fangirlprincess09

[fangirlprincess09]

Perfect, exquisite, I love it, 10/10

Stage Kiss

Written for Throne of Glass Microfics

This accidentally ended up the size of two microfics but I’m tagging you if you’ll still have me @throneofglassmicrofics

Prompts: mainly indulge but I ended up using mayhem too

Warning: teenagers

Words: 1,9k 🫣

1st run

Today, at 3:30 p.m., Rowan would kiss Aelin Galathynius on the cheek.

Pathetically enough, this little knowledge was on the forefront of his mind all day. Not his classes, no. Just Aelin’s ivory—occasionally rosy—cheek.

“Whitethorn!” Fenrys shouted in the hallway several steps behind, forcing him to turn and stop so his friend could catch up. “Looking good,” Fen said, playfully slapping the back of his hand against Rowan’s bicep.

Rowan rolled his eyes. He thought that going to the gym every day—plus taking supplements behind his mom’s back—would magically make him more confident. It didn’t. The only difference was that he looked slightly less thin, so now Fenrys occasionally catcalls him and reacts to his IG stories with the flame emoji.

Even worse, Remelle Wiselheade was now hitting on him. His plan to get Aelin’s attention absolutely backfired.

As if he was a mind-reader, Fenrys said, “And how does it feel to be Aelin’s husband?”

Rowan blinked. “Uh…”

“I mean in the play!” Fenrys threw his head back and cackled, then urged them towards the school theater. “Bro, you’re—“

“I obviously knew that!” Rowan said, defensive.

He was just taking theater classes because his mom thought it’d help him with the shyness. But Aelin? Aelin Galathynius could give Margot Robbie a good run for her money—in both talent and beauty.

If enduring his crush on her during classes wasn’t enough, they were acting as husband and wife for this play.

And it required him to kiss her on the cheek.

He was glad that Mr. Emrys, their drama teacher, had a no-kids-kissing-on-stage policy. Rowan was half a lip virgin—that thing with Lyria didn’t count—and while having an almost first kiss with Aelin would’ve been great, he wasn’t looking forward to a very public cardiovascular malfunction.

Once inside, he quickly found her by a wall with Nehemia. Aelin didn’t see him at first, but he slowed his pace to look at her better, making Fenrys—who was right behind him—trip and take Rowan down with him. Not down, since both recovered before falling face-first on the floor, but the whole thing was loud enough that now he had Aelin’s attention. At the worst moment imaginable.

She smiled at him and sent a tiny wave, and by the poorly hidden smirk on Nehemia’s face—very similar to Fenrys’—she must’ve figured out his crush on Aelin. She had to. Nehemia Ytger was one of the smartest people he knew, he just hoped she’d keep her mouth shut for now.

Once everyone gathered around Mr. Emrys and he gave them directions for today, the first rehearsal for Hamlet began.

It passed like a blur until the scene arrived.

[Modified Act 1, Scene 2]

The court gathers. Claudius stands before the throne—simple practice chairs, actually—with Gertrude at his side. Hamlet watches from a distance, looking somber and disapproving.

Rowan didn’t want to read too much into why he learned even the narration. He turned to his “court” and said:

Though my dear brother’s death is fresh in memory, we must also move forward.

Therefore, I have married my brother’s widow, Gertrude, to strengthen Denmark and honor our kingdom.

Gently holding Aelin’s hand, Rowan swallowed and almost froze when it was time, but her encouraging smile propelled him further.

He might’ve just dipped in and out, but feeling her skin under his lips was the quickest yet longest second of his life.

His cheek kiss was followed by deafening silence. For a second Rowan thought he’d embarrassed himself somehow, until he found everyone staring at Fenrys, waiting for Hamlet.

His friend looked like a deer in the headlights.

“I forgot.”

“A little more than kin, and less than kind, Moonbeam.” Mr. Emrys took a calming breath. “Let’s do another run of this scene, shall we?”

2nd run

Therefore, I have married my brother’s widow, Gertrude, to strengthen Denmark and honor our kingdom.

Rowan took Aelin’s hand again. Both experience and her open expression made him kiss her cheek more confidently this time, and he was calm enough to enjoy the moment.

The same awkward silence again.

“Mr. E, I have ADHD,” Fenrys protested, though the twitch in the corners of his mouth betrayed the seriousness. “Don’t you think it’s a bit fascist of you to make me learn all these lines in medieval?”

It’s called ‘Early Modern Common Tongue’, Moonbeam. You’ll learn with practice.” Mr. Emrys settled back into his seat. “Let’s do another run.”

4th run

By now, Rowan was very well practiced in kissing Aelin’s cheek.

Because of the political nature of their characters’ marriage, a greater actor would make Claudius give Gertrude a triumphant look rather than a fond one, but if Mr. Emrys wanted a great actor, he should’ve thought twice before casting Rowan.

Therefore, I have married my brother’s widow, Gertrude, to strengthen Denmark and honor our kingdom.

As practiced, he reverently took Aelin’s hand and leaned in for the cheek kiss.

But she turned her head. The spot on her cheek that he focused on became a blur, and before he could grasp the situation, he felt the softness of her lips in his.

An awkward miscalculation on her part.

Or was it?

The way Rowan jerked back in surprise made their peck quicker than the other kisses.

“Whitethorn!” Mr. Emrys called, one finger pointed at him. “That was supposed to be on the cheek, mister.”

He froze, glancing wide-eyed between the teacher and Aelin’s mischievous look. He could protest and clarify that she was the one to incite the kiss, but that would just be loser—worse, virgin—behavior.

Rowan may be both, but he sure wasn’t acting like it.

With the snickers that came from the students, their teacher’s stance relaxed. He slowly shook his head and muttered, “Teenagers,” as a chuckle escaped him.

5th run

Rowan was determined to return Aelin’s peck, which meant that now stakes were higher. This time, he was even more nervous than before the rehearsal started.

She is cute. Rowan really likes her. And she kissed him first.

And this self-pep talk was shit at calming him down.

Therefore, I have married my brother’s widow, Gertrude, to strengthen Denmark and honor our kingdom.

Instead of holding her hand, Rowan held her jaw instead. By their silent exchange, she had an inkling of what was coming, and her expression seemed welcoming. A quick brush of his thumb as another warning, and he leaned in.

Pillowy soft lips briefly against his was a brief shoot to the skies and back.

It was quick. It was glorious. The sweet, sticky feel of her lipgloss was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

“A little more than kind, and—“

“Gods, Fenrys, it’s kin!” Nehemia shouted from the sidelines, distracting the teacher enough to forget about the kiss.

After this, Mr. Emrys stopped complaining—he had bigger battles to fight.

7th run

After their third kiss—plus four on the cheek—Rowan began to wonder if it was too soon for a “What are we?” conversation.

Maybe he should ask her out.

Scratch that, he was absolutely asking her out. If he got rejected, life would go on—after he changed schools.

Therefore, I have married my brother’s widow, Gertrude, to strengthen Denmark and honor our kingdom.

Rowan stroke her cheek with his thumb and leaned in once again for their peck, but once he did, Aelin threaded her fingers through his hair and kept him there, tilted her head. She waited a second for his response, then retreated once it didn’t come.

Shit. Was this—

With hawk-like speed, Rowan grasped her face with both hands before she could draw back and… well, it was too much of a whirlwind inside his head to make sense of what was going on. All he knew was exploring tongues and her hands on his neck and his heart that threatened to leap out of his throat to interrupt the kiss.

He couldn’t believe he was kissing Aelin Galathynius, and she felt so soft. Soft lips, soft skin, a soft sigh that he felt in areas he’d rather forget to not embarrass himself.

“A little more than kin, and—HOLY SHIT”

The absolute silence turned into mayhem once Fenrys abruptly addressed what was going on. Once he did, the students howled and whistled at them.

However, the only reaction he cared about was Aelin’s, who stared at him with flushed cheeks and wide turquoise eyes that sparkled with something he couldn’t quite place. She giggled and hid it behind her hand, and the sight of her nervous excitement brought a funny feeling to his stomach.

“Okay, that’s enough,” their teacher said to interrupt everyone’s shouts and cheers. “Moonbeam, you’ll arrive with your lines fully memorized next time—this is not a request. Everyone’s dismissed except for Whitethorn and Galathynius.”

The mood immediately sobered as students grabbed their things between whispers. It didn’t affect him like people thought it would, though. Rowan had just kissed Aelin—with tongue. Mr. Emrys could put him in detention ‘til eternity, he didn’t give a fuck.

They got ready to leave along with everyone else, but gathered around the chair their teacher was still on once the theater was empty.

A twitch of Mr. Emry’s lips into a firm line told them he was trying to get into ‘stern teacher’ mode. He’s not really the authoritative type, but they broke the rules, and it was in the job description that he plays a role for discipline’s sake.

“In the script, it says ‘kiss on the cheek’, and I need my actors to do exactly as scripted, okay?”

Rowan and Aelin both muttered their agreements.

“Great. If that—“ Mr. Emrys pointed at the spot their kiss happened. “happens again, I’ll have to take measures all three of us won’t like.”

“We understand.”

“Great.” He said in an upbeat mode, without his ‘stern teacher’ frown, switching back to ‘nice teacher’ mode. “Glad that’s settled. You can go now, but I want you in your best behavior from now on.”

The thing about Mr. Emrys is that he’s a really cool dude. He rarely gets angry at his students, most times it’s an odd sort of fond exasperation. It worked on their favor this time, but Rowan wouldn’t take it for granted.

Outside, Aelin stopped once the door was closed. So did he. The playful flirtation they had during rehearsal was gone, and Rowan was unsure on how to make a move in this awkward silence.

It was now or never, though.

Aelin chuckled and went her way down the hall, which he followed beside her.

“So, that happened.”

He gave her a brief, close-lipped smile. “I was thinking…”

“Yeah?” She swiftly looked up at him, eyes wide.

“Doyouwannagooutsometime?”

Rowan hoped the blood rushing into his cheeks wasn’t visible from outer space.

Aelin had both hands gripping the shoulder straps of her backpack as she fought the corners of her lips from quirking up.

“Sure,” she said. “Do you have something in mind? Because there’s this movie I really wanna watch—”

“We can watch it.”

Aelin bit her bottom lip, eyes brimming with amusement. “I haven’t told you which movie it is yet.”

He tilted his head, silently urging her to give the information.

Please, anything but that gorey demon one he saw last weekend.

“Do you wanna go see Healers vs. Demons?”

“Sounds great,” Rowan half-lied.

Any movie sounded great if it was on his first date with Aelin.

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[fangirlprincess09]

The "it had to be unsent or else there'd be no wicked powers" tag is KILLING me. Do you mean to tell me that whatever is gonna happen between them could've been resolved with one (1) singukar letter???

Kit to Ty

Election day: misery, stress, hair-pulling, at least for Americans (and a lot of other people around the world affected by our politics!) So I thought I'd post a distraction; I hope it helps and doesn't annoy!

A while ago I posted the beginning of a letter from Kit to Ty, created for a Kickstarter backer. Here's the full text:

A letter from Kit to Ty, never sent.

Ty, Ty, Ty.

Your name looks strange written out like that. Like an abbreviation. But Tiberius would be so formal. I never think of you that way. Or, I suppose I should say, I never thought of you that way. Tenses matter in these situations, I guess.

It’s late, past midnight, and I’m sitting on the windowsill in my bedroom at Cirenworth. Jem and Tessa gave me one of the best rooms. Of course they did. It has a view out over the gardens. Sometimes I see the ghost of a dog there, a golden retriever I’m pretty sure, running in and out of the flowerbeds. He seems like a pretty happy ghost. I think about how much you like animals and how much they love you, because of course they do. But it’s too late; this dog passed away a long time ago. You probably couldn’t even see him. It’s too late for a lot of things, now.  

I’m still mad at you, and I don’t feel good about that. Maybe if I could forget, I could forgive. But I can’t forget that night you brought Livvy back. I’ll suddenly remember even when I’m thinking about something else. I’ll be in the middle of helping Tessa in the garden and suddenly I’ll turn around and I’m back in Idris. 

I remember I told you I loved you. I remember I told you I would help you, but not if you raised Livvy from the dead. Not if you did necromancy. But you wanted that more than you wanted me.

And I understand that. I’m not angry about that. Here’s what I’m angry about: when you brought Livvy back, you changed yourself. You made yourself a different person than the one I loved. I don’t know the person you are now. You took yourself away from me. I can’t forgive that. And you made me someone who has to keep a secret I never wanted to keep. I was raised by someone who had so many awful secrets, and when I started my life as a Shadowhunter I wanted to do it openly, and honestly. But now I’m just someone else with secrets I can never tell. Just like my dad.

It makes me angry, so angry. I want to yell at you. I wish you were here so I could yell at you.

Kit

[fangirlprincess09]

Love how tumblr has its own folk stories. Yeah the God of Arepo we’ve all heard the story and we all still cry about it. Yeah that one about the woman locked up for centuries finally getting free. That one about the witch who would marry anyone who could get her house key from her cat and it’s revealed she IS the cat after the narrator befriends the cat.

[fangirlprincess09]

just thinking about how "jude, you can’t really think i don’t know it’s you. i knew you from the moment you walked into the brugh." doesn't have to be specifically about jude taking taryn's place at the trial and cardan realising her disguise, it's also about the moment jude walked into the brugh for the first time when she was seven and every time after. he knew her.

[fangirlprincess09]

awake

[fangirlprincess09]

Lmaooo. Please let them bang it out

Stuck

Elide Lochan x Lorcan Salvaterre modern au

A/N: idk wtf this is, I got an idea and then it spiralled into something completely different and considered how I ended I might write a second part where they fuck it out of their system, just for the sake of it

Enjoy!:)

Word count: ~2300

"No. Nonono, fuck no. Not today, please!" She cried, running her fingers through her hair and pulling at the roots until it hurt. 

Elide groaned, shutting her eyes closed. 

She tried to draw a deeper breath in and when the tight skin dress didn't stretch enough for her to do so, Elide felt anxiety crest. 

"Fuck me," she whined, running to her living room, where the biggest mirror in her flat leaned against the wall. Maybe the problem was that she couldn't see properly and something was obstructing the way. 

Turning with her back to the glass, she started slapping at her back, trying to reach for the zipper. Once her fingers closer around the tiny chip of metal, Elide yanked the thing down. 

Nothing.

She closed her eyes in despair, breathing through her nose. When air got stuck in her throat again she blew it from her mouth. 

Her eyes started stinging. 

"Please, not today." 

She had had the longest day at work and she needed to get out of this dress, so she could decompress after the tiring shift. But no, she couldn't. Of course not. The universe hated her and she was cursed. 

And she was stuck. 

She tried again, slower, gentler. The zipper didn't even shift. 

Elide never really considered herself claustrophobic, she easily got into elevators and toilet stalls without windows. She never felt any kind of panic whenever she was in tiny, crowded spaces and such. 

But she was starting to doubt how much she truly knew herself at this point.

She clutched her neck with a hand, forcing herself to take small, slow breaths, trying to calm down and think of a solution. 

Before she knew what she was doing, she was out of her apartment and striding down to the only other one she was sure wasn't vacant. 

She couldn't waste any time checking which neighbor was home or not and the music coming from apartment E24 was proof enough someone was in there.

She reached the door in the blink of an eye and started slamming her palm against the flat wood surface, so hard that her skin tingled with pain.

"Fuck!" A clearly masculine voice came from inside, “The Police!”

“Shut up, Fenrys, it’s not the Police,” another male voice came through. Whoever it was, they were immensely calmer than the former speaker. 

“Fuck you, Ro, you can’t know!” 

Elide called out, “I’m not the Police, please open the door!” 

“You open it, Dorian." 

“Are you for real?” Another person. 

"You're closer to it—"

"It's your house."

"—and I'm scared."

"Hellas above, I'll get the door." 

Elide didn't have time to step back that the door unlocked and a second later a guy larger than life stood in front of her. 

She sagged, leaning forward. She couldn't help the relieved whisper that escaped her. "Thank gods." 

He opened his mouth to speak, but she was already turning her back to him.

"I'm fucking stuck and if you don't help me right now I might collapse." 

Dramatic much, she could hear her best friend's words in her head. 

"I've been trying to get out of this hellish trap for twenty minutes and I–" she paused, panting as if she'd just ran a marathon, "–I can't really breathe."

When her plea was met with silence she turned her head enough to look over her shoulder and she only then realized how tall the man standing there was. 

He towered over her, by two heads. 

He was staring at her with parted lips and a furrowed brow.

"I'm sorry what?" His voice was rough, scratchy in a way that made Elide blush.

She whined, not above crying in front of strangers if it came to it, "The dress, it won't come off, I need you to zip it down. Please."

A loud, barking laugh came from inside the apartment and then a chorus of various voices started.

"I can't believe this is happening."

"No one will believe us when we tell this story."

"Lucky bastard." 

"I can't believe it myself and I'm living through it." 

Elide ignored the others and focused on the giant guy, looking him straight in the eyes, "Listen I just need you to pull it down, I can't do it myself and I live alone, please I…"

"Okay," he murmured. He stepped forward, lifting his hands toward her dress. He looked at her back before his eyes flitted to hers, "Can I?" 

"Please," Elide repeated. 

She tensed when his fingers brushed her skin, and held her breath when he brought the hems of the dress together and tried to pull the zipper down. 

"It doesn't work," he stated.

"No shit, Sherlock," someone said from inside. "She literally told you that." 

Elide brought her hands to her face and groaned for what felt like the thousandth time that night.

When he stepped back, she turned and eyed the others—there were seven guys, plus the titan standing next to her, in total. They seemed to be in the middle of some kind of videogame tournament. Snacks and joysticks lay everywhere and they were all wearing some kind of comfy clothes.

She had to hold back her smile when she realized she'd walked in on a slumber party.

"Do any of you know how to fix zippers or am I destined to die in this?" 

"I heard using soap works, come inside." 

Elide's attention shifted back to the guy next to her. She had to bend her head back to look him in the face. 

He was wearing black pants and a black sweater, and he had his arms crossed over his chest. He was eyeing her curiously, as if he was studying her. Elide couldn't say she minded the attention.

He was pretty good on the eye, too. 

Another one of the guys shot up, "Sure, let the stranger in, it's not like this is my house."

"You're right, I'm so sorry," Elide looked back at the room. She stepped inside nonetheless, "I'm Elide. Lochan. I live in E27? I think we crossed paths a couple of times?" 

"Oh, maybe." The owner of the house came up to her, extending a hand and flashing her a shit-eating grin, "Fenrys, Moonbeam." 

"Nice to meet you, where do you keep the soap?"

He seemed taken aback for a second and slowly lowered his hand. A few surprised snorts sounded in the room. He pointed a finger down the corridor, "Bathroom."

Someone brushed past her, murmuring a curt come as they passed. 

She didn't have to be told twice and followed the Wardrobe-wide Guy into the flat. 

He moved around the bathroom like he owned the place, and Elide would probably be embarrassed later when she realized she'd literally just barged into someone's house and demanded their help, but she needed to get out of this dress and couldn't really think of anything else at the moment.

"Turn around." 

Elide did as told without a word.

She hissed as a few droplets of cold water slid down her back. 

"Sorry," he grumbled. The soft sound of the soap bar grating against the zipper was the only audible thing. And she was growing aware of her surroundings.

"What's your name?"

"Lorcan." 

"Cool," she cleared her throat. "Cool, cool."

He huffed a breath. His version of a laugh, perhaps?

She felt the dress being pulled down, but nothing unzipping, then he clicked his tongue. 

"It's not working, is it?"

"Nah," he said, putting the soap back and washing his hands. "I could try with some oil." 

Elide let go of a shuddering breath, she just wanted out of it.

When she said nothing, Lorcan rounded her and stood in front of her, glancing down at her face. His chin jutted out, "You okay?" 

She nodded swiftly, offering a tight smile.

Now that she knew someone else was taking care of the issue at hand, she was feeling calmer. And she could think more clearly. 

The guy in front of her was stunning. 

He had long, black hair that reached his waist. Eyes just as dark and a white, deep scar that ran from the side of his forehead down to his temple that appeared even paler in contrast with his dark skin. She wondered how he'd gotten it.

"Are you claustrophobic or some shit like that?" 

That question brought her back to reality and made her aware of the fact that he'd been watching her just as closely.

She shook her head, "I'm just exhausted and I want to sleep. But I can't sleep in this."

His lips curled on one side and after a few seconds where they just studied each other, he jerked his head toward the living room before silently heading back. 

She was on his heels in a heartbeat.

The moment they stepped into the full room, Elide dared looking at the crowd. She stopped in the hall when one of them talked.

"Lorbear, I see you're no good at undressing ladies in distress." 

Lorbear. This group was close.

Elide snorted, rolling her eyes back and then fixing her stare on the blue-eyed prince charming that sat on the only armchair. "You think you could do better?" 

A white-haired guy chuckled, addressing her directly. "Our Dorian here hasn't seen a single dress in his entire life, he wouldn't know where to start." 

She smiled knowingly, enjoying the distraction as much as the friendly banter between the boys.

"Do I need to remind you how you met your girlfriend, Rowan?" Dorian grinned back, lifting a foot to poke at the other's leg.

Rowan—she supposed—tensed and clenched his jaw, slapping Dorian's foot away, "Please, don't."

Elide's interest was piqued, so much so that she wanted to ask questions, but Lorcan's voice called for her from the kitchen.

She waved at the others, "Wish me good luck." 

A chorus of good luck rose from the couches.

"Sorry," she said as she sauntered in the small kitchen, "I got stopped."

Lorcan gestured at her to turn around, "Don't mind them, they're all jerks."

"I like them," she shrugged as she positioned in front of him. "Plus, you're the one hanging out with them, if you really thought that, I don't think you'd be here." 

His fingers slipped under the fabric on her back and something coarse scratched at her skin.

"It's paper, so you don't get oily," he warned. 

"Oh," she was surprised. By the small kind gesture, and by the reaction her body was having to the infinitely unimportant brush of his touch. "Thanks."

"No prob," he drawled, his voice traveling over the back of her neck.

Elide scrunched her nose. What was she doing?

"Would you mind leaning forward a bit for me, 'lide?" 

'Lide.

She was going to die. 

You're not, Manon's voice sounded amused in her head as she obeyed. 

They went through the process again, just for the zipper to not even budge.

He cleaned the metal, wiping it until it was dry enough that it wouldn't dirty her. 

She turned to face him again and he bent his head to the side, scratching his jaw.

"Can I cut it?"

A laugh bubbled up in her throat, "No, it's my work uniform, you can't cut it." 

He stared at her for the longest time, then went, "Are you wearing a bra?" 

What?

Someone laughed from the other room, "Smooth, Slavaterre. Really smooth." 

Lorcan huffed, running a hand down his face, "I was wondering if we could take it off from the head. You know, like a shirt."

Elide suddenly felt stupid. She blushed lightly and muttered, "I didn't think of it." 

"So?"

It was her turn to stare at him, in silence, contemplating her next move. 

The way his gaze didn't falter for half a second gave her a kind of confidence she rarely possesses these days.

She shook her head, "Yes, I am." 

"Do you think you can do it by yourself?"

She nodded.

Lorcan hummed, "I guess my part is done here, then." 

"I guess," she replied, never stepping back from the staring contest. 

When his eyes slid lower, slowly, to her mouth, she smirked. He mimicked her, and his tongue came out to wet his plump lip.

It wasn't her style, not really how she found hookups, but Lorcan was attractive and seemed to be really appreciative of whatever he was seeing in her. 

"What if," she added, speaking so softly that only he could hear her, "I get stuck?" 

Something glimmered in his eyes, and he took a step forward. The movement forced her head further back and when his hand lifted to play with the hem of her sleeve, her arms covered in goosebumps. 

"I could help with that," he rasped, caressing her shoulder. He ran a finger down her collarbone and Elide took a sharp breath in. 

Their eyes met again and she swallowed. 

"Then I'll make sure to call you, if it comes to that." 

Lorcan's lips curled again, tempting, "I would love that." 

Fenrys' scream came sharp as a needle, bursting their bubble of tension and longing. 

"Don't you dare make out in my kitchen!" 

Elide averted her gaze, pushing her tongue against her cheek to avoid laughing. She really liked these people.

Lorcan stepped back until a good two meters distanced them and then inhaled, extending a hand toward the living room. 

She walked out of the kitchen first, heading directly for the front door. 

She spared a long look at Lorcan, letting him see the sincerity behind her next words, "You know where to find me, Salvaterre, if you ever need company." 

She loved the taste of his name on her tongue.

He smirked, taking his stance next to the kitchen door. He nodded his head once, clearly letting her know he would take up on her words. 

She didn't even look at the rest of the guys as she said goodbye and left, closing the door behind her.

She was halfway down the corridor when shouts and cheers exploded from Fenrys' flat.

Oh, just how fast things had changed.

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[fangirlprincess09]

Not gonna lie, there was a terrifying moment where I thought this was a Rowan×Evalin fic. Really glad it was not 😂

Fake It Till You Make It

Rowaelin Month masterlist

@rowaelinscourt

I got my driver’s license this year, so I wrote this a few weeks ago for today because I’m kinda invested in DMV horror stories loll

Warnings: language

Words: 1,2k

For Rowan, becoming an employee at the Department of Motor Vehicles—also known as DMV—was a fairly easy process. He was unemployed, they had spots open, all the pieces fell right into place.

The hard part was staying in this damn job.

He grabbed the information of the next applicant he was going to examine. A 62-year-old woman who failed her driver’s license exam five times. Rowan tensed. As long as she didn’t kill anyone with that car, it’d be alright.

He crossed the threshold between the restricted area for employees and the waiting room, stepping inside that crowded space that reeked of cheap room deodorizers.

“Evalin Ashryver?” he called over the low chatter.

The woman who approached him was… not what he expected. Apart from the gray roots in her hair and conservative clothing, this woman didn’t look 62 years old at all.

"Ma'am, can I see your ID?"

The charming smile she gave him hit Rowan right between the legs. He looked away, waiting while she searched her purse. Holy rutting Mala, he needed to get a grip. The woman was old enough to be his mother.

She handed him the ID, and Rowan held it right by the woman's side to examine it.

She looked like the same person in the ID, but not quite. In the picture, the nose was a bit different, and it showed more signs of her age. Sagging skin, a few more wrinkles. But is there anything doctors couldn't do these days? It was the exact same shade of blonde hair, the exact same blue eyes with golden hues.

He cleared his throat and handed back the document.

“Ma’am don’t get me wrong, but…” Rowan trailed, carefully selecting his next words. “You should consider replacing your ID.”

Evalin tilted her head, exposing her neck that looked way too smooth and lickable for someone twice his age. “Is something wrong with it?”

“Your fillers.�� Rowan gestured to his own face with a swift twirl of his finger. “It could confuse a security agent.”

Her grin was bright, assuring him that she wasn’t embarrassed. "I have a very good doctor, thanks."

Evalin's slow smile built, her eyes studying his biceps and shoulders.

Was this unbelievably hot old lady flirting with him? Rowan took a step back and gestured for her to walk ahead of him. He didn't mind her age, but he also noticed the wedding ring on her finger.

Rowan cleared his throat and led her to the garage. He braced himself when she started the car, his stomach as hard as his muscles felt tight, but the deadly driving he expected never came. It was actually smooth, and the car didn’t stall once.

Weird. That was the kind of conduct he expected from an experienced driver, not someone who failed this test five times.

He narrowed his eyes at Evalin, studying her relaxed posture. "I see you’re not nervous.” Rowan was sure of it, but his tone made it sound like a question. It was strange, seeing a repeater so at ease when most of them reeked of terror and anxiety.

"I had lots of practice with my daughter." Evalin wiggled her eyebrows. "She's single, you know?"

Rowan froze. Something dawned on him, an odd gut feeling, but it made him inspect that woman further.

"Is she?"

"Yep. Her name's Aelin. I can't show you a picture now, but she looks a lot like me." Evalin—was that really her name?—winked. "But with cuter clothes."

Rowan gestured for her to take a turn to the left—not the regular path the DMV used for this exam. Evalin didn't seem to notice this change, which was unusual for someone who was doing this for the sixth time.

"And I'm assuming your daughter was very invested in your exam?"

"Aelin's the most wonderful person who ever existed." She let out an affectionate sigh. "She's clever, fascinating, very, very talented. Not to mention that she's a rare, staggering beauty."

“I’m sure she is,” Rowan sneered with his arms crossed. That woman couldn’t be serious.

He told her to make another atypical turn. Another one she didn't question. Another one she did with too much ease for someone who historically struggled to drive.

She didn’t even pretend to have a hard time. That woman—who wasn’t Evalin, and he suspected it was her daughter—was so confident about this she didn’t even notice Rowan gave her the directions to the nearest police station.

"Can you parallel park in front of this building, please?"

She did it in a matter of seconds, on her first try.

"How did I do?" she asked with a big, smug smile. Aelin had no clue about the route she was supposed to do for this exam, but at least she knew that parallel parking was the last part.

Instead of answering, Rowan swept a finger against her hair.

It came out with gray paint.

He gave her a bored look. "Fake gray roots? Seriously?"

She crossed her arms, eyes narrowed. "It's blonde spray to cover gray roots. You're colorblind."

"And you're under arrest for identity theft."

Her mouth fell open, and it took a second before she yelled, "You're from the DMV, you can't arrest me!"

"That's why we came to the police station." He left the passenger side, rounded the car and opened the driver's door. "Come on, Aelin."

"It's Evalin."

"Aelin."

"E-va-lin," she repeated as if he were mentally disabled.

“Well, E-va-lin, can you please explain your identity issue to a police officer?”

Aelin leaned back on the driver’s seat and crossed her arms. Her head was cocked to the side, her lips pursed as her probing gaze focused on him for a moment.

"If you don't snitch on me, I'll let you take me on a date."

He raised his brows, surprised by this offer. "What makes you think I'll accept that?"

"Because not every man gets to take me out, and you'd rather do that than spend your evening filling all the paperwork it takes to explain why you took an examinee to the police station."

To be honest, she had a point.

Rowan hated this job. He didn't give a fuck about it, especially since most people forgot every driving rule the second they got their license. Aelin committed a crime, but who didn't? As far as he knew, she wasn't a serious threat to society.

"Get off the car."

She sighed, shoulders slumped in resignation, but complied. However, he stopped her as soon as she closed the car door.

"Are you vegan?"

"What?" She blinked. "No, I'm not," Aelin said in an uncertain tone.

"Good. Meet me at Emrys' Steak House at seven." He gripped the door handle to get back to the DMV, but before he left, Rowan looked her up and down and said, "I'm not expecting sex, but please don't wear your mother's clothes."

“Oh.” Aelin perked up, her eyes sparkling this time. “Okay. Did mom pass?"

That bold question made him snort. “I didn't even meet her, so no.”

She smirked. "You wanna meet my parents already? That was fast."

Rowan shook his head in disbelief and got in the car, but not without watching Aelin walk away from him, her hips swaying since she knew he was watching.

There was no way someone could look this good in her mother’s granny clothes. Rowan drove away with a smirk on his face.

If that woman could flip his boring morning routine on the DMV like this, he couldn’t wait to see what she’d pull tonight.

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[fangirlprincess09]

How dare you stop this before it gets to the good part 😫

Jk, the whole thing was the good part obviously, but still. I need part two asap please

Daydreaming About You

Rowaelin Month masterlist

@rowaelinscourt

Some of you may know this as the Teacher AU, the first fic I ever wrote! This story has a soft spot in my heart, but not its writing 🤣🤣 so I got tired of complaining and rewrote it. I still feel like something’s off HAHAHAHAH but the rewrite got worth sharing.

Warnings: mature talk, but SFW

Words: 1,6k

Rowan’s ass looked absolutely delicious today.

This classroom had a privileged view of one of the fields he used to teach his P.E. classes, and as the class’ monarch for the next forty minutes or so, Aelin decided to give her students an activity in pairs and subtly enjoy the sight.

His eyes were hidden by the cap, but she knew he was watching the students play like a hawk. The best part was when he ran along with them. His legs, as big as tree trunks, deserved all the appreciation Aelin gave them, and she couldn’t even begin to describe the sinful way his uniform’s trunks hugged his ass. His sweat was beginning to make Rowan’s shirt cling to his torso, defining his big, rock-hard muscles—

A throat-clearing made her jump on her seat, not expecting any student to seek her so soon.

“Sorry to interrupt, Miss G.” Evangeline’s smirk was way too wide for Aelin’s liking.

Feigning neutrality, she took the paper from the girl’s hand. “You finished that soon?”

“Yeah, yeah.” The girl waved her off. “Is it true that Mr. Whitethorn and Mr. Salvaterre are exes?”

“What? That’s ridicu—“ Aelin stopped mid-sentence, squinting her eyes at her student. “You know I shouldn’t talk about his personal life like this, Evangeline.”

She focused on another student who just got there, standing beside his classmate. Luca was looking out the window with wide eyes, his mouth ajar before he said, “When I grow up, I want to be just like Mr. Whitethorn.”

Aelin smiled, always pleased to see how much her students admired him, when she asked, “Reliable and efficient?”

”No. Jacked.”

Her mouth opened, then she snapped it shut, too afraid of voicing the things inside her head.

Aelin didn’t like to show to the students that her and Rowan were friends, let alone that she had a massive crush on him. Still, they caught up on it. Those little terrors always did.

It was no secret that Aelin and Rowan were best friends. Or that there were speculations about them. Some students even called them Rowaelin, for Mala’s sake. Rowan never expressed his opinion on the matter, and Aelin was secretly pleased people could see herself with him that easily, even though that kind of attention wasn’t appreciated.

The limits of what’s accepted inside a workplace gets far more flexible when it’s filled with teenagers, hence why some intriguing things tend to happen from time to time. For example, when they were the talk of the week because some students spread a picture of Rowan making poorly-interpreted heart eyes at her.

Truth was, Aelin’s love life would be a lot easier if Rowan was half as interested in her as people in this school suggested.

After the last class, she found Rowan and Fenrys, a math teacher, talking near the garage.

“Hey!” Fenrys greeted with his trademark grin on. “The Vaults tonight? I need a wingman.”

“You never really need a wingman.” Aelin wrinkled her nose. “And I have a bunch of papers to grade tonight.”

“But we had so much fun last time.” Fenrys leaned against the wall, arms crossed and a teasing gleam in his eye. “What about the guy from last week?”

“What guy from last week?” Rowan cut in, frowning with a strained expression.

"No one," she dismissed him before asking Fenrys about some school gossip. Guy From Last Week didn't get further than texting, and she wasn't in the mood to put up with Rowan's protectiveness over her love life.

Dating was easy until sophomore year of college. More precisely, until The Great Gatsbeer Party, when Aelin offered herself in a platter for him and was brutally turned down. But conversation kept going, and he soon became her best friend and favorite person.

She had been in love with him for years, so what? Aelin adapted, like she always did.

Rowan and Aelin were side by side, walking towards his car in the boisterous garage, loud with the chatter of students and parents who parked to get the little ones.

"I didn't know there was a guy from last week."

Aelin gave him a pointed look. "There was a guy from last week. We texted a little, he told me Taylor Swift is overrated, I ghosted."

"Okay.'" He darted a quick glance her way. "Sorry. I didn't mean to pry."

She snorted, finding some sort of amusement in Rowan's unease. "Yes, you did."

"Wanna grade papers together, then?" He asked, changing the subject.

"Sure. And Mario Kart when we're done."

Aelin wasn't the biggest Mario Kart fan, but it became their thing over time. She was competitive enough to get a thrill when she's playing, and Rowan liked it a lot.

~~

Rowan absolutely hated Mario Kart.

He wasn't as into video games as Aelin, but he loved to watch it when she shouted in front of the screen or threatened to end his bloodline when she's losing.

She's such a sore loser, his Fireheart.

A loud moan coming from the kitchen interrupted his thoughts.

“I love you."

Rowan closed his eyes, trying to calm down his boiling blood. He could deal with the love declaration, but not the moaning.

"Aelin, stop flirting with the cake," he shouted, making sure she'd hear him from the other room.

They'd decided she'd grab something to eat while he got the video game ready, and now Rowan was just waiting for her.

He wandered around her living room, analyzing her decoration for the millionth time, but only stopped when he got to his favorite piece.

A framed pamphlet of the party they met, his housewarming gift to her a few years back. Reminiscing about that life-altering day always brought a smile to his face.

“Aelin Galathynius. Hi.” She was swaying, but found her balance again by supporting herself against the wall. Aelin’s expression was earnest when she said, “I find we’re equally hot, and now I’m yearning to sing the passionate chant of the sacred nuptial rite with you.” Rowan was stunned silent, but she still extended a hand to him before announcing, “And I’d be honored to caress your one-eyed trouser snake.”

Rowan shaked his head, chuckling at Aelin's antics in college.

In his darkest moments, Rowan cursed himself for not making any kind of romantic advance, since he did nothing but talk to her and make sure she didn't do something she'd regret the next day. But at the same time, at least he didn't become one of the many men she got bored of after a few weeks and discarded.

She was so picky with the people she got romantically involved with, letting them go for the smallest reasons such as playing Mario Kart with Waluigi, Rowan probably ruined his chances with her at least twice a day.

He sighed, leaving her bookcase to sit back on the couch. There would be no getting over her with his daily dose of Aelin's tight skirts and sweet smiles, and Rowan was too weak to keep enough distance to not be in love with her.

If Aelin wasn't interested in him sober, he had no choice but to pine after her for the rest of his life.

His attention drifted to her coffee table, noticing her kindle didn't have its case on. Again. Typical Aelin. He grabbed the case to put it back on the device—

Rowan froze when he read the book cover.

Friends with Kinky Benefits.

With an increased pulse, he looked around to make sure Aelin wasn't close and turned the kindle on, curious.

It seemed to be just a story about a girl longing to find the dom of her dreams, who ends up having sex with her guy best friend—and lots of toys—over and over again, for almost 200 pages.

Holy rutting Mala, is this what she gets off on?

Rowan skimmed through the book, electrified with a newfound line of thought.

Is this something she daydreams about? Aelin could ask him if that's the case, no need to be shy. Rowan's feelings for her were deep and romantic, yes, but he was still a man. Even when taking a purely physical step with Aelin would inevitably break his heart

"Buzzard..."

He jerked towards her, barely breathing with the awareness that he was caugh red-handed snooping in her kindle. But Aelin looked stiff, her eyes darting between him and the kindle. "What're you doing?"

Rowan relaxed a little realizing a moment later that in Aelin's head, she's in a worse position than he is.

He smirked. "I always knew your books are steamy, but I never expected them to be so kinky too."

Those words were enough to make Aelin regain her movements, and she flung herself towards him. "Give me that!"

Rowan wasn't quite sure what made her so flustered, but he flailed his arm around, preventing him from getting the kindle back.

"But I was just beginning to understand how a cock cage works!" he mock-complained.

“Fuck you!”

With that, Aelin jumped at him on the couch while Rowan tried to hide the kindle behind him. To get the thing from behind his back, she pulled his hair and that's when time slowed down.

Aelin was straddling his thighs on the couch. One hand connected with his, both holding the kindle, and the other roughly grabbing a fistful of his hair.

Rowan's heartbeat became erratic, and Aelin didn't look much better. Her lips were parted, her skin flushed. She blinked, her eyes searching for him as he desperately looked for any cue in her. A hint, a green light, an invitation.

He leaned in, giving her time to recoil. She didn't.

A tiny bead of sweat broke from her temple, running down her jaw and throat in a path Rowan longed to trace with his tongue.

He stroked her cheek with his thumb, another hint of his next step before he—

The crickets of Aelin's ringtone shattered their moment, and seeing who the caller was made Rowan's muscles tense.

He was going to kill Fenrys.

A/N: @leiawritesstories and I are probably the only people who care about this fic so far, so I sneaked an inside joke ours in there. So this A/N is a little nod to Leia. iykyk. Ily Leia.

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[fangirlprincess09]

Haven't even watched the show but this is STUNNING

Endure & Survive - The Last of Us

TWITTER || INSTAGRAM || PATREON || SHOP

[fangirlprincess09]

Tag with the exact number if you know it

Tag with an estimate if you don’t know it

If you have more than 200, how MANY more than 200? 👀

[fangirlprincess09]

umm i need reassurance that my presence is wanted but i can’t ask for reassurance because that’s really Embarrassing and it wouldn’t feel genuine if i asked for it

[fangirlprincess09]

[fangirlprincess09]

Damn, this is amazing!!

Take My Hand, Wreck My Plans - Chapter 1

Summary: Fresh after her third, and final, breakup with Tamlin, Feyre decides a one night stand is exactly what she needs to get him out of her system. Except, her one night stand with a violet-eyed stranger ends up being far more than she bargained for.

-

Or; the one where Feysand gets knocked up from a one night stand. A contribution to @officialfeysandweek2023 Day 3: Family.

🌶️🌶️🌶️ ahead!

Read on AO3 ・Masterlist (coming soon)

-

Maybe, in hindsight, the third tequila shot had been a mistake.

The first one, though, had been strategic. Feyre had come to Rita’s that night with a purpose, and that purpose had rattled her to the bone. Her hands were shaking when she sat at the bar, and she frowned at her phone screen, watching the words as she struggled to keep her grip steady.

If she was going to do this, she needed a drink. An ounce of liquid courage that burned down her throat, bloomed in her chest and spread to her fingertips, loosening her body. It didn’t ease the tremble in her hands, but that had more to do with the small green text bubble that she’d been staring at since she got here.

Got stuck in traffic. I should be there in five x

Feyre set the phone on the bar so that she could run her palms over the black bodycon she’d squeezed herself into, hoping to erase the evidence of the sweat gathering in her palms. She was nervous. Of course she was nervous. She hadn’t done anything like this in… years.

It was Alis’s fault, really. Several nights ago, she’d discovered Feyre hunched over on the bathroom floor, sobbing into her hand as she sorted through nearly a thousand couples photos on her phone—again. It was the third time Feyre and Tamlin had broken up, which marked it the third time Feyre was erasing any evidence of him off her phone. The final time, she swore, well aware that the photos still sat in a hidden folder on her phone since she hadn’t summoned the courage to delete them permanently.

“Maybe you should go out,” Alis had suggested. “Meet someone new. Do something fun and impermanent.”

“Impermanent?” She’d blinked past her tears to force Alis’s frown into focus. “Do you mean like… a one night stand?”

Alis had shrugged. “I think it’d be good for you.”

Feyre had sat on that suggestion for a week, torturing herself with all of the usual post break-up rituals. Unfollowing him on instagram, archiving all the couples photos on her profile, stalking everyone in Tamin’s likes. And when Tamlin had posted a series of pictures of a barbeque from the weekend prior and Feyre had swiped to see her ex-boyfriend with his arm slung proudly around Amarantha’s waist—the girl he’d sworn she didn’t have to worry about—Feyre decided that maybe Alis was right. Maybe she did need to do something to help her move on from Tamlin permanently. She needed to find someone who could help her have fun, purge him out of her system for good.

In a surge of courage that Feyre now partially regretted, she had sent a text to her old college roommate.

I want to get drunk and slutty this weekend. You down?

Drunk and slutty? Feyre, did someone steal your phone? Kidding! You know ‘drunk and slutty’ is my legal name, of course I’m down! For real though, is everything okay?

Tamlin and I broke up.

Well, fuck him! Let’s go to Rita’s and have the drunkest, sluttiest time at his expense.

It had been years since Feyre had been to Rita’s. Mor and Feyre used to go to the nightclub semi-regularly when they had been living together in college, but Tamlin wasn’t very interested in nightlife and Feyre had stopped going shortly after they’d started dating. She’d stopped doing a lot of things, actually.

But she wouldn’t think about that now. She was here to forget Tamlin. She was here to get drunk and throw herself into the crowd of writhing bodies, losing herself in the music that he would have undoubtedly complained about.

She had forgotten how loud it was in Rita’s. Music thumped through the overhead speakers, set to such a high volume that Feyre could feel the bassline vibrating in her chest, elevating her already racing pulse.

“Feyre!”

A bright-eyed woman came racing up to Feyre, her long blonde hair swishing behind, falling just above the scoop of her backless red dress.

“It has been too long,” Mor declared, not waiting for Feyre to stand from the bar stool before she barrelled into her side. It helped that Mor was tall, especially in heels.

“It’s good to see you,” Feyre said—surprised by how much she meant it. “You look incredible, by the way.”

Mor’s red lips stretched into a smile as she ran her eyes over Feyre. She gave a low whistle. “Look who’s talking. You weren’t kidding when you said you wanted to get drunk and slutty. What are we having?”

“Tequila,” Feyre answered, fingers pinched around her empty shot glass.

“Really?” Mor scanned the crowd, lips pursed. “I was thinking I’d like a brunette.” She turned back to Feyre with a roguish smile and winked. “Tequila will do for now, though.”

If they were going to be dancing, Feyre was definitely going to be needing another shot. Usually by the time they’d made it out to Rita’s in college, they had already spent the evening nursing their low-budget alcohol that had tasted more like motor oil than whatever label had been slapped over it. Dancing hadn’t been an issue then, but that was a time when Feyre had felt freer.

At least now, she could afford a drink at the bar.

Or two.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Mor said, leaning against the bar after ordering a round of shots from the bartender. “I invited my cousin to join us.”

Feyre had a vague memory of the stories Mor used to tell about her cousin—one of her closest and only family members. It was good that Mor had invited someone else. Feyre had every intention of going home with someone tonight, and it was a relief to think she wouldn’t be abandoning Mor in doing so.

“The more the merrier.”

Mor grinned. There was a mischievous glint in her eye as she accepted the shot glasses from the bartender and passed one to Feyre. “To slutty new beginnings,” she said, raising the shot glass in the air.

With a short laugh, Feyre clinked her small glass against Mor’s, and together they knocked back their heads to down the numbing liquid. It didn’t take long after the heat hit the back of Feyre’s throat for Mor to grab her by the wrist and drag them both into the center of the dance floor.

The transition was difficult for Feyre at first. Her body was too stiff and there were too many people. It was difficult to keep from brushing shoulders with the other dancers while she tried—and failed—to copy Mor’s graceful movements while also keeping time with the upbeat music. Eventually, Mor laughed and grabbed Feyre’s hand.

“You’re thinking too much!” she called over the loud ambiance. Raising Feyre’s hand over her head, Mor twirled her in place, then tugged Feyre’s back to the front of her body. Mor’s hands fell to Feyre’s hips, flush against Mor’s as they swayed back and forth.

“Don’t look at what I’m doing,” she whispered into Feyre’s ear. There was a sensual scrape to her voice that caused Feyre to suppress a shiver. “Close your eyes and listen to the music. Move your hips against mine—does that feel good?”

“Mor!” Feyre whispered with a sharp laugh. Heat was rising to her cheeks, but she obediently shut her eyes and focused on the music. “Are you trying to teach me how to dance, or seduce me?”

Mor hummed impishly. “Can I not do both? I thought we were embracing our sluttiness tonight.”

“I’m going to end up wanting to go home with you,” Feyre said, only half teasing. She leaned back into Mor and raised her hands into the air, allowing her friend to guide their rhythm. “Everyone else is going to pale in comparison.”

“I don’t know about that.”

Mor’s voice was pointed enough that Feyre’s eyes fluttered open. A pair of striking eyes met hers, shining violet against the red lighting of the dance floor.

“Oh my—”

“Good luck,” Mor purred into her ear, before giving Feyre a soft push towards the purple-eyed man cutting towards them.

His lips were twisted into a devious smile, one that was eerily reminiscent of the friend who was rapidly disappearing into the crowd, gone before Feyre could scramble after her. Dancing couples closed into the space she left, pushing Feyre closer to the dark haired stranger.

“Hi,” she whispered, hoping he would blame her breathlessness on the dancing. “I’m Feyre.”

“Hi Feyre,” he said, flashing her a cat-like grin. “Care to dance?”

Feyre hadn’t even realized she had stopped. “Of course,” she said, though the music had become a distant white noise.

Embrace your sluttiness, Feyre chided herself, thinking of the way she and Mor had just been grinding against each other. With a slow, steadying breath, Feyre stepped closer to him. He was so tall that she could just barely wind her arms around his neck, and she was suddenly grateful she’d opted to wear heels despite how her feet were already aching.

His hands fell to her hips, warm and broad and far too respectful, considering she’d just pressed the entire front of her body against his.

“What’s your name?” She tried to mimic the way Mor had spoken to her just a moment ago—low and husky, sensual like the fragrant smoke blowing over the hard-tiled floor.

“Rhysand,” he said. “But my friends call me Rhys.”

“Rhys,” Feyre echoed, letting her tongue linger on the word, the same way she wanted to let it linger over the brown, tattooed skin she saw peeking through his black collared shirt. Why did that name sound familiar? She dropped one hand to his elbow, pushing it forward so that his hand slid around the curve of her hip and landed firmly on her ass.

“And what do your lovers call you, Rhys?”

“That depends,” he murmured. Those decadent eyes darkened, dropping to her mouth. “What would you like to call me?”

Daddy? She thought, feeling her entire body heat at the suggestion. That was clearly the tequila talking. Ordinarily, she would never dream of saying something like that out loud and now the word hung dangerously on her tongue.

She nearly said it. But she wasn’t that drunk yet.

Instead, Feyre took a solid moment to compose herself. Rhysand was staring at her expectantly, hardly dancing despite how their hips were flush and his palm pressed into her ass. She liked that he was patient, waiting to follow her lead, taking only what he was being freely given. More green flags than she was expecting from a stranger she’d picked up at a club.

With a face and body like his, she thought surely he must possess some significant shortcoming. At the very least, she expected he had to be a massive prick. But that didn’t matter. Because she wasn’t looking to marry him, or even have a conversation with him. He could be a self-absorbed asshole for all she cared, because after tonight she was never going to see him again. Which meant she could be bolder, say whatever she whatever—be whoever she wanted.

Feyre leaned up, curling her finger around his biceps to steady herself so that she could press her lips to his ear. “Tonight, Rhysand, I want to call you mine.”

He had to shout over the music to be heard. “Yours?”

“Yes,” she crooned, starting to feel the alcohol loosen her body, urging her to be brave, to be reckless. “Tonight, you’re only allowed to dance with me.”

The scent of his cologne tangled in the air, dark and heady like a raging ocean storm. There was no greater freedom that Feyre could imagine than throwing her arms open to the embrace of whipping wind, feeling the sea-spray in her hair and letting the riptide carry her to the vast horizon. At least for tonight, she wanted to drown in him and emerge someone new. Someone carefree and wild who couldn’t remember Tamlin’s name or why her heart was fractured.

Tonight, Rhys was hers. And she was his.

“Are you the jealous type, Feyre?”

From the way he posed the question, Feyre had the sense he found that appealing.

“I don’t like seeing people touch my belongings,” she said, playing into her new role. A seductress—an entirely different woman from the dull, caged-in Feyre who had walked through the door under an hour ago. “Unless that doesn’t apply to you?”

“Oh, Feyre darling,” Rhysand pulled away so that she could see the full extent of his grin. “I was yours from the moment I laid eyes on you.”

-

They’d hardly stumbled through the front door when Feyre’s back hit the wall. Her dress was already hiked up her hips. The hem had first slipped up when she’d wrapped her legs around Rhysand’s waist as they were coming up the stairs, and the hand he’d edged along her inner thigh certainly hadn’t done anything to help.

The fabric had been ungodly short already. Or at least, that’s what Rhysand had complained to her throughout the last several hours she’d spent grinding her barely clothed ass against him.

He said it one more time for good measure, gasping it against her lips—”This dress is going to kill me.”

“Then take it off.”

“Believe me, I have every intention of seeing you undressed,” he said. His eyes dipped to the cleavage spilling out to tops of the v-shaped neckline. He groaned, ducking his head to leave a trail of nipping kisses along the edge of the seam. With his face practically buried in her chest, he growled, “But first, I’m going to fuck you with it on.”

“Rhys—”

“Right here,” he interrupted, rolling his hips forward for emphasis. “Against this wall.”

His erection was thick, pressing through his trousers so that she could feel its shape perfectly against the soaked lace of her underwear.

Her response was compulsive and utterly reluctant. “I have a roommate.”

His head snapped up, rising from her chest to search her face for a moment, before he flashed her a shameless smile. “Better hope you can keep quiet, then.”

Oh, holy forgotten gods. Feyre’s muscles clenched at the idea—of the ways that he could help her to ensure she stayed quiet, picturing those large hands wrapping over her mouth. Or better yet, her throat. But they were both drunk, and likely incapable of staying quiet, and she was going to say more to protest, but he cut her off by slipping a hand between her thighs.

“Fuck,” he hissed under his breath, at the same time Feyre whimpered from the feeling of his thumb swiping against her clit. “Have you been this wet all night, Feyre?”

Yes. It was a show of extraordinary self control that she hadn’t asked Rhysand to take her in one of the alleyways behind Rita’s, like she’d contemplated doing several times when he’d been slowly grinding against her ass and whispering absolute filth into her ear.

Filth like describing what he was doing at this very moment, sliding her underwear down her legs.

He asked, almost casually, “Do you think you’ll need something to help you stay quiet?”

Surely he wasn’t suggesting…? Feyre bit her lip, feeling an anticipated thrill spike through her.

Trying her best to summon the seductress from Rita’s, she asked, “I think that depends on how confident you feel about your own… skill set.”

Rhysand clicked his tongue. “So bratty, Feyre.” He’d managed to slide her panties down her legs now, and she watched in disbelief as he balled them in his fist and raised the wet, crumbled fabric to her lips. “Open.”

She stared for a moment, unblinking, realizing that she’d never actually tasted herself before—except for the rare moments she’d been kissed after someone had gone down on her. It had never been unpleasant, but it had always been brief, accidental.

As if sensing her train of thought, or merely observing her hesitation, Rhysand licked her arousal off his fingers and smiled. “Don’t worry, darling. You taste exquisite.”

A bit dumbfounded, Feyre obediently parted her lips, allowing Rhysand to slip the balled up underwear into her mouth. The cotton stuck to her tongue, wet and tangy from her own arousal.

“Good girl, Feyre,” he said, stirring something dangerous and exhilarating inside of her. His thumb and forefinger squeezed against her cheeks, as if feeling the space the underwear took up in her mouth. “Do you taste how wet you are? So eager to be fucked.”

Her cheeks were heating up, embarrassed and aroused and trying to wade between those two conflicting feelings. No one had ever talked to her this way in the bedroom before. They weren’t even in the bedroom, and a strange part of her was getting off on the idea that Alis could walk out and find them like this, with her underwear in her mouth and a stranger praising her for being such an eager slut.

Rhysand’s fingers returned to her pussy, gliding through the wetness to tease at her entrance. She gasped, the sound smothered against her underwear, as he slowly slid a finger inside her, then another, sliding them both to the knuckle.

“Fuck,” he swore again. “I usually like to—I wanted to make you come first. On my fingers. But you’re so wet, Feyre. I think I could fuck you just like this. And I could put you on my tongue afterwards.”

Feyre’s head fell back against the wall. She bucked her hips forward, hoping her meaning was clear—just fuck me already, you asshole.

He laughed, hurriedly dropping a hand to his belt buckle to free himself from his trousers. She watched, saliva collecting in the recesses of her mouth as Rhys pushed his pants down just enough to free himself. He took his cock into his fist, pumping the thick length with two casual strokes before he adjusted himself at her entrance.

Feyre dug her fingers into his shoulder. She didn’t think any partner had ever been as big as he was, and it had been almost three months since she and Tamlin had last had sex.

“Is this what you want?” Rhys asked, pausing with his flushed head right against her cunt. She could feel it throbbing against her—or maybe that was her own ache building, so unbearable at times throughout the night that she’d barely resisted the urge to beg him to just bend her over one of the tables at Rita’s.

She thought of the last tequila shot they’d had before they left, how he’d poured the salt line against her throat, the way his tongue had scorched a path over her skin.

With a small, exasperated huff, Feyre ground against the head of his cock, trying to fuck herself on him if that’s what it would take.

That earned another cruel laugh. “I guess that answers my question,” he whispered, leaning his forehead against hers. “Pretty, needy thing.”

Then, with her head still spinning from his praise, Rhysand thrust his hips forward. Feyre’s hands turned to fists against his shirt.

“Oh, fuck,” Rhys choked out, all of his suave confidence suddenly forgotten.

Feyre was forgetting everything, too. Like how to breathe. There was no room for air in her body anymore. It was being squeezed out of her, escaping in a single, surprised gurgle as she became aware of every nerve, blazing white-hot while her body searched for a way to accommodate the space that Rhysand was demanding.

The wall at her back became a cool, solid extension of his body, caging her against him, leaving no space to squirm away as the head of his cock pushed into a group of nerves that had Feyre clenching around him, desperate to escape because otherwise she would scream and surely wake up Alis. Rhys felt it, because his eyes went wide, and a moment later one of his large hands was covering her mouth.

His eyes were dark, the color of the night sky when the moon was swallowed whole. “Right there?” he asked, stilling his hips, lingering against the spot that was causing splotches to dot her vision.

Feyre’s head lulled back, wondering if she found a version of euphoria that was so pure, it bordered on pain. She started babbling nonsense around the underwear, rendered into wet and smothered sounds against his hand while she began writhing desperately against him, grinding his dull head against that cluster of nerves over and over—until she was drunk on it, on him, on the way he swore softly beneath his breath and whispered, “That’s it Feyre. Use me. Fuck yourself on my cock.”

He allowed her a moment to chase her own pleasure, his full lips splitting open in awe, eyes half-lidded as he watched her grind her hips. Then, he started meeting her with slow, precise motions, keeping himself directly in that spot so that he was fucking her there, forcing her to come undone with every tortuous roll of his hips.

“Gods, Feyre,” he panted. “You should see yourself like this. You’re so beautiful. Letting me fuck you in your little dress. You’re so—” he halted, their hips flush together so that he could grind against that spot in one slow, deliberate movement that had Feyre heaving, spluttering against the underwear and his hand as she felt herself tighten around him. “Fuck, you’re so perfect.”

Her nails bit into his skin. She knew it must have hurt, but he only groaned, saying nothing in protest as she slid one hand into his hair and tugged. She wasn’t even certain what she was trying to tell him. Fuck me or harder or don’t stop. Or just please.

Please, please please.

It didn’t matter. Rhysand’s breathing was ragged, practically as undone as she was as his hips continued their onslaught. The momentum pushed her into the wall with every thrust, resulting in a dull thumping noise that nearly drowned out the sound of their slapping skin, or her gushing arousal, or the wanton moans he smothered with his palm.

His pace staggered a bit, and she thought he must have been close because he opted to drop his hand from her mouth in favor of rubbing her clit. She could feel her own drool against his fingers, wet as he circled them between her thighs. Some of it was still dribbling over her chin, but the mess that she’d become was the last thing on her mind while she bit down fiercely on her underwear in an effort not to scream.

Feyre didn’t know how to tell him that she was going to come. She tugged on his hair, a low whine building in her throat.

That must have been enough, because he whispered, “Oh, Feyre—baby, I know. Look at me, darling.” It was an effort, but she pulled her head upwards, meeting his burning violet eyes. “Such a good girl. You’re going to come for me, yeah?”

She nodded, knowing her eyes were as wide and wild as his own. Feyre didn’t know why, but in the midst of the surge of pleasure ratcheting up her spine, she felt suddenly tempted to reach up and brush aside some of the hair that was plastered to his forehead. She wanted to see his face, memorize the shape of his mouth as it slackened into an open ‘o’, moments before he leaned forward to kiss her—undeterred by the drool or the underwear or her desperate gasp for air as the mix of sensations threatened to drown her whole.

Rhysand groaned. The vibration lingered on her lips, then rippled, the final push to topple her over the edge. Feyre jerked her hips, uncertain if she was trying to escape or chase the ecstasy violently crashing over her body, causing every muscle to contract. Rhys kept her still, kept the rhythm of his fingers steady even as his own pace faltered. He gasped into her mouth, driving his cock deeper before his body stilled and she could feel the distant, pleasantly warm sensation of his release.

For a moment, the hallway went starkly quiet, disturbed only by their ragged breathing. Their chests rose and fell, brushing idly against each other like the sea over the shore. Eventually, Rhysand was the first to move—pulling his fingers from her clit so that he could push them into her mouth and pry the underwear free.

It made a horrifying squelching sound as the fabric hit the floor. Feyre met his eyes, mortified, but his lips were already stretching into a smile that immediately chased away her concern. He thought it was funny. That tugged a small smile to her lips too, and then they were laughing softly together as Rhysand errantly swiped his thumb over her chin, wiping away the excess saliva.

“Do you think we woke up your roommate?” he asked.

“If not, we can always try again. In my bedroom, this time.”

Rhys grinned. His hands slid down to support her weight so that he could pull them away from the wall. “Which door is yours?”

-

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit—Shit!”

There was a soft knock on the bathroom door.

“Feyre?” Alis called. “Everything okay?”

“Just a minute,” Feyre called, in a voice which betrayed that everything was most definitely not okay.

She raised the small, digital stick closer to her face out of some misguided hope that the double lines were just a trick of the light. There was no way she was actually pregnant. She was on the pill, and she’d been taking the doses mostly on time.

Don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic—

“Shit.”

[fangirlprincess09]

imagine you start watching this new show and it’s a silly little show about space set in the future then they announce the next season so you wait excitedly for five months and finally it’s here… you all sit round the tv and suddenly one of the main characters who is known for being unemotional starts going mad because of “biology…” and you slowly realise that he needs to have sex or he’s going to die so the other main character risks his entire career to help him out then they start ‘wrestling’ on the sand and the one going through the mating fever ends up killing the other guy which ends the fever but now he’s depressed because he just killed his best friend but wait he’s not actually dead the unemotional one is overjoyed everything’s fine and then they go back to work like nothing happened… you look at everyone else sitting in stunned silence thinking “did any one else think that was a little… yknow” then you accidentally start modern fandom and shipping culture

[fangirlprincess09]

This unlocked a memory I had stored away

do you ever watch videos of youtubers reading their own crappy wattpad x self insert fics and think to yourself man i would love to explain the sold to one direction trope to these kids, it would absolutely break them

[fangirlprincess09]

Lmfaooo I love this

URDAD - part 1

Adenine: paired with U

Fic masterlist

I’M SO EXCITED

Warning: this is not a safe space for Chaol stans

Words: 2,4k

“How‘s the baby?” Dr. Moonbeam asked in the examination table as Aelin slid the ultrasound transducer over his abs. She was still figuring out if he was flexing them to look stronger, or to make her work harder by hardening the area she had to move the probe on.

Aelin was “examining” Dr. Moonbeam just to check if she’d fixed the glitch in his ultrasound machine, but of course he’d have a field day with it.

“Very funny,” she answered with the dullest face possible, and then gasped. “Is that a kidney stone?”

“WHAT?” He bolted upright and took the probe from Aelin’s hand, pressing it harder against him, but relaxed when he studied the monitor. “You’re evil.”

Aelin tilted her head back, cackling.

Being the engineer responsible for Mistward General’s very expensive machinery, Aelin was glad she was out of the hospital’s crazy hierarchy. She didn’t take orders from any doctors, which let her be more at ease around them, unlike most of the staff.

Even if some were shameless flirts.

“So…” Dr. Moonbeam called her attention, slowly sliding the paper towels against his abs that looked shinier because of the gel. But his eyes had this playful glint, because at this point, he knew she was immune to his moves. “When are you breaking up with that tool of yours?”

“In two weeks, actually.”

His eyes widened. “You’re joking, right?”

Aelin looked away and checked the ultrasound just to have something to do with her hands. “I already paid this month’s rent, so I’m waiting a little before breaking things up and moving out.”

She wasn’t in a rush, but it was time. Chaol hasn’t been the same. Aelin hadn’t felt the same about him either. When she went to her best friend to talk about this, Imogen was very supportive and offered her spare room.

Imogen Whitethorn wasn’t Chaol’s biggest fan, to put it lightly.

Dr. Moonbeam had his arms crossed, head cocked with a shameless grin. “No need to go through that, Galathynius. You can stay with me those two weeks.”

Aelin snorted, slowly shaking her head. “You’d love that, huh?”

Before he could answer, she felt her phone vibrating against her pocket and took it to check.

Dr Whitethorn: Aelin

Dr Whitethorn: 911

Dr Whitethorn: Anne Jausten is acting out

And by that, he meant there was something wrong with his new digital slide scanner.

“Gotta go.” She gave Dr. Moonbeam a quick salute. “Good luck with the pregnant ladies.”

Aelin rushed to the Pathology lab, which was pretty much the standard. There was always someone running or yelling in these halls. As busy as she was today, she always made room so assisting Dr. Whitethorn was always on her top priorities. He was the one who got her this job, after all.

After Aelin accidentally met Imogen’s father while drunk after a college party, he disregarded her for years. She was convinced he hated her and thought she was a bad influence, but working here slowly changed her mind. Or his, she’d never know.

One night, Imogen commented to Dr. Whitethorn over the phone that Aelin’s boss was too handsy.

The next day, Mistward General’s HR called her offering an interview.

His shoulders dropped when she came in. “Oh, good. It’s not scanning.”

Oh boy, did her breathing just get a little faster? Aelin would not, under any circumstance, show how much the scrubs, reading glasses and frazzled gray hair combo did it for her.

She always had a thing for men in lab coats, but Dr. Whitethorn was on a whole new level.

When Aelin rushed inside the cold Pathology lab, he immediately got up to give her his chair and bring another one for himself.

She clamped her lips together after assessing what was going on, trying not to make him feel bad.

“You can laugh, you know.”

“I won’t.” Despite her words Aelin’s shoulders were quaking, a full laughter ready to burst. “But you’re too young to be this old.”

He sighed. “What did I do this time?”

Aelin tilted her head, biting her lip. “You forgot to adjust a few scan settings. It won’t start until you do.”

He groaned, resting his face on his hands. This time, she let out the tiniest giggle.

Dr. Whitethorn was so excited when he got his new, more modern equipment. Until he had to learn how to work with them, that is. Watching him get used to those was like watching elder millennials in the genesis of TikTok.

Resilient as he was, he got his chin up, squared his shoulders, and tapped the few buttons he missed out in the first place.

“Well, thanks for that. And sorry I wasted your time.”

Aelin waved him off and rested her head on a fist, not caring about the few strands of hair falling on her face. “Nonsense.”

He trained his eyes on the scan. “I can go on from here.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Do you remember how to use the new photo editor?”

He used his right to remain silent.

Aelin leaned back on her seat, getting comfortable with both hands behind her neck. “Then I guess I need to wait for these scans to be done.”

Dr. Whitethorn was like that. He'd listen to her talk about anything and everything, from tissue engineering to Taylor Swift tickets, then flip a switch and politely shut her off until she made her way back into his lab again. Rinse and repeat. Right now, he wasn’t too chit-chatty, but she’d crack him in no time.

Aelin stayed there, watching his Adam’s apple bob as they listened to the soothing hum of Anne Jausten, the scanner.

“Fleetfoot and I are moving in with Immie soon, but I’m sure you know that already.”

His gaze slid to hers. “I know where you’re going.”

She wiggled her eyebrows at him. “My point is already proven, I’m just being annoying about it.”

“I’m not a gossip, I’m just a good listener.”

“Well, did you, or did you not know that already?”

He gave her a flat look. “Next time you’re looking for a boyfriend, at least get one who doesn’t forget his wallet on date night.”

“Ouch!” She clutched her chest, playing down the tightness in it. “Way to go, doc.”

“Sorry.” He grimaced. “That was insensitive of me.”

Aelin waved him off. “That breakup was overdue, anyway.”

“I think so, too.” His lab’s phone started ringing. Dr. Whitethorn got up to take it, but not before saying, “You deserve to raise your standards.”

Easier said than done. If she had a pass for every man in the world, Aelin would know exactly where to start.

People would think it was the sixteen-year age gap, but the only thing stopping her from taking a chance and trying to sit on Dr. Whitethorn's lap right now was her best friend, who happens to be his daughter. With him looking like that, Aelin wouldn't mind if he were 300 years old.

Every time she saw a legion of girls online losing their minds over some older actor who aged like fine wine, she felt a little relieved they didn’t know Dr. Whitethorn. She could appreciate the view alone.

He looked pale when the phone call ended. “It was Salvaterre. Imogen just got here in an ambulance.”

“What?” Aelin jerked upright, feeling her pulse stronger each beat. “What happened?”

”I don’t know, I-“ He pointed to the scanner. “Keep an eye on Anne. I’ll go to the ER and keep you posted.”

Aelin did as she was asked and stood there, feeling her throat get tighter as the AC’s dry gushes of air cut through her layers of clothing. She didn’t know for how long she did nothing but listen to Anne Jausten’s mechanical whirring, but she did notice she was quieter than Jane Austen, Dr. Whitethorn’s previous slide scanner. It was an obvious observation, since Anne was cutting-edge technology, but Aelin would rather think of the equipment than the fact that her best friend and soon-to-be roommate was in the emergency room right now.

Her heart almost leaped out of her throat when his text came.

Dr Whitethorn: I think you should come here.

The few minutes she sprinted there were a blur. The nurses’ carts were on her way, the elevator was too slow, there were confused people on her way. The only thing that felt fast was her pulse, thrumming blood through her tense muscles.

Aelin relaxed when she noticed Immie looked fine, despite her friend’s blotched face from crying. Dr. Whitethorn’s face was red as well, but he wasn’t crying like his daughter. He was fuming, to put it lightly. And in the hospital bed, she saw… Chaol?

“What’s going on?”

Dr. Whitethorn was the one to break the deafening silence. “We have a penile fracture here.”

No.

Aelin looked around, taking everyone in once again and processing this new information.

Her heart stopped in her chest as her senses seemed to betray her. There was no fucking way.

“YOU BROKE MY BOYFRIEND’S DICK?” Aelin’s voice boomed through the room.

Imogen’s lips wobbled. “Aelin, I’m so—“

"Sorry, yeah." She let out a bitter cackle and yanked off Chaol's blanket. His dick looked exactly like an eggplant.

"Babe," he slurred, grinning at her. He must be high on painkillers already to look clueless like that.

"You fucking slut!" She shouted and pinched Chaol's swollen penis, twisting the purple, hypersensitive skin between her fingers.

No amount of painkillers could stop the earth-shattering scream Chaol let out, loud enough to tear anyone's eardrums in half.

For the very first time, she saw Dr. Whitethorn flinch.

The curtain separating them from the rest of the ER was yanked open to reveal a very pissed Chief Salvaterre. And he caught her with a hand on the patient’s dick, in the worst way.

“Stop that right now!” He yelled and ran Chaol’s way, then pointed between Aelin and Dr. Whitethorn. “You two, out of my ER!”

The silver-haired doctor raised both hands in surrender. “What did I do?”

“I told you not to cause me any trouble.” Salvaterre pointed at Aelin. “Trouble.”

“But she needed to know!”

“Not to assault my patient!” He was looking at them with raging, bulging eyes. “You’re leaving this hospital right now, and when you come back tomorrow, you’re going to forget about Mr. Westfall’s penis and act normal like you always have. Are we understood?”

Dr. Whitethorn sighed and nodded. Aelin had her chin up, but didn’t argue.

Imogen turned to Aelin, but kept her gaze lowered. "I’m so sorry, Ace."

She wanted to yank those chestnut curls until the crack in Imogen’s voice became a scream.

Instead, she rolled her eyes. "Oh, shut it. You can have his teeny weenie."

˜˜

“I’m sorry,” Dr. Whitethorn said the umpteenth time after they were kicked out of the hospital. He insisted on giving her a ride, since Aelin didn’t have a car.

“Stop saying that.”

“I’m sorry, I—“ He groaned. “I know I shouldn’t, but I feel responsible. Being my daughter and all.”

One corner of her mouth tugged up, but her smile had no brightness. “You really shouldn’t.”

They were in front of her apartment complex, where Dr. Whitethorn stayed the last twenty minutes waiting for her to pack up. She’d have to iron her clothes all over again, but the careless packing was better than spending more time at Chaol’s cursed home.

To be fair, she was mad at Chaol, but she wasn’t surprised he cheated on her.

But Imogen? She was the main source of the sharp pain in Aelin’s chest as she remembered how supportive she was of the breakup, and the last few Friday nights Aelin stayed alone at home because her boyfriend and her best friend were busy. Indeed, they were.

The doctor gave a pointed look to the Playstation under her arm. “What’s that?”

Aelin shrugged. “You know, if you wanna crush a man’s soul, you gotta start with his video game.”

“And his car.” Dr. Whitethorn looked up, something devious sparkling in his eyes. “Where do you keep the sugar?”

Five minutes later, they were standing next to Chaol’s car. She held the jar of sugar as he held Fleetfoot’s leash.

“So, what are we doing?”

“If we put sugar in here.” Dr. Whitethorn pointed at the fuel door, where the gasoline went. “The sugar will turn into caramel and break the car from the inside while he’s driving. The engine will melt like butter. It’s a mess to fix.”

Aelin’s eyes widened, and she felt that sparkle of joy a girl could only feel due to a good revenge. Grinning, she didn’t think twice before filling Chaol’s ugly ass car with sugar.

Dr. Whitethorn was leaning against the car, eyes sparkling as he watched her excitement. “Having fun?”

She let out an evil cackle, already picturing her ex’s face when his car stopped Mala knows where. When Fleetfoot barked, Aelin felt like her dog was telling her she’s a good girl, not the other way around.

”Alright,” Dr. Whitethorn said after they were finished. “Where am I dropping you off now?”

That question took the words out of Aelin’s mouth. She had absolutely nowhere to go.

She either said it out loud or Dr. Whitethorn read it in her face, because he asked, “What about your cousin?”

Aelin grimaced. “He’s allergic to Fleetfoot. But I could make him take some histamines until I find somewhere else.”

“None of that.” He took her bags and pulled her dog’s leash towards his car. “You can stay with me for a week or two. I don’t mind.”

“What?” Aelin asked as her heartbeat got a bit faster.

“I have a spare room for you and a lot of grass for Fleetfoot. It’s the least I can do.”

She took a step further, but eyed him up and down. If Dr. Whitethorn showed any sign that he didn’t want her there, she’d go straight to Aedion’s.

“Come on.” He nodded to his car, face open.

Well, there was no arguing with an invite like that.

˜˜

9 p.m. Aelin wanted to kill 6 p.m. Aelin for even thinking about refusing to stay here.

His spare room? Comfy.

His books on medical imaging? A treasure.

His food? As mouth watering as the chef.

Aelin could stay the rest of her days here if it wouldn’t make her look like a parasite.

Fleetfoot was staying in the bedroom with her tonight, but she’d leave her outside during the day. Mala forbid her clumsy dog breaks something expensive while she’s at work.

Aelin tilted her head at the mirror, examining her own image. It was a sight, the way Aelin looked with that tiny nightgown of lacy and silk.

Too bad Chaol liked his video game better. And traitorous brunettes, apparently.

Tonight wasn’t about him, though. Neither would it be about the cock-breaker bitch she once called a friend.

Maybe a little, actually. There was this one thing she never did just to protect her friend’s feelings, but there was no stopping her now.

Aelin put her tinted lip balm on. The no-makeup makeup look she did looked perfect. Her hair was carefully messed up, every strand in its perfect place for an effortless look. She put her robe on for modesty reasons, of course. Too bad it was a little see-through.

Her own footsteps were the only sound in that hall, and the yellow light slipping through his office’s door guided her.

She knocked on his door once, twice.

“Come in.”

He didn’t take his eyes off his desk the whole time, leaning over his medicine books and laptop. That casual white t-shirt and tousled hair combo was enough to make her heart skip a beat.

Aelin leaned against the doorframe, letting that movement alone slip part of her robe open, showing off her curves. She tilted her head and assessed him like he was her prey.

“Hi, Dr. Whitethorn.” Her voice was a sultry caress, just enough to make him look up.

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@rowanaelinn

@superspiritfestival

@swankii-art-teacher

@s-uppertime

@thegreyj

@violet-mermaid7

@wishfulimaginings

[fangirlprincess09]

I actually love this

I'm starting to get smile lines.

How lovely to have smiled so often that happiness permanently etches itself into your face