the two of you, touch each other in fleeting moments that may not have been accidents- and then that seed grew into a budding flower of more that you gathered up and have held deep within your chest. Though no matter how much you both watered the bond of your friendship since then, that flower has never seemed to bloom.

Aragorn finally looks over his shoulder to the rest of you, and everyone momentarily pauses as he lifts his hand to guide everyone’s attention to a forestry patch of land seated a few hundred metres south of the hill you all waited on. “We’ll take camp there for tonight. We won’t reach Lothlorien by dusk, and I haven’t seen a better place for cover yet.” he instructs. Nobody seems to disagree, not even the opinionated elf or eager dwarf who both wait at your sides. Once three of four hobbits start celebrating, enthusiastically asking who would hunt for dinner, you offer Aragorn a small smile and nod of assurance. He repeats the gesture and turns to lead the way, but not without a response to the impatient hobbits, “You all can hunt dinner for us tonight, how does that sound?” which silences them.

You hurry a pair of paces to match the long strides of Aragorn, who slows down when he notices exactly who is on his tail. “You look exhausted,” you tell him, amusement flickering in your eyes as you look to him.

“As do you,” Aragorn shoots back, his brows raised in subtle entertainment at your rather honest opening line.

You scoff lightheartedly and get to the point of your words, reaching down to the satchel at your side to unbutton the flap and reveal the contents. Aragorn leans over you to peer into the bag, finding four small bars of soap.

“From the travelling merchant we crossed earlier?” the heir asks, and you nod proudly as if this was a noble accomplishment on your end.

“I do not have confidence in myself to survive another day with the… natural aroma of our companions,” you jest, and pause, “or you.”

And to your pleasant surprise, Aragorn’s chin tilts back- outlining the sharp line of his jaw- as the man lets a genuine laugh escape his lips. “I would not say you are so innocent in the matter, either,” he says, the closed-lipped smile on his face not faltering as you send a warning glare his way.

You feel lighter as you walk alongside Aragorn the rest of the way to the tree border, smiling like a giddy child for longer than need be over the silly interaction. You and Aragorn maintain the front as the lot of you push further into the forest until Aragorn stops, glances around, and looks to you and Legolas for approval.

You turn to look over your shoulder, and when you see that the forest has become dense enough to block the border to the grasslands from your line of sight, you say, “I think we are far enough in.”

Legolas had already found perch on a fallen log, fiddling with the strings of his bow, and so you and Aragorn simply take that as a sign he agrees.

As the sun dips behind the distant hills, the shadows of the trees encompassing you all extend until the soft starlight slipping through the canopy dims them. Now, camp is set up, and the fire Aragorn once was stroking while Gimli cooked the hunted meal of the evening has been forgotten. Most of your companions have spaced out their places for the night, all but the hobbits who crowd next to their friend Frodo.

You gingerly place your things down nearby Aragorn’s, and when you offer to take first watch Aragorn’s volunteer to do the same comes not much later than yours. You both sit next to each other as you listen to the idle noises of your companions turn to quietness, and quietness to silence save for the surrounding sounds of the forest.

You catch Aragorn glance to you in your peripheral vision which tempts you to steal a glance back. When you do, you are surprised to see he has risen from the leafy floor he was sitting on and began crossing the few metres that separated the two of you. You stay sitting, craning your neck as Aragorn now stands a few feet in front of you. You tilt your head in questioning.

“There is a lake nearby, I saw it when I scouted the perimeters earlier,” his voice is low, quiet, though you see his Adam’s apple bob slightly as he swallows, “May I borrow the soap?”

Any hint of drowsiness has been stolen from your body, your heart beating rapidly as you nod to him. You do not like how the thought of the man doing the simple act of bathing makes your body blaze like a catching fire. You dig into your nearby satchel and hand him one of the square, neutral coloured bars. Aragorn turns the dry thing in his hand a few times before he turns and walks away.

You do not watch him go and rather turn back to your satchel to close the button of it, wondering why the crunching of leaves beneath Aragorn’s walking feet ceased so swiftly. Curiously, you turn to check, finding Aragorn returning your gaze.

Aragorn clears his throat. “Would you like to join me?”

You can only blink, feeling that flame return to your body as his words act like oxygen and spread its tendrils through you.

“Yes, I would,” you say, though the words come out more breathless than you had expected.

You feel Aragorn’s eyes on you as you stand, dusting off your trousers in the most awkward of ways before padding over to where he stands. He only looks down at you, the look in his eyes gentle yet unreadable before he quietly turns and begins to guide you to this lake.

“What of the others?” you ask, glancing back.

“I do not wish to bathe with Gimli,” Aragorn responds with blunt humour, looking back at you with a raised brow.

“No, I mean that we promised to watch the camp,” you correct, managing not to roll your eyes.

“The lake is not far. We will know if something happens.” he assures.

Although it may be easy for him to remain alert, you are not sure if you can trust your instincts once you are distracted with the sight of Aragorn’s bare body. Aragorn seems to see apprehension on your face, and makes a bold move of reaching back to brush his fingers against yours. Then, your fingers close around each other’s like lock and key, and Aragorn is gently pulling you until you reach a clearing.

The trees wrap around the small, oval lake like a wreath. The water is not murky, a sign that it is untouched, and instead when you peer into it you see both your reflection and the moon above.

When you turn to see what Aragorn is doing, unsure if you are welcome to begin undressing so openly, you see that the ranger has already begun to do exactly that. You heart leaps and your chest flutters so much that you think that bud in you is instead a cocoon that has just sprouted a dancing butterfly.

Aragorn already unclasped his cloak from around his neck, discarding it nearby on a rock that borders the lake’s edge. He disarms, setting his weapons on the same rock should he need them, then reaches for the hem of his tunic. The man pulls the fabric off of him slowly, revealing to you the muscles beneath that you have only been able to imagine until now. You gaze at him, following the movement of his hands until you see them stop. Your eyes flick up slightly and are met with an amused half-smirk on Aragorn’s end. That flame in you moved to burn in your cheeks as you turn your head away, seeing Aragorn slowly walk towards you in the edge of your vision.

“Do not be nervous,” he says quietly, his hand turning your jaw slowly so you meet his eyes again. You feel your heart in your ears as his attention moves lower, lower, lower, and then back. “Would you like me to help?”

You can only nod. He smiles and nods back before his hands move to the clasps of your cloak, working it undone with ease. He sets your weapons aside somewhere- too distracted to take note- before he pulls your tunic off of your raised arms. Aragorn takes a step closer, removing the rest of your undergarments before a turn of his head causes his lips to brush against the shell of your half-pointed ear, “Beautiful.” he murmurs, evoking a pleasant shiver that slips down your spine.

His hands, resting on each side of your waist, move downwards until they reach the band of your trousers. You kick off your boots in silent encouragement, and Aragorn turns his head further to look down at you properly. Then he begins to slowly drag the last few pieces of your clothing that kept you decent, and once you stepped out of them- Aragorn now kneeling before you as he set aside your aside garments- you heard both of your breaths hitch.

Aragorn rises again, your breaths heavy as you both glance in the direction of whence you came, checking that none of your sleeping friends have noticed your absences. You look back at Aragorn first and see how the moonlight betrays Aragorn as he slowly drifts his attention back to you, illuminating the red tinting of his cheeks. He takes his sweet time in simply looking at your body, and you hear him sigh softly- a gentle, sweet exhale. The amusing thought of him swooning over you like a damsel crosses your mind.

Aragorn seems to notice the light dancing in your eyes, and he takes your hand and leads you to the rocky edges of the lake. “After you,” he tells you, and you feel as his eyes never leave you as you descend into the water. You wade around, taking note that water in the area you stand reaches your middle, and watch as Aragorn strips himself of the rest of his clothing.

Shamelessly, you stare as he undos his trousers, slipping them off alongside his undergarment and blushing when he sees you looking. You offer a coy smile in return, reaching over the edge to grab the soap he left on it as he enters the water alongside you.

“You first,” you tell him, and he obeys by wading over to where you stand. As you dip the soap into the water, getting some of the substance on to your hands, you feel a little grateful that the water is just high enough to reach Aragorn’s waist. He remains where he is as you work the soap into his skin, your heart jumping each time he sighs when you press into a particularly sore muscle. His skin gleams with moonlight and sparkles with droplets of water that cling to the short strands of hair on his chest leading downwards. You wash his arms, focus on his shoulders, and when he turns around to let you do his chest your hands linger there.

“Friends do not do these things,” is what Aragorn decides to say to break the comfortable silence.

“No, they do not,” you agree, your voice wavering with uncertainty. You keep your gaze on his chest, cupping water in your hand as you rinse off the soap. You let him wash the parts of him below the surface of the water, grinning as you can’t help but steal glances. But he says nothing else, nor do you, as you quietly find a seat on a ledge in the rock. Aragorn moves to stand between your legs, leaning back so his head is nearly against your chest.

You gather soap on your hands once more, lathering the suds through his hair. You watch from above as he sighs and closes his eyes, giving in to temptation as he leans further back into you. You massage the soap into his dark oak curls, watching his eyelashes flutter against his cheek and the corners of his pink lips tug upwards ever so slightly. You tilt his head back a little more as you cup water into your free hand, pouring it along the back of his head and watch as it drags the soap off of his curls that resist straightening even when wet.

Before you have the chance to climb down from your perch on the rock, Aragorn reaches a hand to your calf. His fingers dance along the skin, as if exploring, and travel up until they reach your thigh. By then, he’s looking up at you, and you are looking down at him, and his face is so close to yours you know that you both are only trying to see who caves first.

And it is Aragorn who does. He tilts his chin only slightly, which is enough to capture your lips in his as you lean over him. Your hands move to drape around his neck as his continue their journey up your thighs. He lifts you by the waist, bringing you back down to the lake floor with him so that it is he who must bend downwards to keep kissing you. You press your chest into his, standing practically between his legs as you both run your hands over each other’s bodies. Aragorn leaves a spark everywhere his fingers brush- your waist, your legs, back, chest, neck- he is everywhere but it is still not enough.

You know now what it feels like to bloom as that bud deep within your chest comes to life as Aragorn’s hands find their final place on each side of your face. His thumbs stroke gently in a lover’s caress as he finally breaks the kiss, though he does not move far. The look he gives you as you both stand together- chests heaving and lips puffy red with adrenaline pumping through your veins- tells you that Aragorn has just discovered what that feels like too, for there has been a matching budding flower in him, as well.

“We are not friends,” Aragorn finally says. You have never heard his voice so soft, “we are more.”

[sugairsstuff]

PATTERN BANNERS | galaxy.

okey, I love this set so much, I’m so happy with it. I love all things space and stars and galaxy related. I have many colour sets coming so keep an eye out for those ! i really like what i did here ahahahah. 🤍🤍🤍

colours : 001 / 002 / 003 / 004 / 005 / 006 / 007 / 008 / 009

feel free to use; please like, reblog, and credit 〜

more dividers →

[sugairsstuff]

PATTERN BANNERS | knit.

──────── ⵌ GOLD …

──────── ⵌ MINT …

──────── ⵌ RED …

──────── ⵌ CORAL …

I call this Christmas sweater vibes ;)))) I wanted to make something that looked and felt like sweaters and I think I did it ?! it was fun trying to achieve that ‘knit’ texture haha. learned a few new things and new techniques as well HAHAHH.

this is so so so so out of what I normally do—srsly, patterns ? maximalist patterns ?! who am I ?!

feel free to send / comment colours you’d like to see next for this set ♡

please like, reblog, and credit if you use :)

more dividers →

[sugairsstuff]

so i accidentally made an oopsie and posted my response to a request too early and had to delete it, thankfully i screen shotted it because i thought it was very important for myself and everyone who would like to request!

thank you, anonymous, for this! i’d also like to make a point of this post to thank everyone so far who has put in requests- you’re all very creative! 💫 i promise to try my best to do them all as soon as possible.

ok let’s do this

request guidelines

warnings for explicit subjects

🌷

do you do scenarios/headcanons? i do do scenarios/headcanons. i’m actually working on one currently from a request. i’m all for headcanons and scenarios! i’m okay with characters from separate fandoms, the same prompt, different prompts, etc. whatever the request tells me i’ll try to create for them. also, i’d say there really isn’t a limit for how many characters you’d like, but i think any requests above 5 may not have as much content as amounts below it! (i may or may not go off on tangents though, so who really knows).

can we request for male reader, female reader, gender neutral reader, etc? of course! if i’m unsure or it’s unspecified i usually like to revert to gender neutral, so you’ll just have to let me know in requests what you’d like.

are there any characters you won’t do in each fandom? it’s pretty open book, but i do want to say that i will not write for ascended astarion or any other character that can show abusive tendencies. this doesn’t necessarily mean i won’t write for villains, though, it just depends on how the character would act and treat a partner.

are there topics you don’t do like rape, suicide, etc? i can include these topics in fics if it is requested, but i won’t write in detail for anything under these umbrellas. if it’s important to the scenario or character, it will be briefly mentioned or implied, as i feel both uncomfortable writing explicitly for these and i do not want to make others uncomfortable despite the warnings i will put before the main content of any request including these topics.

do you do poly ships x reader? yup, never tried it, but i’m happy to!

would you mind if we request AUs (alternative universes) where the character lives happily? of course, these requests are open book! i’m happy to change things up.

would you mind if the request if suggestive, implied sex, or mentioned sex but no explicit sex? i am willing to write all of these, including explicit sex, but that will be far less as often than what else i write just because i do not enjoy writing it very much (smut gives me writer’s block). suggestive, implied, and mentioned though are all fun and i don’t mind! i don’t stray from some steamy scenarios (and my friend needs their aragorn fics).

would you do nsfw requests? as i mentioned, i will write them but i may pick and choose which ones i write at what times simply because i gotta be in a specific mode to write erotica. don’t be afraid to ask because i say that, though! i also want to add i won’t write nsfw headcanons/smut for astarion as it feels out of character for most of his arc in the game.

for baldur’s gate 3, would you mind if we don’t specify the race/class to leave it ambiguous or if we ask specifics like human/healer? i’m perfectly okay with either, it’s entirely up to you.

what kinks would you accept for requests? most things are on the table. i won’t do dubious consent, CNC, daddy kinks, age play, anything involving bodily fluids (i have some leeway for astarion with blood because… well… iykyk), or knife play. that’s all the specifics i can think of!

[sugairsstuff]

just had my dreams come true

can i have a little fic of legolas x elf reader braiding each other’a hair? can be in any setting 🫶

i guess…. 😒🙄

legolas/f!reader

a short and sweet drabble, nothing but a nice conversation with soothing hands. about .7k words! i’m a little evil and i changed the prompt a wee bit.

It’d been a simple day of travel, eased by echoed chatter among your fellows and the comforting allure of nature. Your party came to a halt when exhaustion and being famished began to gnaw at the edge of everyone’s attention—urged, by the constant complaints of two hobbits.

Uncaringly, you drop your belongings somewhere, generally, in the clearing of your makeshift camp. Your mind begins to wander as the voices of your companions fade— you hear Gimli’s boisterous voice as he pars with someone or another, informing them on how to properly hunt for dinner.

You huff in amusement before the wind begins to whip your hair against your face like a punishment. You curse to yourself, dragging remnants of your hair our of your mouth before a voice drags your irritation away from the front of your mind.

“You should tie your hair back.” Legolas, the sneak, says, not even announced by the crunch of the forest floor. You’d become accustomed to his quick yet silent nature, after instances one too many of you nearly tumbling off a cliffside from being startled.

“Is that so?” You reply almost absentmindedly, watching as he gingerly sits on an upturned tree. You flick your heft of hair over your shoulder as you sit besides him, ignoring the uncomfortable pricks of the bark. This position wasn’t unfamiliar to you—you’d found him intriguing, his nature was silent yet occupied with quips of wisdom—you spent nights beside him conversing as though you were old acquaintances. “I don’t care to braid my hair, honestly.”

He corrects you, a small smile gracing his features. You drop your eyes for a moment, overwhelmed by the softness to his face as he spoke. “You have no patience for it, you mean. I do.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And you said nothing to me the entire day?”

“I was waiting to see if you came to a conclusion yourself.” He says with a twinge of tease, lacing his tone as a parallel to the sweet smile on his face. He urges you forward with a flick of his fingers, “Come. I’ll aid you this once.”

You turn your back to him, presenting your entanglement of hair. You fall comfortable in the companionable silence that follows his focus. His hands glide through your hair, separating the chunks to rhythmically tend to—over, under. You resist the urge to sigh as his hands deftly massage your head as well, focusing on your thoughts instead. You wonder if his face is pinched in concentration, or smoothed from peacefulness as his hands traveled.

“Do you regret volunteering for the fellowship?” You ask, ignoring the urge to turn and face him as you spoke. None of those who’d volunteered to join the journey had planned to do so, those that came had arrived with the precipice of another task on their mind.

You suppose the answer is simple, because he answers without faltering. “No. To be courageous is to be spontaneous.” He adds, “This is a… very tasking trip, though.”

You laugh, and a surge of confidence spurs you, perhaps from the protection that comes with facing away—there’s no confusion or irritation to be presented with and sink your hopes. You lick your lips, fiddling with the cloth that lines your thighs as you ponder your question. You add on, knowing your innuendo is clear, “Then do you like the company you keep on this long, terrible journey?”

You feel his hands falter in their pattern through your hair—surprising, considering the courage and display of assurance you often saw. Disappointing, you think, and left an itch of anxiety in the core of your chest from his silence—assumingely disapproving.

“Yes,” His voice is soft, akin to the sweet melody he spoke when he whispered of the wonders of nature. You’re surprised, and hold back the urge to perk up from your seated spot. “I do.”

You hum in response, knowing you’re lost for words.

You peer over your shoulder just the once, seeing from the edge of your gaze that a piece of cloth was being wrapped around the tip of your braid by Legolas’ swift hands.

The braid is efficient, and not a single stray hair pokes from its confines. You run your hair over it and nod approvingly, before turning fully to him. You smile, “Thank you.”

He only nods.

requested @sugairsstuff who! hey! also writes

[sugairsstuff]

Hi saw you're looking to write stories and was hoping to send some inspiration your way! I am a sucker for "Who did this to you?" Trope and I'm just in need of more Cassian from ACOTAR on this site. So I'm thinking of a little one-shot story of the reader getting hurt by an ex or a family member she doesn't get along with and the General of the Night Court being Angry about it.

Happy Writing! Can't wait to see what you come up with! 😊

thank you very much for being my first request! and i’d be happy to- sorry if i’m a bit rusty- i hope you enjoy how i approached this prompt!

who did this to you.

cassian x fem reader (a court of thorns and roses)

warnings: mentions of abuse, minor descriptions of violence

summary: you run into an ex who wrongfully treated you, and in his pathetic attempts to beg you for forgiveness he injures you. conflicted, you choose not to tell your mate, both suppressing your right to feel emotional and worried for cassian should he go after the male. but your mate knows you like the back of his hand, and you decide to tell the truth before cassian figures it out himself.

(credit to @cafekitsune for the divider)

You stand at the end of one of the House of Wind’s scarlet-wreathed hallways, thinking only of how grateful you are of your dress’ long sleeves as your left hand rubs your opposing wrist- which throbs with the inevitable purpling of a bruise wrapped around it. Although you know your mate adores when you wear pretty jewelry of all kinds, something tells you that seeing this makeshift bracelet your ex-boyfriend gifted you today in the city would only make your mate’s crimson eyes see redder.

Your chest feels heavy, swirling with a flurry of emotions as you root yourself to the end of this hallway. The sounds of your friends’ voices- laughter- from beyond the grand doorway that stood opposing you overpowered the beating of your heart in your ears, though not the flurry in your chest that leaked into your brain, watering the seeds of your feelings and forging them into thoughts.

Your ex, so unimportant his name isn’t even needed, had ran into you accidentally whilst you were browsing a vendor selling handcrafted bookmarks in the city’s local markets. Once you saw him and made to slip into the crowd in an attempt of avoidance, it was too late, as he was already calling out your name in a tone that began in surprise and evolved into frustation. And when you didn’t look back, worried he wanted to pour his heart out to you, beg for another chance after the wicked ways he’d treated you in your past relationship, he wrapped his hand around your right wrist. He tugged you back, ignoring your sharp shout of both warning and shock as the crowd meandered past you without sparing second glances.

You didn’t really pay attention to what he was saying, your mind already in a frenzied panic as his grip only got tighter the more you tried to pull your wrist back to the safety of your side. His pleading, persuasive tone betrayed the vice-like hold he had on your wrist as he tried to force you to hear him out, hear his babbling of apologies and promises ‘to change’ and ‘to be better’.

By the time you had wrenched your wrist free, so desperate to simply get out of there, your response you threw at him was only a brief shout to leave you alone that came out more shaky than you were going for. Forgetting all your other leisurely plans for the day, you trekked back to the House of Wind, gripping your aching wrist and blinking tears back as you stared at the ground a few paces ahead of your swiftly moving boots.

So now you stand at the end of this hallway.

Thinking.

While your ex himself is old business, the encounter with him had resurfaced memories with him that left a bad taste in the back of your mouth. But they are old memories, you tell yourself to try and convince yourself there is no need to tell Cassian. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time, the bruise would heal, and Gods above did you not want to send your mate on a warpath with the destination of wherever your ex lives. As much as you wouldn’t mind seeing he who does not deserve a name get what he actually deserves, you didn’t want Cassian paying the consequences for his actions. You nod to yourself in self-assuring confirmation of your decision.

You’re startled out of your head with the sudden worry you’ve been caught standing and staring at nothing like a lunatic. You glance around to ensure no person nor shadow was lurking, exhaling in small relief as you can’t think of a reasonable enough sounding excuse for your current behaviour. Don’t mind me, just contemplating the meaning of life! You scoff to yourself at your own weak joke, and move forwards until you reach the large double doors.

When you enter, familiar faces turn up to greet or smile at you from their places on the lounge room’s velvet sofas.

“There she is. You’re welcome for babysitting your whining mate, believe me when I say he’s been waiting for you the entire time in here to return from your devastatingly long two hour journey into the city.” Rhysand smirks, joking elaborately in a playful jab at his brother, with one of his hands tangled with Feyre’s in her lap- who sat nearly next to him but mostly on top of him.

“We were just wondering where you were.” Feyre jumps in to avoid the brothers getting into a back-and-forth bicker about clinginess. Her blue eyes twinkle like stars as she leans forwards a little, “So, how much did you spend today?” the female grins, looking too much alike to her mate.

You make your way to Cassian’s side immediately, standing next to the large armchair he was sprawled in rather than accepting his soft invites into his lap. He reaches over to you with both a wing and hand, the former brushing your back and the latter reaching to graze against your fingers. Placing a smile on your face comes easy as you look to Feyre, “Hate to disappoint, I only bought fresh ink and a new book.” you tell her, patting the small leather bag that rests against your hip as your excuse to move your hand away from Cassian’s. One small displacement of your sleeve would leave you having explaining to do, which you really would prefer to avoid.

Feyre whines a complaint in how you need to treat yourself more often to luxuries- as if this family hasn’t done that enough for you- before her attention switches to the male sitting below you, “Aw, sorry, Cassian, am I stealing all the attention away from you?” she teases.

You look down at your mate to see the pout on his pretty lips that elicited Feyre’s joke. One look at him, and you can tell him missing your presence wasn’t actually what was bothering him. Instead, his gaze was focused on the hand you had, apparently not subtly enough, moved away from him. Damn you for underestimating how well your mate knows you.

Cassian’s brows furrows ever so slightly as he looks up at you, a few raven black strands falling free from its messily half-tied state, appearing as though he were deeply pondering something. He looks as though he wants to say something, most likely ask why you’re acting oddly, though instead he rises to his feet and his hand lifts to brush not your hand but gently against your cheek.

Grinning, Cassian turns to Feyre and Rhysand, “Well, call me now the thief of the thief,” he shoots back equally as playfully to the High Lady, “I think we’ll be off so I can give my mate a properly informal greeting,” he jests, wiggling his eyebrows and winking at the two as he stole you away using a large, calloused hand centred on the small of your back.

You know better, though, this is simply Cassian’s way of preventing you from being put on the spot in front of two pairs of prying eyes. Cassian led you through the House of Wind’s corridors, pace slowing to make up for your lack of height in comparison to the Illyrian.

“How was your day, baby?” Cassian asks, his tone too soft for your liking right now. He’s testing the waters, you are well aware, both trying to solidify his feeling something was off and see if you are okay.

“It was fine,” you tell him honestly- well, all the parts without your ex in it. You fail to meet Cassian’s eye, afraid that if you do your mate will see right through you and know for certain you are upset. But this response only makes your mate fall quiet for a beat too long, something rare for the extroverted, energetic warlord. You hear Cassian suck in a breath as you turn a corner, and in moments he’s opening the large carved wooden door to your expansive chambers for you.

Cassian kicks the door shut gently before turning to you. You untie your boots and pull them off before he has the chance to offer to do so himself, and give him a chaste kiss on the cheek. To avoid Cassian getting straight to the point and asking if something is amiss, you deflect before anything is sent, “I’m going to go run a bath. The place’s staircase is brutal,” you joke, speaking without thinking as you notice Cassian perk up a tad.

The male looks more relieved in his body language though apprehensiveness lingers in his gaze as he turns to you with a boyish smirk, “Am I invited to that event?” your mate tries.

You know you pause for a second too long as Cassian’s expression falls slightly and he begins to reel back his comment with something with just as much lightheartedness as there was worry for you, “Or shall I leave the lady to her flowery bubblebath and soap?”

You frown and shake your head. “No, no, it’s okay, I want you to come.” Normally, you’d make a sexual joke to lure him in the hot, soapy water with you, but the burden that Cassian will inevitabley discover exactly what is making things not okay in minutes was leaning over you.

“Okay,” is all Cassian responds with, and you inwardly cringe at how clear it is how simultaneously unsure and sure he is that something is bothering you. That heavy feeling in your chest returns, settling back to where it sat in that hallway as now you feel guilty for confusing your mate over such a small, meaningless encounter with a hostile ex. Or so you tell yourself.

It’s as if a tether is attached to that weight in your chest, giving a comforting tug that pulls some of it off of your lungs. You look up to Cassian, knowing that tether was instead that special little string that tied the beautiful bow of your bond. Your mate looks much more serious now as his deep red eyes flicker with concern, though he still speaks softly, “Come on. That bath’s calling our names.”

You stand rather than sit in the large bathroom as Cassian leans over the luxurious tub, hand testing the water as he makes sure it’s set to the temperature you like the most. You make no move to begin undressing, your arms wrapped tightly around you. The bruise no longer throbs as it sits untouched, but you’re still painfully aware of it.

Cassian eventually turns to you, his large wings extending slightly as he approaches you. Seeing as you are still undressed, his hand traces its way around your waist where two of his fingers catch the string of the dress’ corset, “May I?” he asks, though there are no lustful undertones in the warlord’s deep voice, despite him preparing to strip his lover in front of a steaming bath.

You nod up at him, but place a hand on his wrist before he makes a move. Cassian’s gaze flicks to yours immediately. His brows pinch upwards slightly in gentle questioning.

“Just- don’t freak out. Don’t panic. Okay?” you say vaguely, and watch as Cassian’s expression only becomes more worried. “Cassian.” you say, more sternly.

“You’re scaring me here,” he says, your name trailing at the end of his sentence rather than one of his more playful pet names. When you only look up at him with a pleading gaze, Cassian gives in with a sigh, “Okay.”

Your mate commences, tugging the dress loosely ever so gently. You can tell he’s alert as he stands over you, his wings and scent engulfing you as he peels off your day dress. You watch his face closely as he watches your body. Any other day, and you knew what you’d find there- sweet, honey-dripping lust and warm, intimate love as more of your figure is exposed to him. Right now, though, his brow is furrowed, and he’s looking at every inch of your skin, scanning you for what exactly your warning meant.

Cassian gently tugs the sleeves of the dress off of your arm. His crimson gaze looks to your left wrist, and then to your right wrist.

And then Cassian goes rigid.

You never understood how eyes could darken like the ways they were described to in all the books Nesta reads, but watching your mate now- now you fully understand. Leaning over you, eyes unmoving from the splotchy purple markings around your wrist, you watch as lethal anger fills his vision, you see your mate see exactly the colour of his eyes as pure, vicious anger seeps into his blood and runs it cold.

“Who.” Cassian’s voice is low, quiet. You blink at the husky, nearly strangled-sounding word that your mate managed out. “Who did this to you.” he says, his eyes finally meeting yours, and you see that the look in them has changed only slightly- just enough to show you it is far from you that Cassian is angry at.

You look down, your eyes stinging suddenly as tears brim your eyes and you have no idea why. You don’t answer, so Cassian speaks for you, tone low though not harsh towards you, “Was it him?”

You nod, and open your mouth to speak and curse yourself for stumbling over your words, “We ran into each other at the market earlier. He- he grabbed me, Cass, and he wouldn’t let go. I was so scared. I just ran.” you manage, feeling the cool trail of a tear drip down your cheek. The sight of that alone was enough for Cassian.

He curses, stepping back from you as his wings flare. “I am going to kill him. I swear to every God above, he’s a fucking dead male walking.” Cassian growls, both of you having completely forgotten about your planned bath together as he paces the bathroom like a prowling predator, as if he were plotting right now all the ways he’d make that male suffer.

You move towards him then, tears still running down your cheeks as you set your right hand on his arm, feeling how tight and tense the muscles beneath are. “No, Cassian,” you tell him, “you can’t. Don’t go after him, please, Rhysand can’t play favourites no matter what you do to him,” you tell him.

Cassian looks down at you, the fury in his gaze swirling and settling and then slipping away. He sighs, moving his own two hands to cup your cheeks gently. The large male uses his thumbs to brush away your tears. “Okay.” he says, sounding almost reluctant. “But I still can’t let him get away with this. I won’t.” Cassian tells you, his tone stern yet not harsh in an assurance that he would not let this happen to you ever again. He pulls you close to his chest, wrapping both his arms and wings around you, cocooning you in warmth. Cassian strokes your hair, letting you smoosh your cheek against his chest and listen to his slowed, steady heartbeat.

“I’m sorry for freaking out,” Cassian eventually murmurs once your tears have ceased, earning a small snort and then, blissfully, a laugh from you.

“Don’t worry, I just would rather only him being arrested then both of you.” you respond, and now it’s Cassian’s turn to chuckle. He releases you from his anchoring hold. “We can talk to Rhysand tomorrow, yeah? About the political and civil way to get him punished.” Cassian huffs, emphasizing his words in a joke.

You roll your eyes as you finish undressing, “Oh, yes, how very boring.”

Cassian only grins back at you, joining you once you climb into the tub and pulling you back against his chest, one hand interlocking with yours as he frowns momentarily at the bruising. “My idea of killing him is still up for grabs, though,” he hums.

“Cassian.”

[sugairsstuff]

if anyone wants to request any prompts or little scenarios they want to see come to life, let me know! i have anonymous on🫶

i’d also like to make a note to please be considerate in how long it might take to get to your request! i’m a pretty quick worker and there’s nothing more i’d love to do than write, but i also have a lot of educational related work that takes up a lot of my time.

happy requesting! <3

here are some fandoms i’ll write for:

💫lord of the rings/the hobbit

💫acotar

💫the hunger games

💫throne of glass

💫the cruel prince

💫baldur’s gate 3

💫harry potter

💫a curse so dark and lonely series

(credit to @cafekitsune for dividers)