Spicing Up Conversations By Saying 'you Really Believe In That' At The Most Basic Inane Things

spicing up conversations by saying 'you really believe in that' at the most basic inane things

@rootedpetals:

fire. her skin was on fire. her emotions were ablaze and on high alert. how dare he. how dare he! a snarl leaves her lips as she looks over at rhysand with pure hatred. "you had no right to do this!"

starlight filled shadows die out, power dimming away until he is seen as just a passive form. if she was fire, he were to be the opposite — unyielding, void of any emotion. unwilling to add any fuel to her flame. he knew elain figuring out about his talk with azriel was inevitable, it was only a matter of time they had this conversation. this is where having his court be made of family became tricky: decisions needed to be made for the wellbeing of everyone, even if it's to their dismay. he wears the face of a high lord, not her brother, calculated grace as his hands fold over themselves. " seeing as though it effects my court, i had every right. " a breath, his voice softening to become a still, dark night. " i don't expect you to know of all the inner workings of this court, or the politics at hand. this would destroy any alliance we have — shred any sense of peace. azriel should have known better. "

he savors every second, every shudder under his touch egging him on further. movements are slow, taunting & teasing, skilled in the ways of torture. a game to see how long it takes before he can break him, that he intends on stretching out for as long as he can — until cassian is pleading for release.

there is sadistic pride in the effect he has on him: the male who he has seen bring armies down singlehandedly, submitting himself so freely to his high lord. now unable to even speak. he decides to challenge it, push him over the edge one last time. lithe fingers sliding over venous wing, his own twitching with desire. he finds the apex of nerves with ease, circling for a moment too long ...

" hm? " feigned innocence swallows the smirk threatening his lips at the insult, rhysand's gaze following him as shoulders simply shrug. " my fingers slipped. "

such casualness is washed away as he stalks closer, closing the space between them. his hand moves to slip under cassian's shirt, tracing shapes upon toned stomach. wicked cruelty laces each movement, each stroke lowering until he stops at the band of his pants. he leans in to nip at his ear, voice coated in honeyed mischief.

" what is it that you want then, cassian? "

𝐃𝐎𝐙𝐄𝐍𝐒   𝐎𝐅   𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐒   𝐆𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐆   𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇   𝐇𝐈𝐒   𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃,   𝐇𝐈𝐒   tongue   pressed   against   the   roof   of   his   mouth   as   if   ready   to   spill   them   all.   but   his   teeth   clench,   confining   the   muscle   behind   them.   he's   let   this   go   on   for   too   long,   so   long   that   his   knee   has   stopped   its   incessant   bouncing,   that   he   might   not   even   be   breathing   because   he's   afraid   the   slightest   movement   will   end   him,   if   rhysand   didn't   put   him   out   of   his   misery   first.

this   was   torture.   this   was   torture   made   worse   by   the   fact   that   it   was   rhysand   doing   it.   but   because   it   was   him,   cassian   didn't   pull   away.   that,   &    because   pulling   away   meant   giving   rhysand   something   to   gloat   about.   that   was   always   the   dilemma,   wasn't   it?   wanting   to   beat   him   at   these   stupid   games   but   also   wanting   to   submit   to   his   high   lord.

(    one   has   happened   more   than   the   other.   there   is   a   sense   of   pride   in   that   too.   )

@rhysie   𝑠𝑎𝒊𝑑:   ❛   do   you   like   that?   ❜   (he   felt   left   out   </3   4   cass)

yes.   goddess,   yes.   muscles   tense   underneath   skin,   adrenaline   pumping   &   blood   rushing   all   through   out.   he   wants   to   speak,   to   laugh   this   all   off   but   the   beast   can   only   grunt   in   response.   just   a   moment   more.   just   a   little   while   longer.   teeth   dig   into   tongue   to   keep   from   begging.   the   white   noise   in   his   ear   rises   in   pitch   as   a   finger   moves   up   the   length   of   a   bone   in   his   wing,   then   slowly   follows   the   trail   of   a   vein   on   the   thin   membrane-

whole   fucking   body   shudders   &    wing   pulls   away   as   cassian   lunges   out   of   his   seat,   snarling.   he   has   to   tug   at   the   string   of   his   leather   pants,   the   knots   loosening   from   where   his   bulge   threatened   to   spill.

"   don't   be   an   ass.   "

#𝑹𝑯𝒀𝑺𝑰𝑬 ─ selective + private writing account for 𝒓𝒉𝒚𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒅, from a court of thorns and roses. 21+ only. plot driven & iconless. written by moose ( they/them, 25, cst. ) hardblock only. 𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈 ⋆ 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒕𝒔 ⋆ 𝑝𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑡

@feydarling : i'm not letting you sleep on the floor.

their plan couldn't have been going worse. on the run, hiding in a motel room that only had one bed, while the rain relentlessly pours down. nothing else around them for miles. by the time rhysand is finished ransacking the vending machines, desperate for anything that didn't look past it's expiration date, he's drenched. a palm pushes back raven strands clinging to his forehead, dumping his haul onto the table while feyre freshens up in the restroom. the rain soaked shirt he was wearing is shed off, as he grabs a pillow from the bed, & the flask he keeps on him, planting himself on the floor.

when feyre emerges, there's an attempt at hiding his grimace — casually shrugging, as if his skin weren't crawling at the thought of sleeping on this carpet. " i've slept in dirtier places, feyre darling. " he nods towards the pile of junk food, taking a swig of whiskey before holding it up to her. " hope you're hungry. we have a lovely spread of stale chips, expired pop-tarts, and luckily ... alcohol. "

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🥺🥺❤️ AH STOP IT thank u sm.. you are the sweetest!!