#spellbound stitches

[badstitched]

Last call to get Spellbound Stitches Volume 3 The Bookmark Book! Donate a minimum of $15 USD (or the equivalent in your currency) to one of our select literacy-based charities, and get 27 bookmark patterns! Campaign ends this Sunday, 11/17. https://docs.google.com/document/d/1KUMLil8kHX83E_P-IYCsIqu3zRqigp6KRRewN8NANXE/edit?usp=sharing

[prttylittlesinner]

Feathers & Fangs

𐦍༘⋆Warnings:Remmick being a creep(still a munch though dw),reader is a spicy southern gal,sexual harassment rizz,stalking behaviors,possessive sex,blood drinking,slight religious trauma,slight drinking,slight smoking,desk sex,coercion,squirting,manipulation,reader undresses herself for money and slight breeding kink.MDNI.

𐦍༘⋆Dark!Dom!Remmick x Burlesque Dancer!Reader

𐦍༘⋆ A/N: Oh my God! i cant believe i got 100 notes from my last story i am so glad y'all liked it.Here is another smut piece.Enjoy!

𐦍༘⋆Brief Summary:In the thick, sticky heat of a 1930s Mississippi summer, you'd finally landed your first gig,just a small corner bar tucked into the edge of the city, but it felt like salvation. Getting there hadn’t been easy, but patience had finally paid off. You’d run from your overbearing preacher father and the suffocating silence of that godforsaken town, chasing freedom and fresh air. And for a while, it felt like a fresh start… until Remmick began showing up. He never sat close, but you felt him,always. Lurking in the dark with eyes like a storm coming in off the Gulf. He never clapped. Never smiled. Just stared, like the songs you sang belonged to him... Like you did. And deep down, you were starting to wonder if he was right.

On a Saturday night, the moon had never shone so bright. Folks came from all around the city to crowd into the small, cozy bar,not just for the whiskey, but for the show.You’d dreamed of being a burlesque dancer for as long as you could remember,drawn to the glitter, the power, the way a woman could command a room with nothing but a glance and a slow sway of her hips. It wasn’t just about the tease; it was about being seen, truly seen, on your own terms.

Now, standing backstage in pink frilly garters and feathers, the low hum of jazz vibrating through the walls, you felt it: that electric buzz just before the curtain parts. Your name was on the lips of strangers. Your silhouette lit up in stage-lights. And for once, you weren’t someone’s daughter or someone’s shame...you were her. The woman with the stage, the spotlight, and all the attention.

But as the lights dimmed and the crowd hushed, your gaze flicked to the far corner of the room...and there he was again.

Remmick.

Watching.

Waiting.

Like he’d come to collect something he already considered his.

Taking a last drag from your cigarette and one last sip of that throat-burning whisky,you quickly swallowed your nerves,the alcohol slowly settling in.

You stood under the flickering glow of the vanity bulbs, making the final touches to your costume,a sinful but delicate vision of lace and temptation. The soft ivory fabric clung to your curves like it had been made for sinning, kissed with pearls and stitched with feathers that shimmered like fallen halos. Your wings, fragile and wickedly white, trembled slightly as you adjusted the straps, the sequins catching the light like stardust. A crooked halo perched atop your tight curls, just enough to mock the innocence you were never really trying to sell.

You could hear the muffled chatter of the crowd just beyond the curtain, their laughter bubbling with liquor and expectation. Jazz spilled lazily through the floorboards, slow and sultry, pulsing through your ribs like a second heartbeat.

You exhaled slowly, steadying yourself. The cue was coming. And when the curtain rose, you'd step out as something more than a girl in costume.

You’d become the fantasy. The fire. The fallen thing they all came to worship.

At the call of you're stage name and the recited song leaked through the bar, you waltzed on the platform,wolf whistles and hollers filled the vicinity.Your slow, deliberate hips swayed with a hypnotic grace, captivating every eye in the room...men and women alike, utterly spellbound."Well… hellooo Mississippi. It’s a pleasure to bless y’all with my presence tonight. Y'all ready to get a little naughty with this fallen angel?"

The crowd whooped, clapped, a few catcalls echoing from the back,but you kept your smile slow and deliberate, the kind that made hearts skip and mouths go dry. You took your time crossing to center stage, pastel heels clicking like a countdown, wings swaying with every sultry step.

The lights dimmed to a golden glow, casting halos across the smoky room. The band struck up a slow, devil-may-care rhythm,something that crawled under the skin and curled its fingers around the spine. You rolled your shoulders back, lifting your arms as the feathers unfurled behind you, graceful and ghostly.

Fingertips danced down your bodice, teasing the curve of your waist. A single garter snapped against your thigh, drawing a chorus of sharp, appreciative gasps. You winked, turning slowly to show off the full sinful silhouette of your so-called angelic self.

And then...just before your first layer dropped,you felt it.

That gaze.

Not like the others, hungry and cheering.

No, this one ignited.

You didn’t have to look to know who it was.

Remmick was quite the regular,a looker as well...with onyx black hair and that crooked smile that always spelled trouble.The other dancers have their hearts soar whether he comes in spilling his charms with that Mississippi-slick accent with Irish tones.And yet, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he came only for you. That suspicion quickly turned to certainty,he never stayed for drinks, never watched the other girls. He only ever showed up when you took the stage.

Your first encounter with Remmick was anything but pleasant. He didn’t offer a name or a handshake,just stood outside your dressing room door, murmuring his twisted devotion like a prayer. His voice was low, reverent, almost worshipful… and entirely uninvited."C’mon now, Songbird… don’t make me wait. Let me in, darlin’. I got a kind of love for ya that don’t fade, that clings to the bone. Fellowship, love… the kind ya feel all the way down. Just open the door, and I’ll show ya how good it can be...how good it can feel."Even though security herded him away.

Those words still burned you to the core.

Later…

The lights had dimmed, the crowd had roared, and now the stage sat quiet...scattered with glitter and discarded satin. You stood at its edge, breath still shallow, skin dewy with sweat and spotlight. Nothing left but your pasties, a sliver of satin underwear, and the hum of adrenaline still crawling across your skin.

You could feel their eyes on you still… but only one gaze mattered.

A cold shiver dragged across you're naked spine at the dark haired regular at the edge of the bar,sitting alone...always.Announcing your departure for your well deserved after performance break, you thankfully say "Y’all have been a divine little crowd tonight," you purr, sweeping a teasing glance over the room. "But this angel’s gotta take her leave,wings don’t spread themselves, sugar."

As you were taking your leave off the platform, you dared to lock eyes with Remmick, now standing like a shadow carved from moonlight at the back of the room. His expression was unreadable, but his stare was relentless,hungry, fixed, like it was tethered to your skin.

You gave him a slow, sultry wink, letting your lips curl into the kind of smile that could bless or damn a man. A final tease. A warning. Or maybe… an invitation.

The moment hung between you like a pulled thread.

Then you turned, letting your hips sway with purpose as you disappeared behind the velvet curtain, the echo of your heels clicking like a countdown.

But even offstage, out of the light, you could still feel him watching.

And something in you knew,you hadn’t seen the last of Remmick tonight.

Backstage, the lights were dimmer, cooler, but the air still clung heavy to your skin,thick with sweat, smoke, and the faint perfume of desire. You leaned against the vanity, wings slung half-off your shoulders, your chest still rising and falling with the high of performance.

“Damn,” you breathed with a laugh, dragging your fingers through your hair. “They ate it up tonight.”

You peeled off a glove with a practiced flick, tossing it onto the chair beside you. The mirror caught your reflection,flushed cheeks, lipstick slightly smudged, eyes glittering like mischief. You tilted your chin up and murmured to yourself, half-joking, half-wary:

“And there he was again. Lurking like a ghost with a hard-on.”

You stepped out of your heels, groaning softly in relief, and padded across the dressing room in nothing but your satin underwear and pasties. A shimmer of glitter still dusted your thighs, catching in the light.

“He’s got that look like he’d carve my name into his ribs if I asked nice.” You chuckled to yourself, but it didn’t quite reach your stomach. That same cold little flutter stayed there, coiled like a secret.

Then... The floorboard creaked outside the door.

Your voice dropped, quieter now, breathier. “You always watching, sugar? Or are you finally gonna knock like a gentleman?”

A pin-dropping pause came… then, like molasses slipping through cracks in old wood, that familiar Mississippi drawl oozed through the closed door.

“Ya gon’ keep talkin’ to the air, or ya finally ready to let me in, Songbird?”

His voice was low,smooth, smoky, and just a little too calm. Like a man who already knew the answer. Like he wasn’t askin’ for permission… just bein’ polite.

You didn’t answer right away. Your hand hovered near the doorknob, heart thudding against your ribs in a rhythm that was part fear, part thrill.

He chuckled on the other side, the sound deep and warm like bourbon gone bad.

“I watched ya up there tonight… all that lace and temptation, shinin’ like sin under those lights. Lord help me, ya make a man ache just watchin’.”

You swallowed, throat dry.

“You call that dancin’, or was that somethin’ just for me?”

There was a scrape as he leaned in closer,so close you could hear the whisper of breath against the crack in the door.You retreated to your vanity,hairbrush in hand,plopping down in your satin chair with a huff.

“Ya keep winkin’ at me like that, darlin’, and I’ma start thinkin’ ya want me to come in.”

You set down your hairbrush with a sharp scoff, turning towards the door,twisting half your body, head locked at the decorated wooden door that separates an angel and the devil.

"You don’t know a damn thing about me, Remmick. But I know plenty about men like you,always showing up with sweet talk and chains, tryin’ to tame a woman who’s finally learned how to fly."

Then Remmick went quiet.

The sudden silence unsettled you,he was usually all charm and chatter, a man who filled every crack in the room with his voice. But now... nothing.

And then, low and unexpected, his voice slid through the door like a blade:

“That what your daddy taught ya, huh?”

Your thin rose-colored robe flared behind you like smoke as you stormed to the door, yanking it open with a fury you didn’t bother to hide. And there he was,Remmick, leaning lazy against the door frame, that same damn sharp,sinister smile curling at the edges of his mouth like he’d already won.

“You smug, twisted bastard,” you spat, eyes blazing. “You don’t get to stand there throwin’ Daddy’s name at me like it means a goddamn thing. You don’t know shit about what I’ve crawled through to get here.”

You stepped outside into his space without hesitation, close enough to smell smoke, cologne, and a faint tint of iron.

“You think watchin’ me dance gives you the right to talk to me like you own me? Keep dreamin’, bloodsucker.”

Even in your anger, your eyes swept over him taking him in whether you meant to or not. A gold chain glinted against his pale skin, resting just above the exposed muscle of his chest, framed by a pale blue button-down left teasingly open. His sleek suede slacks hanged by suspenders hugged his frame with an effortless confidence, like he’d stepped straight out of a blues song and into your damn doorway.

Remmick raised his hands slowly in mock surrender, that devilish grin never quite leaving his face.

“Easy now, Songbird,” he drawled, voice smooth as molasses. “Ain’t tryin’ to start a war. Just makin’ conversation.”

He tilted his head, eyes gleaming with something darker...something knowing.

“I mean, it’s not exactly a secret, is it? Small town, big pulpit. Everybody knew ya daddy was the fire-and-brimstone type,screamin’ about sin on Sunday while his daughter snuck out the back in red lipstick and heels.”

He let out a low chuckle, slow and thick with wicked delight.

“You forget, sugar...I been watchin’ ya longer than ya think.”

Speaking of his eyes,through the storm of everything he seemed to know about you, you couldn’t help but stare. Up close, they were unnerving: pupils dilated wide, almost unnaturally so. For a moment, you wondered if it was just the dim, flickering light playing tricks, but then a chill ran down your spine,were they… red?

You were taken aback at first,his boldness, the way he knew things no stranger should. But then a slow smile crept across your face, fierce and unapologetic.

“Big whoop,” you said, voice steady and dripping with attitude. “You think just ‘cause you know my daddy’s a preacher, you got me all figured out? Honey, I’m more than that. I’m not ashamed,never was, never will be.”

You squared your shoulders, meeting his gaze head-on. “So go ahead, stare all you want. You’re gonna have to do better than creepy little tricks and half-remembered rumors to rattle me.”

He snickered,not at your fiery words, but at the way you’d forgotten to close your robe, leaving your supple, sweat-slicked skin on full display. The delicate pasties barely contained your breasts, and the thin satin of your underwear clung to your hips, shimmering faintly in the low light.

His voice dropped, thick with slow, dangerous seduction. “Careful now, Songbird… don’t want ta make it too easy for a man to get lost in all that.”

He stepped closer, eyes roaming openly, drinking in every curve you’d left exposed. “But I gotta say, ya wear that wildness...those delicate pieces,like they were made just for sinning. It’s wicked. And damn near irresistible.”

Your breath hitched at his words, heat blooming low in your belly. Instinctively, your thighs pressed together,slow, subtle, as if that tiny movement might ease the aching throb building between your legs. Or at least, you thought you were being subtle.

But Remmick’s gaze dropped, hungry and all too aware.

“Mmm…” he hummed, eyes glinting like embers. “There she is.”

He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, until the toe of his black boots brushed your bare toes. His tainted fingers ghosted along the edge of your robe, not touching...not quite...but close enough to make your skin burn.

“All that fire in your voice, but your body’s tellin’ me something sweeter,” he murmured, Southern drawl with a hint of Irish curling around the words like smoke. “Tell me, darlin’… ya gonna keep pretending ya don’t want me, or are ya ready to stop playin’ holy when we both know better?”

A sharp breath hitched in your throat, and you spoke before you could second-guess the desire laced in your voice."Door’s open, Remmick. Let’s see if your mouth matches your hands."

He didn’t wait for another invitation.He backed you through entry to the dressing room.The door clicked shut behind him, sealing you both in a room thick with heat, sweat, and unspoken hunger.

He looked at you like you were something sacred...and already his.

His hand rose, fingers brushing your jaw so gently it made you ache. Calloused thumbs traced the corner of your mouth, then dragged slowly down the side of your neck like he was memorizing the shape of you. Your breath caught.

“Ya sure, Songbird?” he murmured, voice rough and low, barely more than breath against your lips.

You didn’t answer with words,you didn’t need to. Instead, you leaned in and kissed him.

At first, it was soft,just a brush of mouths, hesitant and unbearably tender. But it cracked something open. Remmick growled low in his throat, and suddenly his hands were in your hair, pulling you closer, crushing your body to his. The kiss deepened, turned desperate, hungry. Your robe slipped further off your shoulders, forgotten, baring more of your flushed skin to the chill of the room,and the heat of his touch.

His lips moved like he was starving for you, tasting every part of your mouth with slow, deliberate strokes. Tongue, teeth, breath,everything syncopated, everything burning. You whimpered into him, arms wrapping around his neck as your bodies molded together.

His hands roamed...down your back, gripping your hips, pulling you against the hard press of him. You gasped as he ground into you, the sensation enough to make your knees threaten to give.

“Ya feel that?” he breathed against your mouth. “That’s what you do to me.”

You kissed him again, fiercer this time, fingers clawing into his shirt, wanting more, needing more. The air between you was thick with sweat, lust, and something deeper,something possessive, dark, and dangerously tender.

And still… neither of you pulled away.

You pulled back just enough to breathe, lips swollen, your chest rising and falling against his. His eyes flicked down to your mouth, then lower to where your robe had slipped halfway off your shoulders, hanging like a whispered promise.

Remmick's voice was a low rumble, thick with desire.

“Look at ya,” he murmured, brushing a knuckle across your collarbone. “All fire and fight, but underneath it… you’re burnin’. Ya know how long I’ve waited to feel that heat?”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you met his gaze,steady, unashamed,and slid your hands down the rest of your flowing robe. The silk loosened, falling open like petals. Your bare skin gleamed beneath the dim vanity lights, dewy with sweat and stage heat, still adorned only in your glittering pasties and barely-there satin underwear.

His breath hitched this time.

“Goddamn, darlin’…” he muttered, eyes devouring every inch of you. “Ya stand there lookin’ like temptation made flesh. Ya really want me to believe ya ain’t been wantin’ this?”

You shrugged the robe from your shoulders and let it fall to the floor, pooling at your feet like a quiet surrender.

“What I want, Remmick,” you said, voice low and sultry, “is for you to stop talkin’ and touch me.”

He stepped into you like he’d been unchained, one hand tangling in your hair, the other gripping your waist with just enough force to make you gasp. His mouth was on yours again,hotter, deeper, and far less patient. Your back hit the vanity as his tongue slid against yours, and the world narrowed to the taste of him, the weight of his body, and the rough edge of his voice growling against your lips:

“You’ve got no idea what you’ve started, Songbird…”

You pressed your lips to the hollow of his throat, kissing your way down slowly...tasting salt, heat, and something ancient humming beneath his skin. He shivered under your touch, like even he wasn’t prepared for how much he wanted you.

“You burn too easy for a monster,” you whispered against him, breathless.

But it was you who trembled when Remmick sank to his knees.

His hands slid up your thighs, rough palms warm against your skin as he looked up at you through hooded lashes. Something in his gaze made your breath catch. His eyes,normally dark, smoldering,were glowing now. Deep, unnatural red. Lit from within like embers waiting to catch flame.

Still, you didn’t pull away.

Your thin robe had already slipped from your shoulders, leaving your skin exposed, glittering with sweat and stage dust. The soft glow from the vanity lights made you look otherworldly, your pasties and delicate panties clinging to your curves like remnants of some sacred costume. A halo once worn now forgotten.

You were still an angel...but there was nothing pure left between you now.

Remmick’s lips found your inner thigh, pressing reverent, open-mouthed kisses higher and higher. You whimpered, thighs tensing around his shoulders, your body already strung tight with anticipation. A low, dark chuckle vibrated against your skin.

“Ya feel that?” he murmured, voice hoarse with hunger. “Even angels can ache. Even angels want to be ruined.”

Then came the sting.

You cried out, not from pain, but from the way the sharp scrape of his fangs blurred straight into pleasure. A warm trickle followed the bite, and Remmick groaned, tongue dragging across the wound like he was tasting something divine.

Your breath hitched. Your head lolled back against the mirror. You moaned...long, low, and broken.

Somewhere in the haze, you registered the blood, the burn, his red eyes gleaming up at you like a predator halfway through a prayer.

But you didn’t stop him.

“So sweet,” he growled against your skin. “Like heaven tryin’ to forget what it was.”

You could’ve pushed him away. Could’ve screamed. But instead, your fingers tangled in his dark sweat-soaked hair, pulling him closer.

And in that moment, you weren’t falling.

You were offering yourself.

His fingers curled around the waistband of your thin,soaked, panties, dragging them down in one slow, reverent motion. You gasped, hips lifting slightly to help him, your breath coming in soft, shaky waves.

"Remmick..." you whispered, the name falling from your lips like a prayer caught between guilt and longing.

The fabric slid over your thighs, your knees, down to your ankles. He helped you step out of them, hands grazing your calves, your skin electric under his touch. When he looked up at you,eyes still glowing that unnatural red,you whimpered softly, thighs trembling from the way he looked at you. Like a man starving for salvation but choosing sin instead.

"Please..." you breathed, not even sure what you were asking for.

His hands smoothed up your thighs again, this time gripping you with more intent. His thumbs pressed gently into the soft skin just beneath your hips as he leaned in, his mouth hovering just inches from where you needed him most.

"Say it again," he rasped. "Say my name like that again."

You swallowed hard, breath hitching as your fingers dug into the edge of the vanity for support.

"Remmick," you whimpered, voice trembling. "God, you’re driving me crazy... I-I need you."

He let out a low, hungry growl in response, and kissed the inside of your thigh again,closer this time. So close you gasped, your hips jerking forward as a moan escaped you, high and breathless.

"You're shakin'," he murmured, voice like velvet and smoke. "Your body knows who it belongs to, even if your mouth keeps tryin' to argue."

You moaned again, louder now, head falling back as heat pooled deep in your core.

"Shut up and touch me, Remmick," you breathed, voice half-sob, half-command.

He chuckled darkly, hands tightening on your hips.

"As you wish, Aingeal. But once I start… I ain’t lettin’ ya go."

He then descended himself on your quivering,soaking cunt.You yelped as he used his tongue with quick precision,shaking hands urging to hold on to something found his sweaty onyx locks.He hungrily used his tongue to find your clit,his right hand inserting two fingers in your velvety heat,pushing in and out in a slow rhythm.His dark stubble tickling your inner thighs mixed in with the slight pain from his bite.

“Mmm… ya taste like sin, Songbird,” he growled, licking deeper, “and I swear,I’ll never get enough of this sweet little pussy.”

Remmick groaned against your soaked flesh, the vibration sending shock waves through you. His tongue worked faster now,more ravenous, more desperate...lapping and sucking like a man starved for divinity.

You cried out, back arching, hips rolling down against his face as the rhythm of his mouth and fingers pushed you higher.

“F-fuck—Remmick!” you gasped, fingers clawing into his hair. “Don’t stop—please, don’t you dare stop—”

He moaned at your plea like it fed him, fingers curling inside you just right, his lips locked to your clit with unrelenting purpose.

“That’s it,Aingeal ,” he growled between licks. “Let go for me. Cum on my tongue—I want all of it.”

Your breath came in broken gasps, thighs trembling around his head, that sweet pressure building fast,too fast,until it snapped. You came with a loud, shaking moan, crying out his name as your walls clenched around his fingers, your body shuddering beneath the weight of it.Squirting out your nectar which he so gracefully licked up,drool cascading his lower jaw.

But even as you collapsed back against the vanity, dazed and glowing, he didn’t stop.

“Told you,” he murmured against your sensitive, soaked folds, voice dark with satisfaction, “once I start...I don’t stop.”

You were still trembling...slick, flushed, breathless,your legs barely able to hold you up against the vanity. But Remmick didn’t give you time to come down.

He rose slowly from between your thighs, licking your release from his lips with eyes still glowing blood-red. The sight alone made your breath hitch again.

“Mine,” he growled, voice rough with lust and something deeper. “You understand me, Songbird? This pussy—” his fingers dragged through your wetness, making you whimper, “—this body, these sounds you make? They all belong to me now.”

You could only moan in response, thighs trembling at the sheer force behind his words.

Remmick stepped back just slightly, only to begin undoing his shirt,slow, calculated, like he wanted you to watch. Each button slipped free with the sound of rising anticipation, exposing the strong cut of his chest, his defined collarbones, and the sharp lines that dipped toward his waistband.

“You’re not the only one that’s been aching,” he muttered, pulling the shirt off and tossing it to the floor. “Ya walk around in those little costumes, dancin like ya don’t know what ya do to me. Like you don’t feel my eyes on ya.”

You swallowed hard, still breathless, gaze locked on the defined muscles of his torso, the low trail of hair disappearing beneath the waistband of his slacks. He watched you watch him, and smirked like the devil he was.

“Ya keep lookin’ at me like that,” he said, undoing the button of his slacks with one hand, “and I’m gonna ruin ya right here. Right now. Ain’t nobody comin’ to save ya, Aingeal.”

His pants hit the floor, and your mouth went dry at the sight of him throbbing,hard, heavy, and already leaking for you.

He stepped forward again, grabbing your waist, and pulled you flush against him,skin to skin, heartbeat to hunger.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he whispered against your lips, voice dark and trembling with control he was seconds from losing. “Say it, and I’ll make ya feel it everywhere.”

“P-please… Remmick, I’m yours...all yours… just… take me…”

That was all he needed. His smirk deepened, devilish and dark, as he bared his full set of fangs,a silent promise of both danger and desire. The air between you crackled with tension, thick and electric, as he pressed closer, hands framing your waist with possessive strength.

His eyes locked onto yours, burning with an ancient hunger as he whispered against your lips, “You belong to me,Aingeal.”

Slowly, deliberately, he aligned himself with you, the heat of his body pressing into yours, every nerve in your skin alight. The world fell away,the only sound your ragged breaths and the steady beat of two hearts colliding.

Then, with a careful yet urgent motion, he entered you.

The sudden force of his thrust made the entire vanity jolt, the edge biting into your lower back as the mirror banged sharply against the wall. The rhythmic pounding echoed through the room, each brutal movement sending a jolt of pleasure so deep it made your breath break into ragged moans.

Your hands fumbled behind you, trying to hold onto anything...him, the slick surface of the vanity, your sanity,but it was slipping, slipping fast. The wood banged again, louder this time, in sync with the rhythm of his hips, every thrust a violent declaration.

“Remmick—oh, God—yes, yes!” you cried out, voice wrecked, your thighs trembling, nails dragging down his back as your body surrendered completely.

“Say it again,” he demanded, breath hot and heavy, “Say who ya belong to while I’m buried inside this perfect fuckin’ body.”

Remmick moved with purpose, each thrust a declaration, each touch a vow. His hands roamed your back, pulling you closer, as he buried himself deeper into your core. The ache in your hips was fire and desire wrapped into one, and your moans filled the space between you,raw, desperate, unrestrained.

“You’re mine,” he growled, voice thick with lust and possessiveness. “Every inch of ya.”

His eyes darkened to a stormy crimson as he claimed you with a force that stole your breath away. Without hesitation, Remmick thrust deep and hard, the sharp heat of him filling you completely, setting every nerve ablaze. Your body arched instinctively into his relentless rhythm, breath catching in ragged moans that spilled from your lips.

“That’s it,Aingeal ,” he growled, voice thick with hunger and need. “You’re mine to take, mine to claim,mine to keep.”

You whimpered, lost in the fierce collision of pain and pleasure, the way his possessive hands gripped your hips like he was never letting go. His movements were brutal, demanding, like a predator marking his territory,unyielding and fierce.

His voice dropped lower, filled with a dark promise that sent a shiver down your spine.

“You’re made for m-me...to carry my mark, my blood, my legacy.”

Each thrust pushed deeper, more urgent, as if he was determined to bind you to him forever. Your moans grew louder, mingling with his low growls, filling the room with the sound of a desire that was as ancient as it was overwhelming.

Your breath hitched with every brutal thrust, your body trembling beneath his relentless rhythm. You clung to him, nails digging into the hard planes of his back as waves of pleasure and need crashed over you.

“Remmick,” you gasped, voice trembling but fierce, “fuck—don’t stop. I’m yours… take me deeper, make me yours.”

Your moans spilled out,loud and unrestrained,as the fire inside you burned hotter with each movement. Your hips pressed back against him, chasing that impossible edge, begging for more.

He growled low in response, eyes blazing with possession.

“That’s my Aingeal ,” he snarled, voice thick with raw hunger. “Made to bear my mark, to be mine in every way.”

You shuddered as his hands gripped you tighter, pulling you flush against his pounding heat.

“I want you to scream my name when I’m inside you, Songbird,” he demanded, voice a dark promise.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, breath ragged, voice urgent and dripping with desire:

“I will, Remmick—I’m yours. I’m all yours. Don’t stop. I need you to claim me.”

The room spun around you, the only truth the fire burning deep inside,the fierce, unbreakable bond forged in breathless moans and desperate whispers.

His thrusts grew more urgent, each one driving deeper, harder, setting your body aflame with need. You gasped and moaned, fingers clutching at him like a lifeline as waves of pleasure built in your core.

“Remmick,” you cried out, voice trembling with desperation, “please… don’t stop—I’m so close.”

His grip tightened, holding you firmly as he matched your rhythm with unrelenting passion. The room echoed with your gasps and his low growls, the heat between you rising to a fever pitch.

With a final, shuddering cry, your body tensed and released, a flood of pleasure crashing over you that left you breathless and trembling.Slick,white cream coats both of your inner thighs.

But he wasn’t finished.

Drawing back only slightly, Remmick’s eyes burned with dark desire as he pushed deeper, filling you completely, claiming you with a fierce possessiveness that stole your breath away.

“Mine,” he growled, voice thick and raw, “every last inch of ya.”

You trembled in his arms, the intensity of his presence overwhelming, the dark, hungry love of the vampire marking you as his forever.

As your climax began to ebb, Remmick’s fierce grip didn’t loosen. His breath was hot against your skin, his lips trailing a path up your neck with slow, torturous intent.

You shivered as his sharp fangs grazed your skin,then sank in, sending a jolt of fire pulsing through your veins.

The world blurred, your breath hitching in a mixture of pain and overwhelming pleasure. His crimson eyes locked onto yours one last time, filled with an ancient hunger and dark promise.

“Sleep now, my Aingeal ,” he whispered, voice soft and possessive, as the shadows pulled at the edges of your vision.

A/N:thank you for reading i'm gonna have at least 5 more smut fic released about Remmick and then soon start taking requests heheeh.Also fic was inspired by this song so listen while ya read my lil sinners tehee

[ansitru]

Hey y'all!! I'm so incredibly proud to announce I'm a part of Spellbound Stitched Vol. 3: The Bookmark Book!

My pattern, the botanical bookmark, is one of 27 absolutely gorgeous designs by various amazing designers in the cross-stitch community. 🖤

You can get your hands on this amazing collection starting now until the 17th of November, by donating $15 USD to one of the 5 chosen literacy charities.

The link below has more info on where to donate and how to get the patterns. Just know that you're getting 27 kickass patterns AND are supporting amazing charities at the same time. 🥹

https://bit.ly/4fiQEcO

BIG thanks to @badstitched for pulling this whole project together, and appreciate you for inviting me to contribute!

--

And, as always... the floriography of the flowers in my design explained:

🌻 Osmunda Regalis: dreams, wisdom

🌻 Papaver Orientale: imagination

🌻 Anthemis Nobilis: ingenuity, wisdom

🌻 Aquilegia: wisdom

🌻 Prunus Rainier: good education

🌻 Helianthus: warmth, wisdom

[saladscream]

Merlin’s forearms are a mystery.

Truly.

Now, in the interest of putting things into context, everyone within Arthur’s circle of daily acquaintances can be said to boast a pair of forearms (except that stable lad who still does a good job with the one remaining arm at his disposal). So, with the exception of Alfred, everyone has a pair of functioning upper limbs. Some of those forearms are hairy, some are smooth. Some are dark, some are pale. Some are spindly, and some are Percival’s. But the one thing they all have in common is that whatever their appearance, they all serve their purpose – and Arthur has absolutely no interest in them beyond the tasks they can accomplish.

Therefore, pray someone explain to Arthur why it is that the sight of Merlin’s bare forearms inevitably makes his mouth run dry.

It is a complete and irksome mystery.

Arthur is inclined to think that they are, on the whole, just regular forearms. But the way they affect him is both baffling and irresistible.

Percival’s battering rams are arguably a thing of beauty, yet Arthur has never had his heart stumble in his chest while gazing upon them wringing laundry. Elyan has the steel arms of a blacksmith for Heaven’s sake, and Arthur’s breath has never hitched in his throat from catching a glimpse of them carrying hauberks and assorted weaponry. Nor has he lost his train of thought from being unexpectedly confronted with Leon’s fine forearms glistening wet and dripping with bath water.

No – all these things have only ever happened for and with Merlin’s forearms.

Arthur would like to think he is suffering from some kind of weird affliction, or maybe some sort of pointless enchantment. But it all feels much too shamefully visceral and instinctive to be so easily excused by exterior influences.

When Arthur tries to be rational about his untoward obsession, he can argue objectively that Merlin’s forearms are aesthetically average. Neither too hairy nor too smooth. Neither too pale nor too dark. Neither too thin nor too thick.

They’re just… long and solid and beautifully virile.

And they make Arthur’s heart do sickening flips in his ribcage whenever they’re on display.

It is just as well that Merlin favours ill-fitting garments that are too long in the sleeves, for otherwise the spellbound prince would probably get very little done – these forearms are impossible to ignore when they’re in the room in all their twin, deceptively strong, masculine glory.

They’re so unchaste somehow. Arthur finds them entrancing.

Who even heard of such a thing as entrancing forearms?!

A mixed clamour erupts in the tavern, half-cheer, half-groan. Merlin has won his arm-wrestling match, much to the uninformed bystanders’ dismay. Arthur’s knights are in stitches, though, and a raucous Gwaine raises Merlin’s victorious arm high in celebration. He rattles him so vigorously in his drunken mirth that Merlin ends up chuckling with his tunic askew and a more plunging neckline than intended.

Which means Arthur is awarded this rarest of impossible visions – a wanton sliver of pale chest – and has to down his tankard of mead a little too fast to put out the nascent heat in the pit of his stomach.

Tagged: @miyriu @neptunesyellowsands @dollopole @shuukichan @merlininthedogpark @kintsugikid-moonysversion @toomanyfanficsbruh @blueliketheclues @solnishkomoon @evedaser @storigami @bertytravelsfar

1 - Merlin's eyes

2 - Merlin's lips

3 - Merlin's hands

4 - Merlin's throat

5 - Merlin's hair

6 - Merlin's ears

7 - Merlin's legs

8 - Merlin's forearms

9 - Merlin's chest

10 - Merlin's penis

11 - Merlin's arse

[muntitled]

Headlines & Headaches

-' Spiderman!Jake x Fem!Reader

-' Summary: All he did was make you worry and for that... You'd make him pay.

-' Warnings: Established Relationship, Loser!Jake, Language, Violence, Bruises, Slight Angst, Fluff, Spiderman AU, Mentions of Shootings, Jealousy, Weaponizing!Heeseung, Drinking, Smut (+18) mdni, Grinding, Dirty Talk, Dom/Sub Themes, Cunnilinghus, Fingering, Degradation Kink, Make Up sex

<3

You are dreadfully aware of every single millisecond that passes without you by his side. While the seconds bleed into nanoseconds, it introduces a new string of endless possibilities that may or may not occur while Jake is out.

Everything that would and could go wrong.

Imaginations of Jake being subject to wayward punches and stray bullets ran through your head like a freight train.

The boy was clumsy enough to get bitten by a radioactive spider for God's sake. He is quite literally drawn to disaster.

Perhaps you would have found it attractive if it was not the bane of your very existence.

"I think this is why I'm attracted to you." Jake had said absentminedly the previous night. "You fuss over me way too much, and I like it way too much, and that says more about me than it does you."

"Please don't move too much, I'm almost done-" his big doe eyes bore dangerously into yours while you concluded stitching a wound on the side of his face. Thankfully, it had been a shallow laceration, but it still punctured a nasty rip in his mask.

"I also really like it when you yell at me, or like scold me really softly. It gets me excited."

You ignore his giggles, sighing while your heart panged at the bruises scattered across his face.

"Does that mean I have mommy issues, Miss Psychologist?"

Another sigh automatically unsheathed itself from your lungs as you pressed a disinfected cotton ball to his cheek and watched him wince. "I'm not a psychologist-"

"Yet." Said Jake.

"Yet." You nodded, "And you know I don’t believe in any of Freud's incest logic."

"Fuck," Jake cursed under his breath, which you intially thought was from wound repair but you quickly found out was from something else.

"You're so smart," he had affirmed with wide, soaped over eyes.

"You're quite literally studying biochemistry which is far better than my silly little psychology degree."

"And humble too!? I think I'm in love!" Jake was quick to grab ahold of your wrist.

"Jake, let me finish-"

Before you could even think, he placed your palm directly on the bulge that had grown underneath his suit, "I need you, okay? Baby, I always need you," while his eyes fluttered shut, mumbling "my pretty girl," under his breath, you had been completely and utterly spellbound by his use of the word 'need'. You were pleasantly surprised at how affected you were by the notion that your outrageously smart, charismatic and not to mention literally powerful boyfriend could ever really 'need' someone like you. 'Want' is okay. 'Want' is safe and free of complexities and obligations but 'need' extended far beyond letting him fuck you as senseless as he did last night...

But the worry was a neverending story. It hit you simultaneously - multiple little televisions streaming every possible kind of disaster all at once. Everything that might happen while Jake is out saving Seoul, potentially needing you and you not being there.

Even the deafening blare of the music leaking out of mysterious speakers failed to keep all the dreaded inevitabilities at bay. With a solo cup of soju in one hand and your phone in the other, you opt to gaze down at your phone quivering visciously in your hand. The minimal amount of alcohol floating in your bloodstream does little to hinder your functionality as you refresh the chat.

Jake's contact detail attached to a cute little picture of him stuffing his face with sushi sends a viscious pang to your heart as you sit robotically on the end of the smokers couch, nestled under a cloud of perfume and cannabis. Around you, a feverish game of truth or dare has befallen with people on the adjacent couch but your mind is elsewhere.

In Jake's business, death would be inevitable. All that matters is the final message you sent. One that he failed to respond to.

[22:36] Check in, Spider.

To which he would allay your troubles by swiftly and quickly responding with:

[22:38] checking in

Always without the improper punctuation as if to let you know he was currently very busy swinging about high rises.

This time however, he failed to check in and you're left stranded in the living room of a house party in Hongdae, with no actual clue as to where in the city your boyfriend had found himself.

"I'm sure your nerd boyfriend doesn't need you to smother him all the time," it was the drunken slurs of a fellow classmate, who's grating words succeed in peeling your eyes away from your screen momentarily.

"You're not his mother." Said Heeseung with a grossly charismatic smirk, only for you to stab him with the deadliest glare you can muster. Your jaw is locked, and your phone is suffocating in your iron grip.

"And I'm sure you didn't need to smother your hair in so much hair gel, but alas, we can't all have nice things."

Ignoring the hum of praise for your rebuttal, you press send on the second message:

[23:11] This party sucks... please check in.

"Instead of wallowing all by yourself, you could actually try to have some fun. Perhaps loosen yourself up in the process?" Heeseung sits way too close, his side, pressing into your side without a lick of space to separate you too, but the space lessens to an even bigger degree as he leans sideways. Your head is fixed on your lap as his lips brush past your ear with the unmistakable hint of soju wafting against your neck. "Truth or dare."

"What?" You ask, utterly discombobulated, having seemingly forgotten where you are. Heeseung’s Cheshire cat grin is unwavering as he asks, "Truth or-"

"Oh shit- someone top the volume!"

Almost like clockwork, a sea of gasps settle amongst the other patrons congesting the living room. You send Heeseung a furrowed brow to look at the tv past his grinning face, only to be immediately met with an utterly nauseating scene splashed across national television. The news anchors' tone of voice robs the scene of its devastation.

"Patrons say the shootout which occured only moments before in the crowded streets of Itaewon could have been an 'unmistakable act of terror' were it not for the friendly neighborhood Spiderman who appeared just in time to rid the gunman of his bullets. Witnesses are in awe of the Spiderman's innate, superhuman reflexes which allowed him to-"

You fail to keep the panic from exploding onto your face as the news anchor drones on and on in the background. Around you, your classmates make a quip or two before quickly losing interest. This is nothing new.

"Anyway," Says Heeseung, "Truth or Dare?"

But you feel utterly sick to your stomach with the notion that Jake flew blindly in between an open crowd and a loaded gun. Heroism be damned, what would any of it mean if he ended up fucking dead? Your boyfriend had the capacity to flood your entire brain, therefore prompting Heeseung to repeat his question.

"Princess? Truth or Dare-"

You realize then that you are dreadfully obsessive. Always fearing your partner may fulfill the inevitable and get hurt and leave you. You couldn't bare to live in your own skin if you turned out to be something that Jake left behind...

"Dare." The voice immediately has you snapping your head away from the tv. Everything happens at once. It is as if the sun is peeking through the crowds, bathing you in unforgettable light as you look up to find the one man you've been searching for all night. Your mouth hangs open as Jake sits directly beside you on the armrest of the couch. Dressed in a cool and comfortable long sleeve shirt, as boyish as ever. As normal as ever.

His body heat immediately restores a once thirsty, inexplicable part of your soul, rendering you a muted mess.

"Shit was crazy," Says Jake, pointing vaguely at the screen of the television, before looking back down at you with sly smile on his lips, "Or so I hear."

His gaze is unwavering as he pushes his thick rimmed glasses further up his nose. Your eyes are restlessly taking all of him in. Scanning every crevice of his face for any unfamiliar bruise while assessing the state of his perfectly imperfect state of curly black hair. No signs of his double life.

"Sorry bro," says Heeseung, effectively breaking the spell between the two of you. Jake very begrudgingly removes his eyes from the side of your head before looking at Heeseung, who says, "You've got to wait your turn-"

Jake practically whines out loud, as petulant as a child when he throws his head back and says, "Can't you just dare her to fuck me? She is my girlfriend..."

"Interesting," Heeseung responds as slick as silver, "We all pegged you as a virgin type, way to prove us wrong."

Jake leans forward, his fingers drawing odd circles on your shoulder as he says to Heeseung, "You fucking-"

"Give my turn to someone else!" You rush to interject before Jake embarrassed himself in front of your entire department. When did he have the time to consume alcohol because he certainly is not sober?

You're bombarded by a flurry of conflicting emotions as you secure your hand around Jake's wrist and drag him through the party and up the stairs. Your face is utterly muddled as you try to sieve through your emotions of anger at him for ignoring your messages and for having to be a superhero. All the while, Jake lets you pull his him away, a lazy smile dancing on his face as he signals a thumbs up to passersby.

It is only when you're in the confines of the homeowners guest room that you're able to hear yourself think beyond the humdrum of hip hop music. Your head pounds with the force of your emotion and you're quick to pull Jake inside, before pushing him against the slamming door.

"Don't throw me around, I'll cum," He whines petulantly, melting into the door before squeezing his eyes shut. You give him a murderous glare as you crowd him against the door.

"No message back, Jaeyun!? You're utterly unbelievable-"

"And you're utterly gorgeous. Is this a new dress?" You slap away his hand away skimming the lining of your lace mini dress - an outfit you would've liked him to appreciate at the beginning of the night, before you found out he ditched you in favor of psychotic lunatics.

"All I ask of you is to follow through with checking in! Message me! Even if it's a freaking full stop or an emoji! Even if you're not in a position to type out a full sentence - which is complete and utter bullshit by the way, I've seen you and your high-rise selfies." You're unaware that Jake's slightly tipsy mind is flooded with nothing but lust and adrenaline from yet another successful day of protecting his city. He's swimming in the high of gratitude, which only multiplied once he got to lay eyes on you and your black dress, your slightly drunken hooded eyes, and your glossy, lined lips. Lips that are very firmly cursing him the hell out. He really tries to be a proactive listener and take your scolding but it once again goes straight to his dick, and his hooded eyes drift from your eyes, to your lips, to the warmth of your, to your unmarked neck, to-

"Are you seriously staring at my tits right now!?"

He immediately snaps his head up to you, inadvertently pulling you close towards him until your front was flush against his front. "Let me suck on them please- I've missed you so, so much today."

You could feel your defenses waning. A boyfriend like Jake was a dangerous thing to have, especially since he harbored the power to distract you so easily from your anger. Your mind is fuzzy as Jake lowers his lips into the crook of your neck while his fingers make careful contact with the skin of your thigh.

"Missed hearing your voice, criminals are no fun." He murmurs into your neck, already sporting that needy little of tone of voice that he knew would always succeed in getting you wet. "Missed hearing you, and smelling you," his lips drift against your neck, spraying warm kisses along your collar as a distraction from his hand slipping further up your skirt...

"Do you know how boring it actually is, half the time? I still have to make police feel like they're actually doing something so some moments I'm just perched on high rises, left to my thoughts" He presses a kiss to the supple flesh of your cleavage spilling out of the dress' neckline, "Do you know what I think about, pretty girl?"

You shake your head. You're only really aware of Jake's hands settled on your hip under the skirt of the dress as he lifts himself from your neck. There is a small smile on his lips as he is now the one pushing you backwards.

"I think about you. I think about kissing you," his voice is airy and teasing, "I think about hugging you," the back of your knees connect with the edge of the double bed which he effortlessly pushes you down on, "I think about smelling you, and feeling you and fucking you," Jake's movements bleed into urgency, at having you splayed on the bed. His hands are restless on your body as he lifts your skirt to push your underwear to the side, unable to divulge anymore time to undressing. He kneels his tall frame on the ground as he pulls your thighs towards the edge of the bed. Your knees are framing his face and he looks at you from between your shaking legs.

"P-Please, Jake..." all your anger and all your sensibilities have all melted away in the wake of your boyfriend blowing teasingly against your exposed core. The very sight of how utterly drenched you are sends Jake into a frenzy.

"Fuck, babe. Don't beg like that- I told you, you're gonna make me cum."

He is unable to keep his gaze off your glistening cunt and the arousal that he spreads against your inner thighs.

"F-Fuck I need to taste you-" serves as your one and only warning before he lowers his lips to your clit. You scream into the air, back arching off the covers as Jake sticks his tongue out and begins to lap furiously as your vagina. He encircles a large hand around your thigh, securing your pussy firmly against your lips with no escape. You're left to endure his needy whimpering as he kisses your cunt with absolute fervour.

"F-Fuck, I- I think it's too much-" You attempt to pull away yet again but this boy is strong and very fucking needy and he refuses to let you get away from his lips suctioning your cunt while his tongue delved inside...

Your hips immediately grind your pussy further against him, only eliciting a whorish moan from him before he quickly rises. His curls bounce as he nods profusely, "Fuck, yes, baby... use my mouth okay? Please, please, please-" by the third 'please' he's attached his lips to your pussy once more, brain utterly flooded with lust and satisfaction at the feeling of your hips pushing against his face. Your movements have him nosing your cunt, evoking another strained moan from you - a moan so dirty and slutty, is has him automatically bumping his bulge against the bedpost to rhythm of his tongue moving in and out of you.

"Are you going to cum for me, Pretty Girl?" He asks, swiftly replacing his tongue with his fingers which slide so easily into your slippery cunt it had him grinding further into the bed. "Fuck- you're taking my fingers so well, baby!" His glasses fog up and clear in intervals as he nears his releases. He honestly doesn't know whether to watch how your face contorts into the glory of your orgasm or whether to watch your cunt swallow his fingers.

"You're gonna cum by humping my fingers, aren't you baby?" He more so tells himself, egging his impending orgasm along with a slow, nod while his fingers spear in and out of your pussy.

"F-Fuck, I think I'm cumming-"

You're most certainly cumming a nanosecond later, and the sight of your parted lips and the sound of your words have Jake whining into the air before melting into his own orgasm from rutting against the bed. His head melts in between your legs, while he completely makes out with your cunt and his fingers continue to fuck you through your orgasm. Your body is floating.

Gone are the worries.

Gone is the sliver of anger.

You're vaguely aware that this might have been Jake's plan all along, but you can not even bring yourself to be angry. Not when he is delivering such sincere kisses on your quivering, aching cunt.

"What the heck are you doing?" You ask, panting heavily as you watch your boyfriend be so utterly transfixed by your vagina, he's taken to whispering to it.

"I think she wants me to cum inside her next time. She's saying you should go on the pill-"

You muster enough energy to roll your eyes before saying, "take your fingers out of me-"

"But I like having my fingers inside of you-"

"Jake-"

"And I'm sorry, okay?" He lowers his head to press a gentle kiss to your inner thigh, "I'm sorry for not responding to your message. I promise to check in. Always."

There is no stopping your heart from melting, especially not when he is around.

"Okay," you say with a shaky breathe, "I believe you,"

[angeliccss]

Home-Spun: Stitch by Stitch

Pairing: Lilia Calderu/Reader

Words: 2.5k

Chapter: 1/?

Summary: Lilia teaches you to sew, guiding your hands with quiet care. Between crooked stitches and whispered spells, love takes shape—soft, slow, and spellbound.

Warnings: Domestic fluff, Established Relationship, Sewing Lessons, Reader is head over heels, Sicilian.

AO3

You wake to the quiet rhythm of thread pulling through cloth, a steady sound like breathing. Somewhere on your left, Lilia is already at her worktable, bathed in the golden hush of early light. Her sewing needle glints with each precise motion, her shoulders loose, her expression soft with focus.

You stay still for a moment, watching her. She’s wearing one of her older blouses, sleeves rolled to her elbows, a pair of spectacles sliding low on her nose. She looks so peaceful there—like she belongs to the morning itself.

“Mm,” she murmurs without looking up. “Sei sveglia, tesoru miu?” Her voice is low, warm.

Are you awake, my darling?

You smile, stretching a little under the quilt she stitched herself. “Barely.” She finally turns, her eyes crinkling with affection. “Come here, baby. I’ve been sewing for an hour and missing you for just as long.”

The words wrap around you like honey. You pad over barefoot, drawn to her like always. You place a kiss on her crown, breathing in the scent of rosemary and old cotton.

“I like watching you sew,” you admit, leaning on the table beside her. Lilia hums, her fingers pausing just long enough to squeeze yours. “Then sit with me, amore.”

Lilia hums as she works, something old and wordless, the kind of tune that lives in a woman’s bones more than her memory. Her fingers move with practiced ease, the needle slipping in and out of the fabric in quick, perfect stitches. She doesn’t even need to look. Her hands know the rhythm by heart.

The room smells like lavender and rosemary, sun-warmed cotton and dried rose petals. Herbs hang from the ceiling in tidy bundles—sage, thyme, a few sprigs of rue. Sunlight spills through the lace curtains in soft patches, catching on the floating dust and turning it gold. Along one wall, a row of half-finished dresses sways gently, like ghosts waiting to be stitched into something real.

You sit down beside her, as close as you can get without climbing into her lap—not that she’d mind. Lilia always makes space for you, always tilts toward your gravity. Her thigh brushes against yours under the table, and you lean into the warmth of her without thinking.

She smiles without looking up. “You’re always so touchy in the morning,” she murmurs, fond. “Like a little cat, curling up wherever it’s warm.” You grin. “Only where it smells like you.”

She laughs, low and rich, and her fingers pause just long enough to rest against your wrist. “Ti vogghiu beni, caru. You know that, se?”

I love you, darling

The words settle low in your chest, warm and steady. You nod, too full to speak.

Lilia lifts the needle again, still humming as she stitches. You watch her hands, fascinated. She sews like she breathes—easily, gracefully, without fuss. Every movement is confident. Every stitch, perfect. She’s so beautiful like this, so capable, so utterly her.

You sigh, softly. “I always wanted to learn how to sew. But no one ever taught me.” Lilia doesn’t stop sewing, but you feel her attention shift. “No one?” she murmurs.

You shake your head. “Not really. My mother always meant to, but she was always too busy. And then I got older, and it felt silly to ask. Like I missed my chance.”

She hums again, but this time it’s thoughtful. Her needle stills. She sets it down gently in the pincushion and turns fully to face you.

“I’ll teach you,” she says gently, brushing her knuckles over your cheek. “It’s never too late to learn. And you’ll never be silly for wanting to make something with your own hands.”

You meet her gaze. “Would you really teach me?” She smiles—slow, bright, and a little mischievous. “Of course, amore. We’ll start with threading the needle.”

You take the needle and thread from her, determined to do it right. You’ve seen her do it so many times—how hard can it be?

But the thread bends instead of slipping through. You try again. Miss. Your fingers are too clumsy, the eye too small. The more you focus, the more it seems to evade you, like it’s mocking your effort.

You huff a little under your breath, embarrassed. “Okay, maybe it’s… a little harder than it looks.” Lilia doesn’t tease. She just hums and sets her sewing aside completely. “Come here,” she says, tugging gently at your waist. “Sit with me.”

Before you can protest, she’s pulled you into her lap with practiced ease, wrapping one arm around your middle. Her legs are warm beneath yours, her breath soft against your neck.

“You don’t have to—” you start, but she’s already settling you into place, chin resting lightly on your shoulder. “Shh,” she says, voice amused and quiet. “Let me help.”

Her hands find yours—steady, sure—and she guides your fingers to hold the needle just so. Then she takes the thread and shows you the trick: how to pinch it close to the tip, how to steady your hand, how to breathe.

“Don’t rush it,” she murmurs. “It’s not a race. Just let it happen.”

You feel the warmth of her breath against your skin, the slow rhythm of her chest behind yours. With her hands around yours, the motion feels easier—like her calm is catching. You try again. This time, the thread slips through.

“There,” she says, pleased. “See? You’re already learning.” You glance back at her, and her eyes are so close, her smile so soft, you feel warmth bloom in your chest.

“I like this,” you say, a little breathless. She kisses your temple, her hand still resting over yours. “Me too.”

Once the thread is through, Lilia reaches around you and guides your hands to the fabric. She lays a small scrap across your lap—nothing fancy, just soft muslin, already marked with a faint line for you to follow.

“We’ll start with a running stitch,” she murmurs, her voice low against your ear. “Simple. In and out, like waves lapping on the shore.”

Her fingers curl over yours again, guiding the needle through the cloth. She moves slowly, letting you feel the rhythm—how much pressure to use, where to angle the point, how to keep the tension smooth and even. You mimic her, halting at first, but she never rushes you. “You’ll get the feel of it,” she says. “It’s all muscle memory in time.”

As you work, Lilia stays close, her arms around you in a loose embrace, one hand occasionally reaching to adjust the fabric or steady your wrist. She hums now and then, or offers small encouragements in that low, honeyed voice you adore.

“Did you know,” she begins, her lips just at the curve of your cheek, “witches used to hide charms in the hems of their clothes?” You pause mid-stitch, glancing at her. “Really?”

She nods, smile curling. “Little knots for protection. Threads blessed by moonlight. Even tiny herbs, sewn into the lining of cloaks. Sewing wasn’t just domestic—it was spellwork. Power hidden in plain sight.”

You listen, enchanted, imagining a line of wise women stitching quiet magic into skirts and sleeves. Lilia’s voice makes it easy to picture. She makes everything feel sacred. “That’s beautiful,” you murmur. “So are you,” she says, so casually it takes you a beat to feel the flush rise in your cheeks.

You’re just returning your focus to the cloth when she reaches up, almost without thinking, and brushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Her fingers linger for a heartbeat, and then—before you can say anything—she presses a kiss to your cheek. Soft. Certain. Your hands still again. You can feel the shape of her smile against your skin. “I like teaching you,” she whispers. “You make everything feel new again.”

By the end of the lesson, your stitches are far from perfect—some are too long, others too tight, and a few wander stubbornly off the guide line altogether. But they’re yours. You made them.

Lilia runs a finger along the row of uneven stitches, smiling like she’s never seen anything more precious. “Beautiful,” she says. You huff a little. “They’re a mess.”

“They’re yours,” she replies. “And I’m proud of you.”

You’re still in her lap, still tucked close in the warm circle of her arms. Her hand rests lightly on your knee, the other still holding the fabric you practiced on. Your fingers are red from gripping the needle, and your shoulders ache a little from leaning, but you feel… peaceful. Settled.

You look down at your clumsy line of stitches and then at her—so calm, so sure—and something quiet settles deep in your chest.

This is what home feels like.

After a while, Lilia picks up the piece she’d been working on earlier. You recognize it now—a soft blouse in a color you once said reminded you of spring after rain. She hums as she threads her needle again, comfortable and unhurried, and you stay exactly where you are, still in her lap, cheek resting against her shoulder.

As she sews, she begins to mumble under her breath. Low, familiar sounds. You can’t make out most of the words, but you recognize the cadence—Sicilian, soft and rhythmic, like a lullaby or a prayer.

You don’t interrupt. You just listen, letting the sound of her voice and the gentle pull of thread lull you deeper into the moment.

You know she sews more than just fabric. Lilia always said stitches could carry intention. And you can feel it now, in the way her fingers move just a little slower, more careful. In the way she knots the thread three times, whispering something you can’t quite catch.

She’s sewing something for you—not just with care, but with purpose. You know her well enough to guess: small protective charms stitched into the seams, blessings worked into every hem and fold. You don’t ask. You don’t need to. You just watch her, your heart full.

The needle glides. Her voice hums. And the little room glows with golden light, the scent of herbs, and the quiet, unspoken kind of love that doesn’t need to be named.

Eventually, Lilia lifts her head, blinking as if waking from a dream. Her needle pauses mid-stitch. “Come,” she says softly, giving your hip a little tap. “Up. I need to fit this on you properly before I finish the sleeves.”

You groan, only half teasing. “But your lap is warm.” She laughs, bright and fond, and cups your jaw with one hand. “You’re such a spoiled thing.”

“Says the one spoiling me.”

Still, you rise, stretching a little before letting her help you slip the blouse over your head. The fabric is cool against your skin, soft and just the right weight. It already feels like something meant for you. Lilia steps in close, smoothing it down over your shoulders, adjusting the seams, tugging gently at the hem.

She circles you slowly, her fingers always touching—measuring, checking, lingering. She tugs a pin from the cushion at her wrist and carefully folds the fabric at your side.

As she works, she speaks, voice low and steady.

“I stitched a few things into the seams,” she says. “Nothing too strong, just… small charms. A thread for safety. One for courage.” She looks up and smiles softly. “One to make you feel loved, always.”

Your breath catches. “You did that?”

“Of course.” Her hands pause at your waist, resting gently. “Even if I’m not there, I want something to be.” You’re quiet for a moment, throat thick. “That’s… really beautiful.”

She shrugs, gentle. “It’s old magic. The kind women have always done with their hands. Quiet. Intentional.” She leans in and adds, with a conspiratorial smile, “And it works best when stitched into things meant for someone you love.”

The word hangs there—love—but she says it so easily, so matter-of-fact, like it’s just the truth. And it is.

You blink at her, soft and overwhelmed. “What were you mumbling, while you were sewing?” She chuckles. “A mix of things. Some spells, yes. Some measurements. And some… nonsense.”

“Nonsense?” She steps back to admire the fit of the blouse, then moves forward to adjust the collar.

“Things like, this will look so pretty on her, or her shoulders are so sweet it’s unfair, or I hope she smiles when she wears it.” She flicks her fingers lightly under your chin. “Talking to the cloth. Talking to you, even if you didn’t hear it.”

You can’t help it—you smile. “I did hear it,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “I just didn’t know what it meant.”

Lilia smooths a hand over your arm, her touch slow and reverent. “It meant I love you,” she says. “That’s all it ever means.”

And you stand there in the soft glow of morning, wrapped in the blouse she made for you—stitched with spells, with care, with every unspoken word she didn’t know how to say aloud—feeling more seen than you ever have before.

Lilia gives a satisfied little hum and steps back. “Almost perfect. Just a few more stitches.”

She reaches for the hem, fingers brushing your waist, and carefully helps you out of the blouse. Her touch is gentle, reverent, and even though you’re standing in just your nightgown now, there’s nothing rushed or coy about it. Just care.

Once the fabric is off, she pats her lap again. “Back, bella mia. I work better with you close.” You don’t hesitate.

She settles you into her lap like you belong there—which, at this point, you’re sure you do. You curl into her, cheek brushing her collarbone, and watch as her fingers move swiftly through the final stitches.

The room is quiet now, sunlight slipping warm and drowsy across the floor. Her sewing needle flashes in the light, quick and sure, and you can feel the calm in her chest, steady beneath your back.

When she ties off the last thread, she lifts the blouse with both hands and speaks something soft under her breath—Sicilian again, but slower this time, more focused. The words carry weight. Not just habit, but purpose.

You tilt your head. “Another spell?”

“Mmm.” She nods, her voice honey-sweet. “Just a little one. For grace. For joy.” Then she runs her fingers gently along the blouse’s collar and says, almost dreamily, “Quantu ti pari bedda, amuri meu.”

You blink. “What does that mean?”

She laughs softly, tucking the blouse into your hands like a secret. “Ah… I forget you don’t speak Sicilian, stellina. I keep talking to you like you do.”

“Well?” you press, grinning.

Lilia brushes her knuckles under your chin, her eyes warm, full of something tender and a little amused. “It means, ‘How pretty you’ll look, my love.’”

You melt a little, holding the blouse tighter. “Maybe you should teach me.” Her smile widens, slow and knowing. “Maybe I will.”

You smile so wide it almost aches. She leans in and kisses your forehead, then your cheek, then the tip of your nose—light, dotting touches like punctuation.

“Go put it on,” she says softly. “Let me see the spell finished.”

[violet-eng]

Reuploaded | fem!reader finds out bf!Neuvillette was in Qiaoying Village after the Lantern Rite | NSFW 🔞

This follows the 4.4 Lantern Rite story

Summary: You're Neuvillette's long distance girlfriend as you live in Liyue. After the Lantern Rite you find out he was wandering around Quiaoying Village (where you live) but left kinda angry. So you travel to Fontaine to find out if he's mad at you for dumping him by accident.

Warnings: NSFW 🔞 so MDNI. Established relationship. Dirty talk. Nipple playing, piv, Neuvillette refuses to let you cum, doggy, ah... and he licks you...

Wc: 2.8k

Reuploaded bc I accidentally deleted it 🙃

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵︵‿‿︵ ˚₊

You do not make irrational or spontaneous decisions. You looked at yourself in the reflection of the lake, completely bewildered.

You live in Liyue and eagerly anticipate the Lantern Rite every year. However, that year, you spent a couple of days in Monstadt searching for a location to open a tea branch... 

The Lantern Rite had ended before your return this year, which was a huge disappointment. You missed the main celebration due to work. Additionally, you were shocked to receive Neuvillette's letter late. You had not informed him of your travel to Monstadt. Reading that he would have traveled to Liyue to see you, despite his busy schedule, made you feel guilty and remorseful.

Learning that Neuvillette had been in Liyue only a few hours ago caused you tremendous turmoil. Lady Furina tried to sugarcoat the gentleman's actions, but you know, even with all the nuances of Neuvillette, that he is disappointed.

So when Gaming's father offers you to travel to Fontaine in search of a location for his popular tea store, you don't think twice, moved by the regret of your actions.

It's terrible to think that a love quarrel is the only reason you would leave Liyue. You feel ashamed of the situation you've brought upon yourself. You arrive in Fontaine like an anxious lady seeking forgiveness. If shame falls upon you, it is already too late. You find yourself on the Aqua bus, headed to the Opera Epiclese.  

Your gaze falls on the light blue modern landscapes of the city, which had left you spellbound during your last visit. On a previous business trip, you met Neuvillette, who transitioned from a casual fling to a formal relationship through correspondence and furtive encounters.

Although you have been to this place before, the walls seem unfamiliar, and you are not accustomed to the style and decor. As you enter his office, Neuvillette sits up in his chair.

He looks at you with an unfamiliar expression and says, 'It's late.' The tone of his voice is serious, and his gaze feels like a dagger piercing your heart.

"I know," you say, with your breath escaping your chest. The thought of Neuvillette's trip to Liyue and disappointment at not finding you at home frustrates you. You understand how he feels; if you were in his shoes, you would be deeply upset.

"I'm sorry," you plead, walking towards him and stumbling along the way. This behavior is not typical of you, but he makes you feel so pitiful. "I should have warned you that I wouldn't be home. I had a business trip and... I know you're busy. I shouldn't have taken up your time”.

"My dear" Neuvillette cuts off your words with a warm look and advances towards you, wrapping his arms around your figure, "why are you justifying yourself this way?" His concern is genuine, comforting, his gaze a deep sea of pity and understanding.

"You're not angry?" you ask, your face sunk into his chest, your hands clinging to his back, your fingers tangled in the stitched details of his cloak.

"Why should I be, my love?" Neuvillette leaves a kiss on your hair and soft caresses play down your back, loving rubs on your skin that soothe your so nervous heart.

"I heard you came back unexpectedly from Liyue, and that you seemed somewhat displeased."

He let out a friendly laugh, his voice deep and calm like the sea, his voice dances in the room. 

"You would never do anything to displease me," he whispered into your hair, his lips brushing against your ear and cheek. "And if you ever did, we would talk it over properly. Don't ever think I'm going to be upset with you...What kind of person would I be if I let my emotions guide me? I apologize for any inconvenience my spontaneity may have caused. I understand that you have a time-consuming job, and I would never be upset with you because your priority is your job". He strokes your cheek and lifts your face to join your gazes in a bond of understanding and bliss.

"If anything," he adds, "I'm the one who should apologize." 

"No, don't say that." You said, "It's always welcome a little mess coming from you, my dear judge," you caress his cheek. Then, you add, "Still, I was afraid you'd be wasting your time.

"During my trip, I learned several things. Your village is very interesting, my dear," he said, breaking away from your embrace and walking to his desk. He rummaged in one of his drawers, discovering a small piece of porcelain, a plaque with an engraved figure surrounded by runes.

"This..." you take it in your hands, recognizing the depiction of one of your nation's most beloved adeptic figures. "Neuvi... where did you get this?" you ask.

"I had the wonderful opportunity to learn about various local crafts," he explains with innocent admiration. Your dear dragon has been introduced to a modern world beyond Fontaine for the first time. "I thought you'd be excited about that. Even though it's a trivial detail..."

"My beloved Neuvillette," you rush into his arms, kissing his cheeks with great affection... "Then why did you look so serious when you left? Lady Furina suspected that something had upset you... I thought you were offended that I stood you up. And when I came in, you looked at me angrily..."

"I was worried that you arrived so late, traveling at nightfall is not safe... I told you that you should think more of yourself... I am concerned about your well-being, and your high level of empathy may become harmful to you... though it is certainly one of the aspects that has bound me to you," he says, "On the other hand, my departure from Liyue is due to matters of a higher caliber. Summarized in an old rivalry that I had no intention of taking care of at the time."

All the pieces fall into place perfectly, and you even come to regret thinking of Neuvillette as a curmudgeon. 

"You must be exhausted," he says, taking your hand and kissing the back of it as if you were his queen, "stay with me tonight, rest today, and tomorrow we can go back to your place for the evening." 

His home is warm, warm enough for one who knows little of human customs, and even warmer when he offers you a hot cup. A comforting drink for a long journey. Neuvillette, the oh-so-mighty Hydrodragon, Chief Justice and now ruler of Fontaine, kneels before you as the tail of his cloak ripples like a wave in a graceful movement of his hands. His fingers gently take your ankles between his hands as he removes your shoes, untying the laces with his long, delicate fingers.

His gaze rises to meet yours, his clear orbs reflecting his burning desire to possess your body at this moment, to give himself completely to you for your pleasure. His hands slide over your ankles and knees, searching for the edge of your stockings under your skirt. The warm air of the house hits your thighs as the fabric is lifted and the soles of your now uncovered feet receive the warmth of Neuvillette's body. It's as if his sultry demeanor is flooding the entire room in an overwhelming wave of heat and ecstasy. 

It is as if the dragon is taking control of Neuvillette as you suddenly find yourself in his bed, naked and completely at his mercy. Months ago, this would have seemed like just another encounter, a chance meeting of fate and crossed paths, a lustful night full of forbidden and impure acts, but this time, after countless letters and meetings... it seems serious.

Neuvillette doesn't fully understand human feelings, or the sensations his body surprises him with, like the way his cock swells when he thinks of you at night, or the need to encircle his length when he receives one of your letters bathed in your perfume..... And much worse, he doesn't fully understand the burning that fills his heart when he holds you close, when you look at him with those eyes that are at once fearful and desirous, with an unholy innocence, the dichotomy of your expressions makes him agonize with love, because even though it took him a while, he finally understands that what he feels for you is what humans call love.

That is why he kisses you deeply as he stands over you, crushing your lips with his fervent intention to be reciprocated, to make it real and formal, although your visit has already given him a positive sign. He runs all over you, his hands sliding down the valleys of your body, shaping your figure with his palms, cupping your breasts between his nimble fingers, turning you over on the mattress so that he can enjoy the reactions that run down your spine. His heightened senses are alerted as the current flows down your back, as the skin on the back of your neck rises at the caress of his taut lips on your shoulder blade, the rough sound of his deep voice close to your ear, the warmth of his voice bathing your hearing, filling your head with the chant of his words of pure adoration. 

"Neuvi~" you moan in an icy sigh, overwhelmed by the Iudex's perverse caresses over your body.

"When I knocked on your door and you didn't answer, I thought you didn't want to see me," he whispers against your naked skin, "I began to wonder what I had done wrong..."

"You didn't do anything wrong, Neuvi...ah~".

He kisses your shoulder, sliding his tongue over your skin, tasting the sweat you give off, the salt of your complexion on his tongue, the female poison.

"So delicious," he whispers, sliding down your back, his voice taking over the skin over your spine, leaving wet kisses in his wake and moans of your name as his cock swells more and more.

"I thought you hated me. That from one moment to the next you had stopped loving me," he kisses your waist, leaving faint bites across your curve, using such an informal language...

"I~. Mmhhh..." you moan senselessly. "I wouldn't do that to you..." 

"I know, beautiful," his hands run up your belly, tracing naughty swirls with his fingers, "and for my own good, I will make sure tonight that you never stop wanting me, that you desire me and never anyone else, that the only thing that dominates your mind is the memory of my hands on your body and my cock in your pussy." 

He plays with your hardened nipples, the little buttons straining at the naughty hands of the Iudex, who eager explorers your body.

"Ahg~ mmmm~ Neuvillette..." you mewl as you cling to the sheets that cover the Chief Justice's wide bed.

He shifts your posture as if you were ragged, your body toppled at the mercy of his hands and desires that lift your hips to align with his length. 

The intrusion is slow and hot, stretching your sex to his form, expanding your desire to his hard love, wrapping himself in your wet embrace. The low growl he makes as he feels your pressure on him is opera to your red ears, the guttural moan that comes from his masculine chest is enough to make you wet even more.

"I missed you," he whispers, his shoulders tense and his nails digging into your skin, your hips settling against his, slowly easing into your deep, dripping desire.

His hands run down your back, caressing your waist, wanting to feel every bit of your experience, the cascade of overwhelming sensations escaping your delicate being. He enjoys watching how his cock loses itself inside you and how you wriggle at his relentless invasion. So delicate and so vulgar at the same time...wiggling your hips, rubbing yourself as you let out mellifluous moans and cling to the sheets.

"Neuvi~ I can't," you moan as tiny electric spasms erupt from your center, choking Neuvillette.

"Not so hard," he caresses your ass and thighs, trying to calm you down, "you can hold on, darling."

What a miracle you are in Neuvillette's eyes when he begins to move slowly and you manage to hold him perfectly. When his wandering shock of passion overflows you with the most overwhelming cries he's ever heard. How blissful he is to hear you babble his name as you suck his whole being with hunger and contempt.

"You're doing well, beautiful," his adoration turns to ambition, suddenly sneaking inside you, delivering the first thrust into your cervix, rubbing your knees against the bed.

"Ah!" you stifle a cry as he clasps your hands and rests his forehead on your shoulder, almost lifting your loins.

"Just like that, you're wonderful, y/n," his lips kiss your shoulder as his silver hair tickles your neck and cheek. It's like a sign of affection before the slaughter.

The heat inside you is overwhelming, your mind swirling with every deep thrust of Neuvillette inside you, every forced intrusion of anguish and desire. You cry out his name as if it will free you from the growing flame in your belly, as if it will unchain you from his thick cock slamming unceremoniously against your tight silken walls. You are a provocation, no, you are much more than that, you are the reason he succumbs to the crimes of his lust, his thirst for you. He is guilty of wanting you so much, of longing for your eyes and your body, your voice hoarse with his name like honey on your tongue. And he's a sinner for perverting such a pure angel, for taking your hips and pounding them relentlessly, for tearing strings of shimmering ecstasy that fall down your thighs, for those solid pieces of flesh that vibrate with his every move.

His hand touches your clit and in that moment you become a babble of pleasure, of unseemly moans and erratic movements. He praises you, praises you for how good your skin sounds against his, for the words you spit out between sobs, and freaks out when you beg him to stop, that you can't take any more of him, that he's too big.

"For my precious y/n, everything you ask," his rough voice creeps into your core, forming a steaming knot, "except that...". He just can't let you cum, not when he's willing to keep you at his mercy for hours. 

"Please!" you sob pleadingly. Your voice is clipped and raspy. 

"I need clear instructions, my love."

"Please let me cum," you are pathetic under him, moaning in anguish for a show of sympathy, though he only lets out a bitter chuckle of satisfaction.

"You're too good for me to make you beg this much," he says, quickening his pace, becoming frantic and almost primal, warping your insides and making your body his, crumbling what little sanity you have left, making you contract around him with a scream and cum.

Neuvillette's indiscretion causes him to explode inside you, releasing thick strands into your belly as he lets himself be led into the ecstasy of his madness, losing himself in the swirls of your delirious moans.

"My beautiful y/n," he steps out of you and kisses your forehead, turning your body over and cradling your humanity in his big arms. 

The night is long and when you catch your breath, you discover Neuvillette's predatory eyes peering into the darkness, you like his treasure and he the dragon guarding you.

"Sleep," you whisper, caressing his cheek with your thumb.

"I like watching you sleep," he says, "and smelling you... you have a strange scent.

"Maybe it's the mixture of the soil of my village, the water... and you," you smile, "By the way, when we get back to my place, remind me to offer you some of the local spring water.

"Ah... my precious one. You know me so well that you could cause my own downfall. I had the pleasure of tasting the water in the village, and I am very grateful for your sample. However, I must admit that the spring I enjoy most is between your legs."

"Neuvillette!" you laugh in embarrassment.

"I could eat you all day, y/n," he purrs, dipping his face into your breast, "and yet I would limit myself."

You stroke his hair, the blue strands that creep through his scalp, everything about this man fascinates you.

"Stay at Fontaine," he whispers against your chest, fighting the drumbeat of your excited heart. "I think the new tea branch needs a manager...".

The reality is that Neuvillette would not stand another day of exchanging letters, not when she has tasted you so passionately and cum inside you, not when he is just getting to know these strange and lovely human feelings. He wants to learn to love you as a man would, and so he needs you near him to give you all the love and care that a good lover would give his woman.

[revolutionsingingintherainnn]

Hey. I absolutely love your desi writing!!!

Can you please write something shaadi related with Carlos Sainz where his family and him are being the baraat and just trying to get into the big fat Indian wedding mood with all events all the way from a roka, sagaai, to the actual festivities to haldi, mehendi, sangeet, shaadi, reception?

No pressure! Thank you!!

cultural observer .☘︎ ݁˖

˚⊱🎀⊰˚ cs55 x desi!reader ⋆. 𐙚 ˚

˚⊱🎀⊰˚ fluff ⋆. 𐙚 ˚

masterlist ☾☼

the aroma of marigolds and cardamom swirled around, a jarring contrast to the fumes of petrol carlos sainz vasquez de castro was used to. he smoothed down his sherwani, the silk rough against his skin, and looked at his father, who was struggling to place a heavily embroidered shawl across his already substantial frame. "papá, are you sure? i feel like i'm being dressed in a wedding cake."

by his side, y/n laughed, her own bright lehenga billowing around her. "you look handsome, carlos. and," she playfully taunted, "you said you'd adopt the culture. remember, when in india…"

"-act like you're in a bollywood movie," carlos concluded, rolling his eyes in good humour. he took her hand, weaving his fingers through hers. this entire "big fat Indian wedding" adventure had begun with a simple "yes" to going with y/n's cousin, to his sister's wedding. now, they were all in, much to the entertainment of his whole family.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

it had started with the roka ceremony, a close-knit ceremony where the bride and groom were formally engaged.

y/n walked carlos through the rituals, pointing out the meaning behind each action as they exchanged sweets and gifts with the couple.

the sagaai, the engagement ceremony, was a bigger affair. the sainz family, with their fiery spirit both on and off the racing circuit, welcomed the lively ambiance. they'd even attempted some bhangra, to the joy of the indian guests, though their coordination could have been better.

y/n, on the other hand, who had years and years of practice, was twirling and giggling with her family, dragging a slightly reluctant carlos onto the dance floor.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

the haldi ceremony was a yellow riot. carlos was plastered in turmeric paste from head to toe, thanks to y/n's cousin's little mischievous sisters. he fought back, naturally, and then a proper haldi fight ensued, to the dismay of some of the more orthodox aunties, but all were in stitches. y/n, ever diplomatic, attempted to intervene, but found herself covered in haldi too, laughing with carlos.

the mehendi ceremony was a more subdued affair, with intricate henna designs being painted on the bride's hands and feet. y/n, whose hands and feet were already smothered in beautiful henna, sat beside carlos, pointing out the intricate patterns to him. he, impressed by the skill, even had a small design of his initials placed beside her, a small, personal token of their own marriage amidst all the jubilation.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

the sangeet was where the party really began. there was music blasting, the dance floor throbbed with activity, and food just kept coming and coming.

carlos, at first reluctant, caught himself swept away by the lively rhythm, at the urging of y/n. she showed him some simple steps of bollywood dances, giggling at his graceless efforts but complimenting him on his effort. he was even able to lift her on one of the dances, garnering applause from the audience.

his dad, unexpectedly spry for his age, was a dance floor star, fronting a conga line that wound its way through the entire club, with carlos and y/n following hard on their heels.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

the wedding ceremony was a riot of color and ceremony. y/n, stunning in a silk silk saree, explained to carlos the significance of each ceremony, her voice heavy with emotion.

he stood spellbound as the bride and groom exchanged vows under the holy fire, the flame dancing across their faces sending reflected golden light back.

the groom's procession, or baraat, was an experience. carlos, and all of his cousins rode a horse draped in flowers (though he secretly dreamed of a mclaren), the horse coming at the head of the procession down the streets, a deafening dhol and rowdy band in its wake. y/n danced along with the procession, her mood infectious, occasionally catching carlos's gaze with a smile that made his heart skip a beat.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

reception was a culmination, a dramatic event with more food, music, and dance. carlos felt no longer bashful in his sherwani, chatting freely with the attendees, sharing laughter and tales, y/n standing beside him.

they were quite the couple, him tall and handsome in his wedding finery, her looking breathtaking in her sleek lehenga.

he found himself even arguing formula 1 with some of the bride's relations over tyre strategy and the drs while y/n spoke of india in general with their mothers.

at the end of the evening, carlos was filled with a sadness, but also with a deep sense of fulfillment. he had shared this once-in-a-lifetime experience with the woman he loved, and it had strengthened their bond.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

in their hotel room, carlos helped y/n out of her cumbersome lehenga, his hand brushing against hers. he pulled her close, kissing her softly. "thank you," he breathed, "for allowing me to experience this with you."

y/n smiled, leaning against his chest. "it was magical," she whispered. "just like you."

he chuckled. "i still can't believe riding a horse in a wedding procession."

"and you had seemed stupid beating the dhol," y/n goaded.

"oi! i was excited!" carlos protested, drawing her towards him. he kissed her once more, only this time there was passion.

he had ventured to india as a cultural observer, but what he took with him when he left was too much. he had learned all about new ways, eaten different flavours, and gained new companions.

but above all, he had shared a life-changing experience with the woman he loved, memories to last a lifetime. drifting off to sleep with Y/N resting in his arms- because obviously, they were exhausted to do any kind of suhagraat- he knew that their love story was far from over, as colourful and vibrant as the wedding they had just witnessed.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

i hope you like this! im sorry it took me so long to write this! i have been taking a bit of a break recently! this is my prompt list, so y'all can select a number, give me a driver and i will write it as soon as possible! i also have a google form for a taglist if anyone's interested! you can sent in your requests here :)

taglist: @maketheshadowsfearyou ; @anamiad00msday ; @imlonelydontsendhelp ; @peterholland04 ; @justaf1girl ; @greantii ; @nocturnalherb16 ; @phobiccneel ; @winkev1 ; @alexxavicry ; @hiireadstuff

i'd love your support! https://ko-fi.com/kavi2305

[just-some-user-hunny]

Yandere team green and bastard! reader

(Aemond edition)

~ At your arrival, Aemond would have been particularly indifferent to it at worst, and bluntly curious at best. He would be a little taken back that you were even brought to live in the castle, let alone given an official princes title, but over time of getting to know you in your shadow, his opinion would grow fonder.

~ He'd watch you interact with Helaena with interest, and how you grow to defend yourself from Aegon as you grow. He hated watching Aegon torment you, because it reminded him too much of himself and his own situation. In a way, he can find himself seeing a small part of himself in you. The dragon-less targaryon prince, and the half-blooded bastard princess. Both not really fitting into the family, but somehow surviving on the sidelines. Onlooking upon each other's misery.

~ Aemond feels rather misunderstood and lonely, more now than even since he lost his eye. His detest towards your brother's would grow when you cradled little lukes face in your palms, watching you intensely with his remaining eye as he got stitched up. He wanted that attention. That care, that affection.

~ in a way, later on you mirror him. You see the disfigured prince become somewhat of a shadow of himself, growing quiet and focused and resentful. Driven to create a name for himself other than the frightful prince with a gouged eye. Later on, when the fretful ruckus of children and adults alike grow tired and fall upon their pillows with heavy upset still lingering in their hearts, you may sneak your way to Aemond to ask how he is. Everyone seemed to neglect how he felt after everything, and although you feel a little angry at how he treated your half-sisters and brothers, you're too soft-hearted to let him go alone with such a gruesome injury. He's spellbound once he finds you at his chamber doors, and before he can hide his face from you, you quickly hug him before leaving for bed. Telling him you're sad that he lost his eye, and that you hope that he and your brothers can make it up.

~ ever since that night, he confirmed his status as a yandere towards you. Now that he was given a glimpse, a simple brief taste of genuine care, he wanted more. Now more than ever he is proud of his claim of Vhagar, seeing himself as a capable and strong rider that you may be impressed by. He'll make work to often fly above you whilst you are in the gardens, or perhaps in front of your view of your chambers windows that look out upon the sea. He wants to impress you, give you a reason to keep giving him attention.

~ when training with your brother's, he especially tries to show off whenever you're around. The poor boy always seems to get distracted however, and gets knocked to the ground by Aegon of Jace. It's a laughable sight really.

~ He hides his disfigured eye behind an eye patch now, hoping it distracts you from the glaring scar that peeks behind it. Regardless of how sympathetic and non-judgemental you were, he's still a little self conscious about his appearance.

~ his actions are boyish and clumsy. Unsure and over his head, but he's determined- unlike his on and off drunkard of a brother, to win your affection and acceptance.

~ Older Aemond is something else, you may find. He's more poised, confident, and conniving.

~ as a yandere, he's possessive, protective, and demanding.

~ And boy is he intense. If you thought his distracted glances and focused stares on you were a lot, he's even more intense now. Even more so with one eye somehow.

~ You can bet Daemon is not a fan of him being oh so focused on his daughter. There's lots of tension between the two. Whenever Aemond watches you unblinkingly at the dining table during meals, Daemon isn't keeping his eyes off the one-eyed prince. Man is ready to get the shotgun Caraxes.

~ With his sharpened skills with a blade and fighting tactics, he can confidently show off in front of you without worrying about falling on his behind like a clumsy fool as he once did as a fumbling young boy.

~ Alicent would be his wingman ultimately. She wants you as her own, whether it be daughter or daughter in law. You can imagine her shooting him with stern looks at the dinner table to stop staring at her like that, it's frightening. Invite her to dance instead. Oh my god this is going to take some coaching isn't it.

Ultimately she would be completely behind his actions, encouraging it, even- although she would at least try to direct him in a more sane and gentle manner, than his outwardly possessive and demanding visage.

~ However your relationship will strain greatly once he kills Luke with Vhagar, and his grasp on you slips away the moment you look upon him with resentment and anger. The last thing he ever wanted from you. Alicent would be furious, tenfold after realising that a war will begin, and the family will split in two and how she knows that daemon and Rhaenyra will keep you in their grasp to stay on team black.

~ Alicent and Aemond would probably scheme to somehow kidnap you, or at least persuade you to visit under the false presence of making peace, and keep you trapped with them. (For plot hole sake, let's just say Cannibal was off on his little personal vacations, so unfortunately you had no big goth dragon to save you 😓).

~ during the duration of dance of the dragons, you'd be yearning and fighting to get back to your dragon to escape the bloody and blazing war that will inevitably ensue. It all becomes too much, you need to escape and somehow get back to your real family, just like you've yearned for as a child.

~ Aemond will also inevitably perish in a battle against your father, but until then, he'll keep an iron grasp on you as he hopelessly scrambles for any sort of power to back himself up.

[wheeboo]

i miss you, don't call me | lee seokmin

SYNOPSIS. in which a particular boy has been clouding your mind lately, and you decide to drink away the thought of him𑁋when that isn't the right choice. PAIRING. ex!lee seokmin x gn!reader GENRE. angst, hurt/comfort... but also not really WARNINGS. drinking, swearing WORD COUNT. 2.5k

notes: kinda inspired from the song "i miss you, don't call me" by alessia cara. just wanna say i am forever guilty and full of shame for writing angst for this man. it feels completely out of character to write angst for him 😭😭

You hate the taste of alcohol.

You hate the way it lingers a bitter aftertaste on your lips, the way it burns like a smoldering ember down your throat that refuses to be extinguished, the way it wraps its tendrils around your senses and makes the world spin so merry around you.

You hate the taste of alcohol, yet there's a certain fascination in the way it blurs the edges of reality and a strange comfort in its familiarity. You were never usually one to drink in general, but tonight was different, and you find yourself caught between the resistance and the surrender, tip-toeing on the edge of clarity and a spellbound haze.

This is supposed to make you forget. Forget the deadlines, the expectations, the responsibilities, the miniscule hole in your chest that you have been trying to close. This is supposed to propel you in the right direction𑁋at least, that's what you convinced yourself in the hours before you wounded up in the middle of your living room with a half-empty glass in your hand. It's midnight, or something, you don't know for sure, and you couldn't be bothered to even check anyway.

This is supposed to help you forget him. He did nothing wrong, or anything wrong for the matter. His smile was always so bright like the sun, so full of life. He's like a bruise that refuses to fade, yet merely painful to the touch. You take another sip, and the amber liquid seems to carry with it the warmth of his laughter. And when you close your eyes just for a few seconds, you swear you can feel the warmth of that figurative sun on your face. Or maybe it's the alcohol. Or both.

It's been almost a year since you let him go. The reasons were complicated𑁋or simply, you both were just different𑁋and the echoes of that choice still reverberate in the quiet corners of your heart. You were convinced it was for the best for both of you, and all it took was two sentences for that line to be cut right on the same couch that you sat on.

And yet, the ache of his absence persists, leaving a void in your chest that you couldn't stitch up yourself.

Does he... still think about you from time to time?

It's a question you've asked yourself in the quiet moments before sleep. You wonder if he ever glances at the same moon that hangs in the night sky and thinks of the moments you shared under its wake.

You try to bury the thought away under the weight of another sip, but it resurfaces like an insistent tide as you let out a heated hiss to its taste. The room around you sways slightly, your head is starting to pound, and your thoughts are restless with nothing but just him.

The screen to your phone lights up on the coffee table, and you glance down at it, suddenly contemplating the idea of reaching out to him. Maybe it's the alcohol whispering in your ear, urging you to seek closure, or perhaps, rekindle a flame that was never truly extinguished.

The unanswered question lingers like a spectre in the room. Does he still think about you? The question gnaws angrily at your skin, and you find yourself reaching for the phone almost instinctively, as if drawn by a sudden invisible force.

With a deep breath, you unlock your phone. His contact is still there, his slightly blurry name staring right back at you like an open invitation. You tap a few times before landing on his number, and with a mixture of intoxication and courage, you press the call button.

The phone rings, each tone amplifying the drumming in your head. Your heartbeat quickens with each ring, the sound of it echoing in your ears. The haze in your mind seems to intensify, and you realise you might be crossing a line, but it's too late to turn back now.

The seconds tick away, and just as you begin to think about hanging up, he answers.

"Hello?"

His voice reaches through the phone and into your clouded consciousness. For a moment, you freeze, caught between the impulse to speak and the weight of the drunken-induced courage that made you make this call.

"Hey, Seokmin." Your voice comes out smaller and weaker than you anticipated.

A beat of silence follows your words. The weight of his name hangs in the air. You can almost sense Seokmin trying to process the unexpected call.

"Y/N?" His voice carries a mix of surprise and concern. "Is that really you?"

"Yeah," You reply, your words sounding less sure than you intended. "It's me."

There's another pause, and you can almost feel the distance between you two through the phone.

Then his voice comes through again, gentle and cautious, "Is everything okay?"

"Um..." You croak out, your thoughts stumbling over the words. "I just... I just needed to hear your voice."

Another pause. The only thing you could hear is the faint static on the other line.

"My voi𑁋Wait, are... are you drunk?"

A nervous laugh escapes your lips. "Uh, maybe a little," You admit embarrassingly.

Seokmin lets out a soft sigh on the other end of the line. You can't tell if it's from relief, concern, or disappointment, but the weight of it presses against your chest. It's almost suffocating.

"I just..." You start, the words hanging in the air. "is it bad to... to say that I miss you?"

The silence that follows is almost deafening. You can nearly imagine his face on the other end𑁋the ever expressive sunshine Lee Seokmin whom you spent nearly all of your college years with. A faint smile tugs at your lips at the thought of it, the thought of him. Sure, you've wondered how he has been from time to time, but tonight felt different. You can't tell if the alcohol is confusing missing with longing, or if it's amplifying a truth you've kept buried for too long.

"Y/N, you... We don't even live in the same city anymore." Seokmin's voice breaks the heavy silence. There's some suppression to his voice, like he's trying to hold something back, but you don't seem to notice. "Things have changed."

You bite your lip unconsciously, almost too hard you think it might bruise and bleed. The reality of it all settles in𑁋that you live hundreds of miles away from each other𑁋and a knot forms in your stomach. You take another sip of your drink, hoping the alcohol can provide some sort of shield for the vulnerability seeping through.

"I'm... I'm not asking to get back together, I..." Your voice trails off again, and you swallow a lump in your throat. "Things here have been awful, and I couldn't help... couldn't help but think of you, I guess."

Seokmin's side of the line remains quiet for a moment, absorbing the weight of your words. You can almost envision the wheels turning in his mind. There's a siren that wails outside your apartment for a few seconds, before fading away in the distance.

"You're drunk, Y/N," Seokmin states. "This isn't the best time to talk𑁋"

"I just wanted to know if you still thought about me too," You interrupt him, voice firm. The words are forcing themselves out at this point, and there's an urgency in your tone, almost as if the alcohol has taken control of your tongue.

Seokmin sighs audibly on the other end, and you can almost picture him running a hand through his hair.

"This... this isn't fair," he finally responds. "You can't just... call me in the middle of the night and tell me all this now."

His words sting, not because they're harsh, but because they're true.

"You were... you were always so cheery, you know?" You chuckle, words slurring slightly. "Even when I was drowning in stress, you had... th-this way of making everything feel lighter. And right now, I... I'm looking for a new job. Everything's been a fucking nightmare, and you... were the first person I thought of and..."

You stop your track in your words, gulping down an imaginary mass wedged down your throat. When your cast your eyes around your dark apartment, all you could see are the remnants of a life you used to share with him, and the mess you were left to clean up with.

You tighten your grip on your phone slightly. "Do you remember when, um... we used to stay up late, working on our assignments together? It... it feels like a lifetime ago."

There's a soft laughter you hear on the other end, and you think for a moment you might just have made him smile. You feel a little bit lighter at the thought.

"And... the pizza boxes that we turned into little tables because our dorm room couldn't fit all of our textbooks and a decent eating space?" You add on, finding yourself smiling to the visual. Just a tiny bit.

There's some shifting on the other side. He's remembering all of it too.

"We were a little messy back then, weren't we?" he chuckles fondly.

You bite your lip nervously again. "But... it was our mess, right?"

"Yeah," You hear him say, and there's a warmth in his voice. "Our mess that we somehow made work."

You take a sip of your drink again, even though you really shouldn't. But you can't help it. The alcohol seems to fuel your courage, or perhaps it's the shared nostalgia that wraps around your conversation like a comforting blanket. The messiness, the laughter, the late-night talks with his arms around you𑁋they were all part of a chapter that shaped both of you.

Your mind is hazy, but you press on, driven by a longing you can't quite articulate.

"I-I'm sorry, I don't know why I called," You confess, voice trembling. "I just felt this emptiness, and I thought... I thought hearing your voice might fill it, even for just a second."

"It's okay," Seokmin is quick to reassure gently and soothingly. "You don't need to say sorry; it does... feel nice hearing you. But calling me in the middle of the night, when you're drunk... it's not the solution, okay?"

You nod, even though he can't see you. There's some heat that prickles at the corners of your eyes, but you blink them back, trying to contain yourself. You've already made an enough mess of yourself this entire night.

"I know it wasn't..." You clench and unclench your other hand, nails digging into your skin. "I just... needed someone to talk to, and you were that person for me."

"But... I'm not that person anymore," Seokmin clarifies, and his words seems to hit a nerve. "You have to be that person for yourself."

You inhale shakily, realising that you've been clinging to a version of him that exists only in memories. For a moment, you're suspended between the past and the present. The truth in his statement stings, but the pain is necessary. You've been using this idea of him, the memories you shared, to help ground you.

You wish you could reach through the phone and touch the past, rewrite the script, and undo the choices that led to this painful distance. But you already know you can't. It's too late.

Seokmin's right𑁋things have changed.

"Can you... just answer what I asked before?" You ask softly, carefully, tapping your fingers nervously against the glass in your hand. "If you... if you still thought about me."

There's a sound on the other end. You're not sure what it is𑁋a sigh, a chair shifting, or perhaps the subtle closing of his eyes. Whatever it is, it heightens the anticipation.

"Of course I... I do think about you," Seokmin admits, and that particular weakness to his voice paralyses you. Your heart catches in your throat. "I can never forget about what we had. But... we've both moved forward, Y/N. Life took us in different directions."

His words hit you like a cold breeze. It doesn't bring the comfort you expected; instead, it leaves you with a mix of emotions𑁋vulnerability, acceptance, and a tinge of sorrow.

"Maybe... in a different universe?" You hear the uncertainty in your own voice, a wistful hope that hangs in the heavy air around you.

You try to think you imagine a smile to his face when you say that, but the silence on the other end stretches out, and reality settles in again.

"Maybe," he concedes, and the word hangs there, suspended between what once was and what could have been. Just not in this one. "You deserve all the happiness in the world, Y/N. I need you to be happy, even if it's without me. Life keeps moving, and we have to move with it. You're one of the strongest people I know, okay? You can get through this. I believe in you. I always have, and I always will."

You deserve happiness too, Seokmin.

Despite the gloominess to your thoughts, every single one of his words echoes within your head. And it hurts, your head throbbing from the alcohol and emotions. The truth tastes like a bitter pill, and you swallow it down, the sting lingering in your chest.

"I miss you," You admit before you could think straight, slipping out like a confession in the dark, suddenly feeling all too exposed.

"I... I miss you too," Seokmin responds hesitantly, softly; you can hear the small, hint of a smile in his voice. You wonder if he's been smiling like the sun these days. "but... I don't want you to call me like this. Not when you're hurting and drunk. It's not healthy for either of us."

His words carry a gentle yet firm tone, a reminder of the boundaries that now exist between you. You can feel the reality of the situation settling in and the pages that turned since you both went your separate ways.

"I know," You murmur. "I just... needed to say it out loud."

For a minute, you both don't say anything. It's oddly comfortable, yet fragile with an unspoken sadness.

"Promise me you'll take care of yourself, okay?" Seokmin's voice breaks through the quiet. It's a request, a plea.

"I promise," You respond, the sincerity cutting through the haze. "And you take care too, Seokmin."

The conversation lingers for a moment, as if both of you are reluctant to sever the weak tie that binds you in this moment.

"Goodbye, Y/N."

"Goodbye, Seokmin."

When the call disconnects, you sit there for a while, phone in hand, the room now silent except for the distant sounds of the city outside.

You glance down at the almost-empty glass down in your hand, and in a swift movement, down the rest of the drink down your throat, feeling the familiar burn as it goes down. The room seems to sway a bit more than before, and you clutch your phone a bit more tighter as if it might steady you.

Then you shoot your eyes back down at your phone, seeing the way it turns on when you tap the screen, the sudden brightness of the screen stinging your eyes.

Impulsively, you navigate to your messages, and without thinking too much, you find Seokmin's contact and start typing.

[y/n] i love you, i'm sorry

With a deep breath, you hit send, and flip your phone over. Fuck, what did you just do? You're going insane.

Then your phone vibrates again, and you quickly grab it, heart racing.

But then your heart drops. It's not a message; it's a notification.

The number you have reached is no longer available.

taglist (open) ʚɞ @enhazen @haowrld @icyminghao @slytherinshua @jeonride @lockburn-castle @vrnism @weird-bookworm @mhlsymlysn @ryuwonieebae @yeonjuns-redhair @wonwooz1 @woohaeyo @mark-geolli @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts

[binochu]

Spellbound - Harvey x Female Farmer

Chapter 9 - Concussed (Harvey's POV)

Another chapter from Harvey's POV! This chapter is basically a doctor simulator, a day in the life of Stardew Valley's sexiest doctor.

CW: Blood and injury.

“Shane?” I call out into the waiting room, “I’m ready for you.”

It’s been an eventful morning so far, I hope it isn’t written all over my face.

“Mhm,” he grunts in response, getting up and following me to the back.

We’re supposed to be taking it slow. I asked her to take things slow. Have I no shame?

“How have you been?” I ask, trying to make small talk while I take his vitals, moving with less grace than usual.  

“Eh,” he shrugs.

The room falls back into an awkward silence. I start to measure his blood pressure, watching the needle steadily rise.

“135 over 80,” I mumble to myself.

I take a moment to put away my instruments before taking a seat across from Shane with his chart in my hands.

“So everything is looking fine,” I start, “It’s just your bood pressure that’s gotten quite high.”

“Hm.”

“It’s an easy fix, I just ask that you cut down on sodium and alcohol.”

“I have to stop drinking?” he arches a brow at me, I’m having trouble reading his expression.

“Well,” I start, “You should definitely cut down if it’s something you do often.”

“Don’t act like you don’t know how often I drink.”

“Right,” I pause, “My professional opinion is that you should have stopped before this happened. It’s gotten to the point that it’s affecting your health, Shane.”

He sighs, letting his gaze fall to the ground.

“I know,” he looks back at me before continuing, “So the farmer, huh?”

What?

“I—I’m sorry?”

“You heard me.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” I say, trying to sound like I’m setting a boundary.

“Yeah, yeah I get it,” he says through a sly smile, “I’ll leave it there. So what do you recommend, doc?”

Feeling pleased with myself, I flip through his chart and retrieve a business card.

“There’s a drug and alcohol clinic west of town,” I say and hand him the card, “Give them a call, I think it’ll be good for you to try it.”

“You don’t think this is a bit much?” he asks, taking the card apprehensively.

“Shane, I’ll be honest with you,” I start, “You need this.”

“Huh,” he says, staring at the card in his hand, “I won’t make any promises.”

“That’s alright,” I say, “This is a decision that you need to make, I can’t force you.”

With that, I concluded his physical. I sent him home with a doctor’s note so he could miss work today and hopefully spend some time thinking about what we discussed.

It’s moments like these that make me happy I made the move out here. I wouldn’t be able to provide this kind of care in Zuzu City. The needs of a population like that are just different. 

After cleaning up the exam room, I head back to the front. Most of my patients are walk-ins, so in between visits, I fill my time with paperwork and looking into any new medical publications. 

As I work on Shane’s report, time starts to go by. I glance out the window, it’s a gorgeous, sunny day. 

I wonder if Bino is back on her farm. I picture her planting seeds, raking the ground, doing… farmer things.

Before I can fall deeper into that daydream, I’m interrupted by Marlon crashing in through the front door, carrying someone bloody and unconscious on his back.

I jump into action, rushing to his aid and lifting the person off his back. 

I don’t realize who it is until I have her in my arms. It’s Bino and she’s badly injured, bleeding from a deep gash on her forehead. Suddenly, my panic becomes intense. I rush her to a hospital bed with Marlon following close behind.

“Doctor, I found her like this in the mines, unconscious and on the ground,” he explains.

My heart is pounding so loudly I barely heard him. I’m focused on getting an IV into her arm and a heart monitor onto her chest so I can start working on cleaning and dressing her wound.

“She’ll need stitches,” I say, mostly to myself, “And she’s probably concussed.”

With the IV pumping fluids into her veins, I begin working on cleaning the gash. It’s a mess of blood and dirt, leaving me with a small mountain of black and red gauze. 

With the wound as clean as possible, I get to work with the needle. As focused as I am on every single one of my movements, my mind is racing. If it weren’t for the reassuring sound of the heart monitor beeping steadily, I’d be too shaky to do the procedure.

I watch her closely with every stitch, looking for any sign of consciousness, but she remain still and quiet. I tell myself this is better so that she comes to in a more comfortable situation. 

I pull the last stitch through and swiftly tie it off. I remove my gloves, sigh, and rub my eyes.

“You work quickly,” Marlon’s voice startles me from behind.

“Thank you for bringing her,” I respond, “But I can take care of things from here.”

“As you wish,” he states back, making his way to the door.

When I hear the front door shut, I get back to work, scanning her body for any other injuries that need attention.

I discovered some bruising on her arms and legs but no other cuts or gashes like the one on her forehead.

I adjust her head onto the pillow and wrap her in a blanket. She looks peaceful, but my nerves are still relentless. I pull a chair up to her bedside and take a seat.

The hour passes by torturously slow. I keep watch on her as she lays there, breathing slow and steady. At this point, she has stirred a couple of times, bringing me some relief. 

With my vision less clouded by adrenaline, I begin to appreciate how preciously calm she seems right now. I’ve come to know her as spunky and so full of energy, that seeing her like this is novel to me. Her hair, although messy and tangled, softly frames her face. Her lips are still pink and slightly parted as her chest rises and falls with each breath. Her beauty is simple but every detail is striking to me right now. 

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, a sadness begins welling up in my chest and my eyes become hot and teary. It was terrifying when I realized it was her. The thought that I could have lost her is becoming real in my mind and it’s overwhelming. 

Is this the cost of love? Am I in love? Dear Yoba this must be love.

My gaze falls back to her face. She remains just as still as before, but now there seems to be a glow to her. Before I can fall back into a new racing thought, her nose begins to scrunch up.

Suddenly, I’m alert and leaned in, ready for her to stir awake. First her hand moves up to her face to rub her eyes which open lazily, blinking several times before fully opening.

“Mmm,” she groans, her voice sounding deep and hoarse, “My head.”

“Easy now,” I say almost in a whisper, “You hurt yourself in the mines, take it slow.”

She makes an attempt to sit up but I place a gentle hand on her shoulder to stop her.

“Trust me, you’re going to want to stay like this for now, it seems like you’ve hit your head pretty hard.”

“Harvey?” she croaks, “Where am I?”

“Good, you know who I am,” I tease, “We’re at the clinic, you’re safe. Do you know what day of the week it is?”

“Yes,” she pauses, “It’s Wednesday.”

“Very good,” I coo, “Marlon brought you in, you have a pretty bad gash on your forehead which is stitched up now so be careful.”

Her eyes widen.

“Did you say I was in the mines?”

“Yes, Marlon carried you here after he found you unconscious.”

“Harvey, I can’t remember anything,” she looks at me, panic starting to show on her face.

“That’s alright,” I try to comfort her, “Sounds like you got a concussion, it’s completely normal to forget what happened when you hit your head. It will start to come back to you slowly. You need to rest now.”

“What about my things?”

“Your bag is over there, don’t worry about that either.”

Her gaze finally begins to relax again and she takes a deep breath.

“It hurts,” she complains.

“I’m sure it does,” I say as I start to get up, “Let me go get you something for that.”

“Don’t take too long.”

I can get used to needy Bino.

“I’ll be quick,” I say before leaving the room.

I walk over to the small pharmacy we have behind the front desk, passing a mirror on the way there. I catch a glimpse of myself as I walk by and notice a red stain on the color of my coat. I walk back a step and get a closer look at the stain in the middle.

At first, I thought it was blood, which would have made sense. But upon closer inspection, I see that it is not blood, but lipstick. I feel my cheeks burn with embarrassment at the thought of Shane’s question today. So he saw the stain and put two and two together. Wonderful!

I try my best to rub it off with my sleeve, admit defeat and carry on to the pharmacy cabinet to grab her some anti-inflamatories.

When I get back, her eyes are closed again.

“Hey,” I say gently, “Have this before you try to sleep so that the pain doesn’t keep you up.”

She groans in response and starts to sit up.

“Slowly, now,” I put a supporting hand underneath her back, “You don’t want to make yourself dizzy.”

I hand her the cup of pills and some water. She washes them both down and I come in quick with some crackers to line her stomach.

“Eat these too, so you don’t upset your stomach.”

“Okay,” she says, munching down on the crackers.

“You should start to feel a little better in a few minutes now,” I explain, “Do you want to take a nap?”

“I guess,” she sighs, avoiding my gaze, “Could you stay close by in case I need anything?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you.”

I show her a smile before pulling up a chair. She lies back down and falls asleep nearly instantly. I spend the next few minutes working on her chart and at some point, I start to drift off in my chair.

I wake up to the sound of thunder so loud the windowpanes shake. I look over at Bino and she’s startled awake too. I check my watch and it’s six o’clock. 

“Oh no,” she starts, “I should run home before the rain starts.”

“Would you rather stay the night?” I ask.

“In the clinic?”

“No,” I respond, “In my apartment upstairs.”

Her face turns bright red and I’m sure mine is too, realizing my forwardness a bit too late.

“Sure,” her nonchalant tone when she says this does not match her expression. 

“I’ll close up now then.”

With the clinic door locked, we both head up stairs. I unlock the door to my apartment and let her inside. I quickly scan the room for any messes I can clean up before she looks too closely. Luckily, things look pretty neat for the middle of the week.

She follows me inside and I shut the door behind us. The rain has started to fall, filling the room with gentle drumming.

“This is exactly how I pictured it to look,” she says, walking passed my book shelves.

“Did you picture it to be this small?”

She breathes a laugh.

“I would say it’s completely average.”

“It’s practically a studio,” I say.

“The studio I had in the city was much smaller,” she explains, “This is just cozy.”

“I guess you could say that,” I shrug, “Would you like to shower?”

“Sure,” she says, her face turning red again.

“You can borrow some of my clothes.”

I grab her a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt and show her to the bathroom. 

While she showers, I make us both sandwiches and set the table. 

She comes out a few minutes later, looking very comfortable in my clothes. 

“Looks good,” she says, sitting at the table, “I think I have an appetite now.”

“That’s good,” I smile, “How’s your head feeling?”

“It’s starting to sting a little bit.”

I slide the bottle of anti-infammatories across the table to her.

“Take a two of these every six hours to keep the swelling and pain down.”

As we eat across from each other, I catch her looking at me from time to time. That fluttery feeling in my chest is back and I’m starting to feel a bit self-conscious.

“Man, today was rough,” she tells me, “But you took such good care of me, I’ll be back on my feet in no time.”

“You’re flattering me,” I respond, “I was just doing my job.”

“Don’t be humble,” her tone is firm, “You pulled up a chair and sat there while I slept for like three hours.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry.”

“No,” she sighs, “Don’t appologize either. What I’m trying to say is thank you, today made me realize something.”

She stops there, and so does my heart for a moment.

“What did you realize?”

“I’m going to plead the fifth for now.”

I’m getting heart palpitations at this point. For the sake of my health, I let it go.

After cleaning up the table, I excuse myself to shower.

“If I’m asleep when you come out,” she told me before I stepped into the bathroom, “You can join me in the bed.”

Here we go again.

“Are you asking me to?”

“Yes,” she says, now looking away bashfully.

When I come out of the shower, she was under the covers in my bed, I turn off the lights and slide under the covers next to her. I thought she was asleep at first, but as soon as I’m settled in, she turns to face me, her eyes almost sparkling in the dark when she turns to me.

“Did I wake you?” I whisper.

“No,” she whispers back, “I decided to wait for you.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” she smiles, “I thought you deserved a little reward for today.”

I swallow.

“What do you have in mind?”

“Close your eyes,” she says.

I do what she says and a few seconds pass before I feel her plant a gentle kiss on corner of my mouth. She’s smiling at me when I open my eyes.

“Good night,” she says and turns around.

“Good night,” I whisper back.

Even though I won’t be falling asleep any time soon.

AN: This chapter is me making up for the previous chapter being so late. I had fun writing this one, so you all enjoy. XOXO

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[badstitched]

⭐︎. * Spellbound Stitches * .⭐︎

Introducing a new pattern collection of magical designs that feature the versatility of Cosmo floss! Cosmo embroidery floss is a lovely 6-strand floss from Japan that is perfect for magical patterns.

Six of your favorite designers have collaborated with the same palette of floss to create these magical designs!

@badstitched @flossyfoxshop @stitchsprout @sirithre @finefrogstitching @thestitchcrypt

You can find a beautifully printed 20 page booklet & custom floss pack at participating LNS, or the PDF in the link provided in my linktree!

Participating LNS in the U.S. @dyeingforsass @starstitchery @flossandneedleshop

If you're outside the U.S., check out @sirithe 's article in the linktree with a list of where you can source your own Cosmo floss!

All the handy links: www.linktr.ee/spellboundstitches

[flightfoot]

Do you have ML fic rec with supernatural theme? Smt like Spellbound or Bell the Cat thing perhaps?

You're in luck, I love supernatural/fantasy ML fics! I tagged everyone I know the tumblrs for, feel free to tag anyone I missed!

COMPLETE FICS:

---

Dreams of You by @chocoluckchipz

Dreams had long been his only escape. Dreams of Ladybug, the girl who had always been there for him. If only in his dreams. And only while she was also sleeping. Because with the first rays of sunshine gliding over her skin, with the first fluttering of her eyelashes, from the moment she opened her eyes in the morning, memories of Adrien would vanish from her mind. She would go on living her life. He would always be the only one who remembered. At least until they meet in the real world and fall in love all over again, something that would’ve been easier to do if Adrien wasn't a prisoner in his own home.

---

May I Introduce Myself, Your Highness? by @chocoluckchipz

Whether picking up a stray animal off the streets or saving a dying child at the market, Adrien had always strived to be the best version of himself. Truly, he would've been the perfect candidate to be snatched up by a kwami, were he an orphan, dying somewhere remote after a short life full of nothing but suffering and misery. Yet as it stood, the sole heir to the French throne had little to complain about. Apart from, perhaps, a complete absence of a love life. That is until a mysterious girl, wandering around his gardens at night, catches his attention.

---

How Marinette Learned to Stop Worrying And Love The Ball by @rosie-b

Hidden from the crowds thronging around the busy fairy portal in Paris's town square, a fae gate sits at the edge of the forest, locked, rusty, and full of ancient magic. Marinette thinks that this abandoned gate must not work anymore... but one day, a fairy disguised as a black cat steps through it.

---

a winter so warm by @rosekasa

winters were hard for even the best of vampires, but at least adrien had marinette to keep him warm with her cuddles.

december was going to suck without her. so it was only to be expected to get extra cuddles in before she left, right?

(well, not really, considering those heating supplements he was taking, but she didn't need to know about that).

---

Stitched Together by @nedjsmlfavs

Stitch Witch Marinette was just supposed to be having a nice, terrifying outing with her best friends. She never expected to find a magically trapped kitten, but here we are! Whatever happened to this poor little guy?

---

The Mer-Human Race by @rosie-b

Bringing her hand closer to his lips, Adrien tried to plant a kiss on it, but Marinette pulled away before his lips could touch her.

“Save it for your girlfriend,” she said teasingly. “Or do you still not have one yet?”

Adrien smirked and crossed his arms.

“It’s a girl,” he said. “And I know her in real life. That’s all you get. Now, let’s get back to planning, shall we? We have a mermaid to beat.”

---

See This Chance by @19thsentry-blog

Luka died in 2016. Yep. Crushed by the Arc de Triumph when Mayura’s Robustus slammed into it. It was kind of a big deal, but once you’re dead, you’re dead—especially when there’s no Lucky Charm to bring you back.

Luka’s been dealing with it in the typical ways.

Written for FeLuka week 2023.

---

the legend of the firefly by @agnes-writes

“She’s… beautiful.

If he were to describe her, he’d say that they bottled summer in her eyes, and painted the night sky in her hair. Her lips are curved into a wistful smile, eyes trailing the thicket of trees where Adrien stands.

Her gaze sets his heart stuttering in his chest as it softens, and Adrien almost believes that look is meant for him.”

OR: A pair of lovers create a romance that transcends time, and leaves a mark like no other.

---

Anchor by @liiinerle

“Marinette. Please take that sabre out of your neck.”

“Right. Thanks. I forgot it was there.” She grabbed hold of the guard and pulled; the blade slid out like it had only been run through butter. After dropping it on the floor, she picked up one of the teacups and picked up a biscuit from a tin she’d brought in; she placed the biscuit on the saucer plate and handed the whole thing to Kagami, who could only really resign herself to accepting it.

-----

Marinette has raised Kagami from the dead, and also happens to be dead herself. It turns out some bad choices were made in the past. But that doesn't mean they'll lead to bad outcomes for them now.

---

delicate in every way but one by katrinette

When Marinette finds a wanted ad that provokes just enough questions in her mind that she can't help answering it, the reward is sweeter than she could have imagined.

---

whose woods these are (I think i know) by Reiaji

Four years after his future turns to cinders, Adrien is a servant in the house he was meant to inherit. Disowned by his father and abused by his stepmother, his days are filled with drudgery until he meets a masked huntress in the forest behind his father's chateau. As his friendship with Ladybug turns to first love, he dreams of a future spent at her side. Then, on the eve of the Princess's masquerade, he meets his guardian—and is granted a wish. [Ladrien Cinderella AU]

---

don't you worry child by @mexicancat-girl

Marc and Nathaniel have a good life, married and living together in a cottage in the woods. But they consider having children at some point. Marc in particular really wants to start a family with his husband. He knows the fey are real, so he goes searching in the woods to find one to strike a deal. He may get a bit more than he bargained for in the process.

---

hella enchanted by @xiueryn:

Years ago, Marinette's father died and she was left with her awful stepmother. With magic forcing her to obey every command, she lived as a servant and gave up hope. When a man appears, searching for the very fairy that blessed her, Marinette decides to give life one more try. AU.

(a different ella enchanted au.)

---

How Could I Not? by SorryJustAnotherPerson

In fairy tale books, Princesses were saved by nights from ferocious dragons. Those books were not their story, but Rose was happy to flip over a new page with her Juleka every single day.

Many years ago, she was put to this tower by her parents and her kingdom, along with a fire breathing dragon, so she could find her prince charming one day. How foolish for them to not calculate her falling in love with the dragon. I mean seriously.

How could she not?

Once Upon A Time by kao_rei:

"Humans fear wolves. I mean, we're horrible, sickening creatures, aren't we?" Adrien laughed.

"I don't think so," Marinette muttered. "Well, not anymore when I met you."

Marinette's days are all the same—she puts on her red cape, makes deliveries for her parents' bakery, and goes home to rest before another busy day. Adrien is a wolf-boy who watches her from afar, awaiting the day they finally meet to change their stories.

While falling in love may bring about some challenges, they're willing to fight through them together because they'd never settle for a "the end". They want a "happily ever after", too.

(In which Marinette is Little Red Riding Hood, Adrien is the Wolf, and they fall in love somewhere between deliveries, flower fields, and shiny red apples).

---

life's waiting for you by @mexicancat-girl

Marc is the shy and soft-spoken Prince of the Underworld, used to being ignored at best and feared at worst. He greatly admires Nathaniel, the Prince of Nature, who’s much too out of his league. Handsome, kind, charming, and charmingly modest, with hair as red as a rose and talented artists' hands. Yearning for the love of a nature deity when he’s a deity of death is beyond ridiculous, so Marc keeps his hopes low. But an encounter at the border between the Underworld and the surface leads the two to speaking, which leads to Marc showing Nathaniel his writing and Nathaniel his art. And from there blooms a beautiful friendship…Or maybe more.

---

to love beauty is to see light by sagansjagger

Young common-mer Adrien will do anything to please his father, Gabriel Agreste. Adrien will even alter his tail, that hideous thing. But the sea witch he seeks out is not who he expected. A common-mer striking up a friendship with an anglerfish-mer is taboo among mermaid kind, but Marinette Dupain-Cheng is too interesting for Adrien to just leave her alone...

---

Ghost of You by its_just_iori

It finally happened. The akuma attacked at the wrong time. They weren't prepared. For the first time, there was a casualty. Someone was killed. Marinette doesn't care that her identity was exposed to the world; she can't stop blaming herself for what happened. If only she'd been ready... if only she'd done more... There's nothing for Adrien to say. There's nothing he can do other than stay by her side and help her through this pain.

---

The Pink Lady: Marichat May 2018 by seasonofthegeek

In this story, Chat Noir, Carapace, Rena Rouge, Queen B, and Paon are the heroes of Paris. The Ladybug Miraculous has been lost for almost a century and it takes all of their combined power to cleanse akumas sometimes but they’ve found something that works since they don’t have another option. Hawkmoth is one of their villains, but not the only one plaguing Paris. Chat Noir happens upon an old hotel one night on patrol and discovers something and someone he didn't expect.

INCOMPLETE FICS

The Beauty of a Rose by properjitterbug

In the small town of Bellerose, Marinette and Adrien are childhood friends while secretly pining for each other. They lead happy lives until one day a long, forgotten promise is stirred awake; changing their lives in ways they couldn't imagine. With time marching on, Marinette is left to chase after ghosts of her past as a strange creature appears in the depths of the mysterious forest. Arc 1: Chapters 1-11: Complete Arc 2: Chapters 12-?: In Progress -- Werecat!Adrien x Marinette

Note: this one's M-rated for a reason.

---

what worse luck by GuardianKarenTerrier

He doesn't know what happens. One minute he's struggling against the leash spell, the next he's tripping on his own momentum as the magic suddenly snaps, as he tastes freedom for the first time in- in ever, probably. Adrien doesn't stop long enough to think about where he's going or why. He just bolts. (Marinette's spell goes wildly off-target, but it's a stroke of luck for everyone involved that it does).

---

fire lily petals by @fragileizy

“Do you believe in soulmates?” His little witch looks up from her mortar and pestle, setting a heavy book in front of him at the table. The weight of the textbook upsets the flame of their oil lamp enough to scatter and smudge the shadows around them, and he stares down at the page for something to do instead of looking at her glittering eyes. Of course I do, he wants to say. Of course I believe in soulmates. I believe in it every time you look at me, Marinette. It’s as true as the demonic seal that stains my chest at our contract— it’s as true as the demonic seals that burn on your ear lobes that you keep hidden with your hair at our contract. But he’s a coward. He’s nothing more than a coward. The great Chat Noir, the legendary demon who has fought countless demonic wars, who has looked at the concept of death thousands of times, helpless to the way this witch looks at him. “It’s very... fairy-tale-like. Is it not?” Part One: Chapters 1 - 20 Complete Part Two: Chapters 21+ In Progress

---

Living With Dragons by @nomolosk

Stifled at home, Prince Adrien just wants to have an adventure. Accidentally captured instead of her mistress, Marinette Dupain-Cheng just wants to go home. But when you're living with dragons, things are bound to get interesting, and both of them might just end up finding something they like better. Set in the world of the Enchanted Forest Chronicles by Patricia C. Wrede.

[ansitru]

Do you love reading? And cross-stitching? And want to help support literacy charities for children and adults around the world?

Then you're going to want to keep your eyes peeled for an exciting launch happening this week. 📚 ✨

This Friday at 9am EST, Spellbound Stitches is launching the Bookmark Book, a collection of 27 beautiful bookmark designs by 27 amazing cross stitch designers, to support literacy charities! ✨

Here's a sneak peak at my design (with floriography, because... of course.) I'll reveal the full bookmark & floriograpy meanings on Friday, when the project goes live.

Proud to be a part of this project, proud to see all the designs that have been made. Y'all are in for a treat! 🖤

[simslegacy5083]

Today's (11/20/2024) Episode: Classic Drama

Shortly after his surgery Skye felt up to trying to celebrate his birthday again, and his folks invited all their friends and family to Ohan’Ali Beach.

“Remember,” Noemi said anxiously as they approached the crowd “Everyone will understand if you get tired and need to go home early.”

“I’m fine mom, promise” Skye replied, not wanting to admit to feeling a little too sore for an outdoor party. “I just wish Grandma Shannon and Grandpa Gilbert could be here to celebrate with us.” His maternal grandparents had always made him feel safe, and he missed them already.

“Me too honey” Noemi nodded sadly “but at least my dad thought ahead and sent you that classy violin so you could remember him whenever you practice on it.” Her son made noises of vague agreement, without actually committing to learn the musical instrument.

Once they reached the bar and grill area Luigi broke off and got started mixing drinks for all his nearest and dearest.

“I hope everyone’s thirsty,” he said with a grin, “because this mix master has found a secret Kava Recipe that’s going to knock your socks off!”

“Well, that’s pretty unlikely, since no one here is wearing any socks” Beau smirked “but I’ve learned to keep an open mind - and mouth - whenever his majesty is distributing tasty new concoctions. Bring it on!” Denton, Don and the others joined in; clamoring to try the new mystery punch.

Meanwhile, socially sensitive Noemi made a beeline for the beach chairs holding her closest friends, where Amaya had saved her a seat.

“How’s Skye doing?” Breanne asked once she had settled into the conversation circle. “We were all sorry to hear about your trip being cut short.”

“Much better now, thankfully” she replied. “I’m keeping an eye on him after his surgery, but I’m actually more worried about him starting High School than I am about any unexpected complications. He was really emotionally fragile on the trip, and I’m not sure how ready he is.”

“You came to the right crew!” Isra declared. “We can tell you all about what the kids are up to these days. Spoiler alert: It’s the same old stuff we did, and they totally think they invented it themselves.” In no time the ladies were all laughing at stories of final exam and prom drama.

A little of that highly predictable drama was playing out not far from the chatty mothers, with Bruce striking out after flirting with Elyse.

“Look Bruce, what we did after sports day was like, a one-time thing, OK?” She took a small step back. “I’m still your friend, I just don’t really want to make it like a big “relationship” relationship, y’know what I mean? Sorry man.”

He was clearly stung by the rejection but tried to play it cool. “That’s your loss. Nobody’s as bold as the B-dog, and you’ll see that after you try the other losers around here.” He spotted Skye approaching and called out: “You ready to party with the big kids now? We were just talking about you.”

Skye wasn’t sure what Bruce meant, but from Elyse’s expression it wasn’t really worth investigating. He acknowledged the older boy’s greeting without pausing to chat, continuing to lug a picnic basket full of treats he’d helped his dad make that afternoon towards a table.

The motion of lifting the heavy basket up to sit it down pulled on his stitches and he stopped abruptly, wincing in pain. “Hey, let me get that” a familiar voice called. His cousin Peter ran over, quickly helping him unload all the goodies.

“Thanks” Skye smiled gratefully. “I’m still sore and my stitches itch, but it’s worlds better than itchy plumbob was. How’s Uncle Denton doing?”

Peter had barely started to fill Skye in on the latest with his family when he noticed Elyse watching them from the next table over. “C’mon and sit with us! The birthday boy brought plenty of snacks to share.” Elyse and Bruce joined them, both seeming weirdly awkward.

It was great being at eye level with Elyse again. Skye was spellbound watching her play with her hair before softly wishing him a happy birthday. Her eyes are so beautiful he thought, finally stammering out “Happy Birthday… I mean hello, or um, thanks” in reply before burying his face in a sandwich.

Bruce grabbed a plate for himself and grumpily muttered “Oh get a room, you two.”

Elyse’s pale little pet hadn’t got any bolder with age, but it was clear that she was far from disappointed with his stammering incompetence.

Bruce’s pride had been hurt badly enough when he realized Elyse didn’t want to date him. If he had to spend the whole party watching her fawn all over the newly stretched out version of their local village idiot; he might just scream… or set something, or someone, on fire.

View The Full Story of My Not So Berry Challenge Here

[runa-falls]

recent reads - july '23

if you enjoy these fics make sure to reblog and comment to show your support for the writers!

(*) nsfw (**) dark (~) angst (^) fluff

series - [read a lot more this month bc of travel!]

poe dameron

alabanza*^~ - @brandyllyn [ao3]

“A mis-delivered message causes You and Poe Dameron to become anonymous penpals. But falling for each other via letter while at the same time falling for each other in the real world leads to more than its fair share of complications.”

din djarin

miscommunication*^~ - @ezrasbirdie [ao3]

“When the Mandalorian brings you aboard his ship to care for and protect his son when he’s away, neither of you is what the other expected. You’re both exceptionally bad at reading each other, and you’re afraid of what might happen when your past inevitably catches up to you.”

henry cavill 

crystal ship* (RPF - mafia AU) - @littlefreya

“Henry is the most dangerous crime lord in England, he has everything he wants and women throw themselves at his feet, but what really gets him off is what’s hard to get.”

(i usually never read rpf but littlefreya can make me read ANYTHING)

geralt z rivii

outlander*^~ - @leva [ao3]

“The witcher universe was cruel and unforgiving. You couldn’t imagine lasting a day in it yet here you were. It wasn’t all bad, the food was decent, some folk were nice and you even had your very own mutant bodyguard to boot. Not to mention Jaskier being your personal radio station on the road.”

kylo ren

cruel world*^~- @worm_girl [ao3]

"When Professor Ren moves in next door to your sorority house and you become one of his students, it is impossible for the two of you to ignore the pull you have to each other.”

[not reader-insert:]

reylo (my comfort ship)

all our days*^~ - @voicedimplosives [ao3]

"I can listen no longer in silence." The hologram projection of his strangely handsome face is cobalt blue, flickering, and full of static. "I must speak to you, Rey. You… you pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me that I am not too late.” 

bamon (TVD) (my other comfort ship)

spellbound*^~ - @ladyloec

“An AU of Bonnie and Damon in the Prison World, without Kai, but with a problematic blood shortage that leads to our favourite judgy witch and snarky vampire getting closer than anyone anticipated.”

one-shots (all are reader-inserts!)

moon boys

satisfactory pt.1 + pt.2* (pornstar!jake) - @whatthefish

weightless~ (steven angst) - @m00nsbaby

call me* (feral!steven) - @writefightandflightclub

acts of service^ (marc fluff) - @ivystoryweaver

nice job!*^ (sub!steven fluff) - @romanarose

nathan bateman

indulge me* - @leoluved

poe dameron

wasted on you*^ - @campingwiththecharmings

blue jones

a long night** - @melodygatesauthor

beg** - @“”

santiago garcia

just friends pt.1* and pt.2*~ - @campingwiththecharmings

say my name*~ - @writefightandflightclub

threesome: santi x reader x frankie* - @youvebeenlivingfictional

a midnight picnic - @sweetly-yours-and-mine

miguel o’hara

rendezvous* - @campingwiththecharmings (i’m so sorry i’m tagging u so much lmfao)

stitches and claws* - @astroboots halo* - @missdictatorme

surrender* - @romanarose

llewyn davis

anchor* - @bits-and-babs

ezra prospect

darkness* - @ezrasbirdie

joel miller

what comes after*~ - @softlyspector

frank castle

all up in smoke^ - @saintmurd0ck

raymond smith + tangerine x reader

who you belong to*~ - @youvebeenlivingfictional