#going against its own message for the most part

[claquedick]

Hating on The Substance is becoming my new personality trait

[ilium-ilia]

calyptra thalictri

simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader | masterlist

root

tw: alcohol/drinking, puke/vomit

Your period is late. 

She is a fickle bitch—always coming and going whenever she pleases, often arriving without warning and then popping back in for one last hurrah just when you thought she’d left. For once, she is quiet. You know she is here somewhere, lurking where you don’t want her to. 

The nail on your thumb taps against your phone screen as you count days and weeks on your calendar. One. Two. Four. Twenty-six. Twenty-eight. Today makes twenty-nine. A synodic month; perhaps your body wishes to align with the phases of the moon rather than your own biological clock. Lunar—your sweet Luna. The push and pull. The wax and wane. An ethereal force is here to guide your body until it is pliant—respectful. 

Though, you are exhausted with the supernatural; the otherworldly. With things infinitely stronger than you. With things that diminish you into some infinitesimal creature. 

Your Ghost. 

Vibration from your phone erases all memory of your Ghost from your psyche as a message pops up on screen, obscuring the calendar you’ve been staring at for the better part of half an hour. 

Jane: Here! Ready to head out? 

Thick cut chips from your friends’ favorite pub coats your fingertips in grease. It shines, gossamer beneath the flickering sconces that hang above your head like bombs waiting to fracture on the floor. You’re perched at a round table, elbows resting as you lick yourself clean. They chirp like birds as they lament about their long weeks at work, a sentiment you nod along with as you choke the neck of your beer. Its head sizzles, foam thick and heavy upon the amber liquid. 

Everyone else is already on their second, but you’re still struggling with your first. It tastes stale. Washes over your tongue like flat soda and sawdust. Every ridge along the roof of your mouth shrivels at the flavor. Noisome. Rancid. 

How’s your dream visitor doing? 

They ask their questions in jest with curling lips and pearly teeth. Their words poke like a needle—14 gauge straight through the skin, ripping through epidermis and cartilage. You’d bleed dry, but you slap a bandaid over the wound with a smile. 

“Dunno. Must be off on vacation.” 

It’s a lie. Ghost doesn’t take vacations. 

Not from you. 

He still visits you regularly when you’re in limbo—that purgatory that weighs on your chest and eyelids as you yearn for the freedom that lies on the other side of your paralysis. The most recent time you ran into him, you were on your stomach. Neck craning to the side, you couldn’t see him, but you could feel him. Warmth on your back, hands on your hips, holding your rump into the air to piston into you. You think if you dusted your skin, you’d find his fingerprints lingering on you like a brand. 

You carry him with you, though you often question both your sanity and the validity of his tangibility. 

Your friends quickly drop the subject—bored with your strange dreams and tired eyes—and you are grateful for it. Drowning your discomfort with the hoppy taste of beer, you force the churning in your stomach into submission as you nod along with their stories. Work. Their husbands. A fling. Good sex. Bad sex. 

Something twists. Gnarly fingernails find purchase in your torso and it writhes. Deep. Kicks its feet in your solar plexus. The oxygen it saps from your lungs leaves you dizzy. World spinning. Body too light, table unsteady. 

You excuse yourself to the washroom where the air is cooler and not as thick, but the shock leaves your muscles twitching. The faucet turns on with a squeak. You look at yourself in the mirror, at the face you hardly seem to recognize anymore. Three stalls stand behind you—looming like gallows. As soon as you dip your hands in the water to wash your face, your stomach lurches. 

All the contents of your evening—beer, salty chips, and grease—spills into the bin. The alcohol tasted bad going down, but it’s ten times worse coming back up. Bile, rot; the apotheosis of shame and madness. As soon as you think you’re finished, the scent of it overwhelms your nose, hitting it with bilous acidity, and your stomach contracts again, leaving you to dry heave. 

A tender hand rests on your back between your shoulder blades, pressing into your spine, and your head snaps to the side as you cough. A stranger. Mussed hair, bright blue eyes—her cheeks are florid, though you can’t tell if it’s from her intoxication or her makeup. 

“You alright, sweets? Let me grab you a water.” 

Your friend takes you home afterwards. She doesn’t bother to wait around to watch you enter your apartment before speeding off to rejoin everyone at the pub. Heat plagues you with severe hot flashes that leave you sweating through your clothes. You strip, baring your feverish skin to your apartment before wandering off to the bathroom where you sleep on the floor. Algid tile embraces you. It’s the warmest hug you think you’ve ever received. 

Chalking it up to your impending menstrual cycle, you start wearing pads when Monday rolls around. You’re conscious of it. Too aware. The bulky item presses against your sex as you uncomfortably sit at your desk. Each time a wave of discharge expels, you rush to the bathroom, eager to find blood and endometrium. 

There is nothing. 

You are pusillanimous in the drug store. Head bowed, shoulders curled—the family planning section feels like a cage. One with cameras that show your face and the lack of a ring on your finger as you grab a pregnancy test kit from the shelf. A laughing stock. Something to pity. Something to smirch. You are plenty old enough—no longer some teen girl about to break terrible news to her parents—but you are not ready. 

Incapable. Too dim witted. You are not ready for a child. 

But you can’t have a child—you can’t be pregnant. You remind yourself as much as you make it back inside your apartment. When was the last time you even had sex? Well over a year ago. No, more than that. Your celibacy has outlasted any gestation period. 

You are not pregnant—you tell yourself this as you flee into the bathroom, locking the door behind you as if there is someone who might interrupt you if you don’t. Still wary of the eyes you swear lingered on you at the pharmacy. Cardboard tears as you break into the package, yanking out the stick as if you hold the elixir to your cure—to whatever sickness ails you. Something to quell this madness. 

You are not pregnant—you repeat this as you yank your pants down and sit on the toilet, legs spread awkwardly far. Anxiety blocks your bladder, makes it difficult for you to do your business, but you remind yourself that there is no reason to fret. This is for peace of mind only.

You cap the stick as soon as you’re finished and place it on the counter for it to sit as you clean yourself up. Button clasped, hands washed; you rub at your face as your heart slithers through your esophagus. Each pulse threatens to crack your ribs, so you breathe deeply, you expand your chest to give it more room so that silly muscle might show you mercy. 

After all, you are not pregnant. 

Though, the two lines staring up at you beg to differ.

[cheftsunoda]

Beauty and Brains

(part two)

SMAU! + Real Life

in which charles leclerc's twin is a doctor and is making the big move back to monaco and also introducing the family to her new boyfriend...who they most definitely already know.

Charles Leclerc X !Doctor Sister Reader X Platonic F1 Grid

Leclerc Reader x Lando Norris

part one here:)

part three here:)

part four here:)

tag list : @klauslovemepls, @omgsuperstarg, @msliz, @samanthaofanarchy, @mayax2o07, @goldenstrawberryx, @hannahmotors10, @alireads27, @1800-love-me

—

reader point of view ;

The living room was a sea of half-filled boxes, bubble wrap, and sharpie markers. It was strange—seeing my medical textbooks, framed degrees, and half-used coffee mugs all laid out like museum artifacts waiting to be archived.

“You sure you need all of these anatomy books?” Lando’s voice called from the study, followed by the sound of something thudding against the floor.

I chuckled, wiping my hands on my old jeans as I walked in to find him crouched next to a very full box, one of the books clearly too heavy for its own good. He looked up with that guilty-but-charming smile.

“Those books saved my ass in med school. I’m not leaving them behind just because they weigh a ton.”

He huffed dramatically. “Fine, but I want it noted that I’m risking back injury for love.”

I stepped closer and leaned down to kiss the top of his head. “You’re very brave, Norris.”

He smirked and rose to his feet, brushing his hands off. “So, when are we tackling the kitchen? Because I feel like that’s going to be way more terrifying.”

I let out a groan. “Probably after I emotionally recover from going through my office.”

He reached out and took my hand, his thumb brushing over my knuckles as he studied my expression. “You okay? I mean, I know this is exciting—coming back to Monaco, being closer to family, starting fresh—but it’s a lot.”

I nodded, biting my lip. “It is. It’s a good kind of overwhelming, though. I think I just didn’t realize how much I’d built here until I started packing it all away.”

“I get that,” he said softly. “But you’re not doing it alone. I’m here… and your brother’s probably going to show up in a Ferrari and try to carry one box like it’s a workout.”

I laughed. “That sounds exactly like Charles.”

Lando grinned. “And hey, once we get to Monaco, you’ll have a whole new home to decorate, new memories to make—and I’ll still be stealing your cereal and annoying you every morning.”

I leaned into him, wrapping my arms around his waist. He held me tightly, his chin resting lightly on my head. The chaos of moving felt a little less daunting in that moment.

“Thank you for helping me,” I whispered. “For all of this.”

He pulled back just enough to look down at me, brushing a strand of hair from my cheek. “Always. You’re kind of stuck with me now, Dr. Leclerc.”

I smiled up at him. “Good. I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

—

dr_jules_leclerc added post(s) to her story!

{caption 1 : <3} {caption 2 : so happy to be back home}

alexandrasaintmleux : hurry uppppp i wanna see you

dr_jules_leclerc : see you so soon angel

arthur_leclerc : charles is getting impatient and he may know about you and lando

arthur_leclerc : expect an influx of messages in the group chat

dr_jules_leclerc : took him long enough

charles_leclerc : jules elise leclerc answer your messages rn

dr_jules_leclerc : that is DR jules elise Leclerc to you pal.

username4 : phone case is very lando coded

—

lando added post(s) to his story!

{caption 1 : prettiest angel , caption 2 : back to monaco}

seen by charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, maxfewtrell & 3,378,688 others.

—

—

The Monaco sun filtered through the car window as Lando pulled into the familiar driveway of my childhood home. I had purchased a Penthouse next door. I felt a rush of emotion—nostalgia, nerves, and excitement all tangled together. Even after living away for so long, the sight of home still made my chest ache in a good way.

Lando looked over at me, sunglasses sliding down slightly on his nose. “Still good?”

I nodded, squeezing his hand on the gearshift. “Yeah. Just feels… real now.”

The front door swung open before either of us could even get out of the car. Charles stood there, arms crossed, that signature protective brother glare already locked and loaded.

“Oh no,” Lando muttered under his breath with a smirk. “Here we go.”

I stepped out with a laugh just as Charles started walking over.

“You’re late,” he announced, though his grin betrayed his excitement.

“It’s Monaco,” I shrugged, opening the back of the car. “Time doesn’t exist here.”

Charles pulled me into a hug, his chin resting briefly on top of of my head the way it always had since we were kids. “I am so glad you’re back.”

“I missed you too,” I mumbled into his shoulder before pulling away.

Then, his gaze shifted to Lando. The grin faded just a fraction.

“Lando,” Charles said, tone neutral.

“Charles,” Lando replied with a mock salute. “I brought your sister back in one piece and helped pack her entire life into about 47 boxes. So I feel like I should get a gold star or at least a drink.”

Charles raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t drop any of her medical equipment, did you?”

Lando put a hand to his heart. “Not even the weird bone model thing that stares at you.”

“It’s an anatomical replica of a skull,” I clarified, rolling my eyes.

“Right, creepy Steve,” Lando added, pointing toward the box where the plastic skull peered out.

Charles blinked. “You named it?”

Lando and I both said at the same time, “He named it.”

Charles just sighed dramatically and grabbed a box. “You’re both weird. Perfect for each other, unfortunately.”

I laughed as Lando nudged me with his elbow. “Look at that. He’s accepting us. That was basically a blessing.”

Charles shook his head but smiled. “Just remember—if you break her heart, Norris, I know where you live. And we drive the same track.”

Lando threw up his hands. “Noted. Fear officially installed. Now can we carry boxes inside before I collapse and die from exhaustion?"

As I walked up the front steps between the two most important men in my life, I felt it—the peace of being home, the warmth of Charles’ ridiculous threats, and the comfort of Lando’s quiet, steady presence. This was the start of something new. And this time, I am not doing it alone.

—

The apartment was still a mess of boxes, pizza crusts, and tangled extension cords, but somehow it already felt like home. I was curled up on the makeshift couch—a pile of cushions and a borrowed throw blanket—with Lando beside me, both of us exhausted.

“Okay, real talk,” Lando said, taking a sip from a water bottle. “We should just live like this forever. Minimalist chaos.”

I laughed, nudging his side. “You mean organized mess? Very artistic of you.”

“It’s nice,” he said, leaning closer. “Besides, I've got all I need and that is you.”

He kissed me slowly, his fingers brushing over my cheek like he had all the time in the world. I melted into his touch, hands resting on his hoodie, smiling mid-kiss. The door suddenly burst open without warning.

“We brought champagne— Mon Dieu!” Charles’s voice rang out first.

“Bro, seriously?” Arthur groaned right behind him.

“We said knock!”

Lando looked genuinely startled, clutching a throw pillow over his lap like it was a shield. I was already halfway on my feet, eyes wide, cheeks blazing.

“Do you two not know what knocking is?? As-tu perdu la tête??" I shouted.

Charles stood frozen, one hand raised like he was about to make a toast, champagne bottle still uncorked. Arthur looked like he’d just walked in on an exorcism.

“Is this how you treat your guests?” Charles said, dramatically turning his back. “We bring you gifts and you assault our eyeballs?”

Arthur muttered, “Je ne reverrai plus jamais.” (I will never see again)

Lando cleared his throat, still sitting awkwardly on the pillow. “Uh… hi, guys. Good to see you. Love the timing.”

Arthur gestured vaguely to the room, eyes narrowed. “Is this the vibe now? Moving in and immediately traumatizing family?”

I snatched the champagne out of Charles’s hand. “You didn’t even text! It’s our first night here!”

Charles dropped into an armchair with a dramatic sigh. “Exactly. We wanted to be part of the moment. Thought we’d celebrate you finally moving back—and I walked in on Lando trying to eat your face.”

“Romantic,” Lando mumbled, grabbing two glasses from a box and handing one to me.

Arthur dropped next to his brother. “We brought snacks too. But I guess you’re already full of each other.”

“Arthur! Ferme ta gueule” I groaned, covering my face.

Lando gave me a look, grinning like he was actually enjoying this. “I like them. They’re fun.”

Charles pointed at him. “We are not fun. We are watching you.”

“I’ve noticed,” Lando said with a smirk.

I poured four glasses, reluctantly toasting with them all as Charles sighed and Arthur wiggled his brows in my direction. I was flustered, and slightly horrified—but also happy.

“Cheers to new beginnings,” I said.

Charles added, “And boundaries.���

Arthur raised his glass. “And to Lando marrying my sister."

Charles began choking on his champagne and smacked Arthur as Lando giggled to himself. Lando leaned in, whispering with a grin, “Remind me to install three deadbolts tomorrow.”

I laughed as my two idiot brothers bickered across the room, and Lando wrapped an arm around my shoulder and pressed a kiss to my cheek.

—

The salty breeze hit my face as I stepped out onto the private beach, toes sinking into warm sand. The sun was shining, the waves rolled gently in the distance, and Charles was already arguing with Arthur over who forgot the sunscreen. Lorenzo and Charlotte settled down in the sand next to Maman and Alex followed close to my side.

I adjusted my sunglasses and glanced back at Lando, who was shirtless, in board shorts, and struggling to carry two umbrellas, a cooler, and mine and Alex's beach bags like a pack mule. I tried not to smile too wide.

“You alright there, muscles?” I teased, reaching to take the bag off his shoulder.

“I’m thriving, actually,” Lando puffed, pretending to struggle more than he actually was. “This is the full boyfriend experience, right? Beach Mule?”

You kissed his cheek in thanks. “You’re doing amazing, sweetie.”

Alex giggled to herself and parked herself in the chair beside me. Charlotte came over and we began our typical girl talk. Lando was stood still trying to assemble all the beach gear. Down by the water, Maman was watching as Charles tried to construct a sandcastle with the intense focus of a man trying to outdo a toddler. Arthur, meanwhile, was already in the water yelling something about being part dolphin. Lorenzo trying to ignore both of them for his peace.

Lando dropped beside you onto a towel and stretched out, arms behind his head. “This is heaven. Sun, sea, no pit wall yelling in my ear…”

“Don’t get used to it,” Charles said, tossing a clump of wet sand at the both of us. “You’re racing next weekend.”

Lando shielded his face dramatically. “You mean I don’t get to retire at 25 and live on the beach with my beautiful doctor girlfriend?"

“Please don’t encourage him,” you groaned, lying back beside him. “He’s already too relaxed. He tried to explain to me, the doctor, that sunscreen is useless." I stated and Alex chuckled from beside.

“It is when you’re built like a bronze god,” Lando said confidently, flipping onto his stomach.

I grabbed the bottle from the bag and rolled my eyes. “Give me that before you turn into a tomato.”

From a few feet away, Arthur shouted, “Lando, if I see one more love bite on my sister’s neck, I swear I will drown you.”

“Arthur!” I yelled, mortified, gripping at my neck.

Lando just grinned. “For the record, she’s the one who bit me first.”

“Lando!” you smacked his shoulder as Maman called out from her chair with a grin on her face, "Arthur, faites attention à vous."

Charles was howling with laughter, and Arthur looked like he was planning Lando's funeral.

"Charles don't act like I don't notice you marking up my sweet innocent Alex." I shouted pointing to Alex as she hid her head. Charles laughing stopped abruptly and he went back to the sand.

I collapsed next to Lando again, hiding my face in the crook of his arm. “I can’t take you anywhere.”

He just kissed my temple and murmured, “You love me though.”

I huffed and nodded as he wrapped his arms around me tightly.

—

After the long day at the beach, Maman had prepared a dinner for all of us. I had just got out of the shower and dressed and saw Lando lying on the bed. He smiled and reached his hands out towards me pulling me down with him.

"Dinner is ready." I mumbled against his lips.

"Just two seconds with you." He murmured as he drew me into his lips and held me steady. His hand made its way to rest lightly on my neck guiding the kiss.

"Excuse me, love birds, dinner is ready!" Arthur shouted banging on the door, interrupting our moment of peace. I stood up and opened the door and glared at him. I chased him out into the kitchen and jumped on his back. Maman, stood over the pots and pans in the kitchen chuckled at us. Lando followed behind laughing and struck up a conversation with Maman. Arthur clutched my legs and started running outside towards the pool.

"Arthur, I will literally kill you. No pool." I yelled and he stopped right at the edge of the pool. Charles, Alex and Lorenzo watched closely all holding back a chuckle.

"Say that I am your favorite Brother and always will be." He threatened as he teetered me over the edge.

"Arthur, you are my favorite brother and always will be." I stated and stared down Charles and Lorenzo while shaking my head. Arthur gently set me down on the ground and squeezed me into a hug.

I walked over and sat in between Charles and Alex. Alex and I began discussing her recent duties in her job in Art.

"I have an exhibition next week, if you'd be interested in joining me." She stated with a smile and nodded.

"Absolutely." I said and took a swig of the wine.

"I can see how happy Lando makes you and it warms my heart. You so deserve that." She said and I felt myself flush.

"Same goes for you, Mon Amor. Even if it is sadly my brother that makes you happy." I said and we both chuckled as we peered over at Charles and Arthur who were arguing again.

"Everybody ready to eat?" Maman asked as she peaked her head out of the door. We all nodded and followed her to the other side of the terrace. I pulled her into a hug and placed a kiss on her cheek.

"merci maman." I said and she smiled.

"tout ce que tu fais pour ma fille. ce garçon que tu as est spécial." She replied and I smiled to myself. (anything for you my girl. that boy you got yourself is very special)

"oui, il l'est" I said and watched Lando as he finished setting the table. (yes he is)

I greeted Lando with a kiss on the cheek and he smiled.

I sat between Lando and Arthur, sandwiched in as usual, while maman fluttered around making sure everyone had enough food (even though there was more than enough), and Charles argued passionately about wine pairings with Lorenzo.

Lando leaned over and murmured in my ear, “I think your mom just tried to sneak more food onto my plate when I wasn’t looking.”

“That’s how she shows love,” I whispered, stifling a laugh. “You’re officially in.”

“She also asked me earlier what my intentions are with you,” he added under his breath.

I turned to him, wide-eyed, slightly choking on my wine, “What did you say?”

“I panicked and said I liked your brain,” he whispered.

I burst into quiet laughter, covering my face as he grinned.

Arthur leaned over suspiciously. “What are you two whispering about?”

“Lando’s fear of lasagna and commitment,” I teased, nudging Lando gently.

“Oh, I’m great at commitment,” he said casually, picking up his glass of wine. “I mean, I’m practically in love with—”

He froze. I froze. The whole table went quiet like someone hit pause.

Charles dropped his fork. “What did you just say?”

Lando blinked. “I—I said I’m practically… uh… in love with food?"

Maman raised an eyebrow.

Arthur leaned back, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Did our sweet little Lando just say the L-word?”

Lando looked absolutely panicked—but I was staring at him, eyes wide, heart pounding. Because I knew what he meant. He wasn’t talking about the food. I reached over and gently took his hand under the table.

“Hey,” I said quietly, “you don’t have to walk it back.”

He looked at me, eyes softening, and then took a breath.

“No, you’re right,” he said, this time with no hesitation. “I meant it. I love you.”

Silence again. And then—Charles groaned, dramatically dropping his head into his hands. “I knew this dinner was cursed.”

Maman beamed with joy. “Finally!”

Arthur raised his glass. “To Lando being emotionally available—who would’ve guessed?”

I laughed as the chaos resumed, my heart full and warm, my fingers still wrapped in Lando’s under the table.

I looked at him and smiled. “I love you too, by the way.”

“I knew it,” he whispered smugly. “This family loves me.” Charles scoffed loudly and then threw a napkin at his head.

"Don't get too cocky, Norris." Charles snapped and Alex smacked the back of his head.

"I love you as my own, Lando." Maman stated, giving Lando a huge smile.

—

dr_jules_leclerc just posted!

liked by lando, alexandrasaintmleux, lewishamilton & 12,424,878 others.

dr_jules_leclerc : i made the mistake of taking lando on a vacation with my family and now he thinks they are all insane (just charles).

lando : would deal with charles' threats and abuse every single day if it means i get to see that beautiful face at least once

liked by author, alexandrasaintmleux, arthur_leclerc, maxverstappen1, carlossainz55 and charlotte2304

charles_leclerc : watch your back, norris.

lando : you do realize that will be your sisters last name someday too..

liked by author & alexandrasaintmleux

arthur_leclerc : charles is shouting and on the verge of tears rn

liked by author, lando, carlossainz55, maxverstappen1 and alexandrasaintmleux

charles_leclerc : SHE WILL KEEP THE LECLERC NAME GOD DAMNIT

liked by author

lewishamilton : Treat her well, Lando. She is a special woman.

liked by author, lando, carlossainz55, arthur_leclerc, charles_leclerc and maxverstappen1

lando : she definitely is mate, the most special

alexandrasaintmleux : so happy to have you back mon ange

liked by author

charles_leclerc : all this charles slander is BS

liked by author

franciscacgomes : NO- I LOST MY WOMAN TO A BRIT

liked by author

dr_jules_leclerc : I LOST YOU TO A FRENCHIE

carlossainz55 : Happy for the both of you! Be nice to each other because I have a hefty soft spot for you both and the break up would kill me.

liked by author and lando

dr_jules_leclerc : my carlando heart

liked by carlossainz55 and lando

yourbff : body so tea the british r coming or whateva

liked by author

lando : yeah they definitely are

liked by author and yourbff

arthur_leclerc : i am acting like i cannot read

dr_jules_leclerc : wdym acting - you can't read.

charles_leclerc : i am hiring a hitman im tired

—

@lando made a post!

liked by dr_jules_leclerc, pietra.pilao, mclaren & 8,987,274 others.

lando : fuck a soft launch- im dating the most intelligent and beautiful person on the planet and i love her dearly

dr_jules_leclerc : my cutie pie angel face pookie love

liked by author

charles_leclerc : im gonna be sick

lando : walk past a mirror charles?

liked by dr_jules_leclerc + arthur_leclerc

username4 : he got the girl from being himself guys

liked by author + dr_jules_leclerc

username4 : take notes

adam_norris_pure_electric : We are so excited to meet her!!

liked by author & dr_jules_leclerc

dr_jules_leclerc : you saw my home, norris. seems i need to see yours now;)

liked by author, flonorris1 and ciscanorris

ciscanorris : Bring this beautiful girl home to me right now, Lando. I have to start digging out your baby books!!

liked by author and dr_jules_leclerc

dr_jules_leclerc : oh i am definitely excited now

@maxfewtrell : so glad to see you so happy man!

liked by author and dr_jules_leclerc

@pietra.pilao : we want to meet her!!

liked by author and dr_jules_leclerc

@leclerc_pascale : Beautiful Couple. Love you both!

liked by author & dr_jules_leclerc

maxverstappen1 : Happy for you guys but so help me Lando if you hurt her, I will eat you alive. Leclerc is not your biggest problem.

liked by author and dr_jules_leclerc

dr_jules_leclerc : charles isn't even a problem he is just a menace

liked by author, maxverstappen1 and arthur_leclerc

lando : not threatened at all by charles- slightly scared of mad max tho

liked by dr_jules_leclerc and maxverstappen1

arthur_leclerc : a bumble bee followed charles around the terrace yesterday and he screamed for about 5 minutes

liked by author, maxverstappen1 and dr_jules_leclerc

charles_leclerc : talking about someone when they are not present to defend themselves is RUDE.

liked by author, maxverstappen1 and dr_jules_leclerc

dr_jules_leclerc : kk scaredy cat

—

dr_jules_leclerc added to her story!

{caption : brother in laws <3 }

seen by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc and 7,378,367 others.

charles_leclerc : what is this? take it down immediately- you are ruining my intimidating older brother image.

dr_jules_leclerc : wdym older brother we are TWINS CHARLES. shared the womb.

charles_leclerc : maman always told me I was born 4 minutes ahead of you… I am older

dr_jules_leclerc : mmm okay whatever helps you sleep at night but the whole internet knows you’re not intimidating at all..frankly I am more intimidated by Leo

—

part two complete! let me know if you guys would like a part 3 where she meets lando's family or any other requests you have. my drafts are quite full but i am just trying to get a feel for what you guys want to read. i am always accepting requests:)

[littlelamy]

Rafe taking care of Reader who goes through a depressive episode. She’s feeling like she is a burden and feels like everyone would be happier with her gone. Maybe things are pretty new between them, only gone on a few dates so she obviously (like most) isn’t going to tell him anything and doesn’t think she matters to a guy she has gone on a few dates with anyway, so she just stops responding to his texts

a/n: thank you for requesting!⭐️ i hope i wrote it appropriately to what you requested 🙂💗part 2 is up!

the first time rafe noticed something was off, it was subtle—just a missed text here and there. maybe a delayed reply. nothing unusual at first. he probably told himself you were busy. everyone has those days where life gets hectic.

but when hours stretched into days and your replies went from short to nonexistent, he started to feel that quiet pull of worry.

“hey, you okay?” he texted the day before, after his third unanswered message.

you saw it pop up on your screen. his name glowed against the darkness of your room, and for a moment, your heart ached with the idea of answering. but then the thought crept in.

he’s just being polite.he barely knows you.he’s probably relieved you stopped answering anyway.

so you let the screen go dark.

you told yourself it didn’t matter. it wasn’t like you two were serious. you’d only gone on a handful of dates, and even though every moment with rafe had been sweet and effortless, there was no way someone like him could actually care.

you’d been wrong about people before.

the weight in your chest had only grown heavier over the past few weeks. even getting out of bed felt impossible some days, let alone pretending to be okay for someone like rafe cameron. so, you didn’t bother. you shut your phone off, buried it under a pillow, and let the world fade into static.

the knock at your door startled you.

at first, you thought it might’ve been a neighbor or a delivery driver, someone just passing through. but then it came again, louder this time, more deliberate.

“y/n?”

you froze, your breath catching as his voice carried through the door.

“it’s rafe.”

you stared at the door like it might open on its own. the last thing you wanted was to face him, especially like this. but hearing his voice made your chest tighten in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

“i, uh…” he hesitated, the sound of him shifting his weight audible through the thin walls. “i just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

you stayed silent, hoping he’d take the hint and leave. but deep down, you knew rafe wasn’t the kind of guy to just walk away.

“you don’t have to let me in,” he added, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “just… let me know you’re alright.”

you clenched your fists, trying to will the lump in your throat away. how were you supposed to explain that you weren’t alright? that you hadn’t been alright in weeks?

the knock came again, gentler this time.

“i’m not leaving until i know you’re okay,” he said firmly, though there was no anger in his voice. only concern.

you sat frozen for what felt like forever, listening to the silence on the other side of the door. maybe he’d given up. maybe he was walking away right now, realizing this wasn’t worth his time.

but then your phone buzzed from where it lay buried under the pillow.

you hesitated before reaching for it, your hands trembling as you unlocked the screen.

rafe <3: hey, i’m outside your place. not trying to bother you, i just wanted to check in. if you need space, i get it. just let me know you’re alright, okay?

your chest ached as you read the words. there was nothing demanding about them, nothing that made you feel guilty or trapped. he wasn’t asking for anything except to know you were safe.

and that made it worse somehow.

because you weren’t.

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @kissrotten @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @aariahnaa @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog

[afloweroutofstone]

By all accounts, the Americans virtually ensured their own defeat [in the Waygal Valley of Afghanistan]: They repeatedly bombed their closest supporters here, showing just how little the United States understood about the war it was fighting… The Americans killed and maimed the very people who supported them most, swelling the Taliban’s ranks by turning allies into enemies. Convinced that Nuristan would become a transport hub and hide-out for Al Qaeda and its allies, the Americans built bases and aggressively patrolled an area that, for the better part of a century, had been granted autonomy from its own government… Only the Americans dared to encroach into the region, and in doing so created the very insurgent stronghold they feared most. The United States dropped more than 1,000 bombs in a place it never needed to be. Instead of winning hearts and minds, the Americans unwittingly sowed the seeds of their own demise here in the Waygal Valley — just as it did in much of Afghanistan — then stayed for years to reap the harvest. “You have to know when you are the problem,” said retired Col. William Ostlund, the commanding officer of the men who fought the battle in Want (sometimes referred to as Wanat)... In October 2003, the C.I.A. launched an attack against a suspected terrorist in a mountaintop village, sending a trail of fire and smoke into the ink black sky. Gunships strafed the forests where residents had run for safety. A cluster of wood-frame homes and a mosque were decimated; seven people were killed, some while fleeing. The Americans declared the strike a success, a refrain that would become so common it would lose meaning. In reality, the attacks had failed. Not only was their target not there, but the homes and mosque they struck belonged to a staunch American ally, a former governor of Nuristan named Mawlawi Ghulam Rabbani. Mr. Rabbani’s political party, Jamiat-e-Islami, detested the Taliban — so much so that it had partnered with the Americans to overthrow them. In fact, that very night, Mr. Rabbani was in Kabul as part of a delegation of pro-American forces. The only people sheltering in the mountainside home were his family and friends. Of the seven killed, most were women and children, and they included Mr. Rabbani’s son and daughter… Though the attack barely resonated in Kabul, much less in Washington, it changed the dynamic in the Waygal Valley. If people were not yet ready to give up on the Americans, they no longer saw them as infallible liberators. A creeping sense of resentment, and injustice, opened a crack for the Taliban’s message to grow… Perhaps the only person who stuck by the Americans was [Afghan villager] Rafiullah [Arif]. But his loyalty was growing untenable, and even the money his family was getting increasingly wasn’t worth it. Rafiullah and his family couldn’t even go to their local market without worrying that [Taliban fighter] Mullah Osman’s men would kill them. Now, with the Americans preparing to leave his village, he and his family would be completely unprotected. The Americans were coming under mortar fire for the second day in a row. Rafiullah and his family decided to leave for good. They packed up their belongings and fled in a pair of trucks with other civilians, including several doctors who worked at the local clinic. The fleeing vehicles caught the eye of the Americans, who mistakenly believed the Taliban were marshaling forces for another attack. U.S. officers called in an airstrike, sending a hail of gunfire from two Apache helicopters at the convoy, destroying them and nearly everyone inside. Rafiullah lost his father, mother, brother and nephew, along with his arm, an eye and any semblance of support for the U.S. war in Afghanistan. The Americans, once again, declared the strike a success… “They say they came here to help us, but they wound up killing us,” [Rafiullah] said, squinting into the sun with his good eye. “We supported their mission, and they betrayed us.”

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Android x Reader (I)

It is the future and you have been tasked to solve a mysterious murder that could jeopardize political ties. Your assigned partner is the newest android model meant to assimilate human customs. You must keep his identity a secret and teach him the ways of earthlings, although his curiosity seems to be reaching inappropriate extents.

Yes, this is based on Asimov’s “Caves of Steel” because Daneel Olivaw was my first ever robot crush. I also wanted a protagonist that embraces technology. :)

Content: female reader, AI yandere, 50's futurism

[Part 2] | [More original works]

You follow after the little assistant robot, a rudimentary machine invested with basic dialogue and spatial navigation. It had caused quite the ruckus when first introduced. One intern - well liked despite being somewhat clumsy at his job - was sadly let go as a result. Not even the Police is safe from the threat of AI, is what they chanted outside the premises.

"The Commissioner has summoned you, (Y/N)." 

That's how it greeted you earlier, clacking its appendage against the open door in an attempt to simulate a knock. 

"Do you know why my presence is needed?" You inquire and wait for the miniature AI to scan the audio message. 

"I am not allowed to mention anything right now." It finally responds after agonizing seconds.

 It's an alright performance. You might've been more impressed by it, had you not witnessed first hand the Spacer technology that could put any modern invention here on Earth to shame. Sadly the people down here are very much against artificial intelligence. There have been multiple protests recently, like the one in front of your building, condemning the latest government suggestion regarding automation. People fear for their jobs and safety and you don't necessarily blame them for having self preservation. On the other hand, you've always been a supporter of progress. As a child you devoured any science fiction book you could get your hands on, and now, as a high ranked police detective you still manage to sneak away and scan over articles and news involving the race for a most efficient computer.

You close the door behind you and the Commissioner puts his fat cigarette out, twisting the remains into the ashtray with monotonous movements as if searching for the right words.

 "There's been a murder." Is all he settles on saying, throwing a heavy folder in your direction. A hologram or tablet might've been easier to catch, but the man, like many of his coworkers, shares a deep nostalgia for the old days. 

 You flip through the pages and eventually furrow your eyebrows. 

"This would be a disaster if it made it to the news." You mumble and look up at the older man. "Shouldn't this go to someone more experienced?" 

He twiddles with his grey mustache and glances out the fake window. 

"It's a sensitive case. The Spacers are sending their own agent to collaborate with us. What stands out to you?" 

You narrow your eyes and focus on the personnel sheet. What's there to cause such controversy? Right before giving up, departing from the page, you finally notice it: next to the Spacer officer's name, printed clearly in black ink, is a little "R." which is a commonly used abbreviation to indicate something is a robot. The chief must've noticed your startled reaction and continues, satisfied: 

"You understand, yes? They're sending an android. Supposedly it replicates a human perfectly in terms of appearance, but it does not possess enough observational data. Their request is that whoever partners up with him will also house him and let him follow along for the entirety of the mission. You're the only one here openly supporting those tin boxes. I can't possibly ask one of your higher ups, men with wives and children, to...you know...bring that thing in their house."

You're still not sure whether to be offended by the fact that your comfort seems to be of less priority compared to other officers. Regardless of the semantics, you're presently standing at the border between Earth and the Spacer colony, awaiting your case partner. A man emerges from behind a security gate. He's tall, with handsome features and an elegant walk. He approaches you and you reach for a handshake. 

"Is the android with you?" You ask, a little confused. 

"Is this your first time seeing a Spacer model?" He responds, relaxed. "I am the agent in your care. There is no one else." 

You take a moment to process the information, similar to the primitive machine back at your office. Could it be? You've always known that Spacer technology is years ahead, but this surpasses your wildest dreams. There is not a single detail hinting at his mechanical fundament. The movement is fluid, the speech is natural, the design is impenetrable. He lifts the warm hand he'd used for the handshake and gently presses a finger against your chin in an upwards motion. You find yourself involuntarily blushing. 

"Your mouth was open. I assumed you'd want it discreetly corrected." He states, factually, with a faint smile on his lips. Is he amused? Is such a feeling even possible? You try your best to regain some composure, adjusting the collar of your shirt and clearing your throat. 

"Thank you and please excuse my rudeness. I was not expecting such a flawless replica. Our assistants are...easily recognizable as AI."

"So I've been told." His smile widens and he checks his watch. You follow his gesture, still mesmerized, trying to find a single indicator that the man standing before you is indeed a machine, a synthetic product.

Nothing.

"Shall we?" He eyes the exit path and you quickly lead him outside and towards public transport. 

He patiently waits for your fingerprint scan to be complete. You almost turn around and apologize for the old, lagging device. As a senior detective, you have the privilege of living in the more spacious, secured quarters of the city. And, since you don't have a family, the apartment intended for multiple people looks more like a luxury adobe. Still, compared to the advanced way of the Spacers, this must feel like poverty to the android.

At last, the scanner beeps and the door unlocks. 

"Heh...It's a finicky model." You mumble and invite him in.

"Yes, I'm familiar with these systems." He agrees with you and steps inside, unbuttoning his coat.

"Oh, you've seen this before?"

"In history books."

You scratch your cheek and laugh awkwardly, wondering how much of his knowledge about the current life on Earth is presented as a museum exhibit when compared to Spacer society. 

"I'm going to need a coffee. I guess you don't...?" Your words trail as you await confirmation. 

"I would enjoy one as well, if it is not too much to ask. I've been told it's a social custom to 'get coffee' as a way to have small talk." The synthetic straightens his shirt and looks at you expectantly. 

"Of course. I somehow assumed you can't drink, but if you're meant to blend in with humans...it does make sense you'd have all the obvious requirements built in."

He drags a chair out and sits at the small table, legs crossed.

"Indeed. I have been constructed to have all the functions of a human, down to every detail." 

You chuckle lightly. Well, not like you can verify it firsthand. The engineers back at the Spacer colony most likely didn't prepare him for matters considered unnecessary. 

"I do mean every detail." He adds, as if reading your mind. "You are free to see for yourself."

You nearly drop the cup in your flustered state. You hurry to wipe the coffee that spilled onto the counter and glance back at the android, noticing a smirk on his face. What the hell? Are they playing a prank on you and this is actually a regular guy? Some sort of social experiment? 

"I can see they included a sense of humor." You manage to blurt out, glaring at him suspiciously. 

"I apologize if I offended you in any way. I'm still adjusting to different contexts." The android concludes, a hint of mischief remaining on his face. "Aren't rowdy jokes common in your field of work?"

"Uh huh. Spot on." You hesitantly place the hot drink before him.

Robots on Earth have always been built for the purpose of efficiency. Whether or not a computer passes the Turing Test is irrelevant as long as it performs its task in the most optimal, rational way. There have been attempts, naturally, to create something indistinguishable from a human, but utility has always taken precedence. It seems that Spacers think differently. Or perhaps they have reached their desired level of performance a long time ago, and all that was left was fiddling with aesthetics. Whatever the case is, you're struggling not to gawk in amazement at the man sitting in your kitchen, stirring his coffee with a bored expression.

"I always thought - if you don't mind my honesty - that human emotions would be something to avoid when building AI. Hard to implement, even harder to control and it doesn't bring much use."

"I can understand your concerns. However, let me reassure you, I have a strict code of ethics installed in my neural networks and thus my emotions will never lead to any destructive behavior. All safety concerns have been taken into consideration.

As for why...How familiar are you with our colony?" The android takes a sip of his coffee and nods, expressing his satisfaction. "Perhaps you might be aware, Spacers have a declining population. Automated assistants have been part of our society for a long time now. What's lacking is humans. If the issue isn't fixed, artificial humans will have to do."

You scoff.

"What, us Earth men aren't good enough to fix the birth rates? They need robots?"

You suddenly remember the recipient of your complaint and mutter an apology. 

"Well, I'm sure you'd make a fine contender. Sadly I can't speak for everyone else on Earth." The man smiles in amusement upon seeing the pale red that's now dusting your cheeks, then continues: "But the issue lies somewhere else. Spacers have left Earth a long time ago and lived in isolation until now. Once an organism has lost its immune responses to otherwise common pathogens, it cannot be reintegrated."

True. Very few Earth citizens are allowed to enter the colony, and only do so after thorough disinfection stages, proving they are disease free as to not endanger the fragile health of the Spacers living in a sterile environment. You can only imagine the disastrous outcome if the two species were to abruptly mingle. In that case, equally sterile machinery might be their only hope.

Your mind wanders to the idea. Dating a robot...How's that? You sheepishly gaze at the android and study his features. His neatly combed copper hair, the washed out blue eyes, the pale skin. Probably meant to resemble the Spacers. You shake your head.

"A-anyways, I'll go and gather all the case files I have. Then we can discuss our first steps. Do feel at home."

You rush out and head for your office. Focus, you tell yourself mildly annoyed.

While you search for the required paperwork - what a funny thing to say in this day and age - he will certainly take up on your generous offer to make himself comfortable. The redhaired man enters the living room, scanning everything with curious eyes. He stops in front of a digital frame and slides through the photos. Ah, this must be your Police Academy graduation. The year matches with the data he's received on you. Data files he might've read one too many times in his unexplained enthusiasm. This should be you and the Commissioner; Doesn't match the description of your father, and he seems too old to be a spouse or boyfriend. Additionally, the android distinctly recalls the empty 'Relationship' field.

"Old photos are always a tad embarrassing. I suppose you skipped that stage."

He jolts almost imperceptibly and faces you. You have returned with a thin stack of papers and a hologram projector.

"I've digitalized most files I received, so you don't have to shuffle a bunch of paper around." You explain.

"That is very useful, thank you." He gently retrieves the small device from your hand, but takes a moment before removing his fingers from yours. "I predict this will be a successful partnership."

You flash him a friendly smile and gesture towards the seating area.

"Let's get to work, then. Unless you want to go through more boring albums." You joke as you lower yourself onto the plush sofa. 

The synthetic human joins you at an unexpectedly close proximity. You wonder if proper distance differs among Spacers or if he has received slightly erroneous information about what makes a comfortable rapport. 

"Nothing boring about it. In fact, I'd say you and I are very similar from this point of view." He tells you, placing the projector on the table.

"Oh?"

"Your interest in technology and artificial intelligence is rather easy to infer." The man continues, pointing vaguely towards the opposing library. "Aside from the briefing I've already received about you, that is."

"And that is similar to...the interest in humans you've been programmed to have?" You interject, unsure where this conversation is meant to lead. 

"Almost."

His head turns fully towards you and you stare back into his eyes. From this distance you can finally discern the first hints of his nature: the thin disks shading the iris - possibly CCD sensors - are moving in a jagged, mechanical manner. Actively analyzing and processing the environment. 

"I wouldn't go as far as to generalize it to all humans. 

Just you."

[g0dlyunsub]

on your own. | part one

part one | part two

a stalker forces you to abandon the bau and leaves you in the streets strapped to an explosive. when spencer finds you, you’re left with a bitter decision to try and save him.

pairing :: spencer x fem bau!reader

warnings :: general cm themes, mentions/depictions of stalking, kidnapping, needles, blood, explosives, and death, lots of angst

word count :: 3k

author’s note :: this is literally the prelude to pure angst. poor reader has been through too much :(

accompanying song :: exit music (for a film) by radiohead

one year ago

you never said goodbye to spencer reid. 

the first set of warnings came in the form of a letter enveloped in frail parchment paper. you found it on your desk after you returned with the rest of the team from a case. the tiredness washed over you as you slumped in your chair, and you lazily reached for the envelope to detach the sealed flap from the wax.

it’s at that moment, when you read the first sentence, that you wished you never unfolded the letter. 

but your eyes betrayed you, and they shifted left and right as you proceeded to read through the spouts of hatred and animosity. 

you already know the story. you will die. everyone you love will also die. you will lose them forever. you will be sad and angry. you will weep. you will bargain. you will make demands. you will beg. you will pray. it will make no difference. nothing you can do will bring them back. you know this. your knowing changes nothing. 

i will make you understand this unfathomable truth again and again, as if for the very first time.

you missed the person you were five minutes ago. 

after re-reading the letter four times, you realized the uncanny similarity of the message to the iliad, maybe book 21. it was most likely someone trying to spew out a hollow threat against you and the team, using a contemporary translation to sound modish and intimidating. you made a mental note to ask spencer who the translator was once he returned with his coffee.

it wasn’t entirely uncommon for you to receive death threats, especially after working at the bau for five years. while you’ve managed to lock up some of those who had enacted the worst possible actions against humanity, you also became part of the receiving end – a channel for all of the violence to funnel through. 

before you placed the letter back into its envelope, you noticed a small card tucked in the corner of the sleeve. you cautiously took it out, a glossy sticker of a red eye on the face of the card glaring into your own irises.

you turned it over.

this one instantly drowned the color from your face. it knocked out all of your emotion, sealed it in a box, and shipped it away on a freighter that was already set out on a doomed path. 

tell him about me, go on. tell doctor spencer reid about me. i bet he would enjoy choosing who to save: aaron hotchner or david rossi.  

you heard someone clear their throat from behind you, and you swore you heard your own heart beat against the walls of your own skin, thudding like a drum with its sunken chambers. you straightened your posture and shoved the letter to the side. you prayed it wasn’t spencer standing behind you.

you sighed in relief when you turned to face anderson.

“ma’am, a letter for you.” he handed you another letter, this time a charcoal-gray envelope with no mailing address inscribed on it. just your name. after he was a considerable distance away from your desk, you teared the flap with shaky fingers and peered inside.

it was a set of photographs, the film papers bundled together with a single rubber band. you lifted the envelope, letting gravity do the work as the stash of photos fell to your lap. 

your throat ran dry. your worst fear was sitting on your lap, and you could do nothing but stare back at it with panic-stricken eyes.

your cheeks suffused with a color of pale blue and a trigger blew off in your head. 

each photo depicted you with a bau member. and you recognized every moment.

you were grabbing prentiss’ arm as you laughed at the nonsensical joke one of her date partners had tried on her.

you were hugging rossi at his doorstep after being invited to vent personal troubles over some scotch and wine.

you were giving jack a high-five after babysitting him as hotch thanked you for covering him when he went to new york to visit beth.

you were sitting at the dinner table with jj and will, happily eating from a plate of steak and fries as you discussed your future plans to go travel abroad.

you were with garcia, carrying multiple shopping bags as you stopped to point at the beautiful dress showcased in the vintage store across the street.

you were deeply engaged in conversation with morgan, sitting on a park bench and watching the children run around as though not a single worry clouded over their heads.

and you were with spencer, legs crossed as you took a sip out of your hot coffee and exchanged novels to read. a red ‘x’ marked over both of your faces. 

tell doctor spencer reid about me.

the tears fell one by one, staining the tanned paper and leaving the inked words to bleed across the wet spots.

you will die.

if ending credits ever existed in a movie as tragic as yours, they would roll right now – and you would be as good as a deceased character, your name marked in white against a black screen.

i will make you understand this unfathomable truth again and again, as if for the very first time.

you drew in a shaky breath and folded the letter with trembling fingers. the creases retracted the notebook-sized sheet into a flattened square. each turn of the paper felt like you were shattering your own bones, irreversibly folding them into an inhuman form.

two weeks. that was how much time you gave yourself to leave the bau. and to fray the twine between you and your beloved doctor.

you received the second warning a week before your departure. 

this one was a direct threat, a ruthless sign that he wasn’t giving you extra time to think about your options. in fact, he made it clear that you didn’t have an option.

your stalker had taken jack for twelve hours, during which your team – hotch especially – searched relentlessly. no one paused for a coffee break, and every single one of you was going to devote every waking hour to bring jack home safe. the last thing your team needed was a foyet wannabe, and everyone was on edge for reports, sightings, anything.

but the clues trickled to you. he dropped hints for you directly, even one at your cell number. while you relayed everything to your team, no one asked the questions until later. why did he leave you with the hints, trying to lead you to jack’s trail when it should’ve been hotch?

the inquiries dropped like flies when jack was brought to the steps of the fbi office by a “mysterious presence”, according to a messenger who passed hotch a card.

when the card was shown to you, a bone-chilling shiver propagated down your spine and your pupils dilated.

you already know the story, it read.

no one else knew what it meant except for you. typed in courier and printed on the all-too-familiar brown letter paper, the words bore into your soul and etched onto your heart with a searing pain.

you were angry. so, so angry. not at the fact that you couldn’t even get three hours of sleep ever since the week before, not at the fact that you had a stalker vexing you with taunts, but at the fact that he was targeting everyone but you.

to you, he was a coward. if it was rancor he harbored against you, he should’ve confronted you directly. tear a ligament, make you swim in your own blood, leave you for roadkill, you didn’t care. if he was so inclined to get at you, then you’d let him. but never – never – could you forgive anyone who let others in your own mess.

you reached out to hotch first. you told him you had found a new job in upstate new york, where you were going to work as a lecturer at a local university. to make it sound convincing, you told him that a family member of yours had fallen sick and was currently residing there, and you needed to seek solace in their presence.

he understood, just as you expected. he always did, without question. he’d pay visits at your new place and at the university, and catch up with you once in a while. jack would love to see you there, he said.

rossi, too, accepted it without much hesitation. he gave you one of his heartwarming smiles, wrinkled eyes reassuring you for any hesitation you had trying to tell him before. come by any time, we’ll always welcome you with open arms, he spoke with genuine kindness.

prentiss and jj, more reluctantly so. they gave you a tougher time, practically interrogating you – asking you where the address of your new place was, since when you had planned on leaving the bau, and if you needed help clearing out your current place.

you’ve – i mean we all have, a little, but you seem to be… disturbed lately. especially after… jack was abducted, prentiss told you. prentiss and her watchful eye. it’s why you specifically planned to tell her with jj in the room, so she’d reserve the harsher questions for another time when it’d be just the two of you, but by then you’d find a way to avoid the conversation altogether.

morgan didn’t say much. you had expected that though, considering the fact that you would often go to him to consult worries, plans, and theorize about each other’s future. he was silent when you delivered the news, but then he pulled you in as if to shield you from all of your lingering worries.

promise me, l/n. promise me you’ll come visit.

you broke like a brittle twig in his grasp. you wanted to give up so badly.

i promise, you whispered back. the masterful lie rolled off of your tongue before you could withhold yourself, and it lay suspended in the air with heavy guilt and ill-fated dishonesty.

garcia never accepted departure well. you could only watch in pity and remorse as the mascara stained her cheeks and the tears landed at her keyboard. her arms shook as she tried to embrace you, and you didn’t even have it in you to return the hug.

you wanted garcia to be the last to see you. you wanted to save your goodbye with her for the very last, a fluorescent presence in your otherwise gloomy life. her bubbly spirit met your silence with indescribable serenity, and you monumentalized your last moment in the bau with her. she made your life worth living.

you were trying. you were trying to spare the safety of your dearest friends at the expense of your own. you were trying to reclaim the blood that rushed to your face. you were begging for one chance. who could blame you?

spencer did.

you didn’t leave a single note for spencer. you never even told him a thing. to him, your departure was indigestible torment. he usually doesn’t wish the worst upon anyone, but with you, he wondered if he had to make an exception.

you ended up leaving the office a day before your said departure date, because you didn’t want to risk spencer finding out any earlier. you had meticulously planned everything out, asking every team member not to tell another. to your knowledge, no one knew that anyone else knew, save for prentiss and jj.

the day after you left, you received a text from spencer.

can we please talk? 

his message lit up your screen, a lone star in the night sky that was drowned of its usual vibrancy. 

you were too far into this to take a step back. 

after looking up to the sky one last time, taking in the sight of the polluted air clouding the atmosphere with your bloodshot eyes, you dropped your cell into a garbage bin.

you knew he’d be mad. 

you wanted him to stay mad. it would make all of this — the pain of moving on — easier.

some day, he’d understand. you hoped. you hoped and you hoped.

your bitter end was inevitable.

for three weeks, spencer was all alone.

he drew no effort to talk to anyone about it, because you robbed him of his mental clarity.

since the first day you joined the bau, you held him spellbound. you listened to his ramblings, exchanged book recommendations with him, and sat next to him in the darkness as he lay gasping for air after another one of his horrendous nightmares.

you were there for him, until you weren’t.

your absence was his worst torment, a form of loneliness he couldn’t sleep away.

there were times when he’d pour twice the water needed in his kettle, only to realize after that he set down a single coffee cup.

there were times when he’d intentionally wear his tie crooked, only to realize you were never going to be in the office to point it out for him.

there were times when you’d appear in his dreams, when he’d awake and see nothing but a pile of books before him.

you turned into a dull ache in his chest.

you became the sadness so deep in his chest that he couldn’t even cry about it. 

he wondered how it felt now that you left him behind. he put all of his cards on the table, exposing to you his most vulnerable moments and emotions. if only you showed your hand.

he wanted it to haunt you.

he wanted to hate you.

you were impossible longing, impossible infatuation. he thought you were unloveable.

who could blame him?

present day

you never left virginia. 

in fact, you were stuck making ends meet as a writer for a local news journal under the pseudonym lynne davis.

the truth is, it was impractical for you to find a new job and relocate within the mere span of two weeks. quitting your job at the bau was a given, but that also meant that your compensation would drop significantly. considering that you couldn’t work in law enforcement anymore, you had to start over from scratch.

so you tirelessly worked to scour earnings by typing away, writing editorial pieces on sports and personal health.

your night job, you worked as a cashier at a seven-eleven. because you couldn’t work remotely for your shifts, you took up a disguise. you dyed and cut your hair, exclusively wore long-sleeved articles of clothing, and kept a baseball cap on, making sure it snugged tightly against your forehead and hid your eyes.

yet in hindsight, nothing could have prepared you for the worst. the issue with all of this was that you were too consistent. had you changed up your routine from time to time, perhaps you wouldn’t have been caught while commuting to your night shift. but you were too predictable for him.

it happens when you get off of the bus.

when the man bumps into you, he murmurs apologies that you can’t ignore.

“sorry- are you okay?” he asks.

you look up briefly to meet his eye before forcing a small smile with upturned lips.

“yeah, um, don’t worry about it. i’m all good.” you tell him rushingly with the wave of your hand, before turning to walk to the store.

but he doesn’t leave you. his heavy steps mimic yours, treading quickly along the asphalt. after taking a few staggering steps, you stop. you annoyedly turn around, deciding to tell him off. 

“hey, i don’t know what you’re doing-”

you never get to finish your sentence. when you look at him, he’s already face to face with you, one hand grasping the side of your shoulders while the other presses a needle against your arm.

your entire time at the bau, you took pride in your acute awareness of your surroundings, never letting your guard down even around those you trusted. so this was the price you had to pay for your lack of practice – everything folded into a blurry stream as you looked down to see your legs dissipate in the ground, almost like you were falling in quicksand.

when you wake up, you’re on the ground in a narrow alleyway. you don’t know how much time has passed, but it’s hot and the air’s fetid and there’s an itch spreading throughout your entire body-

you look down. your hands are stained with a horrific shade of red, and there’s a crumpled note in your palm. you unfold it.

it will make no difference.

he had you. you scowl at the thought of him subduing you, strangling you with ropes and leashing you to a chair.

you freeze. he’s also made you wear a black leather jacket, bundling you up in the thick layer of suffocating heat. 

you unzip the jacket, and the walls in your head cave in instantly. to your dismay, you’re wearing an explosive vest, armed with a detonator and all. a timer lies near your ribcage, and your heart sinks. it hasn’t started yet.

a shaky exhale leaves your lips as you try to assess your situation.

you wish death would’ve consumed you already, but you have to stand up on your feet and run, away from the buildings and the people, as fast as your weary legs can carry you.

you stand and start to run in the opposite direction from the main road, the sounds of traffic bleeding into your ears as your feet slam against the ridged ground.

parched with unquenched thirst and begrimed with dust from the asphalt, you come to a stop when you reach a fork in the road. 

as you frantically try to think of which route to take, you hear it.

“y/n?”

it’s too familiar. the voice ridden with a slight rasp, carrying an air of inquisitiveness and soothing tenderness.

it sounds like clarity amidst all of the chaos.

you pray it’s not him.

you turn to meet the sight of the wrinkled shirt, waistcoat, and converses smudged with dirt. the brown disheveled hair, doe eyes, and moistened lips pursing with concern.

spencer fucking reid.

[thesunloveschips]

Obsessed - Part 8 (Azriel x Reader)

Summary: Y/n discovers a few things and a few more are revealed.

Warnings: sex, minors please stay away.

Click here for Obsessed (Masterlist)

****

Y/n was upset. Her semester was ending. The exchange programme had come to a close. Now, she’d have to leave for her internship and then go back to her university for the remainder of her studies. She’d miss her friends. She’d miss this new country. 

And who knew how long Azriel was posted here in this city? 

It was a coincidence that they met and they had a good few months together but Y/n really did not want to go back to a life where he was not a constant. 

The idea of it didn’t sit well with her. 

After her last exam today, she’d taken some time for her friends here. On her way back to the apartment, she’d started feeling upset but then she wore a smile and rang Azriel’s doorbell.       

He’d opened the door, took one look at her, and fucked her wildly like he wanted to reinforce something. And then, they made love to each other with Y/n slowly riding him. 

Y/n let herself rise and fall, eyes closed. Her hands were on his chest, tattooed and perfect for her. His large hands nearly covered all of her ass. 

Fuck. 

He was such a large man and the most convincing evidence of it was deep inside her, thick and throbbing as she rode him at her own pace. 

She could feel the air on her body. Her nipples were already hard and were even more sensitive after Azriel had sucked on them and smeared his saliva, and then left them exposed. 

Her breasts ached and all she wanted was his large hands to pinch and grab them roughly as if he selfishly owned her. 

His hands. Gods, they were so perfect. 

The tattoos on his fingers was an arousing sight. 

Especially after she’d once seen herself suck them. 

The way those hands groped every part of her and were still on her ass. 

She was in bed, tired after exams and sex. Azriel had woken up after a nice cuddling session for a meeting. It was an urgent one and he’d promised to return soon but Y/n was not going to pester him even if he didn’t. 

The man had a job. That too, at Umbra got fuck’s sake. That was an empire on its own managed by some young fellow Y/n hadn’t bothered about since that was not her field. 

Sex with Azriel always made her sleepy and she always woke up feeling refreshed. 

Her eyes were closed. The furry blanket was so cosy and she was just there. 

Her phone rang and interrupted her peace. 

Y/n groaned in frustration. She grabbed it and softened when she saw Azriel’s name. She swiped on the screen and accepted the call. “Hey.”

“Hello, sweetheart. I hope I wasn’t disturbing you.”

“No, no. Tell me.” She wouldn’t tell him that she wanted to sleep even more. 

“Could you bring me my iPad? It’s on the nightstand.” Y/n rose and looked around for the device. 

“Where. . Got it.” She removed herself from the sheets, ended the call, took the iPad, and was about to walk out of the room when a message popped up. 

Miss Y/n’s mother has sent a parcel to the apartment she shared with Nesta Archeron. We believe her mother has no knowledge of her current whereabouts and her exchange program. 

What? 

Y/n tapped on the notification and the chat opened. It was a group chat with Azriel and a bunch of people. She scrolled and read the messages.

Other members of the group chat were constantly updating on her location and activities while Azriel had sent the occasional ‘okay’.

She also found photographs of her taken from her outings with friends. Taken from a distance and clearly not with her consent. 

The more she saw, the more she wanted to smash her head against something. 

Why? 

Why did Azriel have her followed? 

He’d always known where she was, at what time, who she was with. She hadn’t bothered hiding much from him. 

Then why was this. . ?

Y/n walked over to the room with the iPad, the group chat open on it.

She saw Azriel’s eyes widen as she entered the room. She placed the iPad on his table. “What’s this?”

He looked at the chat quietly and then looked up at her. 

Y/n felt hot with fury coursing through every part of her. And yet, for some strange reason, she felt cold. 

It wasn’t until Azriel walked over and wrapped a jacket around her that she realised that she hadn’t dressed after leaving bed. 

She’d been naked and angry. 

“I’ve had you followed, Y/n.” 

And she couldn’t control it. 

She was barely restraining herself until then but to hear him say that he had her followed broke the dam. 

“Why? Didn’t you trust me enough to go out and not cheat on you?” 

This time, Azriel sounded confused. “It wasn’t because I thought you were cheating on me.” 

The audacity of this man to say such a thing. He had her watched and followed and photographed and so much more. 

“Scroll up, Y/n. This started the night I met you in that club before we ever spoke to each other properly.” He extended the iPad to her. 

She hesitantly took it and scrolled up furiously. When she reached the first message, she saw the date the group had been created. Feyre’s birthday. There was a photo of her dancing in that club with Nesta. 

Somebody had sent a few documents. She opened them—her CV, biodata, details of people close to her. 

“You’ve known all this about me?” He silently nodded. She felt like such a fool. 

Y/n couldn’t even think. She couldn’t process it like this. So she simply kept the iPad on his desk and walked away. 

“Y/n. Y/n, listen to me, sweetheart.” He was following. She increased her pace and entered his room. Her clothes were on the chair and she began dressing. “Y/n, please. I only wanted to know about you.”

She looked at him and it hurt. 

It hurt to know that this man didn’t trust her. 

Didn’t trust time. 

Didn’t trust their connection. 

“I would’ve told you everything with time.”  She wanted to cry. “Whenever I was ready to revisit my past and speak about it, I would’ve told you. About my childhood. My ex. My mother.”

“I only wanted to know about you.” He was pleading but she was so tired. 

“You did not trust that our relationship would reach to the point where I would ever confide in you. You thought yourself entitled to find everything about me. .” She choked back a sob. Azriel moved to hold her but she took a step behind and he halted. 

“You did not trust me.” It was a whisper and it broke everything. “And therefore, you violated my privacy.”

“I did not get that information because I didn’t trust you.” Azriel moved. When he reached her, he kneeled. 

“I was impatient. I wanted to know everything about you immediately. I’m desperate for anything you’ll give me. You heart, your body—I cannot have them unless you give them to me. But information—that I can take from any place. And I’ll take any scrap of it you leave behind.”

What was this feeling? She was being broken but also healed at the same time. And even then, everything hurt. 

“And as for being followed, I had to know that you were safe.” He was still kneeling. The world was blurry.

Y/n was still cold as she hadn't dressed completely. 

She didn’t know anymore. 

She didn’t want him to know that she had a troubled past at least until she could help it. 

She knew it would’ve come out soon but this soon? It wasn’t at her own pace. 

What was she supposed to do? 

Should she explain it to Azriel?

Should she be angry at him? 

Should she end this relationship? 

It was dizzying now. Her breathing was becoming difficult. 

She could hear her sniffles, Azriel calling her name. “. . breathe, sweetheart. Inhale. . . Exhale. . .” 

He kept telling her to inhale and exhale until she could focus on those words and force her breathing into a pattern. 

She was sitting now. Azriel was wiping her nose with something. A blanket was draped over her. He was right there, holding her hand. 

Her eyes fluttered close and Y/n faded into the dark. 

****

Whispers.

Somebody was talking. 

Somebody was responding. 

It ached. 

Something more than her body ached. 

“. . rest and she’ll be. . medicines. . . care.” 

Y/n faded away again. 

****

Y/n was warm. In a room. It was dark. And a hand held her own. 

Azriel was right there, sitting on the floor, one hand holding hers and the other arm folded on the bed to rest his head. 

He must’ve fallen asleep. 

She tried to rise and felt too weak. But the shuffling of the blankets was enough to wake him up. 

“How are you feeling?” His deep voice asked. 

“Fine.” She didn’t want to say anything more. Absolutely nothing. 

She’d sweat a lot. The greasy feeling of it remained on her body. “You have a fever.” 

Oh. 

“Have some medicine.” And he rose to leave her side, to get a strip of tablets and water from the nightstand but she did not let go of his hand in the first instance. 

“Y/n.” And then she immediately let go and looked away. What was she supposed to do? 

Was their bond supposed to be overlooked by this? 

Could it be so easily sidelined? 

She saw his hand with the medicine come in her line of sight. “Medicine.” 

His voice was only deep whispers ever since she woke up. As if he was afraid his normal pitch would shatter something.

Y/n quietly took the medicine and water and consumed them. Azriel was there to take the glass away from her and he kneeled by the bedside. 

“You had a panic attack and then you fainted.” 

“And the fever?”

“You came to me with the iPad unclothed, leaving your body exposed to the cold. And you didn’t fully dress when you came to the bedroom.” And she was now wearing one of his sweatshirts which was too big for her.

Y/n could tell that he was being careful with his choice of words. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/n.” He clutched her hand as though in prayer. “It’s my fault you had a panic attack.” 

Damn straight. 

Was there any point? 

“I need to go.” She knew she sounded weak and pathetic and even if she did go back to her apartment, there was no way she’d be able to take care of herself.

“Please. Rest here until you recover. I’ll sleep on the sofa.” 

“Don’t you understand?” Oh gods, she was going to sob any moment now. Or scream. “If I stay here, even for a single second, I will not get any clarity.” 

“As you wish.” Azriel retreated to a distance. Y/n slowly stood up under his gaze. 

She remembered that she had only worn her panties and jeans when Azriel had followed her to apologise. So she removed his sweatshirt he had dressed her in. 

When the sweatshirt was over her head, leaving her bare, Y/n saw that Azriel had turned away, as if he knew his permit to see her naked had been revoked.

She wore her own clothes and looked around. She grabbed her phone and walked towards the door where he stood with his back towards her.

Upon hearing her footsteps, he moved away, clearing the way for her. Once she began walking, she heard him follow her. She looked behind and saw his imposing figure behind her.

He was in pain. 

So much pain. 

She could see it. 

But so was she. 

And Y/n had had enough of ignoring her own pain for others. 

But Azriel standing there and following her from behind was a realisation. 

That he’d always be there. Behind her if not beside her. 

“Call me.” He suddenly said. “If you need anything—medicines, food, anything—just call.”

She wanted to kiss him. So she turned away and left his apartment.

Y/n climbed into her bed, her fluffy blanket, and fell asleep without changing her clothes. 

****

Azriel had a mission. 

Scratch that, he had two missions. 

One, Y/n’s recovery. 

Two, Y/n’s forgiveness.

He honestly didn’t understand where she’d gotten the idea that he had her followed to monitor her in case she cheated. 

If she did cheat on him, it would be the fault of the fuckwit who thought he could drive a wedge between them. 

Azriel would simply dispose of any such menaces and Y/n wouldn’t even know anything.

He sighed.

Her not knowing had not turned out well for him. 

He’d flown in his personal doctor in the middle of the night. And while she’d been resting in his apartment, he’d gotten a doctor in the city to check on her. 

His doctor was situated in one of the apartments, ready at a moment’s notice. 

Azriel kept stock of medicines and food ingredients, just in case she wanted something. 

And he waited like a dutiful husband. 

And while he waited, he googled up on how he could earn her forgiveness. 

The bugs in her apartment began transmitting her sound. She was crying and talking. He heard the name Nesta. And more crying. 

She was worried about how this would pan out. 

How she’d been an excellent fool by falling for him. 

Wait. 

Y/n had fallen for him? 

Oh. 

He shouldn’t be happy considering what happened but he couldn’t help it. 

And it was then that Azriel decided that he should probably get rid of those bugs before she saw one or saw something else on his iPad. 

He wasn’t going to hide the iPad. 

He didn’t like hiding things from Y/n but there were certain things he simply hoped she’d never find. 

It was poor thinking but what else could he do? 

He was obsessed and his morals clashed and crashed far too often for it to make sense. 

As as for how to earn her forgiveness, Y/n’s favourite books had a lot of fictional men grovelling after fucking up. 

He needed to analyse everything. 

What exactly was she hurt about. 

What could he do to stop her hurt? 

How to make amends. 

How to convince her that he was not a complete piece of shit and was worth some consideration of forgiveness. 

Her safety had been an important concern. 

If Y/n knew the number of people that had started following her while she went out on her own. 

The number of people that had been beaten up so that she could roam around outside without anything to fear.

The number of phone numbers he’d looked into after any call that made her uncomfortable. He had them all deactivated.

No. 

Her safety was an important matter that needed his attention. 

It was not a bargaining chip to win an argument or to prove a point. 

It was simply his duty. 

But how was he going to convince her that he hadn’t worried about her cheating? 

That he was only endlessly and ravenously curious about her ever since he first saw her? 

Azriel sighed. He needed advice. He picked up his phone and called the one person he trusted enough with such a matter. When the call was answered, he began. “Hello, mum.”

****

Taglist:

@fantanbietsson @angstylittleb1tch @fhgsvbnh @olive-main @cherryjain17 @halo-mystic @starofanotherworld @latinxbipride @viatorem-maris @acotarbestie @sevikas-whore @anthonys-viscountess @randomgurl2326 @thelov3lybookworm @cat-or-kitten @mortqlprojections @tele86 @rorel1a @red0202 @atomictyphoonkitten @colorfulgardenerduck @scarsandallaz @anonymousdisco @rcarbo1 @workof-a-rr-t @fuckingsimp4azriel @isabella13dusk @donnadiddadog @yannnnooooxoxox-blog @nxgh1 @thedeviltohisangel @katherinebright @fandomtrash5092 @epicsweetness712 @anik-4 @hitsxbikbv @julesvanslutta @fae-dreamer-99 @cartonkid1200 @anainkandpaper @yourwonderbelle @stefbroo @imjustagirl713 @bbykaixx @lilah-asteria

[endless-ineffabilities]

sapphire-hearted (part four)

Aemond Targaryen x f!reader

Aemond is not one who shares those which he thinks belong to him. Including you, as you'll soon find out after an eventful little feast.

themes/warnings: jealous!Aemond, third and fourth parties (but not really), Aemond is a stubborn and possesive arse, drunk Aegon - huzzah!

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

a/n: I can't believe it's been a year since I updated this fiery miniseries! Apologies if I couldn't tag everyone who asked from the previous chapter - taglist is now closed 💙

The necklace is perhaps the most beautiful piece of jewelry you've ever seen.

With an intricate interwoven chain of Valyrian steel, and a sapphire pendant inlaid in a burnt bronze frame that glowed dark green in some lights, the frame displaying carvings that resemble Vhagar's scales.

There is no question to it. Not an inkling of doubt.

This gift is from Aemond.

"You simply found this when you arrived?" you asked your lady-in-waiting, as you pick up the necklace from its velvet casing and study it against the faint firelight in your chambers.

"Yes, my lady," she responds promptly. "Shall I fasten it upon you before you depart for the King's feast?"

Your mind forms almost immediately, resolute in your decision. "No, it will not be of any use to me this night. You may keep it away in my boudoir."

The thought of it around your neck is a pleasant one, to be sure. It is such a thing of beauty, fit to be worn to a royal gathering. But what message might it signal to the others?

What purpose might it serve - especially to Aemond - that you wear something that symbolises him?

All while your companion is Ramsay, with whom you hope to be betrothed.

And while Alys is likely draped upon Aemond's arm. That slimy, bastard witch.

You will not give in, and give him what he wants.

The necklace is far from enough to make up for how he has wronged you, so it stays in your chambers, safely tucked away in its casing, not to be worn until Aemond sets things right.

If he ever will.

Ramsay arrives at your door soon enough, accompanied by two of Aegon's guards. The awe in his gaze as he takes you in is so evident, so pure in its apparent innocence. Unlike Aemond's, who would be undressing you with a single passing look.

Unlike Aemond's, who - despite his trangressions - looks at you like he would burn the entire Seven Kingdoms for your hand.

But he has relinquished your hand when he took that witch to bed.

"You look dashing as ever, my Lord," you curtsy in greeting, as Ramsay kisses your hand. He is clad in a tunic in House Beesbury's yellow and paly black, as you are wearing a gown in your own House's hues.

If not the necklace from Aemond, branding you as his, why not something of Beesbury? It would anger Aemond so, but you are feeling petulant. Why can't you take a jab at him after what he had done?

"And what a lovely sash you wear," you say, observing his attire. "Mayhaps I might display this on my person? Have it as a sort of attachment upon my skirts? I would be proud to have everyone at the feast know that we have come together."

"Of course! I would be honoured, my lady." He immediately relinquishes it, handing it to your lady-in-waiting, who then fastens it around your waist. The colour is striking in contrast. The piece of cloth surely will not go unnoticed.

You make your way through the Red Keep, your arm entwined with Ramsay's. Sounds of the revelry make themselves heard as you near Aegon's private dining hall.

As the guards open the doors, you hear your names announced. Almost all the attendees are already sat around the table. Aegon and his host of sycophants, particularly Lord Reyne and Lord Estermont. Helaena and her lady companions. Tyland Lannister and his betrothed. Even Ser Criston Cole, who has never been one to partake in merrymaking, usually standing guard in the corner. There are some others whose names escape you, as you find your seats - among the last ones which remain empty, right next to Aemond and Alys.

"Welcome, dear lovely guests, welcome!" Aegon walks over to you, already on his fifth or sixth goblet of firewine. "Please find your seats, have a drink - or seven drinks, preferably, and... oh! Isn't that something, my lady? Beesbury yellow?" Not giving mind to any boundaries, he toys with the sash tied around your waist.

Aemond twists around in his seat, catching sight of you for the first time.

His pupil dilates considerably, with a single glance at your face, then down to your décolletage... where the necklace is nought to be seen.

What he sees, raking over your figure, is that sickening shade of bright yellow. That Beesbury sash tainting the beauty of your gown.

Tainting the woman who is rightfully his.

His hand instinctively goes to the scabbard in his belt, though his sword remains in his chambers. It matters not, he can just as easily demand one from the Kingsguard.

Because the rat who calls himself Ramsay has surrendered any desire to stay alive.

"So... you here," Aegon guides you to your seat, with his arm loosely draped around your waist. "And you right there," he adds to Ramsay.

If you didn't know any better, you'd think the seating arrangement is accidental. But you know Aegon - he surely planned it to be Ramsay, you, Aemond and Alys beside each other.

Aemond openly stares at you as you settle down to his left.

"My Prince," Ramsay greets from your other side, "Lady Alys."

"Oh, it's just Alys, m'lord," she clarifies, unabashed. "I am no Lady. I am simply here at the behest of my dear Aemond."

"Prince Aemond is fortunate to have you as his companion, Alys," you smile sweetly, concealing any ire you might have. "As I am fortunate to have Lord Beesbury by my side."

Alys nods, raising her cup to you. To anyone, it's an innocent enough gesture, but you see her up close, and you see into the depths of the witch's gaze. She knows about you and Aemond, of course she does.

The attention of your companions are diverted, and Aemond wastes no time in leaning closer to you. He grips your thigh underneath the table, away from any prying eyes.

"My love," he purrs, "you never fail to take my breath away. Although I never thought you would sully yourself by wearing that. I trust you received my gift?"

You cross your legs so that his hand falls off, but it doesn't faze him. He simply finds purchase yet again, this time digging harder into your flesh. So warm, it almost feels as if your skirts do nothing to prevent his encroaching touch.

"Hmm, don't test me, now," he warns, lips curling back in annoyance. His tone is so deep you feel the heat pooling in your core.

"I could say the same to you," you counter. "Do not lay a hand on me, my prince. Especially not in the presence of my betrothed." You push his hand away, and he relents for the moment, reaching for his goblet and downing its contents in one angry swig.

"And by betrothed, you must mean that you have reconsidered my proposal and agree to be wed to me, your only love," he says, daring you to challenge him.

"You are mistaken, Aemond," you respond coolly. "I do appreciate the necklace. It is a marvel, indeed. But there is a reason why I don something of Lord Ramsay's instead of it. I am not yours. I feared the message it would send were I to wear the necklace to this feast."

"What message, my love? The truth? That you are mine and mine alone?"

"That is finished - "

"If you value Lord Beesbury's life by any small measure, you would not speak to me of such vile ideas. He will not have you, lest he wishes his head to no longer rest upon his shoulders."

"Resorting to threats now, are we?" you spit venomously. "You will not harm him. Or I swear to you on my mother's memory that I will never speak with you again."

That shuts him up. He exhales deeply, weighing your words, studying your expression. He wants to fight back and to call your bluff, but it is no use. His gaze is drawn down to your lips, and he moves closer just an inch, his own lips parted in longing and torment.

"Well, it seems we may have more cause for celebration!" Aegon bellows from the head of the table, with a grinning Ramsay standing by his side. You tear your attention away from Aemond, but he lingers on you, until his brother calls out for him. "Aemond! You must have known about this, dear brother, as I understand you and the lady have always been close."

The guests share glances, already assuming what the news might be, but none of them say a word for fear of their Prince Aemond.

"Iderēbagon aōha udra sȳrī, lēkia." Choose your words wisely, brother, Aemond warns him. The mood of the entire room shifts, as it inevitably does whenever Aemond speaks.

"Oh come now, none of that!" Aegon groans, drunk and unamused. Nothing will bring his spirits down, not even his far more intimidating younger brother. "These are happy news. Something about a successful betrothal, I hear?" he declares, nudging Ramsay to make the announcement.

Ramsay locks eyes with you, and you manage to give a stiff smile, aware of the simmering rage of the one seated beside you.

"Allow me," Aemond stands, raising his cup to the entire table.

"Even better," Aegon shrugs, "you have always been excellent at dinner proclamations, lēkia." Brother, he addresses Aemond, his own Valyrian disjointed and careless.

Aegon sits back down and raises his cup. A confused but still smiling Ramsay returns to sit next to you.

Ramsay hurriedly tells you, "I was hoping to share the news myself, my lady, but - "

"Do I not have your attention, Lord Beesbury?" Aemond interrupts.

"O-of course, you do, my prince," Ramsay stammers, reaching for his cup with shaky fingers. You take notice and place your hand atop his to provide comfort.

Someone else takes notice, unfortunately.

"A toast," Aemond voices clearly, and a hush falls over the room, "to a new betrothal."

"Hear, hear," Aegon responds, taking a sip of firewine and waving for the others to do the same.

But Aemond is not finished just yet. "We are not often afforded the privilege to marry for love, and that is what makes this union so exceptional."

You stiffen in your seat, dreading the next words that you know will come out of his mouth. For you know him so well. You know Aemond's design.

"It is an honour to take my love to be my wife," he raises his cup as he gestures to you, and you swear you could hear a pin drop in the deafening silence that ensued. "She is already the keeper of my heart, so the ceremony will only be a formality. But I shall take her as mine in every way that I can. In front of the old gods and the new."

You are unable to drop Aemond's gaze, unable to see the look of betrayal Ramsay is giving you.

"Hear, hear," Ser Criston offers, in an attempt to cut through the tension.

Aegon releases a fit of laughter, prompting his fawners to follow suit.

"Seven hells!" he exclaims. "More wine, more wine for all!"

Aemond rushes to you, pulling you out of your chair, not paying mind to anything or anyone else.

"Come with me," he commands, his fingers tight around your wrist.

You feel powerless as you let him herd you away from the table and out of the hall.

"Oh, would you look at them!" Aegon practically squeals, and calls after you, "It is customary for the bedding to be after the wedding, you two! But then again, who fucking cares?"

taglist: @immyowndefender @bellameshipper @aemondswifeisme @bash1018 @fuck-the-reaper @shessthunderstoms @aemondsbabygirl @melsunshine @youtoldalie @snh96 @noxytopy @ellooo0ooo @brianochka @not-a-glad-gladiator @mac95650 @whitejuliana1204 @midnightmystic @saminalloxo @oh-no-tia @magnificentsapphiresoul @clara-geekhime @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @ananas26t @iloveallmyboys @carriellie @summerposie @verycollectivecreator @toodlesxcuddles @brie-annwyl @dc-marvel-girl96 @bellstwd @bibli0thecary @happinessinthebeing @magnificentsapphiresoul @rorawinters @targaryen-madness @hanula18 @rhaenattargaryen @an0ther-us3r @sugurubabe @theshatteredideal @let-love-bleeds-red @s-we-e-t-t-ea @mydemimonde @the-intjs-dark-academic @heavenly1927 @anehkael @minttea07 @barnes70stark @cheneyq

[corruptedcaps]

Out of Office

Dr. Morgan stood at the threshold of his lab, his pulse quickening as he stared at his phone. He had just returned from a week-long vacation in the remote mountains, completely cut off from civilization. It was supposed to be a simple break from his intense work of studying alien biological samples recovered from a meteorite impact site.

His assistant, Claire, had assured him that everything would be fine in his absence. But as he listened to her voicemails, a growing dread gripped him. Something had gone wrong.

At first, her messages were normal but they got increasingly... odd. He had listened to them in the car on the way to the lab and with each subsuquent message he sped up faster.

VOICEMAIL 1 Monday, 8:32 AM

"Hey, Doctor! It’s Claire. Just wanted to check in and let you know everything’s good here. The samples are stable, no unexpected changes. I’ll keep logging their activity and make sure nothing gets near the containment units. No need to worry. Enjoy your time off! You deserve the break."

VOICEMAIL 2 Wednesday, 10:17 AM

"Hi, Doctor. So… small update. One of the samples, Sample B, showed a bit of activity. It pulsed for a second, almost like it was… alive. Weird, right? Anyway, it’s back to normal now. Probably some environmental fluctuation. I’ll keep monitoring it, just to be safe."

VOICEMAIL 3 Thursday, 11:43 PM

"Doctor… something’s happening. Sample D started moving on its own. And B, it’s… growing. It’s not contained to its chamber anymore. I tried to secure it, but it, it touched me. I feel… strange. My skin’s warm, almost buzzing. I don’t know what it’s doing to me. I need you to call me as soon as you get this."

VOICEMAIL 4 Friday, 2:27 PM

"Hey, Doctor. You know what? I was totally overreacting. I think… I was afraid of something I didn’t understand. But now, I see it. The samples… they’re not hostile. They’re… welcoming. When Sample B made contact with me, it didn’t hurt. It felt incredible. Like it was… part of me. I feel connected to something bigger, something extraordinary. You should experience it too."

VOICEMAIL 5 Saturday, 8:19 PM

"Doctor… The samples, they’ve helped me so much. My skin is softer, my body… enhanced in ways I can’t describe. I look in the mirror and barely recognize myself… but I love it. My lips are fuller, my boobs are big and perfect. I feel… powerful, seductive, radiant. Every inch of me hums with energy. The samples made me better. That’s why I’m going to release the rest of them. I can feel their eagerness to touch me."

VOICEMAIL 6 Sunday, 6:00 AM

"Evan… come to the lab. They’re waiting for you. I’m waiting for you. We’ll be whole, together. I’ve missed you… so much."

-

Evan’s breath quickened as the last message ended as he stood in front of his lab door. He hesitated. Something was clearly wrong with Claire and the samples but maybe he could help her. He threw open the door and rushed toward the lab. But just as he stepped into the hall, he skidded to a stop.

Claire stood there, waiting for him.

Her once-pristine lab coat had now morphed into a tight and shiny black dress that barely clung to her body. Speaking of her body, it was now the most perfect female form Evan had ever seen. Her skin was flawless, her breasts envious and her curves made Evan feel weak. Her eyes were now black pools of liquid light, swirling with alien energy. She smiled, her lips impossibly perfect, her voice honey-sweet yet filled with something darker.

"We’ve missed you, Doctor." She said softly, stepping closer.

Before he could react, she reached out and pressed her hand against his chest. The black goo slithered off her fingertips and onto his shirt, spreading like liquid fire across his skin. Evan stumbled back, gasping as the substance soaked through his clothes, cold and burning all at once.

He tried to scream, but the goo surged upward, a wave of darkness pouring into his mouth and down his throat, silencing him. He thrashed, struggling to resist, but the alien substance had a mind of its own. It moved inside him, rewriting him. His muscles bulged, growing stronger, leaner. His skin tightened, taking on a flawless sheen. His features sharpened, transforming him into a figure of striking beauty and power.

Claire watched with a wicked smile as he convulsed, his body remade in the image of something far beyond human.

Evan fought against the alien organisms infecting his body and mind. He couldn’t give in.

“No! This is wrong. We have to fight it Claire!” He said trying to plead with her humanity but she wasn’t human anymore.

“Shh…” She whispered. “Don’t fight it. You’re becoming what we need you to be. What I need you to be. We have been chosen for a great purpose Evan, we will birth a new race to conquer this worthless planet. You and I are will be the first. I will be the queen and if you give in, you shall be the king.”

Evan tried to fight the pleasure now coursing through his body. He felt strong, powerful, alive. The alien organism showed him images of a world that he controlled, of an army that bowed before him. It was an intoxicating sight but what tipped him over the edge were the images of Claire, his wicked queen, moaning in carnal pleasure as he fucked her with a new more massive cock.

Evan’s body stopped trembling. His breath steadied, his eyes snapping open, jet black, swirling like Claire’s. His lips curled into a slow, hungry smile as he looked at her, desire and power coursing through him.

“Yessss…” He hissed, his voice thick with newfound strength. “Give in… I want to give in!”

The black goo solidified, wrapping around his body like armor, transforming his vacation wear into a sleek, obsidian suit that clung to him as tightly as Claire’s did to her. His hands flexed, marveling at the raw power that surged through him. He stepped toward Claire, his eyes burning with lust and purpose.

“My queen.” He said, his voice like velvet. “There’s much work to do.”

Claire’s eyes gleamed with delight. She traced her finger down his chest, her touch electric.

“So much glorious work, my king.” She whispered. “And we’ll make this world kneel before us.”

"This world is merely an appetiser. Once it is under our heel our destiny awaits out in the stars." He said with a dark and triumphant laugh that Claire soon joined in on. Their reign was about to begin.

[fr0stf4ll]

A court of Shadows and Moonlight - Part 7

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; In the wake of looming war and changing traditions, a gifted healer returns to the Night Court after centuries of wandering the continents. Tasked with stepping into Madja’s legendary role, she must guide reluctant healers, soothe wounded warriors, and face the entrenched prejudice of Illyrian leaders. But as she mends torn wings and broken spirits, an unexpected bond awakens between her and the Night Court’s enigmatic Spymaster. With rivalries simmering and a dangerous threat looming on the horizon, she must reconcile duty and desire, learning that true healing can extend beyond flesh and bone—if she dares to embrace the light hidden among the shadows.

word count ; 7k

Trigger warning; //

notes; Back again haha! In this chapter, you might actually start to understand how much of a workaholic Y/N is. I'm excited for the solstice and the dawn trip (hope you guys are too <3). Well, see you soon! Take care and enjoy <3

previous ✧ next

The cold wind of the Illyrian mountains howled against the stone walls of the healer’s quarters, but you barely noticed as you worked, your focus entirely on the pile of scrolls, notes, and herbs spread across your desk. You had been in Illyria for a couple of days now, assisting the local healers with particularly challenging cases and offering guidance where it was needed most. Despite the simplicity of the space, your room was filled with a quiet energy, a testament to the tireless work done within its walls.

Your quill scratched against parchment as you wrote out instructions for one of the Illyrian healers who had sent a message earlier that morning. They had asked about a new technique for treating frostbite—a common issue during the harsh winters in the mountains. You had spent hours referencing old texts and comparing notes from your own experiences, finally coming up with a method that combined traditional herbal salves with a warming spell you’d learned during your time in the Dawn Court.

Just as you finished sealing the parchment with a simple wax stamp, there was a knock at the door. It opened to reveal a young Illyrian healer, her cheeks flushed from the cold.

“Healer Y/N,” the girl began, her voice tinged with nervousness. “I—I’m sorry to disturb you, but we’ve had another incident at one of the northern camps. A training accident. They’ve requested your advice.”

You stood, your boots clicking softly against the stone floor as you crossed the room. Placing a comforting hand on the girl’s shoulder, you said, “No need to apologize. Let’s hear the details.”

The healer explained the situation as you quickly gathered your supplies. A young warrior had fallen during flight training, resulting in a severe dislocation of his wing joint. The healers at the camp had managed to stabilize him, but they were unsure how to proceed with the delicate process of resetting the joint without causing permanent damage.

“Send them this,” you said, handing the girl a scroll you’d prepared weeks ago for just such an occasion. “It details the exact steps for resetting a wing joint. Remind them to use the salve we’ve been distributing to numb the area first. And tell them to send word immediately if there are any complications.”

The girl nodded, clutching the scroll tightly before hurrying off into the cold. You watched her go, a small smile playing on your lips despite the exhaustion tugging at your bones. The Illyrian healers were young and inexperienced, but they were eager to learn, and that gave you hope.

Returning to your desk, your attention shifted to a small, intricately folded note that had arrived earlier in the day. The bird carrying it had been one you recognized immediately—a sleek, golden creature from the Dawn Court. Unfolding the note, you read the familiar handwriting of your old master, Healer Talyen. 

Y/N, 

Preparations for the upcoming meeting are underway. 

I trust you are faring well in your new role. The tensions in the world weigh heavily on us all, and I fear this gathering will bring more questions than answers. Still, it is necessary. I look forward to hearing your insights, as always. Let us hope this meeting will guide us toward solutions, not further discord. 

Yours in healing,

Talyen 

You sighed, folding the note carefully and setting it aside. The meeting of the head healers was only weeks away, and though you had been preparing for it diligently, the weight of its significance was not lost on you. The healers would be discussing not only advancements in their craft but also the rising tensions across Prythian—tensions that threatened to spill into outright conflict if not addressed. The responsibility of representing the Night Court was a heavy one, but you had never shied away from a challenge.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of yet another messenger, this time your own bird, Ydle, sleek and golden, hailing from Velaris. Unfolding the note, you read the familiar handwriting of Elira, one of the healers at the Velaris clinic.

Y/N,

We have a critical case on our hands—a rare form of Greyscale has developed in one of our patients. Preparations for the operation are underway, but we need your expertise to supervise. The procedure is scheduled for tomorrow. Please make haste.

Elira

There was no time to waste. After gathering most of your belongings, you prepared to return to Velaris. But before leaving, you knew you needed to address the Illyrian healers. Calling them together, you spent the next hour explaining the different measures to take in your absence, detailing protocols for various emergencies and ensuring they understood the importance of keeping thorough records of any developments.

As you finished outlining the final points, Devlon, the warlord of Windhaven, entered the room. His imposing presence was hard to ignore, and his sharp gaze scanned the gathered healers before settling on you.

“Still as bossy as ever, I see,” Devlon remarked, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. His tone was meant to provoke, but you were not in the mood for his games.

Fixing him with a steely glare, you replied, “Perhaps you’ve forgotten, Devlon, but every healer in this court is under my command—not yours. So unless you’ve suddenly developed a talent for healing, I suggest you deal with your own business and let me do mine.”

The room fell silent, the tension palpable as your words hung in the air. Devlon’s smirk faltered, and though he said nothing further, the message was clear: you would not tolerate interference.

With that, you dismissed the healers and made your final preparations. The journey to Velaris awaited, and the clinic needed you now more than ever. Stepping out into the cold mountain air, you took a deep breath, centering yourself for the tasks ahead. 

You summoned your strength, focusing on the urgency awaiting you in Velaris. It wasn’t the first time you had left Illyria in a hurry, but something about this case weighed heavier. Perhaps it was the rarity of the Greyscale affliction, or perhaps it was the sheer responsibility placed upon your shoulders now that you had taken Madja’s place. Either way, the icy winds of the mountain pushed you forward as you winowed back to the city.

Arriving at the Velaris clinic in the quiet hours of the night, you immediately felt the bustling energy within. The faint glow of lanterns lit the hallways, casting long shadows against the walls. Despite the hour, the staff moved with precision, their steps purposeful. Elira met you at the entrance, her expression a mix of relief and urgency.

“Y/N, thank the Mother you’re here,” she said, gripping your arm as if to anchor herself. “The patient is stable, but the situation is precarious. His vitals are erratic, and the infection is spreading faster than we anticipated. We’ve done all we can to prepare for the operation, but…” She trailed off, clearly overwhelmed.

“Take me to him,” you said firmly, your voice steady despite the adrenaline beginning to course through you.

Elira led you through the clinic, her hurried footsteps echoing against the polished floors. She briefed you on the patient’s status as you walked. A young male, mid-thirties, with no prior health issues, had developed a peculiar strain of Greyscale that seemed to target not just the skin but also the underlying tissue. The infection had started on his forearm and was now creeping toward his shoulder. If left unchecked, it could spread to his chest, putting his life in immediate danger.

“We’ve kept him isolated,” Elira continued, her voice tight with worry. “The room has been thoroughly sanitized, and only the most experienced healers have been allowed in. We didn’t want to risk contamination or worsening his condition.”

Nodding, you absorbed every detail. By the time you reached the patient’s room, your mind was already calculating the next steps. Pushing open the door, you were met with a grim sight. The man lay on a sterile cot, his arm wrapped in tightly woven bandages that barely concealed the mottled, grayish hue of his skin. His breathing was shallow, his face pale and glistening with sweat.

Taking a deep breath, you stepped forward, your hands glowing faintly as you prepared to assess the extent of the damage. You would need precision, focus, and every ounce of your skill to save him.

But first, you needed a moment to prepare yourself mentally. You turned to Elira. “I’ll need the detailed records of his condition and the herbs prepared for the salve. Have everything brought to my apartment upstairs. I’ll be back shortly.”

Elira nodded, her confidence seemingly bolstered by your presence. As you made your way upstairs to your quarters, you felt the weight of the night settling over you. There would be no rest until this life was out of danger. But as always, you would rise to the challenge—because in this realm, healing was not just a duty, but a promise you had made long ago.

The rest of the night was a blur of meticulous preparation. You reviewed every note, re-checked the herbs, salves, and tools, and consulted ancient texts for anything you might have overlooked. Greyscale spreading internally was an anomaly, something you had never encountered before. The thought gnawed at you as the hours stretched on, but you pushed the worry aside. Dawn was approaching, and with it, the operation that would demand every ounce of your focus.

As the first light of the sun kissed the horizon, you and your team began. The patient had been sedated; the concoction you used was strong enough to keep him under without compromising his vitals. You moved quickly but carefully, beginning the painstaking process of removing the infected tissue.

Layer by layer, you worked, your hands steady even as the sight before you grew grimmer. The infection had spread deeper than you had anticipated, weaving through muscle and sinew like a parasitic vine. Every cut revealed more of the sickly gray tissue that needed to be excised, every moment reminding you of the high stakes of this operation. It was a battle against time, one that felt agonizingly slow yet required precision that couldn’t be rushed.

Hours passed. Your team worked in silence, their breaths shallow, their movements deliberate. The clinic’s usual hum of activity had dimmed to a quiet stillness, as if the entire building held its breath for your success.

You were midway through a particularly challenging section near the patient’s shoulder when one of the younger healers approached you, her voice hesitant. “Healer Y/N, someone is here asking for you.”

Your grip on the scalpel tightened slightly, but you didn’t lift your gaze from your work. “Who is it?” you asked curtly, your focus never wavering.

“The Shadow Singer,” she replied, a hint of nervousness in her tone.

Your heart skipped a beat, though you immediately cursed yourself for the reaction. What was Azriel doing here? You didn’t have time to think about him or the chaos his presence seemed to stir in you. “Unless it’s life or death, tell him to come back later. I’m busy.”

The healer nodded and retreated, leaving you to return to the grueling task before you. Minutes stretched into what felt like hours as you continued cutting away the infection, applying salves and cleansing the exposed tissue as you went. Your back ached, your hands began to tremble from the strain, but you didn’t stop.

And then, you heard it: the soft but unmistakable sound of boots returning, followed by a second pair. Your jaw tightened, and without turning, you addressed the presence lingering just outside the room’s perimeter. “Azriel,” you said sharply, your tone edged with frustration. “What is it? And what could possibly be so important that it can’t wait?”

From the corner of your eye, you saw him standing near the doorway, his shadows curling faintly around him like an ever-present cloak. He didn’t step closer, respecting the sanctity of the operating space, but his voice was steady as he answered. “The general meeting has been pushed forward. It’s happening tomorrow instead of after the Dawn Court trip. Rhys needs you to finalize the financial proposal for the healer expansion plan.”

Your hands paused for the briefest moment before resuming their careful work. “Is that all?” you asked, your voice calm but clipped.

“Yes.”

“Then tell Rhys it will be ready.” You didn’t bother turning around, your attention fully on your patient. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a life to save.”

Azriel lingered for a moment longer, his shadows whispering around him as if reluctant to leave. But when he realized you wouldn’t offer more, he gave a curt nod, murmured something to the person who had accompanied him, and left.

You exhaled slowly, forcing your focus back to the task at hand. Whatever the meeting entailed, it would have to wait. For now, this was your battlefield, and you wouldn’t leave it until victory was certain.

The operation was reaching its most perilous stage. You had already spent hours meticulously excising the infected tissue, your hands steady despite the ache setting into your muscles. But now, you were working dangerously close to the patient’s heart. Every movement had to be exact, every cut deliberate, every application of salve perfectly measured. The slightest error could be fatal.

As you worked, time seemed to warp. Each time you pulled back a layer of skin or exposed the infected tissue near the delicate structures of the heart, it felt as though the world held its breath. The sound of your team’s soft murmurs, the clink of tools, even your own heartbeat faded into the background. It was just you, the patient, and the infection you were battling.

You swallowed hard, your focus razor-sharp. The infection had crept dangerously close to the heart, tendrils of the diseased tissue threatening the lifeblood of the body. Using a combination of precise cuts and a steady infusion of healing salve, you carefully removed the last pieces of infection. Sweat beaded on your forehead, and your breath came shallow, but you didn’t falter.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you secured the final section. The tissue was clean, the heart safe, the infection vanquished. The team around you let out a collective sigh of relief, and you allowed yourself a brief moment to close your eyes and inhale deeply. But the battle wasn’t entirely over. The patient would need close observation and care in the coming days to ensure no residual effects.

You stepped back from the operating table, your hands trembling slightly. “He’ll need monitoring,” you instructed the healers around you, your voice hoarse from hours of concentration. “Keep his temperature steady, and ensure he gets a nutrient tonic every four hours. Notify me immediately if there are any changes.”

The healers nodded, their expressions a mix of exhaustion and respect. You had done it. For now, the patient was safe.

As you peeled off your gloves and left the operating room, the adrenaline began to wear off, leaving you feeling as though your legs might give out at any moment. Your body screamed for rest, every muscle aching with fatigue. The thought of your bed—soft, warm, and inviting—was the only thing keeping you upright.

But, of course, the universe had other plans.

Just as you were about to leave the clinic, a younger healer approached you, clutching a large stack of papers bound together with twine. “Healer Y/N,” she began, looking both apologetic and slightly amused. “These just arrived from Madja. She said they were urgent.”

You blinked, your brain struggling to process her words through the haze of exhaustion. “Madja?” you echoed, your voice flat.

The healer nodded and handed you the stack. On top of the papers was a note in Madja’s neat, precise handwriting:

Dearest Y/N,

I trust this finds you well, though likely exhausted. These are the pending cases and research notes that require your attention. You’re more than capable of handling it, but don’t forget to breathe. You’re doing wonderfully, my dear.

With pride and love,

Madja

You stared at the note for a long moment, the sentiment warm and genuine—but utterly unhelpful in your current state. “That bitch,” you muttered under your breath, though the words lacked any real venom. It wasn’t anger you felt, just the bone-deep weariness of someone who had been running on fumes for far too long.

The healer stifled a laugh, and you gave her a half-hearted glare before turning toward the clinic’s staircase. Sleep had been within your grasp, so tantalizingly close, and now it felt like a distant dream. The weight of the stack in your arms was a physical reminder of the responsibility you carried now. You had always been a hard worker, but this—this was different. The stakes were higher, the expectations greater, and the room for error nonexistent.

As you trudged up the stairs to your quarters, you couldn’t help but long for a simpler time when the only thing on your mind was a single patient, not the fate of entire clinics, courts, and armies. But you pushed the thought aside. This was the life you had chosen—the life you were meant to lead.

For now, you allowed yourself one small indulgence: collapsing face-first onto your bed, the stack of papers forgotten on your desk for a precious few moments of peace. Even if the rest wouldn’t last long, you would take what you could get.

The sharp ring of your alarm shattered what little peace your sleep had offered. Groaning softly, you rolled over, willing yourself to ignore the incessant sound. But the meeting wouldn’t wait, and neither would the work you still had to finish. With a resigned sigh, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed and rubbed at your eyes, the exhaustion from the previous days still weighing heavily on your shoulders. It was pretty much the same rhythm since you had taken Madja’s place but still you would need more time to be fully used to it.

Bless the Mother that the topics for the healer’s portion of the meeting were ones you had already prepared extensively for. You had been working on these plans for weeks now—financial overviews, resource allocations, and contingency strategies. At least you wouldn’t have to start from scratch.

After throwing on a soft, loose-knit sweater and some comfortable pants, you made your way to the small kitchenette. The rich scent of coffee filled the air as you prepared a steaming cup, its warmth a small comfort against the chill of the early morning. You grabbed a piece of toast, slathered it with a bit of jam, and headed toward the balcony.

Opening the door to the crisp winter air, you immediately regretted your decision. The cold bit at your skin, and your breath fogged in front of you, but the sharpness of the air helped shake the lingering haze of sleep from your mind. Standing there for just a moment, coffee in one hand and toast in the other, you took in the quiet of the morning. Velaris was still, the streets below dusted with a fresh layer of snow that sparkled faintly under the rising sun. The city had a magic of its own, even in moments like this.

The cold quickly seeped through your cozy outfit, and with a shiver, you retreated back inside, shutting the balcony door behind you. The moment had done its job, though—you were awake now, ready to tackle the day.

You set your coffee down on the desk and started sorting through the stack of papers from the night before. Your quill scratched against parchment as you finalized the last details, double-checking your figures and refining your notes. The financial overview was straightforward enough, outlining the current state of healer resources across the courts. Plans for improved training and resource distribution were already drawn up, and now you added the final touches to your strategy for the upcoming year.

Hours blurred together as you worked, pausing only to sip your coffee or glance out the window for a fleeting distraction. The cold air had invigorated you, but the work demanded every ounce of your focus. By the time you finished, the sun was higher in the sky, casting a pale light over the city. The documents sat neatly stacked on your desk, ready for the meeting ahead.

You leaned back in your chair, rubbing at the stiffness in your neck. There was still so much to do, but at least you had cleared this particular hurdle. The meeting would be demanding, no doubt, but for now, you allowed yourself a moment of satisfaction. You were prepared.

As you prepared for the meeting, you chose an outfit that balanced practicality with elegance. Your wide-legged black pants were adorned with a subtle sprinkling of golden star details, shimmering faintly in the light. The fabric was soft yet structured, allowing for ease of movement while still appearing polished.

Your top was a dark teal masterpiece with a high neckline that exuded understated sophistication. The long, flowing sleeves added a graceful touch, billowing slightly as you moved. The bodice of the top was fitted, hugging your form just enough to highlight your figure without sacrificing comfort. The smooth texture of the fabric caught the light, giving it a faint sheen that complemented the gold accents on your pants.

Over it all, you wore a long, thick coat to ward off the winter chill. The coat was a deep charcoal gray, its woolen material lined with plush fur at the collar and cuffs. It hung elegantly around you, the hem brushing against your ankles as you walked. The coat’s design was simple but timeless, a perfect addition to your ensemble and a practical barrier against the icy winds of Velaris.

The morning passed in a blur of preparation. After ensuring every document was meticulously organized and packed into your satchel, you took one last look at your reflection in the mirror. Satisfied, you grabbed your satchel and made your way downstairs just as Cassian arrived to pick you up.

The sound of his boots echoed as he stepped into the clinic’s entryway, his usual grin already plastered across his face. "Ready, Y/N?" he asked, his voice tinged with that familiar playful tone.

You gave him a pointed look as you tightened the strap of your satchel. "If you fly too fast and make me lose a single page of my work, Cassian, I will make sure you regret it."

His grin widened, a deep chuckle rumbling from his chest. "Oh, is that a threat? You’re starting to sound like Nesta."

“Consider it a promise,” you quipped, rolling your eyes but unable to suppress a faint smirk. Cassian laughed again, motioning for you to step closer so he could scoop you up.

Despite his teasing, his grip was secure as he took to the skies. The cold wind whipped around you as Velaris stretched out below, its rooftops dusted with snow. The flight was smooth, though Cassian’s occasional playful dips had you clutching your satchel tightly.

When you landed on the balcony of the House of Wind, Cassian set you down with ease. "See? Not a single page out of place," he said with mock pride.

"Yet," you muttered, smoothing your outfit and adjusting the strap of your satchel. The familiar scent of the House of Wind surrounded you as you stepped inside, the crisp winter air left behind.

As you walked through the halls toward the meeting room, Cassian’s tone shifted, his earlier humor giving way to concern. "How were your days in Windhaven?" he asked, his gaze steady as he glanced down at you.

You hesitated for a moment, adjusting the satchel on your shoulder. "Busy," you admitted. "The healers there are trying their best, but there’s a lot of work to do. Some of them are very inexperienced. It’s a steep learning curve, especially with the conditions they’re working in."

Cassian nodded, his brow furrowing slightly. "And you? You seemed… tired last time I saw you. I mean, more than usual."

The unexpected sincerity in his voice caught you off guard. You glanced at him, surprised by the genuine concern in his expression. "I’m fine," you said after a moment, your tone softer. "It’s just a lot to juggle. But that’s why I’m here, right? To make things better."

He gave you a small, approving nod. "Well, if anyone can handle it, it’s you. But don’t forget to take care of yourself too, Y/N."

The warmth in his words lingered as you reached the doors of the meeting room. Taking a steadying breath, you straightened your shoulders and prepared to step inside. This was what you had been working toward, and you intended to see it through.

The meeting room was quiet as you and Cassian stepped in, the last to arrive. The others were already seated around the polished table: Rhysand at the head, Feyre beside him, Azriel sitting silently to his left, and Amren directly across from him. Their presence, the weight of being the Court’s leaders, filled the room with a palpable authority that made you pause for a moment. You took a deep breath, steadying yourself before moving to your seat.

Cassian offered a light-hearted comment under his breath, but you were too focused to respond. Sliding into your chair, you arranged the documents and notes you’d brought with you, ensuring everything was within reach.

The meeting began with Cassian and Azriel reporting on their respective updates. Cassian delved into the progression of training regimens for Illyrian recruits, discussing efforts to implement more modern strategies despite ongoing resistance from the warlords. Azriel followed, his calm voice outlining intelligence gathered from his network of spies. He detailed movements from Koshiev’s suspected allies and the growing ripple of unease in neighboring territories. Their reports were thorough, efficient, and sobering.

And then it was your turn.

All eyes turned toward you as Rhysand gave you a small nod. You adjusted your papers, though you hardly needed them—you knew your material inside out. Sitting straighter, you began, your voice steady and professional.

“Thank you. As you all know, the healer network within the Night Court has been my primary focus over the past months, particularly in Illyria. After assessing the state of resources and infrastructure, I’ve developed several plans to address the gaps we currently face. First and foremost, I’ve identified key areas where resource exchanges with other courts or territories could benefit us significantly.”

You glanced briefly at Rhysand, noting his attentive expression. “For example, the Dawn Court has an overabundance of specific medicinal herbs that thrive in their climate but are difficult to cultivate here. Conversely, we have access to materials like Illyrian iron, which is rare outside the mountains and could serve as a valuable bargaining tool. Initial outreach has already begun, and I’ve drafted a tentative agreement proposal for review.”

You unfolded a detailed map, laying it out on the table. The map showed trade routes and key locations where resources could be obtained or exchanged. “Here, here, and here,” you said, pointing to the marked spots, “are regions where we could establish beneficial partnerships. I’ve already made initial contact with representatives from these areas and received promising responses. The next step would be finalizing the terms and ensuring transport logistics are accounted for.”

As you spoke, the room grew quieter, a testament to how closely they were listening. You continued without hesitation.

“Beyond external exchanges, I’ve worked on improving the efficiency of our internal supply chain. For instance, in Illyria, I’ve identified several bottlenecks that delay the distribution of vital healing supplies. I’ve proposed solutions to streamline these processes, including localized storage facilities and quicker transport methods between camps.”

You paused to let the information sink in before shifting to a more personal update. “During my recent trip to Windhaven, I worked closely with their healers. They’re skilled, but they lack resources and modern training. I’ve started drafting a plan to integrate some of our Velaris healers into rotations within the Illyrian camps. This would provide hands-on experience for both parties and improve the overall standard of care.”

Amren, leaning back in her chair, raised a brow. “You’ve been busy,” she remarked, her tone dry but laced with a hint of approval.

“I don’t believe in doing things halfway,” you replied, offering her a faint smile. “There’s still much to do, and the situation is constantly evolving. I intend to return to Illyria soon to solidify the plans I’ve set in motion, but my focus remains on creating a system that works seamlessly—whether I’m present or not.”

Feyre looked at you with something akin to awe. “It’s incredible how much you’ve accomplished in such a short time,” she said warmly. “And the level of detail in these plans… it’s exactly what we need.”

Rhysand’s violet eyes studied you for a moment before he spoke. “Your thoroughness is appreciated. These are not small tasks, and the scope of what you’ve already achieved is impressive. But tell me—do you feel confident this can be sustained in the long term?”

You met his gaze, unwavering. “Yes, I do. It’s not about quick fixes; it’s about building a foundation that will last. That means training more healers, establishing reliable trade partnerships, and ensuring every system we put in place is adaptable to changing circumstances.”

Azriel, who had been silent up until now, finally spoke. “The Illyrian warlords don’t take well to outsiders imposing change. How have they responded to your involvement?”

You smirked faintly. “With skepticism, of course. But they’re beginning to see the results. Devlon himself has grudgingly admitted that the changes are working, though he’ll never say it outright. Actions speak louder than words, and I intend to keep proving them wrong.”

A quiet chuckle rippled around the table at your comment, and even Azriel’s lips twitched upward slightly. The meeting continued with questions and discussions about your plans, but the overall sentiment was clear: they were impressed. By the time the conversation moved to other topics, you felt a small sense of accomplishment. There was still much to do, but for now, you had their trust—and their support.

As the discussion shifted, the focus turned toward the borders of Prythian. Cassian began outlining the latest updates, detailing concerns about the tenuous balance along the edges of the Spring and Autumn Courts. His expression was serious, the tension in his voice evident as he explained how strained the relationships had become in recent months.

“The Spring Court has been quiet,” he said, glancing around the table. “Too quiet. We know Tamlin’s been trying to rebuild, but it’s hard to tell what kind of leader he’s becoming. And Autumn... well, let’s just say Beron’s court is a perpetual mess.”

Azriel added, his voice calm but laced with an edge of concern, “The situation in Autumn is as unstable as ever. Beron’s sons are still vying for power, and it’s causing fractures within the court. Lucien has been keeping us informed where he can, but even he has his limits.”

The conversation grew heavier as the implications of these reports settled over the group. Feyre frowned, her brow furrowed in thought. “Tamlin’s silence worries me. After everything that happened, I don’t know if he’s capable of rebuilding in a way that brings stability to his court—or even to himself.”

You listened intently, taking in their concerns. When a natural pause came, you cleared your throat softly, drawing their attention. “If I may,” you began, your voice calm but resolute. “I think Tamlin’s situation isn’t as hopeless as it might seem. The last time I spoke with the healer of the Spring Court—one of my former students—she gave me some insight into how things are progressing there.”

Everyone leaned in slightly, curiosity piqued. “Go on,” Rhysand prompted, his violet eyes focused on you.

“At the start, things were as dire as you’ve described,” you said. “She mentioned that Tamlin was wandering his lands in his beast form for months, completely disconnected from his court. It was chaos. His people were scattered, his court nearly in ruins. But...” You hesitated briefly before continuing. “It seems he’s made some changes recently. From what she told me, the Spring Court is stabilizing. Slowly, but noticeably.”

Feyre’s eyes narrowed slightly, her skepticism clear. “Tamlin’s... changing? How?”

“According to her,” you explained, “he’s begun focusing on the people rather than himself. He’s rebuilding villages, replanting forests, and actively seeking to restore what was lost during the war. It’s a stark contrast to the isolation he imposed before. She said he’s been kinder, more deliberate in his actions. It’s been months since he’s shifted into his beast form. He’s even opened the borders slightly, allowing for trade and aid.”

Rhysand leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. “That’s... unexpected. I thought Tamlin would continue down the path of self-destruction.”

You shrugged lightly. “Perhaps he reached a breaking point and realized he needed to change. Or perhaps he finally listened to the people who remained loyal to him. Whatever the reason, it seems to be working—for now.”

Cassian folded his arms, his brow furrowed in contemplation. “And what about Autumn? Do you have any insight there?”

You shook your head. “Unfortunately, my connections to the healers there are limited. The last I heard, they’re overwhelmed with injuries and illnesses caused by the internal strife. Beron’s rule is as oppressive as ever, and the constant infighting among his sons doesn’t help. It’s a court teetering on the edge of collapse, but without strong leadership, it’ll only spiral further.”

Azriel’s shadows shifted slightly, a subtle sign of his unease. “If Autumn falls, it could destabilize the entire region. The ripple effects would reach every court.”

“It’s something to monitor closely,” Rhysand agreed. He turned back to you, his expression one of cautious optimism. “Thank you for sharing what you’ve learned. Your connections with the healers of other courts are proving invaluable.”

You inclined your head in acknowledgment. “It’s what we do. Healers talk—we share insights, concerns, and stories. Sometimes, it’s the smallest details that provide the clearest picture.”

Feyre smiled faintly, though her worry for Tamlin remained evident. “It’s good to know that things in Spring might be improving, even if it’s slow. Maybe Tamlin really is trying to move forward.”

The room settled into a contemplative silence as everyone absorbed the information. While the challenges ahead remained daunting, the small glimmer of progress in the Spring Court offered a shred of hope that perhaps change was possible, even in the most unlikely places.

As the meeting began to draw to a close, Rhysand shifted his attention to you, his gaze steady but unreadable. “Y/N,” he began, his tone measured, “in five days, you’ll be heading to the Dawn Court for the healer’s meeting.”

You inclined your head slightly, already expecting this topic to arise. “Yes, I’ve been preparing for it. Most of the groundwork has already been laid, so I’m confident things are on track.”

“Good,” he said, leaning back slightly in his chair. “Being the lead for this meeting is no small task, especially considering the current tensions across Prythian. This gathering will likely involve more than discussions about healing techniques.”

You nodded, understanding the underlying weight of his words. “I’ve already worked on plans for resource exchanges and outlined measures to address cross-court needs. I’ll finalize those details in the coming days and ensure everything is in order.”

Rhysand’s lips quirked in approval. “I have no doubt you’ll be more than prepared.”

Before the topic could shift, Rhys turned his gaze toward Azriel. “That said, I’d like Azriel to accompany you to the Dawn Court.”

The statement caught you off guard, and you blinked, momentarily stunned. “That won’t be necessary,” you said, keeping your voice as steady as possible. “I spent years in the Dawn Court. I know the territory, the people. I’ve built relationships with their healers and leadership. There’s nothing to worry about.”

Rhysand’s eyes softened, but his tone was firm. “This isn’t about your ability, Y/N. It’s about the broader situation. With tensions rising, I’d rather not take any chances. Azriel’s presence is precautionary.”

You frowned slightly, frustration flickering beneath the surface. “Rhys, I appreciate the concern, but I’m more than capable of handling myself. The Dawn Court isn’t hostile territory.”

“It’s not up for debate,” Rhysand said gently but decisively, cutting off further protest. “Azriel will accompany you. This is as much about optics as it is about safety. The world is watching, and having one of my most trusted with you is non-negotiable.”

Azriel, seated silently across from you, inclined his head in acknowledgment, though his expression remained inscrutable. You exhaled slowly, forcing yourself to nod despite the tightness in your chest. “Very well,” you said finally, your voice calm even if your thoughts churned beneath the surface.

“Thank you,” Rhysand said, his gaze meeting yours with quiet understanding before shifting to the rest of the room. “With that, I believe we’re finished here.”

As the meeting concluded and everyone began to rise, Feyre approached you, her expression warm and welcoming. “Y/N,” she said, her voice gentle, “I just wanted to remind you that tomorrow is the Solstice celebration. You’re more than welcome to join us at the townhouse. It’ll be a relaxed evening with good food, music, and company. It would be lovely to have you there.”

You hesitated for a moment, adjusting the papers in your hands. The offer was genuine, and the warmth in her tone made it hard to refuse. But the weight of your responsibilities loomed in your mind. “Thank you, Feyre,” you said sincerely. “It’s a kind invitation, and I truly appreciate it. But with the meeting in the Dawn Court in just a few days, I have so much to finalize. Plus, I’m handling the clinic alone tomorrow night. I gave the rest of the healers time off to spend the Solstice with their families, and I can’t call them back on such short notice.”

Her brow furrowed slightly, concern flickering across her features. “Y/N, you’ve been working tirelessly. Taking one evening to rest and celebrate wouldn’t undo your progress.”

You gave her a faint smile, shaking your head gently. “Perhaps, but the work isn’t going to do itself. And the clinic needs to be open for those who might need care tomorrow night. Besides, this meeting is too important to risk being unprepared. It’s not just about me—it’s about representing the Night Court.”

Feyre sighed, clearly disappointed but understanding. “I had hoped we could convince you to take a break.”

Your gaze softened as you reached into your satchel and pulled out a small, carefully wrapped package. “Even if I can’t make it tomorrow, I wanted to give you this. I know it’s bad luck to celebrate early, but consider it an early birthday gift.”

Feyre blinked in surprise as you handed her the package. “You didn’t have to—” she began, but you cut her off with a small shake of your head.

“It’s nothing extravagant, just a salve I’ve been working on. It’s excellent for healing soreness, bruises, or just general aches. I thought you might find it useful, especially with Nyx keeping you on your toes.”

Her eyes brightened as she unwrapped the gift, a smile spreading across her face. “This is wonderful, Y/N. Thank you.”

You nodded, your smile genuine this time. “I truly hope you enjoy tomorrow. Maybe next year, I’ll be able to join you. For now, though, I’ll have to focus on my duties.”

Feyre reached out, giving your hand a small squeeze. “And when this meeting is over, we’ll have to find time to see you again—hopefully under less stressful circumstances.”

“I’d like that,” you said softly, the warmth in her gesture easing some of the tension that had built throughout the day. With a final nod, you excused yourself, stepping away from the meeting room and back into the rhythm of preparation for the days ahead.

Azriel’s POV

As the door clicked shut behind Y/N, the room fell into a moment of reflective silence. Azriel’s eyes followed the path she had just taken, his mind still lingering on her composure during the meeting. She’d been precise, efficient, and utterly unflinching in her delivery—a stark contrast to the overwhelming workload she seemed to be carrying alone.

Amren, who had remained quiet through much of the meeting, leaned forward and picked up one of the documents Y/N had left on the table. She scanned the contents, her sharp silver eyes narrowing slightly. “Look at this,” she said, her tone even but tinged with intrigue. “These aren’t just good ideas; they’re well-researched, meticulously planned, and already in motion. She’s brokered deals with some of the best suppliers in Prythian and beyond—at prices better than I’ve ever seen.”

Cassian whistled low, leaning over her shoulder to glance at the papers. “She’s been here, what, a few months? And she’s already pulling this off? She’s got connections everywhere. The Dawn Court, the Illyrian camps, even some spots in the mortal lands. It’s... impressive.”

Amren nodded slowly, flipping to another page. “It’s not just impressive—it’s unprecedented. She hasn’t just taken over Madja’s work; she’s expanded it. Madja ran the Night Court’s healing efforts masterfully, but Y/N is managing that and fostering collaborations with other courts and territories. She’s operating on a level where the pressure isn’t just from us—it’s from everyone. Every healer, every kingdom, every place that knows her name has high hopes for what she can achieve.”

Rhysand’s violet eyes gleamed with quiet understanding as he leaned back in his chair. “She’s an amazing healer,” he said, his voice calm yet laced with respect. “But she’s also a force in her own right. The weight she’s carrying isn’t just heavy—it’s enormous.”

Azriel said nothing, but his mind churned with thoughts. He had seen the intensity in her during the meeting, the unrelenting focus in her eyes. It wasn’t just that she was competent—she carried the weight of her responsibilities with a quiet, unyielding strength that was impossible to ignore.

Rhysand turned his gaze to Azriel, pulling him from his thoughts. “Az,” he began, his tone more casual now. “I appreciate you agreeing to accompany her to the Dawn Court, especially on such short notice. I know this wasn’t planned.”

Azriel inclined his head slightly. “It’s fine,” he replied. “And honestly, it’s better to have someone going with her. The Dawn Court might be peaceful, but she’s carrying a lot right now. She shouldn’t have to handle everything alone.”

Rhysand studied him for a moment, his expression unreadable, before nodding. “I agree. She’s more than capable, but even the strongest among us need support.”

Cassian smirked, breaking the serious moment. “Support? You mean someone to carry her stack of files?”

Azriel shot him a dry look but didn’t rise to the bait. His thoughts drifted back to the sheer amount of effort Y/N had put into her preparations. It wasn’t just the work itself that impressed him—it was the way she seemed to carry it all, as if failure wasn’t even a consideration.

Amren’s voice cut through the moment. “Just make sure she doesn’t burn herself out,” she said bluntly, closing the file she’d been examining. “The world needs her at her best—not pushing herself into an early grave.”

Azriel didn’t respond immediately, but her words settled heavily in his mind. As the conversation shifted, he found himself quietly resolved to ensure that Y/N wasn’t alone in the tasks ahead—not just in the Dawn Court, but wherever her path led.

The memory of Y/N in the operating room lingered in Azriel’s mind, vivid and unshakable. He had watched her, bathed in the sterile glow of moonlight, working with unwavering precision to save a life. The gap between them felt stark in those moments—she was someone who healed, who saved lives, while he was someone who ended them, a hand of darkness in service of his court.

Even now, as he sat in the quiet aftermath of the meeting, her image remained. The way she moved, commanding the room without force, her hands steady despite the chaos around her. There was no doubt that Y/N was brilliant in her craft, but Azriel couldn’t dismiss the lingering doubts Elain had planted. She hadn’t specified why she felt uneasy about Y/N, but the implication that it could be tied to a vision gnawed at him. Elain’s foresight, as rare and erratic as it was, wasn’t something he could simply ignore.

I’ll keep an eye on her, Azriel resolved silently. Her loyalty, her brilliance—it didn’t mean she was above scrutiny. Too much was at stake for him to let his guard down, no matter how impressive she was.

When the others finally left the meeting room, Rhysand lingered behind, and Azriel knew what was coming before a word was spoken. Rhys turned to him, his violet eyes steady.

“Azriel,” Rhys began, his tone laced with the kind of weariness that only came with navigating family matters, “about tomorrow. With Lucien coming—”

Azriel cut him off sharply, rising from his chair in one fluid motion. “You don’t have to remind me every time we speak, High Lord.” The title rolled off his tongue with biting sarcasm, his shadows curling faintly around his frame as his irritation flared. “I know my role, and I’ll play it. As you wish.”

Rhysand’s expression flickered, surprise giving way to something softer—understanding, perhaps, though it did little to soothe Azriel’s temper. “Az,” he began again, his voice gentler this time, “I’m not trying to—”

But Azriel shook his head, unwilling to entertain any further discussion. “It’s fine,” he said curtly, though the tension in his voice betrayed his words. “You’ve made your expectations clear.”

Without waiting for a response, Azriel turned on his heel and strode out of the room, his shadows pooling behind him like a trailing cloak. He needed air, space to think, to untangle the mess of emotions that Rhysand’s reminder had dredged up.

Tomorrow would come, and with it, all the complications Lucien’s presence would bring. But for now, Azriel let himself sink into the quiet comfort of the night, the stars above a distant reminder of a world that moved on, no matter the burdens he carried.

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[mymoshangthoughts]

the thing about my mobei jun hcs are that i believe two things are equally true

mobei jun is helplessly in love with (airplane) shang qinghua and would do literally anything for him, finds him charming, wants to spend the rest of his life with him, would simp 100%, very in love

mobei jun absolutely hates that sniveling motherfucking stupid piece of dumb shit (airplane) shang qinghua and spends many days thinking about how nice it would be to pop off his stupid little head so that he'd stop with all the fucking bullshit and also, fuck that guy

like i think he finds pathetic crybaby airplane to be the cutest thing ever. and he simultaneously thinks he's the most obnoxious bastard ever.

to be fair, i think most of his hate comes solely from the fact that:

airplane is clearly lying to him, has been clearly lying to him, their whole fucking relationship is basically a lie from day 1 and getting him to say anything sincere is like pulling teeth

airplane is not his type. oki bear with me, i know that i SAY two-faced crybabies are his type and thats because THEY ARE. but its like, he doesnt REALIZE that's his type and it's also the type he hates. highkey, this man has 'uncle issues' and realizing that his type is lowkey similar to his uncle is a reality that he is NOT ready to cope with. so he very much THINKS thats the type of person he hates most, even tho he's weak to it

airplane is NOT RESPONDING APPROPRIATELY TO ANY OF HIS COURTING ATTEMPTS, NOT EVEN GIVING AN APPROPRIATE REJECTION. IT IS MADDENING. try being strung along for many years with someone who keeps kinda giving you HOPE they miiigggghhhttt like you back, but then they rescind it just as quickly. over and over and over until you kinda hate them a little bit

i just love the contradiction of mobei jun being very ready to be a devoted and loving partner while also being very ready and happy to punt shang qinghua into a death-cave, oki? like he's been strung along for WAY TOO LONG not to have some hang ups about his shitty not-boyfriend

in other words, our beloved ice demon king is a motherfucking tsundere. to his very core, this trsundere is dying at all times because he simultaneously loves and hates the object of his affection and feels deeply embarrassed by his own feelings and equally shameless about them. mobei jun is pretty much ready at all times to completely deny any affection ever held for shang qinghua with a cold passion AND to shamelessly announce that this is his consort, his husband, the owner of his heart, and the only one he ever wants near him and the person he cares for most in this world

our precious tsundere king is sliiiggghhttly just trying to guard his heart from breaking because shang qinghua basically sends him every single mixed message in the world and LOOK IT MAKES HIM A LOT INSANE

when he tastes even a whiff of rejection from shang qinghua, mobei jun is ready to close himself off and haughtily sniff "i never liked that human anyway, fuck off. im not crying at all". at the slightest indication that shang qinghua returns his affections, he's ready to throw away almost all of his pride and cling to him desperately

i love him so much. mobei jun is so fucking silly and i love it. he absolutely is mad at shang qinghua and holds a grudge against him (for various reasons). but he's also so down bad for shang qinghua that it's a bit sad lmfaooo

expanding upon my previous thoughts of "shang qinghua totally tricking mobei jun into marrying him without his knowledge", i'd just like to say that i think it's a particularly amazing thought with regards to mobei jun's Very Conflicted Heart in mind

like he's split in equal parts "omg omg omg im his!? he's mine?! WE'RE MARRIED?!?!?! HE LOVES ME?!!? HEAD EMPTY, NEED QINGHUA, WHERE QINGHUA, MUST QINGHUA, LOVE QINGHUA, AHHHHHHHHH, NEED HUSBAND NOW" and ".........im going to kill him. im going to skin him alive. im going to roast him over one of those fires he loves so fucking much and eat his organs in front of him while he pleads for his life. THAT MOTHERFUCKING PIECE OF SHIT I CANNOT BELIEVE HIM IM GONNA--"

[runabout-river]

So, I have an old Fanfiction.net account where I posted my german fanfics ages ago, before I stopped writing fic for years. I picked it up again two years ago, this time in English and on Ao3.

About once a year though, I will get a message from FFN about a comment on an old fic or about a German Beta reading request. (I also got update notifications for the fics I followed for the longest time but those have stopped for 3 years or so.)

The latest beta request I got and accepted is this massive undertaking a German speaker took on translating english fics, and I'm helping out with that. The beta reading happens on googledocs but the communication happens on FFN and that made me feel nostalgic.

And I know FFN's quality had gone down and I know I had my reasons for going over to Ao3 but I thought 'Why Not' and decided to just make a new account on FFN and post my current fic there as well :D

To make this short and readable, the rest of the story is in list form:

exploring FFN's interface again was pretty nostalgic, especially when I uploaded my word document onto the site instead of having to copy/paste my fic onto it

The terms of service were just as I remembered them but only now did I fully realize how restrictive they are, especially the part about the publsihed authors who don't want fanfic of their work. Badly spelt or badly written fics in the grammar sense aren't allowed either and I think that aspect of FFN is following me until today

There was a waiting period for posting fic and other stuff, which is fine, every site has their own way to deal with spam

THEY DO NOT DEAL WITH THEIR SPAM

so I uploaded one of my oneshots just to see what would happen. It's for a newish anime (JJK) and while it is pretty far down their list in terms of works, it still has nearly 2k so I thought 'fine, could be worse'.

The next morning I wake up to 5 reviews and 6 PMs, ALL of it of the "I'll make art for your fic" spam variety except for one that looked like an AI summary of my fic.

I wasn't bothered by it because I deal with spam sometimes on Ao3 and I didn't have high expectations for that fandom on FFN anyway so I go to work deleting the comments and blocking the people who sent them to me

The blocking works even though its cumbersome

But I'll tell you how I nearly ripped my hair out trying to find the delete button for the spam reviews. I found the "mark as abuse/spam" button but I looked everywhere for the delete one. Just. To. Find. Out... they don't have one D:

so maybe I never realized (and/or forgot) that FFN doesn't allow you to delete reviews because I was writing in a niche language years ago, but that's... that's punitive. That goes so hard against my current fanfic sensibilities and climate of a hobby you engage in with fun and a relaxed attitude, but FFN already said at the beginning, they want to make a good writer out of you so you will check your grammar and spelling and you will listen to criticism you'll better hope is constructive.

Illuminating times these last few days

I'm not waiting for FFN staff to delete those spam "reviews", I'm waiting on more spam people to write to me so I can block them before I delete the fic and repost it. I'll put a few more oneshots there later, too, and see how it goes. I might give up on this new account alltogether as well.

And that was my adventure in venturing out to old places again. As a side note: if you get into old media you should visit FFN and look around there for fic, too. You won't find most of their collections anywhere else.

This looks like it would interest @olderthannetfic and @ao3commentoftheday

[jewishvitya]

Haaretz did this:

The full thing is under the cut, in case this link is paywalled for other people. The actual text has blocked out portions as well, to highlight what it's like to report on cases of administrative detention.

Highlights:

Like all administrative detention hearings, it was held in-camera, to obscure the fact that detainees' lawyers do their job without access to the facts of the case. Even the few details that are not secret are prohibited for publication. The administrative detention order was approved in full for a period of six months

And

In the past, it was considered, at least officially, a measure reserved for the most extreme of cases. This hypocritical position has always been false, but now there is no longer any need to save face. According to the Israeli army's own data, almost 5,000 arrests were made in the West Bank in the past eight months. These are very conservative numbers, as they don't include the many thousands arrested and released without being indicted.

The data shows that administrative detention, this so-called extreme of extremes, is now the norm. According to Israeli Prison Service numbers, Israel now holds 7016 people who have not yet been convicted in its jails – either awaiting trial or under administrative detention. Of these, 4,299 – more than 60%! – are held without charge or trial. And all that is without saying a single word about the torture, hunger and humiliation to which all Palestinian prisoners held by Israel are subjected these days.

Administrative detention is based on secret suspicions, secret evidence and no charges being brought. To conceal its inherent absurdity, hearings are held in-camera and away from the public eye. As such, even the little that is revealed to the defense remains prohibited for publication.

On the morning of October 29, after a short farewell to his wife Nariman and their kids, Bassem Tamimi left his home in the West Bank village of Nabi Saleh, north of Ramallah, and started heading east toward the Allenby Bridge. He was on his way to visit relatives in Jordan he had not seen in a long time. A little after 11 A.M., Nariman received a message saying, "The secret police asked for me. I'll write when it's over." And then, shortly after 3 P.M., a call: "I am being arrested. They're coming to take the phone. Have to go. Bye."

This, unfortunately, was not Bassem's first encounter with Israeli law. His village, Nabi Saleh, has waged a multi-year campaign of civil resistance against land grabs and settlement expansion. As a prominent activist, he was incarcerated repeatedly for his role as a protest leader, part of Israel's attempt to quell dissent.

In the evening, the phone rang again. The woman on the line introduced herself, saying she lived in Silwan and was currently at the Hadassa hospital in Jerusalem. She then went on to say that Bassem was there, surrounded by soldiers. He was taken there after his blood pressure soared dangerously. Nariman could faintly hear Bassem's voice over the line saying, "I'm fine, don't worry, everything's good." After a few more hours, at night, that same woman sent a picture of Bassem in the ER, undergoing a checkup; his hand bound with ziptie cuffs. That was the last time Nariman heard from him. Save for a single short lawyer visit before Eid al-Fitr in April, no one has been in contact with him since.

Four days after his arrest, police ████, ████ ████: "███████ ███ ████ █████ ███ ████████, ██████, █████? "███████ ███ ██████: "████ ███ ██████." And that was that. Eight days later – the maximum time afforded to the authorities by article 33 of Israel's military law in the West Bank before a detainee must be presented before a judge (who also is a soldier in uniform) – a six-month administrative detention order was issued, which did not suggest any specific allegations, but rather only a very general statement regarding ███████ ██ █ ��██████ .

Eleven more days later, the Kafkaesque proceedings of judicial review over the order took place. Some of it was held ex-parte between the soldier-judge and the Shin Bet. Like all administrative detention hearings, it was held in-camera, to obscure the fact that detainees' lawyers do their job without access to the facts of the case. Even the few details that are not secret are prohibited for publication. The administrative detention order was approved in full for a period of six months, until April 28.

Administrative detention, however, is not really bound by the limits of time, and can be extended indefinitely. And indeed, as the six months passed, a new six-month order was signed, citing the same meaningless cause of ██████ ████ █ ██████ ██ █. This time however, and unlike the state of affairs in almost any other administrative detention case, the defense had a pretty good insight into the details of the case. Administrative detention is such a mundane phenomenon in Israeli military courts, that , , , .

A few hours prior to Bassem's arrest, Israeli forces arrested █████ █ ████ █ ██████ ███ █████ █ ████████ ███ ███, Bassem's friend from their days together in Israeli jail at the beginning of the millennium. Then too, under administrative detention. ██████ ███ █████ █ ███ ████ ███ ███ ██████ █ ██ █████ █ ███ █████ ███ ███ █ ███ ███ ████, █ ████ ███ ███ ████ ███ ████ █ █ ███ █████ ██ ██ ██ ██ ███ ████ █ ███ █████ ███ ███ █████ ███ ████ █ ███. █████ ███ ███ █████ ███ █████ █ ███, █████ ███ ███ ███ ███ ███ █████ █ ████ ███ ███ ████ ███ █████? █ █████ ██ ███ ███. ██ ███ ██ ███ █ ██ █████ ███ ███ ██████ ███ █████ █ █████ ███ ███ ██████ ███ █████.

█ ████ ███ ███ ███ █████ ███ █████ █ ████ ████ ███ ███ ████ ███ █████ █ ████ ██ ███, ██████ ███ █████ █ ███ ████ ███ ███ ████ ███ █████ █ ██ ███ ███ ███ ███ ██ ███ ███ █ "██████ ███ ███ ████ ███ ████ █ ██████ ███ ███? █████ ███ █████ █ ████ ███ ███ █████ ███ ████ █ ███████ ███." ███ ██████ ███ ████ █ ███ ███ ███ ██ ███ █████ █ ██████ ███ ███ 25 ███ ██ █████ █ ███████ ████, long after the administrative detention order against Bassem was reviewed and approved by the court, ██████ was unconditionally released.

On his release, ██████ contacted Nariman and told her what had happened, thinking that his release must also mean Bassem should soon follow. This is how the defense learned the details it knows, and not through discovery by the prosecution. Even though there is no gag order on ██████ ██████'s case, discussing its details in conjunction with Bassem's administrative detention is prohibited for publication. Despite everything that was revealed – and that is the nature of administrative detention: there can always be more hidden evidence, secret, almost mystical – Bassem is still being held under administrative detention even now. Almost two weeks after the hearing, ███ █ ██ ██████ ██████ ████████ █████ █ █████ █ █████, the judge partially confirmed the second administrative detention order against Bassem in violation of military law provisions, ████████ ████ █ ███ █ ███████ ███ █ ████████.

Like Bassem, thousands more are held captive by Israel under administrative detention. In the past, it was considered, at least officially, a measure reserved for the most extreme of cases. This hypocritical position has always been false, but now there is no longer any need to save face. According to the Israeli army's own data, almost 5,000 arrests were made in the West Bank in the past eight months. These are very conservative numbers, as they don't include the many thousands arrested and released without being indicted.

The data shows that administrative detention, this so-called extreme of extremes, is now the norm. According to Israeli Prison Service numbers, Israel now holds 7016 people who have not yet been convicted in its jails – either awaiting trial or under administrative detention. Of these, 4,299 – more than 60%! – are held without charge or trial. And all that is without saying a single word about the torture, hunger and humiliation to which all Palestinian prisoners held by Israel are subjected these days.

[muiitoloko]

Oioi, quero compartilhar uma ideia que eu tive: Lionel começa a pensar que ele precisa de um herdeiro pq ele já não é mais tão novo e a Shabandar Media precisará de um outro CEO no futuro, ele passa em frente a uma loja de roupas de bebê e vê roupas com tema de safari na vitrine e a de leão chama muito a atenção dele, ele tem o baby fever ativado e o breeding kink aguçado pela ideia de "manter a empresa na família" - baby fever + breeding kink = 🔥

A ideia foi essa, pode mudar, editar, fazer o que quiser com ela pq eu devoro todas as fics que vc escreve de tão boas que elas são, obrigada por ser uma das únicas pessoas que escreve fics do Colin e do Alan ♥️

Title: The Heir to the Shahbandar Empire

Summary: A chance glance at a baby store sparks an unexpected obsession in Lionel: an heir. His wife is in for a wild ride—starting that very night.

Pairing: Lionel Shahbandar × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Smut

Author's Notes: Obrigado pelo seu pedido! Espero que goste disso 🫶

Also read on Ao3

Lionel tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, exhaling sharply as he sat at yet another red light. He had dismissed his driver for the day, deciding to take the car himself—a rare indulgence. He hardly ever drove, always being chauffeured from one event to another, from one extravagant business deal to the next. But today, he wanted the feel of the car under his hands, the control, the freedom. It was an unfamiliar yet exhilarating experience, despite the absolute disaster that was London traffic.

His sharp, dark eyes flicked to his phone, resting in the mount on the dashboard. Nothing particularly interesting. No urgent calls, no pressing messages. A rare quiet moment in the whirlwind of his life.

He sighed and looked out the window instead.

That was when he saw it.

A small boutique nestled between two towering buildings, its window display carefully arranged by a young shopgirl. She was adjusting the tiny outfits on display—delicate, soft fabrics in pastel hues. But it wasn’t the quaint charm of the boutique that caught Lionel’s eye. No, it was the baby clothes. More specifically, the safari-themed ones.

And, of course, the lion outfit.

Lionel’s fingers tightened slightly on the wheel as he took in the sight of the miniature costume—a tiny, golden onesie with a fluffy mane around the hood, little ears poking out at the top. It was ridiculous. Adorable. Nostalgic.

He had one just like it when he was a child—though his had been an actual costume, not an outfit. He had worn it constantly, roaring around the grand halls of his childhood home, declaring himself “King of the Pride Lands.” His poor nanny had spent more time coaxing him out of that costume than teaching him any proper etiquette.

But Lionel didn’t think about that time, about his own childhood.

He thought about an heir.

His heir.

Something stirred deep in his chest—an unfamiliar, unsettling sensation. He wasn’t getting any younger. He was already older than most men who started thinking about such things. His empire, his fortune, his legacy—it had to go somewhere. He could leave it to one of his distant cousins, or even to you, his brilliant, beautiful wife. But a child… a son, a daughter—his blood— was suddenly an idea that lodged itself in his brain like a splinter he couldn’t ignore.

And the most ironic part of it all? He had never wanted children.

He despised them. Couldn’t stand their incessant whining, their sticky hands, their unpredictable tantrums. He had spent years relishing his freedom, his untethered, indulgent lifestyle. A child was the last thing he had ever considered.

And yet, here he was.

Sitting at a red light. Staring at a baby store.

Thinking about breeding you.

A sharp honk from behind jolted him out of his thoughts.

Lionel’s hooked nose flared as he snapped his gaze to the traffic light. Green. Bloody hell. He had been sitting there too long. With a low growl of frustration, he slammed his foot on the accelerator, his luxury car surging forward.

But his mind was elsewhere.

His fingers gripped the wheel tighter, his jaw set with newfound purpose.

The idea of a child—the very thought of you, his wife, his lioness, swollen with his heir—had ignited something deep within him. It wasn’t just possessiveness. It was more than that. It was primal. A need that had been lurking beneath the surface, unnoticed until now. He had built an empire, ruled his kingdom. Now, he needed an heir to inherit it. To carry his name.

And if he was going to do this… he was going to do it tonight.

He pressed down on the accelerator, weaving through traffic with reckless precision. He had to get home. Had to get to you.

Because tonight?

Tonight, he was keeping the business in the family.

You heard the familiar hum of Lionel’s car as it pulled into the driveway, the sound as recognizable as the man himself—powerful, controlled, yet always on the verge of breaking the rules. You smiled to yourself as you hurried to greet him, as you always did, your steps light with anticipation.

But the moment Lionel stepped inside, you knew something was different.

His sharp, dark eyes locked onto you with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. He barely let the door shut behind him before he was on you, sweeping you up in his arms in one fluid motion. A gasp escaped your lips as he carried you with effortless strength, spinning around and setting you down on the nearest surface—the ornate dresser in the hallway. The wood creaked slightly under the sudden weight, but neither of you cared.

“Lionel!” you laughed breathlessly, your hands bracing against his chest, your pulse already quickening. “What the hell has gotten into—”

Your words were swallowed by his lips crashing into yours.

The kiss was desperate, bruising, his hooked nose brushing against your cheek as he tilted his head, deepening the contact. He wasn’t just kissing you—he was consuming you. His hands gripped your hips possessively, fingers digging in like he was afraid you might disappear if he didn’t hold you tight enough.

You barely had time to catch your breath before he was tugging at his own clothes, not bothering with his usual meticulousness. His jacket was the first casualty, ripped from his shoulders and tossed to the floor with no regard for its expensive tailoring. His tie followed, yanked loose with a growl, the silk slithering to the ground like a discarded snake.

“Lionel, what—” you started, half laughing, half gasping, as he moved between your legs, his hands already sliding under your dress.

He didn’t answer immediately. He just kissed you harder, his baritone voice muffled against your lips as he muttered, “Time to make a baby.”

You froze for half a second, your mind scrambling to process what you had just heard. Your fingers instinctively pressed against his chest, pushing him back just enough to look into his dark, feverish eyes.

“A baby?” you echoed, blinking. “Lionel, you—”

He didn’t let you finish. His hands moved to your thighs, gripping them firmly as he pulled you closer to the edge of the dresser, spreading your legs around him. His fingers hooked into your panties, tugging them down with purpose.

You caught his wrists, stopping him, though amusement curled in your lips. “Wait, wait, wait—” you laughed, still breathless. “A baby? You? The same Lionel Shahbandar who once declared that children are sticky, loud, and should be kept at least fifty feet away from him at all times?”

Lionel huffed, rolling his eyes, but his hands remained firm on your thighs, his grip unyielding. “I might have said that,” he admitted, his smirk betraying no shame. “But I’ve changed my mind.”

You scoffed, arching an eyebrow. “Oh? And what brought on this sudden… paternal epiphany?”

He exhaled sharply, his hands roaming up your thighs, fingers pressing into your soft skin. “I need an heir,” he said, his voice a mix of arrogance and something dangerously raw. “Someone to inherit everything I’ve built. My empire, my fortune—hell, even my bloody art collection.”

You stared at him for a beat before bursting into laughter. “So, what? Mufasa has decided it’s time to produce a Simba?”

Lionel tilted his head, amusement flickering in his dark eyes as he leaned in, his hooked nose brushing against yours. “And if I have?” he murmured, his voice a slow, deliberate rumble that sent heat pooling between your legs.

You grinned wickedly, lowering your voice to a deep, exaggerated tone, imitating Mufasa from The Lion King. “Everything the light touches will be yours, my son.”

Lionel let out a low chuckle, his hands sliding under your dress again. “Christ, you’re ridiculous,” he muttered, though the amusement in his voice was unmistakable. His smirk turned wicked as he pressed a kiss to the sensitive skin of your neck. “But you’re also fucking perfect. And you’re going to look even more perfect carrying my child.”

You shivered at the possessiveness in his tone, your teasing expression faltering just slightly. “You really want this?” you asked softly, searching his gaze.

Lionel pulled back just enough to cup your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones. For once, the mischief in his expression was overshadowed by something deeper—something almost reverent.

“I do,” he murmured, his baritone voice softer now, but no less intense. “I want to see you swollen with my child. I want to know that I’ve left something behind in this world that’s mine. And not just anything—ours.”

Your breath caught at the sheer sincerity in his words, your heart pounding against your ribs. He wasn’t just saying it to rile you up—he meant it.

And God help you, but you wanted it too.

You swallowed hard, your hands sliding up to grip his shoulders. “Then don’t just talk about it, Lionel,” you whispered, a teasing smirk playing at your lips despite the heat coiling in your belly. “Prove it.”

His eyes darkened.

“Oh, love,” he murmured, his hands gripping your thighs tighter as he tugged you flush against him. “You have no idea what you’ve just unleashed.”

With that, he hooked his fingers into your panties and tore them clean off.

You gasped, but before you could say anything, Lionel was already undoing his belt, the sharp clink of metal sending a thrill down your spine. His trousers followed, pooling at his feet, and then he was pressing against you, his thick cock already hard, already leaking, already desperate.

“Gonna fuck my baby into you,” he growled, his voice rough as he lined himself up. “Gonna fill you up so full of me, there won’t be any doubt.”

You whimpered, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he rubbed the head of his cock against your soaked entrance, teasing, taunting.

“Say it,” he ordered, his breath hot against your lips. “Tell me you want it.”

You moaned softly, your legs tightening around his waist. “I want it,” you gasped, your body aching for him. “I want you to fill me up, Lionel.”

He groaned at your words, his control snapping.

Without another second of hesitation, he thrust inside you, burying himself to the hilt in one deep, possessive stroke. You cried out, your nails raking down his back as he stretched you, filled you, owned you.

“Fuck, love,” Lionel groaned, his hooked nose flaring as he watched you take him. “So tight, so perfect. Like you were made to carry my child.”

He pulled back, only to slam into you again, setting a brutal, claiming pace. His hands gripped your hips, his fingers bruising as he fucked into you like a man possessed.

“Gonna breed you,” he rasped, his voice a dangerous growl. “Gonna keep you full of my cock, my cum, until it takes.”

You moaned helplessly, your body arching into his, every hard thrust pushing you closer to the edge.

“You like that?” he taunted, his baritone voice dripping with arrogance. “Like the idea of me knocking you up, love? Of everyone seeing you round and knowing you belong to me?”

“Y-yes,” you gasped, your legs trembling as pleasure coiled tighter in your core.

Lionel grinned wickedly, one hand slipping between you to rub at your clit. “Then come for me,” he commanded. “Come on my cock, love—let me feel you.”

You shattered around him, your release crashing over you in waves, your body convulsing as his name tore from your lips.

Lionel cursed, his grip tightening as he fucked you through it, his thrusts growing erratic. “Gonna fill you up, love,” he growled, his voice barely more than a breathless snarl. “Gonna put my baby in you.”

With a final, deep thrust, he groaned, his entire body tensing as he came, spilling deep inside you, his heat flooding your womb.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the only sound in the room your ragged breathing.

Then, Lionel smirked, pressing a lazy, satisfied kiss to your shoulder.

“That’s one,” he murmured. “Best be ready, darling. I don’t intend to stop until I’m sure it takes.”

The living room buzzed with quiet conversation, the warm glow of candlelight flickering off the crystal glasses and fine china Lionel had insisted on using, despite your protests that it was just a private family gathering. You sat with Sinclair, Lionel's cousin, and your father, along with a few other close relatives; the air was thick with anticipation.

“Where the hell is he?” your father grumbled, checking his watch for the third time in as many minutes. “It's just my grandson's birthday party, not the coronation of a damn king.”

You sighed, leaning back against the plush couch. “Oh, you know Lionel,” you said, waving a dismissive hand. “He always likes a bit of drama.”

Sinclair, lounging beside you with a drink in hand, smirked. “A bit of drama?” he echoed. “Darling, the man treats every moment like he’s starring in his own personal Shakespearean epic. I wouldn’t be surprised if he made an entrance on a golden chariot.”

Just as the words left Sinclair’s mouth, the first notes of The Circle of Life blared from hidden speakers.

Your heart sank.

Sinclair’s eyes widened in pure delight.

“Oh, God,” you muttered, already burying your face in your hands.

The doors to the living room burst open with dramatic flair, and there stood Lionel, dressed in what could only be described as a monstrosity of theatrical excess—a golden robe, billowing as if conjured by unseen wind, cinched at the waist with an absurdly ornate belt.

In his arms, your one-year-old son, Liam, was decked out in a plush lion onesie, complete with little ears and a tail. His tiny fists waved excitedly in the air as Lionel lifted him high, mimicking the famous scene from The Lion King.

“NAAAAANTS INGONYAMAAAAAAA BAGITHI BABAAAAA!” Lionel bellowed, voice rich and baritone, completely committing to the performance.

The room fell into stunned silence.

Your father blinked. Once. Twice. Then slowly turned to look at you.

“This,” he said flatly, “is the man you married.”

You groaned, massaging your temples. “Unfortunately.”

Meanwhile, Sinclair, the absolute menace that he was, immediately got into the spirit of things. With a grand, sweeping motion, he slid off the couch and bowed deeply before Liam, arms outstretched in a display of reverence.

“The heir to the Shahbandar dynasty has arrived!” Sinclair declared, his voice filled with mock solemnity.

Your mother covered her mouth, stifling a laugh.

Lionel, grinning like a mischievous fox, slowly turned to face the assembled guests, his expression positively regal. “Behold!” he proclaimed. “My son, my heir, the future ruler of the Shahbandar empire!”

Liam giggled, wiggling in his father’s grip, completely oblivious to the spectacle.

Your father exhaled sharply. “I need a drink.”

You nodded. “Same.”

“Would you like to hold your grandson?” Lionel offered grandly, lowering Liam to your father’s level.

Your father reached out, but just as he was about to take Liam, Lionel dramatically snatched him back at the last second, holding him high again. “NOT YET!” he declared. “THE CEREMONY IS NOT COMPLETE.”

“Oh, for—” Your father clenched his fists, looking dangerously close to throttling Lionel.

Sinclair, meanwhile, had abandoned all dignity and was now kneeling on one knee, arms raised as though awaiting divine blessings. “We pledge our loyalty to the young lion!” he cried.

Your father shot Sinclair an incredulous look. “Are you seriously encouraging this?”

Sinclair, without missing a beat, simply shrugged. “Might as well lean into it.”

Your hand smacked against your forehead as Lionel continued. “With this child, the Shahbandar name shall live on for generations! No longer shall we be merely a legacy of wealth and power!” He thrust Liam slightly higher. “WE SHALL BE A DYNASTY! ”

Liam giggled again, kicking his chubby legs in delight.

Your father let out a long, pained sigh and turned to you. “Divorce is always an option.”

You patted his arm sympathetically. “I’ve thought about it.”

Lionel, apparently satisfied with the ceremony, finally lowered Liam and kissed his chubby cheek. “Ah, my little lion,” he murmured, his voice softer now. “You have no idea the empire that awaits you.”

Sinclair wiped a fake tear from his eye. “That was beautiful, Lionel. Truly. Shakespeare himself is weeping from beyond the grave.”

Lionel turned to you, grinning. “Admit it, love. This was far more entertaining than some dull little cake-cutting.”

You let out a long, suffering sigh but couldn’t quite suppress the fond smile tugging at your lips. “You’re impossible.”

Lionel smirked, pressing a kiss to your temple. “And yet, you married me.”

Your father groaned into his drink.

Sinclair raised his glass. “To the heir of the Shahbandar dynasty!”

The rest of the family laughed and clapped, the initial shock giving way to amusement. Even your father eventually softened, shaking his head with a chuckle as he finally took Liam into his arms.

As the music faded and Lionel draped an arm around your shoulders, he leaned in close, his baritone voice low and teasing. “I was thinking we should start working on another heir and a spare. What do you say, love?”

You arched a brow. “Lionel.”

“Yes, darling?”

“Shut up and cut the damn cake.”

Sinclair clinked his glass against Lionel’s. “You heard the lady.”

Lionel sighed dramatically. “Very well. But next year, we’re doing a full reenactment of The Lion King. I shall require elephants.”

You groaned.

Your father choked on his drink.

Sinclair, already scheming, grinned. “I’ll make some calls.”

[pepsiboyy]

CRUISE CONTROL.

pairing: matt sturniolo x fem!reader summary: with your parents arguing and the volume growing increasingly loud, you text your boyfriend matt to take you on a drive to clear your mind. warnings: established relationship, use of y/n lol, parents arguing, fluff, reckless driving if u squint a/n: i was driving home one night. really sad. and wanted to stick my head out the window. and got this idea. it's litterally just a little drabble sorry it's kinda bad but i think it's cute lowkey ANYWAY ENJOY

it was times like these where i allowed my mind to wander. staring at my ceiling, led lights on their lowest setting and alex g desperately trying to make its way into my head at full volume through my earbuds. no matter how high i turned it up, nothing tuned out the sounds of screaming and clashing and banging on the other side of the wall.

the deep circles under my eyes were particularly prominent about now. no matter how hard i tried, i couldn't seem to fall asleep.

the distortion in my earbuds due to the loud volume began to annoy me and i ripped them out by the cord for some relief, but i was immediately reminded of the sound of my parents.

i quickly reached for my phone and unlocked it, going into my messages and finding matt. i began typing, attempting to get my mind away from the sound of my parents screaming.

i dropped my phone in my lap as i took a deep breath.

now for the hard part.

i carefully sat up and made my way to my closet to grab one of matt's hoodies that he had left over and pulled it over myself, keeping my pajama pants on.

i carefully slipped on some socks and checkered vans before making my way to my bedroom door.

a deep sigh escaped my lips.

gently, i pushed the door opened and tip-toed out of my room, ignoring the increasing volume of my parents shouting. i flew down the stairs and to the front door, biting my lip harshly as i slipped out and quickly shut the door behind me.

silence.

i pressed my back against the front door and slid down it, my hands covering my face as i took in a deep breath and let out a shaky breath.

all that i could hear was the soft breeze and the sound of my breathing.

the outdoors is such a peaceful place, i thought. i should come out here more often.

the sound of tires against the gravel caused me to lift my head and quickly scramble to my feet, making my way to the van in front of my home.

matt met me halfway and pulled me into a tight hug, gently resting his head on top of mine and allowing a hand to rub my upper back gently in circles.

"you okay?" he questioned softly, his voice so gentle as if i were going to crack if he spoke any louder.

"'m okay." i mumbled against his chest, gently pulling away and smiling at him reassuringly.

matt's eyes scanned my expression, and he nodded softly as he caressed my cheek and gently took me by my hand. "let's go for a ride, okay?"

-

nights like these were my favorite.

nights where matt gave me the aux, his hand on my thigh as we drove absolutely everywhere but at the same time, nowhere. flying down the road going heinous speeds, no set destination, matt and i simply had each other and that was what mattered to us most in these moments.

with all of the windows down and the music all the way up, i bit my lip as i smiled at matt.

a thought ran through my mind that i couldn't seem to resist.

my hand gently ran over matt's that was on my leg, taking his hand in my own and setting it to the side.

matt shot me a glance in confusion. "you okay?"

i smiled and nodded as i unbuckled my seatbelt.

"y/n-"

"don't worry," i smiled as i sat up and pressed a button, opening the sunroof and sitting up.

for the sake of matt's sanity, i gently held his hand and lifted my head out of the window, smiling as i felt the wind immediately hit my skin and my hair. my eyes felt like they desperately needed to close, but i didn't care.

most would think this is psycho, or i look stupid.

for some reason, each gust of air that brushed past me felt like a wave of relief.

about fifteen seconds went by and i sat back down in the car, smiling at matt who couldn't help but giggle at my expression.

"you feel better?" he questioned, and i nodded happily. "can i fix your hair?" he chuckled, and i nodded as my face grew warm.

matt, after pulling into a gas station and parking by a gas pump, gently reached over and took my stands between his fingers as he flattened them and fixed the stray ones. he gently ran his finger against my cheek and smiled at me, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to my lips.

i smiled against his lips and gently squeezed his hand, our fingers tightly intertwined, before he pulled away and smiled at me.

"go get your gas, i'll be waiting here for you." i whispered.

matt nodded as he rolled the windows down and pressed one more quick peck to your cheek before opening the door and getting out.

i let out a deep breath as i looked at my fingers, smiling to myself.

matt always knew how to make me feel better. whether it be talking through emotions with me or as simple as just existing beside me, he was the best.

matt leaned into the car, his arms against the bottom of the rolled down window as he smiled at me warmly, and i turned to him.

"wanna spend the night tonight?" he questioned.

it was tempting, but i knew i needed to be home tonight. if my parents were going to be angry at me any night, it would be tonight.

"i'll go home tonight, but i would love to tomorrow if the offer still stands." i smiled.

he held out his pinkie with a soft smile, and i locked my pinkie with his.

"the offer is always standing for you, y/n."

-

i sighed as i undid my seatbelt.

"you gonna be okay?"

i turned to matt and nodded with a soft smile, beginning to get out of the car. matt did the same and walked with me to my doorstep, gently taking both of my hands in his once we arrived.

"call me if you need anything, or anyone to talk to.. i'll be here, okay?" he smiled.

i nodded as i let out a deep breath and leaned into matt, pulling him into a tight hug.

"thank you matt." i whispered, and matt smiled as he hugged me back tightly, hands running against my back again.

"of course, my love." he bit his lip as he pulled away and smiled at me, leaning down for one last kiss.

i hummed softly against his lips before we both pulled away.

"drive safe." i told him before opening my front door and stepping inside.

the silence was loud.

i assume my parents fell asleep.

i made my way up the stairs carefully and let out a deep sigh as i kicked off my shoes and laid against my sheets.

sometimes some loud music and company is all you need, and tonight helped me with my loud thoughts and parents. but it also helped me realize how much matt truly means to me.

i couldn't be more grateful.