#ty for reading my nonsense :)

[shepscapades]

This file is named “Destruction BREAKDOWN” because of me. It’s me. I’m having the breakdown

[bioethicists]

the connection between psychiatry + capitalism, as simply as i can put it: as the years press on, the condition of the world gets bleaker, the resources + time + emotional disconnection needed to live a 'normal' life increase.

as the years press on, emotional distress rises across the population, many of whom are are struggling to live a 'normal' life. this is portrayed as a mysterious uptick in individual cases of objectively-classified, biologically-based illnesses.

[friendlyspidercop]

i fear no one loves ps4 peter like u and i do… thank u for feeding into my delusions about him

it’s just u and me, nonnie 🫶🏼💔

[atsu-i]

Hello, I just saw the anon ask talking about you not being on tumblr that much anymore and we don't really talk to eachother (I think we only ever exchanged messages once), but I wanted to say, while I can, that I have wonderful memories of this website and a lot of them include seeing the mangacaps that you reblog or reading your tags, including all of the occasional venting and even some of the adorable auntie stories.

If you allow me to ramble a little bit, I want to talk about the blog that you called "shitty" and how I think it is actually really cool.

You might not think that you do much because you mostly just reblog stuff, but I feel like all the mangacaps that you reblog are more meaningful than most people think. I think that they are an act of self-expression and throughout the years I've felt like those kinds of posts express a desire that people have to be more honest with their feelings and put them out into the world. I've felt like the mangacaps, combined with all of your text posts, probably do accomplish some of this.

I am not going to say that your blog changed how I view life or anything like that, but I can say that your blog, along with many other similar ones, have seriously been a part of my journey of better understanding myself.

For example, today I liked a post that had a guy feeding a cat in it. And I didn't like the post because the art was amazing. I liked it because I thought that the guy is gentle and that aspect of gentleness resonated with me personally. And obviously, there are times where I might like a post just because I think that the art looks cool, but I think that a lot of times when I'm browsing through tumblr I'm just learning more about myself through the things that I like.

Maybe the whole thing isn't supposed to be that deep, but sometimes (not always) for me it is. I think that this whole thing feels unreal for you because you don't put a lot of effort but I think that it is pretty cool that a bunch of people like the blog despite that.

As always, have a nice day and drink some water.

;-;

[whi-msical]

soo many thoughts this morning. Once Carpet Chronicles has been complete I might make tales about some of the other pets... and maybe some oc stories too muehehe >:3

also btw thank you to all the people who read and enjoy my lil stories! love you guys <3

[gojosoups]

cw: age gap, smut, unprotected sex, mating press (duh), slight choking, family man kento, domestic kento, the word pregnancy mentioned once, breeding kink, manhandling, f!reader, all characters are 18+, MDNI, proofread

a/n: ty to jizzy @joemama-2 for helping me with proof reading my work <3 gradient dividers by @/cafekitsune

Older husband! Nanami who’s sick and tired of being invited to baby showers and seeing pictures of his coworkers' kids on their desks.

Older husband! Nanami who’s tired of kids being brought up in every single conversation among his friends and colleagues. His hands turn white as his grip tightens around his drink, a fake smile painted on his face, however, his gaze remains distant as he was forced to listen to the nonsense chatter around him. 

Maybe agreeing to a night out was a bad idea.

Older husband! Nanami comes home late that night, tie loose around his neck and sleeves rolled up to his forearms. His eyes land on you— his loving, doting wife in an apron, arms open and welcoming.

And with missing a beat, he hauls you over his shoulder, hands gripping your thighs as he pads upstairs with you.

Older husband! Nanami throws you onto the bed, ripping your clothes off with a vigor that rivals his work ethic. You're bare before him, pussy dripping without even being touched.

Your brows knit in confusion, concerned by your husband’s sudden behavior—the way his chest rises and falls so heavily. The sound of his belt hitting the floor echoes through the room, and the sheets beneath ruffle as he climbs over your form.

Older husband! Nanami whose fingers work fast on the zipper, lowering his boxers and pants in one go, his length springing free, slapping against his lower abdomen as he grabs your thighs.

"Ken—" you gasp, breath caught in your lungs.

Older husband! Nanami pushes your legs up, folding you in half until your thighs lay flat against your chest, and your knees tucked under your chin. His thick cock drags teasingly along your slick folds, swollen tip running over your slit—and then, with a sway of his hips, he thrusts forward, sinking deep into your tight heat.

Older husband! Nanami only had one intention tonight: to fuck you full of his cum until you're pregnant by the morning.

Your painted toes curl over his shoulders, and his weight presses you down into the mattress as his heavy balls slap against your ass with each deep, brutal thrust.

Older husband! Nanami whose unfaltering gaze is locked on you—watching every quiver of your thighs, every little twitch of your expression, and the pretty "O" your lips form as gasps and moans spill out helplessly from you. 

Your eyes close in pleasure, and your grip tightens on the sheets beneath you.

Older husband! Nanami whose rough voice fills the room, "Look at me."

You force your eyes open, locking onto your husband's intense gaze—only to let your curious eyes trail down from his form, down to his blonde happy trail, and even lower to where he’s stretching your drooling pussy open.

Older husband! Nanami who, despite his gentle nature, isn't above punishing you whenever you test his patience.

He huffs, irritated at your disobedience. His hand wraps firmly around your neck, gaze intense as he stares down at you.

"I said—" his grip tightens on your neck, making your eyes roll to the back of your head, "look at me, sweetheart—fuck!" he growls when your gaze flickers away. 

Older husband! Nanami who slips out of you, slapping his impressive length against your throbbing clit, pulling out desperate whimpers from your throat, before filling you to the brim with his cock.

"K-Kento—" pathetic mewls leave your pretty lips as he fucks the air out from your lungs, your back arching into him. He fucks you so good, hitting that spot over and over again, dragging out your pleasure until you can’t breathe.

Older husband! Nanami leans in, lips brushing against your soft ones, "That's it, darling, right there—” his voice slurring, “cum for me, honey,” he groans, closing the space between you both as his lips wrap around yours, drinking your moans of pleasure like a man starved.

You feel the familiar coil tighten, hot white pleasure traveling from the tips of your fingers to the tippy toes of your feet. Your walls clamp tight, further encouraging his unforgiving pace. 

Older husband! Nanami always manages to say the filthiest shit to you, bringing you closer to the edge with just his words.

“Let me see you fall apart,” his breathing turns ragged, thrusts growing borderline desperate at the thought of filling up your womb—of keeping your tits full of milk and your belly round with his kids.

Your hands grasp onto his back, voice trembling as you reach your orgasm, “K-Ken... I’m close—” you sob, “please...”

“That’s right, darling... right on my fucking cock,” he moans, the bed creaking in sync with every brutal thrust as he makes a mess of your pussy.

Older husband! Nanami who buries himself to the hilt, groaning deep as he spills inside of you, thick ropes of cum flooding your cunt. Your breath hitches, legs twitching, and sobs caught in your throat as your juices gush around him.

Older husband! Nanami finally pulls out, and you let out a shaky sigh of relief. Your legs become limp as they drop to your sides. But before you could recover from your orgasm, his rough hands flip you over, manhandling you onto your hands and knees.

Older husband! Nanami whose cock, still rock hard, eagerly grinds against your slick folds from behind.

"We're not done yet," he growls, slapping his cock against your ass, and lining himself back up to your pussy.

It was going to be a long night. 

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 © 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐏𝐒 — do not copy, translate, repost or modify my works on any platform.

[ddrunkdazed]

cherry-flavoured (y.jw)

GENRE. smut. fluff. slight angst.

PAIRINGS. yang jungwon x reader

WORD COUNT. 1,9k.

SYNOPSIS. you lose your virginity to jungwon, your academic rival turned crush.

WARNINGS. allusions to drug use, boob sucking, brief mention of oral sex (f receiving), loss of virginity (with protection).

NOTE. finally this left the drafts. made for my beloved @treasxreblue, hope you enjoy! here's a short playlist if you're into that.

Things were a lot easier when you “hated” each other. 

Truth be told, hatred was never part of the equation – just a nonsensical and short-lived rivalry that died as soon as you realized that joining forces was a lot more helpful to you both than trying to live those enemies-to-lovers, academic rivals tropes you so loved to read.

But now, as you flip through every app on your phone as the clock goes forward, you wish you had never gotten involved with him. It’s a petty sentiment, the brat in you coming out whenever he keeps you waiting. Once again, Jungwon was supposed to meet you (almost two hours ago this time around), yet there’s no sign of him anywhere. No text, no call, nothing.

As you consider getting up to leave, your brain supplies you with the memory of last time: his phone’s battery had died, which is why he couldn’t text you to let you know he would be late. Then, he proceeded to spend the rest of the week apologizing in various forms, even though you had mentally forgiven him as soon as you saw his face. But since that wasn’t fun, you figured you’d make him a little miserable for a while. 

And so, you figure that waiting for a bit longer while soaking up the sun isn’t that big of a deal. What was proving to be a challenge was avoiding your train of thought from diverting to those forbidden ways. Luckily, the familiar cadence of Jungwon’s voice snaps you out of your cyclical line of thinking.

“I am so fucking sorry,” he says.

You look up at him expressionless, as you gauge his features, taking note of his extremely red eyes and sluggish disposition as he struggles to sit down next to you on the sidewalk in front of his house.

“Are you high again?”

Jungwon takes his sweet time, perhaps trying to come up with an excuse, but the goofy grin that takes over his face quickly gives him away. “I was. I mean… maybe I still am, a little bit?”

“I’ve been here for almost two hours, you know?” You say quietly.

The cherry lollipop you’d been playing with to distract yourself with something other than your phone feels like the only thing tying you to reality. You’ve been playing with it, a nervous reflex, so you put it back in your mouth and look away to avoid saying something else. Something mean, or maybe something that will give you away.

Jungwon says nothing, but you can feel him staring at you. The silence that settles between you is heavy and oppressive, and you pretend not to notice when his beautiful eyes settle on your lips – but his gaze is so penetrating that you can’t help but stare back at him. Your hand hovers over the plastic stick, and Jungwon beats you to it. Softly, he coaxes the lollipop out of your mouth and puts it in his, proceeding to suck it slowly as he holds your gaze.

Such a deliberate move… seemingly insignificant for Jungwon but so earth-shattering for you. Heat rushes to your face, and you want to use that burst of energy to rip the lollipop out of his mouth, make a big deal of him being late, yell at him for doing drugs, for ruining his life (and possibly yours), but his little action has rendered you speechless. He’s sucking the lollipop you had in your mouth a minute ago… isn’t that like an indirect kiss?

Time slows down as he claims the piece of candy as his. Your eyes are trained on him the whole time, and you follow the lollipop’s trajectory as it exits his mouth. He gently pats your lips with it, pushing the cherry-flavored candy between your lips, prompting you to open your mouth and take it in. It’s all so intimate and nearly obscene, and you can’t help but make a little noise that snaps Jungwon out of his little reverie.

Jungwon rasps your name, and you reach for the lollipop with a shaky hand.

He tugs at his hair. “Do you still want to come in?”

“Huh?” You retort dumbly until you notice that he’s gesturing towards his house. That’s when you force yourself to focus on something other than the candy in your mouth. “Oh, sure.” 

The burning sensation that has settled between your legs is a lot more noticeable now that you’re standing up, but at least you’re no longer looking at Jungwon while you drench the fabric of your underwear. The lollipop hangs idly from your hand, half-eaten.

You’ve been inside his home countless times before, and yet, you feel terribly out of place. Uncomfortable, like you’re once again the new girl arriving on the first day of school, not knowing what to do with yourself. 

At some point, he speaks again, but you can’t make out the words, your head still replaying what happened just a few minutes ago, right outside this apartment, hand heavy with the spit-slick candy. Jungwon walks over to you and gets dangerously close to your face, whether to annoy you or to appease you, you don’t know. At least you didn’t, until you caught the taunting glint in his deep brown eyes when he notices that you’ve held your breath. 

Your entire body burns, from embarrassment, from longing, from desire. You are so, so angry at him – and emboldened, you caress the back of his head and then tug on his hair, hard. His eyes widen, and now you bask in the glory of having caught him off guard, at least this once. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says, slightly fearful of what you might do. 

“I don’t believe you.” You tug harder on his hair. 

“Let me prove it to you,” he pleads, finally moving to untangle your hand from his hair. 

You hate that whenever Jungwon does something like this, all it takes to disarm you is a single look from those pretty brown eyes, and you fall right into his trap, like a fool. And a fool you are, in bold, capital, scarlet letters. 

One second you’re menacingly tugging on his hair and the next, he has you against the wall, the entire length of his body pressed to yours. 

The burn between your legs deepens when he presses his knee to your core, forcing you to spread your legs for him in a swift motion, Jungwon’s cherry-flavored lips so close to your (also) cherry-flavored ones.

“You have no idea how crazy you make me,” his sweet, warm breath hits your face when he speaks. You’re so overwhelmed with emotion and want that you could start trembling under him, yet you stand there, unmoving, wide-eyed, lips parted and eyes glittering in anticipation. 

“Ever since we became actual friends, I’ve wanted to have you this close to me…”

If he’s expecting a response, he doesn’t wait for it. Instead, he crashes his lips against yours and despite the force, his lips are soft, searching. The way he kisses is exploratory, like he’s trying to map your lips with his, and you can’t help but moan into his mouth, pressing yourself further into his knee.

“I want you too, Jungwon – so bad.” you manage to gasp, in between kisses. The neediness in your tone would’ve had you wanting the floor to crack open and swallow you whole under other circumstances. Now, you feel like a starving woman who just had her first meal in weeks, and you can’t get enough of it. Of him.

Jungwon smiles against your lips when he dives in for another kiss. This time, you feel his tongue tentatively swiping your lower lip. The switch to open-mouthed kissing has given way to a myriad of new sensations and thoughts, and in the back of your mind you wonder if his tongue feels as good as it tastes. 

Like a mind reader, Jungwon starts kissing all over your face, your neck, hands groping your ass and forcing you to grind harder on his knee. His brown eyes are darker with desire when he asks, “May I?” Before lowering your top after you enthusiastically nod your consent.

And indeed, his tongue is sweet in everything it does. He leaves open-mouthed kisses all over your chest, softly nipping at your boobs before he hastily lowers your bra and takes one of your nipples in his mouth. You could cum, just from his mouth on your tits and his knee deliciously rubbing against your cunt, but you don’t want to. Not yet. So you push him back.

“Jungwon…” 

He looks up at you, reverently, mouth swollen and shiny. For a brief second, he’s a lost puppy, waiting for his next command. 

“I… I haven’t done this before.”

Immediately, he straightens up, still holding you close but this time a bit more carefully, like you’re a fragile flower he must take care of. 

“Do you… Do you want to do it?” Jungwon shakily asks, his big brown eyes scanning your features for every single ounce of information he can compile.

“I do. Please.” You say, honestly. However, the confession makes you feel a bit bashful, which results in biting your lip and looking away from him, your cheeks hot.

“Are you sure?” 

His voice is soft, just like his eyes. You feel yourself melting into him, his concern somehow being what seals the deal for you. It’s been him for a while now. Of course, it needs to be him now. The first one. You want him to be. You need him to be. 

“I’m sure. Please.” You repeat, looking directly into those beautiful eyes you love so much.

Jungwon nods, taking your hand and guiding you to the bedroom. The initial passion that brought you together is replaced with an intense devotion, every single one of his moves venerating. He undresses you slowly, pressing soft kisses to every inch of the skin that shows once the fabric is off. His touches, rough at first, have turned into careful caresses, as if he’s mapping you.

Soon enough, it becomes clear to you that this moment has become all about you, his pleasure momentarily ignored. Nonetheless, by the noises Jungwon makes as he kisses and licks every inch of your skin, you can safely assume he’s also enjoying himself.

“You’re so beautiful,” Jungwon murmurs, after pressing a kiss to your thigh. “I love seeing you like this,” after he’s collected your wetness with his tongue. He gives you no time to feel shy about the fact that he’s hungrily lapping up the result of your desire for him. When the orgasm rolls through you, he inserts one, then two digits to prepare you for the actual thing.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He inquires, as he lines up (prepared) against your entrance. Once again, you give your consent. This time in spoken form, a shaky exhalation of, “Yes, please.” And he’s entering you, slowly, allowing you to feel every inch of him inside you. 

It’s a tight fit, but he patiently waits until you grow accustomed to it before he starts moving. Even when you plead for more, he’s never rough with you. And when you’re on the edge again, he presses his forehead to yours, his eyes looking straight into yours before he captures your lips in a soft kiss, the taste of cherry still faintly there when he lets himself go. 

[adrienneleclerc]

I love each and every one of your stories! 🥰

I have an idea where the girl pranks her boyfriend that her friends were having a “Christmas party” and pretended she was going to wear sexy lingerie as an outfit and I would totally love to read how the F1 guys would react to that. I don’t know how you feel about that 🙈

Love the idea!

A Nonsense Christmas Prank

+18: Minors Do Not Interact

Summary: How the drivers react to you “leaving” the house in lingerie

Warning: sexual content (in a way, I guess)

A/N: drivers include Charles Leclerc, Lando Norris, Logan Sargeant, Oscar Piastri

For Reference, this is the lingerie (it’s the cutest one I found on a mannequin)

Y/N stepped out in lingerie and strappy heels, talking on the phone with her friend.

“Yes, Miranda, im heading out right now.” Y/N made it a point to talk loudly to get the attention of her partner, making them look up and seeing her in the scandalous attire. “When have I ever been late? It’s not like I’m gonna be late for wine and gossip, I’m practically out the door.” Y/N hung up the phone

Charles Leclerc

“Where are you going like that, Mon ange?” Charles asked.

“Oh, my friend Miranda is having a nonsense Christmas party. Yes, it’s inspired by Sabrina Carpenter, don’t ask.” Y/N said.

“I thought this little set up was for my eyes only, I don’t know how I feel about other men looking at what’s mine.” Charles admitted, wrapping his arms around her waist.

“Oh haha, there won’t be any men there.” Y/N said, tying up the rob she was wearing.

“Okay, but I’ll feel better if I’m taking you to Miranda’s apartment, where does she live, again?” Charles asked, getting his coat out of the closet and getting his keys.

“Are you crazy? I’m not going to her Christmas party like this.” Y/N said. Charles had that confused puppy look on his face.

“What do you mean?” Charles asked, putting his keys back on the hook.

“I mean, yes, it’s a Christmas party, but I’m wearing this.” Y/N said pulling out a more winter appropriate party outfit.

“Oh thank god.” Charles said with his hand in his chest. “I’m still taking you though, get dressed.”

“Yes sir.” Y/N said teasingly.

Lando Norris

“Are you planning on wearing a coat with that outfit?” Lando asked.

“Yes, Lando, I’m going to be wearing the parka you bought me for my birthday (December babies UNITE), how do I look?” Y/N asked, holding the rob open.

“You look Great, so Great in fact, you should cancel on your friend Miranda and spend the night with me.” Lando said.

“Thank you, baby, but i am not canceling on Miranda.” Y/N said.

“Do you think she’ll mind me crashing the party?” Lando asked, playing with the string of Y/N’s robe.

“Probably, it’s more of a girls’ night.” Y/N said,

“Damn…are you sure you can’t stay with me tonight?” Lando asked with a pout.

“Positive. Can I go now?” Y/N asks.

“Yes, you can go, but i need updates about the party. And you need to bring leftovers.” Lando said, giving Y/N a kiss on the forehead. Y/N giggled. “What’s so funny about being sweet to my baby girl?”

“No, it’s not that, but do you actually think I’m leaving the apartment in lingerie? Of course not, I’m wearing jeans, your quarter zip, and the uggs you got me for Christmas.” Y/N said, giving Lando a quick peck. “But I do love you for not telling me to change.”

“Trust me, I really wanted to, but I didn’t want to sound like a dick. Think I can drop you off at the party? Do you need to bring anything?” Lando asked.

“Just let me change and you can take me.” Y/N said.

Logan Sargeant

“Babe, Florida is not that hot.” Logan said, looking at Y/N’s outfit,

“I’m going to my friend’s place, she’s having a Christmas party.” Y/N said.

“Your ‘clothes’ don’t really seem christmassy to me. It’s more of a Valentine’s Day getup, or my birthday.” Logan said.

“Well Miranda thought it would be fun.” Y/N said.

“And im sure it will be. But you sure it’s a good idea to go dressed like that?” Logan asked. “There’s nothing wrong with what you’re wearing! But I want you to be safe.”

“I’m a big tough girl, I tie my own shoes and everything.” Y/N said.

“Don’t quote Hercules to me, this is serious. At least let me take you.” Logan said.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Y/N said. “Im just gonna change real quick.”

“Wait, you’re not wearing that?” Logan asked.

“Of course not, don’t be ridiculous, it was a prank. Just give me a minutes.” Y/N said because she got dressed in a cream colored long sleeved Henley with a red plaid skirt, sheer black stockings, and cream colored heeled booties.

“You look beautiful.” Logan kissed Y/N. “Let’s go.”

Oscar Piastri

“Where are you going darling?” Oscar asked

“While we’re in Australia, my friend invited me to a Christmas party.” Y/N replied.

“I didn’t know you had any friends here.” Oscar said.

“Yeah, she moved her in September for her job.” Y/N said.

“That’s good, have fun with her then.” Oscar said. Y/N looked at him. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re not going to say anything about what I’m wearing?” Y/N asked.

“You look beautiful, darling. I’ll take you, let me text my mom though.” Oscar said.

“I am so concerned that you are not saying anything about me wearing lingerie to a Christmas party, Shark Bait.” Y/N said.

“It’s just a girls night, right? That sounds perfectly fine. Besides, I can’t tell you how to dress, I know how much you hate being told what to do outside the bedroom and work.” Oscar said and Y/N slapped his chest playfully.

“Well I’m glad you know I hate being told what to do. I’m gonna change.” Y/N said.

“Wait, you weren’t going out like that?” Oscar asked,

“Babe, it may be hot here, but definitely not hot enough to dress like this.” Y/N said before she changed into an emerald green V-neck top with a black shorts and sneakers. “Next time, can we please stay in England for Christmas? Or at least go to New York? It feels weird to have Christmas during the summer.”

“Well for me, it’s weird to have Christmas in the winter.” Oscar said.

“Whatever, New York Christmas is iconic, argue with the wall, let’s go.” Y/N said.

“Yes ma’am.” Oscar replied.

The End

Not the best but lmk if you want part 2 with Lewis, Daniel, Carlos, and Max.

[onlybeeewrites]

Finding Magic

Request: May I request a hunger games request Haymitch x wife reader, she is a district 12 victor from the laye 50's games. She is around 4-8 years younger than him. It is set in district 13, we see him with their young daughter named after his fellow 50th game tribute and just fluff, please Pairing: Haymitch Abernathy x Fem!reader

Pairing: Haymitch Abernathy x wife!reader

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: SUNRISE ON THE REAPING SPOILERS, characters mentioned

A/N: the first of many Haymitch requests UGH I loved this and seeing soft Haymitch. Enjoy!! <3 ~~~~~~~~

The quarters in District 13 weren’t much—gray walls, stiff bedding, and a distinct lack of anything that could be called personal. Everything was practical, assigned, and strictly regulated, from the meals to the uniforms to the way time itself seemed to tick by in rigid blocks.

But somehow, you had made it feel like home. Haymitch wasn’t sure how she did it. Maybe it was the warmth she carried with her, the way she never let the weight of their reality smother the small joys you still managed to carve out of the days. Or maybe it was the way you saw things—not just for what they were, but for what they could be.

Even here, underground, you made the world seem bigger.

Your ten year old daughter, Louella was sprawled out on the cold floor, utterly lost in the book she held, her small fingers gripping the worn pages as if they contained the secrets of the universe.

Haymitch could see the crease between her brows, the slight parting of her lips as she whispered words under her breath, tasting them as she read. Whatever world she had discovered in those pages had its hooks in her now, and nothing short of an emergency would pull her out of it.

And you sat nearby, your head bent over a needle and thread, patching up yet another hole in your daughter’s jumpsuit. It wasn’t the first tear she’d fixed this week, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be the last.

Louella was always running, climbing, sneaking into places she wasn’t supposed to be. She had the boundless energy of someone who had never known anything but motion.

Haymitch liked to pretend he didn’t know where she got that rebellious streak from, but between your quiet defiance and his own tendency to do exactly the opposite of what people expected, the girl hadn’t stood a chance.

He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, watching them for a moment before speaking. “What’s she reading this time?”

You didn’t look up, but there was a small smile on her lips. “Poetry. About magic.”

Haymitch raised a brow and pushed off the wall, making his way over before flopping down beside Louella. “Magic, huh? Didn’t think District 13 allowed that kind of thing.”

Louella shot him an unimpressed look over the top of her book. “It’s poetry, Papa. Not spells.”

Haymitch smirked, leaning in as if she had just admitted to something scandalous. “Still sounds like nonsense.”

Louella let out a dramatic sigh and held up the book. “Just listen.”

She cleared her throat, straightened her back, and read aloud:

“The wind hums secrets through the trees,

The river sings to passing bees.

The sky bends low to kiss the land,

And leaves spell stories in the sand.”

She closed the book with a decisive little snap and looked up expectantly, waiting for his reaction.

Haymitch tilted his head. “Huh. Not bad.”

Louella beamed, victorious, and turned to her mother. “See? Even he likes it.”

You chuckled, tying off the stitch with practiced ease. “Took him long enough.”

Haymitch rolled his eyes but turned back to Louella. “So, you really think there’s magic in all that?”

Louella nodded eagerly. “Mama says magic is just seeing things the right way. Like when the sun looks like melted gold, or when the air smells different before a storm.”

You take a pause, setting down the sewing, stretching your fingers before smiling at your daughter. “My family always believed in magic,” you said, voice soft with nostalgia,

“We grew up in the fields, and we saw it in everything—the way fireflies danced like little stars, the hush of the earth before the first snowfall, the way seeds always knew how to find the sun.”

Louella’s eyes widened in that way only a child’s could, full of wonder and longing for things just out of reach. “I wish I could’ve seen all that.”

You smiled fondly, brushing a curl from Louella’s face. “You still can, sweetheart. Magic’s in the little things. You just have to know how to look.”

Haymitch snorted, shaking his head. “That why people used to call your family wild?”

That caused you to smirked at him, the corners of her eyes crinkling with amusement. “Of course. You’d know that. You’d also remember that people often said we were odd for believing in things you couldn’t hold in your hands. But it takes special people to see the magic in little things.”

Louella grinned. “Good thing I’m special, then.”

Haymitch hummed, “yes you are, sweetheart,” he said glancing between the two of them—you, his wife, with your quiet strength and stubborn belief in things bigger than themselves, and his daughter, practically glowing with excitement at the idea of unseen wonders hiding in the world around her.

Louella yawned, rubbing at her eyes but still stubbornly gripping her book. “Can I read one more?”

You glanced at the clock on the wall—lights-out was soon, and rules were strict here. But sighed, a small, indulgent smile on your lips. “Just one more.” How could you deny one of the few pleasures you were able to indulge in?

Louella grinned and flipped through the pages, searching for the perfect poem. Haymitch, meanwhile, leaned his head back against the wall, one arm draped lazily over your shoulders.

He wasn’t much for poetry, but he liked the sound of Louella’s voice as she read, soft and full of belief. Reminding him so much of you.

“The stars will shine beyond the dark,

Their light will never wane.

A whispered wish, a hopeful heart,

And magic stays the same.”

Luella looked up, blinking sleepily. “That means magic is always there, right? Even when we can’t see it?”

You ran her fingers through Louella’s hair. “That’s right.”

Haymitch huffed. “Poetry’s got a lot of nerve making promises like that.”

Louella giggled, pressing her face into his side. “You just don’t get it, Dad.”

He smirked, pulling the blanket up over her. “Guess not.”

She let out another small yawn, and this time, her eyes didn’t open again. Haymitch exhaled, shifting to pick her up. She made a sleepy sound of protest as he scooped her into his arms, but she didn’t fight it, just curled against his chest like she’d done since she was little.

You stood and followed as he carried Louella to the small cot she called a bed. He tucked her in, smoothing down the blanket while you brushed her hair back, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

Haymitch stayed there a moment longer, watching as Louella breathed slow and deep, already lost in dreams. He reached out, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “Sleep tight, wild thing.”

She didn’t stir. You slipped your hand into his, lacing their fingers together as they stepped back from the bed.

Haymitch pressed a kiss to you temple as they settled onto their own bed. “You’re gonna turn her into a dreamer.”

You smiled against his shoulder. “Good. The world needs more of them.”

Haymitch didn’t answer right away. He just held you a little tighter, his fingers absently tracing slow, idle patterns against your arm.

Even after all these years, it still felt surreal sometimes—having this family, having you.

He thought back to the first time he saw you, standing on that stage at seventeen, trying to keep your face blank as your name was called. He’d been your mentor then, five years after winning himself. And he had been forced to watch 10 kids die since then. He was sure you would be the 12th.

And so he was forced to watch as you stepped into the arena, as you fought. But this time you proved everyone wrong as you won.

He had known, back then, what kind of person would walk out of that place. What it took to survive.

But you had come back still you, against all odds. You had come back stubborn and sharp and kind in ways the Capitol couldn’t kill. You still held onto who you were. And that alone was the perfect act of rebellion.

And somehow, in the years that followed, through nightmares and rebellion and the slow, aching process of trying to be something more than just survivors—you had found your way to each other eventually. And then became more.

Then two, became three. You had sobbed in his arms when you found out, fearing the day that she too would have to be reaped from the bowl of names. With a high chance of her dying in that god forsaken arena. The guilt, Haymitch remembered, took such a toll on you.

“How could I do this? Bring a child into this world?” You had once said. But after some time you had come to terms with the baby—Luella. Light in the dark. And a memorial name after the one of the tributes from Haymitch’s games. A sweet little girl you remembered from the Seam.

But now, you all were here, in a dimly lit room beneath the earth, with the most incredible daughter who believed in poetry and magic, in a place where hope was hard to hold on to.

And yet, somehow, you still did.

Haymitch exhaled, pressing his forehead against your hair. “You know,” he muttered, “I always knew you were trouble.”

You laughed softly, shifting closer. “Oh? Since when?”

“Since you looked me in the eye after they called your name and didn’t cry.” His voice was quiet, thoughtful. “Since you gave me an attitude that first day on the train. And especially afterward,”

Your fingers brushed against his hand, lacing together. “Guess that means you didn’t do a terrible job as a mentor.”

Haymitch huffed a small, dry laugh. “Didn’t do a great one, either.”

You squeezed his hand, tilting her head at him. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”

He didn’t answer, just pulled you against him, pressing a kiss to your hair.

You were here. You were still you. Even after everything you both had gone through.

Maybe that was magic too.

[interstellarflare]

A Cinderella Story || Anthony Bridgerton

-PART ONE-

Summary: Have courage, and be kind. Words that you tried to live by ever since the passing of your parents. Though your step-mother and step-sisters did everything in their power to hide you and your status away from the rest of the Ton, you never expected to catch the eye of Viscount Anthony Bridgerton himself.

Authors Note: This is my first Bridgerton series! I had an absolute ball writing this, and I hope you enjoy it! There is a tag list open if anyone wishes to be kept updated for future parts. Gif by @greengableslover

‘The Prince smiled, extending his hand towards her with grace and ease.

“May I have this dance, my lady?” he asked lowly, his eyes meeting hers with a kind yet mischievous twinkle. There was something about the Prince that made her heart flutter, that made her place her hand into his and reply-‘

The sound of hurriedly approaching footsteps and a chorus of shouting caused you to stuff the book beneath your pillows, a small panic settling over you as you quickly jumped out of your rickety bed and threw the old sheets over the mattress to at least make it look as if you hadn’t been lying in it mere seconds ago.

The door to the attic swung open, violently ricochetting off the wall and with a loud ‘bang’. You flinched, a shaky breath escaping you as you turned your gaze towards the form of your stepmother, her piercing greyish-blue eyes staring intently at you as she entered. She held her head high, the permanent scowl on her features examining every little aspect of the small space with precision. Her eyes landed on the small wooden table beside your bed, narrowing on the melted candle with the wax spilling over the sides.

“You were reading again, weren’t you?” She growled, her lips pursing in annoyance. Fiddling with your hands in front of you, you shrugged your shoulders slightly. “It wasn’t all night, Lady Worthington, I swear-“

“Nonsense, I can see the candle clear as day girl!” She shouted, a look of disapproval forming on her features. You held her stare, a small sense of guilt settling in your stomach the longer your stepmother remained in the attic. With a long and annoyed huff, she brushed he black-greying hair from her shoulder, looking you up and down with a look of disgust. “Get yourself cleaned up, and once you’re done start with breakfast. My girls are hungry, we have a long day ahead of us” she ordered, gathering her deep purple skirts and storming out of the room.

Releasing a breath you weren’t aware you were holding, your shoulders slumped in relief. You looked down at yourself and sighed, Lady Worthington was right. The clothes you wore currently were nothing but rags, and your day clothes weren’t much better. They were either oversized or too small, but you made do with the worn black and white maids dresses you were given. After getting changed and tying your hair back with a small piece of ribbon, you quickly skipped downstairs and into the kitchen.

You could hear Lady Worthington and her daughters cackling manically in the dining room, discussing their plans for the day, and how excited they were to be invited to Lady Danbury’s ball. Lady Danbury’s ball was one of the highlights of the season, or…so you had heard anyway. It had been a long time since you had seen the dear woman, you believed the last time you held conversation with her was when you were but a child. Your father, just after the loss of your mother, had taken you to one of Lady Danbury’s balls after deciding that leaving you at home would have been unwise at this grief-stricken time.

You remembered the beautiful dresses, the beautiful debutants who smiled and waved at your curious gaze. The kind bachelors who greeted you with a dance. And a young boy, hiding behind his father’s legs, his eyes following you wherever you went. Lady Danbury had been most gracious, you remember. A close friend of your mothers, almost like an aunt to you. But when Lady Worthington came into the picture and had taken control of your father’s inheritance after his passing, you were practically forgotten and hidden away from the ton. A part of you missed it, though you weren’t envious of today’s debutants desperately seeking husbands. Lady Worthington was perhaps one of the most persistent mothers out there, aside from Lady Featherington you hear.

This would be the third season that your stepsisters, Elizabeth and Mary Worthington, would participate in. They very much enjoyed flaunting themselves before the ton, given the state of their rooms with delicate and luxurious dresses and jewellery thrown about. They did not hide their wealth, rather your father’s wealth, that their mother had inherited, and bought the fanciest dresses money could buy. It had almost worked one season, Colin Bridgerton had visited to call on Elizabeth. But upon seeing how lavishly she lived, and how horribly she had treated you upon her request for tea for the two of them, the third-eldest Bridgerton hadn’t called again.

She changed somewhat after that, you recalled. She didn’t find much enjoyment in gorgeous dresses or glittering diamonds. She didn’t speak much to you or her mother anymore either, but Mary was her confidant. Sometimes she would glance at you, a look of guilt on her face, but it briefly passed whenever her sister or mother made some snide comment about your presence.

Preparing breakfast was easily done. Keeping a portion for yourself on a separate plate, you carried the three other plates into the dining room with practiced ease. Mary squealed with delight, snatching one of the plates from your arm and almost knocking the others out of your grasp in the process. “Oh thank goodness, I’m starved!” she exclaimed, hastily digging in as if she hadn’t eaten in days. You handed a plate to Elizabeth, who seemed to nod slightly as you placed the plate before her. Lady Worthington however, merely sneered as you placed her plate on the table.

You excused yourself from the room and retreated into the kitchen, beginning to eat your portion of the remaining food whilst listening to their gossip quietly. They weren’t quiet by any means, though you supposed that it was in their nature to be loud and obnoxious.

“Mother, did you hear! I heard from Cressida that apparently Lord Bridgerton is looking for a wife this season!” Mary exclaimed, her words muffled likely by the food in her mouth. You heard Elizabeth sigh heavily “I won’t believe it until Lady Whisteldown writes about it-“

“Nonsense!” Lady Worthington cried, interrupting her daughter with a squeal, “If the rumour is true than we are going to take every advantage we can get. The two of you are going to do your damned best get his attention-“

“And what if we don’t, mother? What then?” Elizabeth spoke quietly, almost timidly. You heard Lady Worthington scoff “Oh, you will. We are going out as soon as possible to find you both new dresses for the ball tonight”.

“Oh mother, how exciting!” Mary cried, you could hear the chair scrape harshly against the wooden floorboards as she abruptly stood up from her seat, “We are going to be the most beautiful women at the Ball!”

“Y/N! Help my daughters get dressed! We will be heading out shortly, and make sure that the horses are prepared!” Lady Worthington shouted, the sound of her shrill cry causing a sense of panic to surge through you.

Coughing as you chocked on your food, you quickly wiped your mouth and fixed your skirts. “Yes, right away!” You called back, sighing heavily as you rushed back upstairs. Upon entering Mary’s room, your shoulders slumped in defeat. Clothes lay on almost every inch of the floor, dresses, undergarments, jewellery. This was going to be a tough morning.

Tag List:

@ladybirdbeetle7 @sweetsourpus @in-deans-arms @blackthorngirl @kee-0-kee

@sometimesminsan @prawntoastsworld @scoopsahoyspidey @darkness-falls-xo

@reallysparklychaos @hottie-bishop-belova @riptidewaters @jay-being-weird

@khhhhjj @golden-girasol @linnygirl09 @xoxonoire @stanmixtapes

@freyagallileaevans @gracielou0518 @judig92 @rafaaoli @queenslandlover-93

@esquivelbianca @fanfictioncafe @hjgdhghoe @sillynilly27

[rue-isabelle]

Hi darling. Could I please request a girlfriend x reader story where Rebecca meets Carlos little sister and falls in love with her. She like kisses her and tells her everything is fine. Like, it is a bit dark. Could reader also be younger and a ballet dancer? Thank you

Dark Story!

Love my boyfriend’s sister

The Sainz family home was bustling with the warmth and love that came with a rare evening spent together. The comforting aroma of Carlos’ cooking wafted through the air as his father read a newspaper on the couch, his mother Reyes busily wrapping her youngest daughter’s feet in bandages, and Blanca chattered animatedly about her day.

“You know, mamá,” Blanca teased, leaning on the back of the couch. “She’s probably going to dance until her feet fall off one day.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” Reyes said, clicking her tongue. She dabbed a bit of ointment onto the raw patches of Yn’s feet, her expression a mixture of pride and concern. “She already pushes herself too hard. Mira, niña, you don’t have to be perfect every single time.”

Yn winced slightly at the sting of the ointment but smiled at her mother. “I’m not trying to be perfect, mamá. I just love it, that’s all. Besides, you know I can’t leave a rehearsal unfinished.”

Her father chimed in from the couch, setting down his newspaper. “We all admire your dedication, mi niña, but you’re still human. Even ballerinas need to rest.”

“Exactly!” Blanca cut in. “Why do you think Carlos is always stuffing you full of food? You’re going to waste away otherwise.”

Yn rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a small laugh. “I think Carlos just likes an excuse to cook. He thinks he’s a chef now.”

The sound of a car pulling into the driveway interrupted their conversation, followed by the slam of a car door.

“Speaking of Carlos,” Reyes said, tying off the bandage and patting Yn’s knee. “He’s home. Finally, we can eat.”

Carlos walked in a moment later, balancing a couple of containers in his hands. His dark hair was slightly windswept, and a grin stretched across his face. “I hope you’re all hungry. I made enough to feed an army.”

“Like always,” Blanca joked as she hopped off the couch to grab the bags from her brother.

“Wait,” Carlos said, holding up a hand. “Before you all start eating without me, I brought someone to meet you.” He stepped aside, revealing a woman standing shyly in the doorway.

“This is Rebecca,” Carlos introduced. “She’s… well, she’s my girlfriend.”

The room went silent for a moment, and then Reyes rose to her feet, smoothing her hands down her apron. “Carlos, you didn’t say anything about bringing a guest, but it’s lovely to meet you, Rebecca.”

Rebecca smiled warmly. “Thank you so much for having me, Mrs. Sainz. I hope I’m not imposing.”

“Nonsense,” Reyes replied, gesturing her inside. “Come, come, sit. Any guest of Carlos is a guest of ours. Yn, make room.”

Yn, who had been sitting cross-legged on the couch, quickly shuffled over to make space. “Hi,” she said softly, offering Rebecca a shy smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“And you as well,” Rebecca replied, her gaze lingering on Yn for just a moment longer than necessary. Yn’s delicate features, framed by her slightly messy bun, caught Rebecca off guard. There was something so ethereal about her, like she was a ballerina even offstage.

Blanca, always the outgoing one, quickly pulled Rebecca into the fold of conversation. “So, Rebecca, how did you meet Carlos? Please tell me it was something romantic.”

“Blanca!” Carlos groaned, setting the food containers on the dining table.

Rebecca chuckled, settling into the couch beside Yn. “Well, not exactly romantic. We met through mutual friends, and he invited me to one of his races. I guess we just… clicked after that.”

As the family talked and laughed, Yn sat quietly, content to listen. Rebecca, however, found herself stealing glances at Yn. The younger woman had a quiet, almost magnetic presence. She wasn’t flashy or loud like Carlos, but there was a grace to her that Rebecca found utterly captivating.

When dinner was served, Carlos made sure to pile an extra helping of food onto Yn’s plate.

“Carlos, I can’t eat all of this!” Yn protested.

“You can and you will,” Carlos insisted. “You’re too thin. Do you even eat at the studio?”

“I eat enough,” Yn mumbled, but she didn’t argue further, knowing it was a battle she’d lose.

Rebecca watched the exchange with a smile. “You’re a ballerina, right?” she asked Yn.

Yn nodded, swallowing a bite of food. “Yes. I train almost every evening.”

“That’s incredible,” Rebecca said. “I’ve always admired dancers. It’s such a beautiful art form. Do you perform often?”

“Not as much as I’d like,” Yn admitted. “Most of my time is spent training or rehearsing, but it’s worth it when I get to be on stage.”

As Yn spoke about ballet, her face lit up, and Rebecca found herself hanging on every word. There was a passion in Yn’s voice that was infectious, and Rebecca couldn’t help but think how unfair it was for someone to be so talented and so… beautiful.

The evening wore on, and as the family grew more comfortable with Rebecca, she felt increasingly out of place. Not because they were unkind—they were wonderful, warm people—but because she couldn’t stop noticing Yn. The way her smile curved just slightly to the left, the way she absentmindedly brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, the way she moved with a dancer’s grace even when she was just sitting at the table.

Later, as the family said their goodnights and Carlos prepared to drive Rebecca home, she found herself lingering by the door, glancing back at Yn one last time.

“Thank you for having me,” Rebecca said, directing her words to the whole family but looking directly at Yn. “It was lovely to meet you all.”

“Come back anytime,” Reyes said warmly, while Yn gave a small wave. “Goodnight.”

As Carlos led Rebecca out to the car, he grinned at her. “So, what did you think?”

Rebecca hesitated for a moment, her thoughts swirling. “Your family is wonderful, Carlos,” she said finally, though the image of Yn’s shy smile lingered in her mind.

And as they drove off into the night, Rebecca couldn’t shake the feeling that she was leaving something—or someone—very important behind.

Over the following months, Rebecca became a regular presence in the Sainz household.

She seemed to have slotted into their lives effortlessly, joining them for dinners, outings, and family activities. To Carlos, it was a dream come true—his girlfriend got along with his family like she’d always been a part of it. To Rebecca, it was the perfect excuse to spend more time with Yn.

The friendship between the two young women had grown naturally—or so it seemed. Rebecca would casually suggest little outings, always under the guise of wanting to bond with her boyfriend’s younger sister.

“Yn, I need you to come with me,” Rebecca said one afternoon, leaning against the doorframe of Yn’s room.

Yn looked up from her book, eyebrows raised in curiosity. “What for?”

“Shopping,” Rebecca said with a grin. “You have to help me pick out something for Carlos. You’re the only one who knows what he likes better than me.”

Yn laughed and closed her book. “I doubt that, but okay. Let me grab my shoes.”

At first, the outings were simple and innocent—shopping trips, movie nights, or getting their nails done. Yn appreciated having someone to share her free time with, especially since her schedule was often consumed by ballet.

Rebecca, however, saw it differently. Every smile Yn gave her, every laugh they shared, felt like a step closer to something forbidden. Rebecca began to crave Yn’s attention, finding excuses to be near her or to touch her.

“Your hair is so soft,” Rebecca commented one day as they sat on Yn’s bed, going through a stack of photos from Yn’s last performance. Rebecca reached out, brushing a strand of Yn’s hair behind her ear.

Yn blinked in surprise but smiled. “Thanks. It’s a mess after rehearsals, though. I’m always sweaty and gross.”

Rebecca shook her head. “I don’t believe that for a second. You’re always beautiful.”

Yn flushed slightly, laughing off the compliment. “You’re exaggerating.”

But Rebecca wasn’t. To her, Yn was radiant—her innocence, her passion, her delicate beauty. Everything about her drew Rebecca in like a moth to a flame.

As their bond deepened, Rebecca grew bolder. She began to find reasons to touch Yn—a hand on her back as they walked, holding her hand during movies, even kissing her cheek when they were alone.

Yn, in her naivety, thought nothing of it. She assumed this was how close friends—or maybe even sisters—acted.

One summer afternoon, the family gathered in the garden for a lazy, sun-drenched day. Carlos was manning the grill with their father, while Blanca and Reyes were sitting at a table nearby, chatting and sipping iced drinks. Yn and Rebecca were in the pool, splashing around in the cool water.

“Come on, Yn!” Rebecca called, swimming toward her. “You’re not tired already, are you?”

Yn laughed, leaning against the edge of the pool. “I might be. I had rehearsal this morning, remember?”

Rebecca swam closer, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “You work too hard. Come here, I’ll help you out.”

Before Yn could protest, Rebecca was hoisting her up, her strong hands gripping Yn’s waist. “Wrap your legs around me,” Rebecca instructed.

Yn hesitated for a moment, but Rebecca’s firm grip made her feel secure. She wrapped her legs around Rebecca’s waist and looped her arms around her neck.

“There we go,” Rebecca said, her voice soft, almost intimate. Her hands moved to Yn’s thighs, steadying her. “See? I’ve got you.”

Yn rested her head on Rebecca’s shoulder, feeling the warmth of the sun on her back. “Thanks, Rebecca. You’re always so nice to me.”

Rebecca’s heart raced at the closeness, the feel of Yn’s body pressed against hers, particularly Yn's soft, round breast. Her hands slid down slightly, brushing against Yn’s ass. She gave a gentle squeeze, her fingers trailing lower.

Yn didn’t seem to notice. She giggled softly, her head still resting on Rebecca’s shoulder. “You’re really strong.”

Rebecca smiled, her voice low. “Anything for you, Yn.”

From the patio, Carlos glanced over at the pool. “Rebecca, is Yn okay?”

Rebecca turned her head slightly, giving him a reassuring smile. “She’s fine. Just tired from rehearsal. I’m keeping her from sinking.”

Blanca laughed. “Our little ballerina always needs someone to catch her when she’s overworked.”

Reyes shook her head fondly. “That girl pushes herself too hard. Thank you for looking after her, Rebecca.”

Rebecca turned her attention back to Yn, her fingers still lingering on the younger girl’s ass. “It’s no trouble at all,” she said softly, her words meant for Yn alone.

Yn lifted her head, smiling brightly at Rebecca. “You’re the best. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Rebecca’s chest tightened at the words. In her mind, they were more than just an innocent expression of gratitude. To her, they were proof of the connection she believed they shared.

But as the family laughed and chatted in the background, Rebecca knew she has to tread carefully. For now, she would savor these stolen moments, each bringing her closer to the girl that had unknowingly stolen her heart.

A few days later, the rain drizzled gently on the windshield, the rhythmic pattering a soft backdrop to Rebecca's steady breathing as she waited in the car outside the studio. The faint glow of the streetlights illuminated the empty parking lot, casting long shadows that danced with the occasional gust of wind.

She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, glancing at the studio's doors. Moments later, they opened, and there Yn was, her hair slightly damp from sweat, her tired frame illuminated by the faint glow of the fluorescent lights behind her.

Rebecca watched her for a moment, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Yn looked exhausted, her duffel bag slung over one shoulder and a water bottle in her other hand. Yet, even now, she was beautiful. Rebecca stepped out of the car, opening the umbrella and walking toward her.

"You didn't have to wait outside, you know," Yn said, her voice tinged with guilt as Rebecca reached her.

"I wanted to," Rebecca replied simply, her voice warm. She gently took Yn's duffel bag, slinging it over her own shoulder before reaching for her hand. "Come on. Let’s get you home."

Yn hesitated for a moment, her hand lingering in Rebecca’s before squeezing lightly. "Thanks, Becca."

Rebecca didn’t reply, instead guiding her toward the car. She opened the passenger door for Yn, waiting until she was seated before setting the duffel bag in the backseat and getting behind the wheel.

As they pulled onto the empty road, the soft hum of the engine filled the space between them, mingling with the sound of the rain against the car. Yn sighed, leaning her head back against the seat.

"Long day?" Rebecca asked, her eyes flicking briefly from the road to Yn before returning to the windshield.

"You have no idea," Yn groaned, stretching slightly. "I was stuck on the same routine for hours. I just couldn’t get the last part right. It’s so frustrating."

Rebecca glanced at her again, a small smile playing on her lips. "You’re too hard on yourself. I’m sure it’s already amazing."

Yn shook her head, a tired but amused laugh escaping her lips. "You always say that."

"Because it’s true," Rebecca said softly, her voice carrying a conviction that made Yn pause. She looked at Rebecca, her tired gaze softening.

"Thanks," Yn murmured, her voice barely audible above the rain.

Rebecca reached over briefly, her fingers brushing Yn's knee in a comforting gesture before returning to the wheel. "Anytime."

The conversation flowed easily after that, Yn recounting her struggles in the studio and Rebecca listening intently, occasionally chiming in with a question or a comment. The road stretched ahead of them, deserted and glistening with rain.

When they approached a red light, Rebecca slowed the car to a stop.

It was then that she turned to Yn, her expression unreadable. Before Yn could ask what was wrong, Rebecca cupped her face with both hands, her thumbs brushing gently against Yn's cheeks. Yn's breath hitched, her eyes widening in surprise.

"Rebecca, what are you—" Yn began, but her words were cut off as Rebecca leaned in, her lips capturing Yn's in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was intense, filled with a desperation that left Yn reeling.

"Becca—" Yn tried to pull back, her voice muffled against Rebecca's lips, but Rebecca didn’t let her go. Her hands held Yn firmly, one sliding to the back of her neck while the other rested on her cheek.

"I love you," Rebecca whispered against Yn's lips, her voice raw. She moved her hand and unbuckled Yn's seatbelt before pulling the younger girl on ber lap.

Her forehead pressed against Yn’s as she continued, her breath warm against Yn’s skin. "I love you, and I can’t keep pretending I don’t."

Yn stared at her, her heart pounding in her chest. She started to get nervous about this whole situation. "What are you talking about? What about Carlos—"

"Carlos doesn’t mean anything to me," Rebecca interrupted, her voice firm. Her hands moved to Yn’s hips, gripping her as though she were afraid she might disappear. "He never did. It’s always been you, Yn."

"Rebecca, no..." Yn’s voice wavered, her mind racing as she tried to process what was happening.

But before she could say anything more, Rebecca’s lips were on hers again, silencing her protests.

This time, the kiss was rougher, even more intense. Rebecca’s hands moved to Yn's ass, squeezing it with practiced ease. Yn gasped as Rebecca guided her forward, making her grind onto Rebecca’s lap.

"Rebecca, wait—" Yn began, but the words caught in her throat as Rebecca’s hands found her breast, pulling her shirt down.

"Just… let me," Rebecca murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. She immediately moved her mouth towards Yn nipple, sucking and biting it. Her other hand tugged her other nipple harshly.

When Yn tried to move away, she kissed her again. One hand moved to her hip, while the other started touching Yn between her legs.

She moved it left and right, putting pressure on Yn's pleasure button.

The hand that held her hip moved to Yn chin, making her look at Rebecca. Rebecca moved ger hand fast in-between Yn legs.

Yn legs started shaking, she was approaching her orgasm closer and closer but looked very displeased.

Rebecca moved her mouth to Yn ear, whispering to her: " You are mine now. Mine alone."

[starburstsobsessions]

ITS FINALLY BACK AFTER ALMOST A MONTH- WITH A SCENE IVE BEEN WANTING TO DO FROM THE START!

Previous!

I’d like to think a good chunk of time has passed by now/during this for him to have this many Feelings that aren't Evil. Stone too also managed to get past the “I’m dropping it off at the shelter tomorrow” stage, and now he’s locked in. Eventually giving in to cute animals is universal I think- even when you’re cat Rob.

Stone's vest is totally based off the one in Cats and Dogs 2 and also their collars LOL they have the wildest nonsense in that movie but it TOTALLY matches here.

What adventures are next? What awaits them? Whatever I please!! I do have some more little things planned that I do want to draw, but I think this might be the end of the more exact chronological posting of the AU- but worry not! He isn’t even bald yet and I really wanna draw that vat of acid. I also think I need to draw Cat Rob doing more CAT things bc Stone gets to do so many DOG things.

Again guys totally send me asks abt them (if u want) bc I LOVE drawing little extra things for this and brainstorming <3 ty for reading alllllll this yapping. Maybe it should have been a fic LMAO

ofc, my irl cat laid with me as I typed up the alt text and all this! Not my dog she is destructive LMAO.

[taintedcigs]

i slept with someone from corroded coffin and all i got was this stupid song written about me.

ROCKSTAR!FBOY!EDDIE X READER

summary: fooling around with a famous rockstar who's a notorious playboy sounds perfect on paper, until you catch feelings for him. that's why you decide to end things, to not get your feelings get hurt, and its all going perfectly, until eddie releases a song, written all about you.

warnings: smut, p in v, MINORS DNI!!!!, pet names, praising?, lovey dovey, kinda angst and arguments, drgs & alcohol mention, swearing? idk this is kinda cheesy n cute with a mix of fluff sprinkled honestly!

author's note: the indented parts are texts between steve and reader and thenn reader and eddie. they look confusing as fuck im sorry i just wanted to make them look unique but they look stupid. also yes. i patted myself in the back after i found this title (thank you fob). and yes the lyrics are inspired by i don't care im on a fob kick sue me! and ofc fboy!eddie isn't actually that much of a fboy bc if i can't write lovesick eddie ill die. this is super cheesy so i still struggled a lot but UGH. not proof-read ignore all mistakes

also credits to @dumplingsjinson for the prompts! (i changed them but still!) and @saradika for the dividers! pls like + rb + interact w me in anyway to support my writings!! ty!!

DINGUS sent you a spotify link. did you listen to this? yeah. its kinda romantic. no. the lyrics are insane. n all about u okay? are u at the party rn? yeah. u comin? soon he’s there too u already knew that, didn’t u?  false accusations r rude, steve.

You click your phone off with a groan, but he was right. You couldn’t stay away from him, and maybe, just maybe, this was your way of running into him, accidentally. 

Because ever since he released the song, the tabloids had gone crazy with it, half of the lyrics screamed you and all of the old headlines pointed at you, the mystery girl Eddie used to be seen with, and you really were growing tired of seeing your name next to “Munson’s new girl.” 

Because you weren’t his new girl, you weren’t his anything. He was a cocky asshole who was good with a guitar and was even better at fucking. And that was something both of you could relate to, the only thing you had in common with him. Or, so you thought. 

But of course, as with everything else, the things between you changed, you started staying over, he started staying over, and the two of you even went on fucking dates, disguising them under ‘we were just hungry, is all.’ 

You tried to keep up the cool girl act, like you could fuck someone and not catch feelings. Every inch of you itched not to care, to act like it was all fine, but it was all fucking bullshit, you cared, so fucking much that your chest ached. The more you got to know him, the more you fell for him, and the more you fell for him, the more you realized there was no fucking way this would work. 

Cocky rockstar who spent more time doing drugs than sleeping, with girls all over him? The imaginary red flag bells rang in your ear, even now. He wasn’t looking for a relationship and you knew that. That’s why you ended it two months ago. Or at least, you started ignoring him two months ago. 

Yet, he had been calling and texting you, wanting to meet up, drunken slurs of nonsense, gibberish voicemails, and yet you never answered, because if you did, you knew you’d be back to pathetically swooning over him.

Until today, just because of that stupid song, like it meant anything. That douchebag probably wrote songs about every girl he fucked. 

You weren’t special. 

Another ding sound from your phone almost startled you, the contact name made you groan even louder. “don’t FUCKING answer.” That didn’t mean shit. It was just something stupid to make you feel better that you couldn’t stay away from him, because you knew, deep down that if you really didn’t want him to contact you, you would’ve deleted his number, and blocked him. You were too chicken shit to do that, and still desperately wanted to hear from him. 

So you settled on that contact name. Like it made a difference, like it changed anything. 

DONT FUCKING ANSWER did you listen to the song?

Don’t fucking answer. The contact name should be enough to convince yourself that.

Too late.

                                                                   no. don’t lie to me, sweetheart.                                                                            why would i lie?

You sink into the couch, a much quieter corner of the party, not even bothering to socialize. Your brows furrow, index finger flying to your lips anxiously, as you chew on it to patiently wait for an answer.

You sip on your drink with a nervous gaze on your screen, barely noticing the way the couch sink further when someone else took a seat next to you. 

“Hi.” The gravelly voice pulls your attention away from the screen, making you set your drink aside as you look up, finding yourself face-to-face with him. 

Shaggy bangs cascade onto his forehead, and with your exaggeration, it looks longer than the last time you saw him. Black jeans cladded with chains. A graphic tee messily thrown over his heavily tatted chest, that you could still imagine right about now—pathetic. He looked just about the same, the deep dimple adorning his soft cheeks had seemed to disappear, wearing a scowl instead, that tiny voice in your head told you that was your doing, that maybe he was just as miserable as you. Maybe your feelings weren’t fully one-sided.  

Shit. 

“Eddie?” Squeaky, and annoying, you were sure that’s how your tone sounded, yet he didn’t seem to comment on it.

“‘m glad you remember my name, sweetheart,” he scoffs sarcastically, leaning further into the plush couch, elbow propped at the side, eyeing you with frustration. 

“W—what the hell are you doing here?” You stutter as if you weren’t expecting to run into him. Full of bullshit. 

“Did ya really think you could ignore me forever, huh?” He tilts his head slightly, almost expectedly, earning an eye roll from you. 

“I wasn’t ignoring yo—”

Eddie tuts quickly, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that cuts through the ambient noise of the party, “I thought we said no more lies, huh?” 

With a huff, “Why are you here, Eddie?” you mumble.

“Am I not allowed to party?” He banters, brows slightly raised, making you huff out an exasperated breath, your eyes bore into him, almost to signal him ‘Take this seriously.’

“I wanted to know what you thought.” He shrugs like it was normal to just come running after everything just to know what you thought of the song. 

“The song?” He nods in confirmation.

“Didn’t like it,” you confess, avoiding his gaze, but your brows betray you, lifting ever so slightly.

He tsks, shutting you off quickly, “You see that little quirk your brow did? That only happens when you lie, you can’t help it. You do that when I ask you if you ate the last pizza slice, or when I ask if you watched the next episode of the show we were supposed to watch together, or when you—” 

“Fine, fine! I liked it,” you groan, interrupting him and suddenly standing up from the comfort of the couch, being so face-to-face with him immediately making your nerves bubble.

“Just liked?” He tilts his head slightly, a smirk curving on his lips. 

A deep sigh of breath, “what do you want, Munson?”

He stands up with you, making you back away from him with a heavy footstep, the entire party was too loud and crowded, yet, in this stupid corner, it was just the two of you. “For you to admit that you loooved the song, and how much you missed me,” he sing-songs, taking a step closer to you, musky smell invading your senses, making you take a deep breath.

Both of you stand near the wall, and it should be awkward, it should be enough to make you leave, but all it does is draw you closer to him.

“You’re annoying.” 

“Is that why you’ve been avoiding me?”

“I wasn’t avoiding—” He tuts, with his stupid index finger up, rejecting your lie.

“I—I don’t know what you expected.” You shrug, so nonchalantly that his gaze narrows, chest aching with the implications of your words.

“We both knew this wouldn’t last forever, didn’t we?” You chew the inside of your lip to stop those tears that had been begging to flow ever since you listened to the song, wiping off that smirk on Eddie’s lips. 

“Would’ve been nice if I got a reminder, and not have been just fully ghosted, huh?” The brunette grumbles with a downturn of his lips, shaking his head in disbelief. 

“Oh, don’t act all high and mighty, isn’t that what you do all the fucking time?” you snap, gaze narrowed, and arms crossed against your chest. 

“Fuck girls and then leave them? Did it crush your ego this fucking much that I did before you could?” 

“What the fuck does that mean?” He retaliates. 

“It means I was smart enough to pull myself away from your bullshit,” you rasp, disdain written all over your face.The room seems to shrink as the distance between you decreases. 

Another step closer to you, and you didn’t realize your back had hit the wall now. “My bullshit? God, that’s fucking rich, if I seem to recall correctly sweetheart, you were in this as much as I fucking was!”

“Oh, was I?” You bark out a chuckle, cruel, mocking, “I don’t remember being okay with you fucking half the city.” Realization of how bitter and jealous that sounds, dawns on you much later than the words leave your lips, and thankfully, Eddie’s too fucking immersed to realize the double meaning of your words. 

“Are you fucking kidding? No strings attached! Non-exclusive! That’s what you fuckin’ signed up for!” His voice echoes, mirroring his frustration, and you open your mouth.

But he doesn’t let you speak further, cutting you off sharply. “Is this all because of that new guy you’re seein’?” 

“What? What guy?” 

“The one who was all over you earlier,” he bites out, jaw clenched, and you can almost taste his bitterness in the air.  

“The same one you fucked at Jeff’s party.”

“Are you stalking me, Munson?” 

“Did you just want an excuse to end things? Are the two of you serious or somethin’?” His voice wavered between anger and desperation, gaze pathetically searching for yours, to gauge your reaction.

You scoff. Did he really think you’d end things because of a stupid fling you had which in the first place occurred just so you could forget him? He was so goddamn clueless it drove you insane. 

But what you didn’t realize was that you were just as clueless, if not more, because why would he write a song all about you, if this was just about sex? Because who would get so jealous of someone they didn’t care about? 

Say my name and his in the same breath.

I dare you to say they taste the same. 

The lyrics from his stupid song swirled your thoughts, yet you were still too stupid to see it, weren’t you?

Another step closer to you, a dangerous game the two of you liked to play. He smelled alluring, a fucked up mix of nicotine, his musky cologne, and that damn leather jacket. “Do you really think, he could compare to me, sweetheart?” 

Say my name and his in the same breath.

“Tell me he’s fucking better, and he’s actually what you want, and I’ll fucking leave, I’ll bury all the other songs I wrote, tell me, and I’ll be out of your hair forever.”

I dare you to say they taste the same. 

And just like that, all the defenses you put up, all the times you ignored him, they are cracked, disappearing into thin air. You hate it, you hate that he has this effect on you, you can feel your mind getting hazier, eyes blinking rapidly to process what the fuck is going on, and his face is mere inches away from yours. You knew their names didn’t taste the same. And you knew he could never ever compare to Eddie.

“Tell me,” he encourages, dares you to. You fail to notice how much emotion his gaze carries, how the corners of his lips twitch, just at the thought of you finally admitting you don’t want him. His stomach turns at the thought, this is his last chance, he knows that, and he can’t fucking lose you. He can’t. 

And you don’t know any of that, but you knew, know that no one else could compare to him. And you hate yourself for thinking that, you hate yourself for falling for him, the world stops rotating on its axis when he’s in your peripheral vision, and it’s fucking disgusting. Pathetic. Stupid. Because you know the two of you have no chance. But here you are. 

“H—he is b—” Of course, your brow quirks up almost immediately, betraying you quicker than you can even attempt to lie. 

That dawning smirk appears on his lips again, it’s mocking, and just as much smug. You want to wipe it off of his stupidly pretty face. “Tell me,” he dares you, again. This time much cockier and confident, and you suddenly realize how small you feel under him.

“He isn’t,” your meek voice is barely audible.

And you don’t register the shaky breath he draws when the words leave your lips, giving him the confirmation he needs. You wanted him, he had no fucking clue why you ghosted him, yet you still wanted him. Just as much as he wanted you. 

Both of his hands were placed on the wall now, towering over you, making your breath get caught up in your throat. “Speak up.”

“No, fuck! You know he’s not, you know he could never fucking compare to you, you fucking know tha—” He shuts you up with a rough kiss, lips pressed against yours messily, letting the petty comments die down your throat. Because this is all he wanted, needed to hear anyway. 

“Up,” he grunts into the kiss, tapping your thighs, hoisting you up from your waist to help you wrap your legs around him, tight, he wants you at his mercy, locked to him. 

You wrap your legs around him, barely, the melty sensation in your knees making you so shaky that he barks out a laugh into your lips, holding you close, firm, the butterflies in your stomach traveling all across your body.

He lifts you up as if you are weightless, arms wrapped around you strongly as he carries you to the nearest empty bedroom, impressively without hitting your back anywhere, so roughly that your core throbs at the feeling of his arms around you.

“Baby,” he mutters as he lowers you down on the bed swiftly, smooth, gaze darkened and pupils blown wide, all the pent up desire waiting to explode. 

“Eddie,” you beg, shaky voice sounding purely angelic to his ears once he got rid of his shirt, shrugging it off with a huff, his fingertips grazing against your top, feeling your hardened nipples, causing gasps out of you, he’s quick to pull it over your head while you run your fingers up the grooves of his stomach, the tip of your fingertips almost burns everywhere you touch. 

He groans at the sight of your bare breasts, “missed thi-you,” he corrects himself, because that’s all he wanted anyways, you. 

He nips at your nipples, tongue good at giving attention to both of them, all wet and warm, making you squirm under his touch, you’re quick to get rid of everything else, leaving you in your panties, making him grunt. 

The pad of his thumb rubs against your left nipple, leaving goosebumps in its wake, while his other hand travels down your chest, then your stomach, finally drawing circles when it stops between your thighs, ghosting over your panties before he tugs them down your legs, spreading them apart with a slight hum, pupils blown so wide that you can’t admire those chocolate hues anymore. 

He visually drinks in that sight of you, laid down on the couch, eyes squeezed shut, back arched, and he hasn’t even touched you yet. You’re completely at his mercy and his chest aches with need. “So pretty like this f’me,” he coos into your chest, pushing his middle finger inside of you. Making you feel so good that you can’t stop the gasps coming out of your lips.   

Pleasure shivers through everywhere he sucks and touches, his finger eases into you when he adds another one, a moan escaping you quickly. “Need to be in here, sweetheart, d’ya have any idea how much I missed this?” 

You don’t. You don’t know about the sleepless nights, the drunken ones, the drug-induced ones in an attempt to recreate the high you gave him. It’s fucked up, it’s insanely toxic. Yet, he can’t get enough of you. 

His gaze upon you is dangerous, maybe it’s because he had missed you so goddamn much, or maybe because he didn’t know where this would lead, but it felt fucking sentimental, different somehow, and he could feel you, everywhere on his skin.

Your hips start rocking up against him when the pad of his thumb flicks over your clit, making you arch your back, whines, mumbles leaving your lips. And all he can muster is, “so goddamn beautiful, look at you whining for me.”

You can feel his bulge rub against your thigh every now and then, it’s distracting, almost agonizing. You desperately need it inside of you, you had missed him, missed his touch, missed the feeling of him filling you to the brim, you missed seeing his face contort in pleasure when he was inside of you, you wanted him to never forget you again. 

That’s why you feel so numb, can barely speak, and of course, Eddie notices, how unusually quiet you are, and he wants to make this unforgettable, just so you have another reason to come back to him. Just so you don’t leave him, just so you stay forever. 

“Gone too quiet on me, honey, tell me what you need,” he coos down at you, thumb still caressing your pussy, and all you can fucking do is chew down on your bottom lips, eyeing his bulge that was begging to get out. And he barks out a goddamn chuckle, “P—please, Eddie.” Pathetically leaves your lips. 

And normally he would make you beg, tease further, but he reaches to tug down his pants quickly, because fuck, he had missed you. And he can’t bear the thought of not being inside of you any longer. 

Thinking is not your strongest suit right now either, your brain is mushy, all the nights and days spent thinking about him, about this explodes into your body. Your pussy aches when you finally see his cock again, a sound of need leaving your lips as you eye his length, so big that pleasure ripples through you, especially when you see his gushy tip, glistening with pre-cum. 

You want every fucking inch inside of you, and Eddie’s more than ready to oblige, “What do you need, baby? Tell me.”

“Need you, Eddie,” you moan, all fucked out, his fingers slip in and out of you still, but it isn’t enough for him. He needs more, he craves your validation like he never has before. 

“God, you’re soakin’ my fingers, princess,” he grunts, wedging himself between your thighs, weeping cock drips onto your inner thighs, making you moan breathlessly. “Tell me exactly what you fuckin’ want, honey.”

“Eddie.” His name sounds like silk, even when it’s so lewd, Eddie decides, and it makes him let out an impatient huff. “P—please. Need you to fuck me.” It’s so goddamn desperate that you can feel heat rise to your cheeks, but it’s everything to him.

“Want you to fuck me like you mean it.”

“Oh, that’s easy, sweetheart,” he grunts, lining his cock through your entrance, coating himself in your slick, enjoying your mewls before he doesn’t hesitate to push his cock inside of you, inch by inch, relishing the way you cry out for him. 

Greedily, you rock your hips into him, making him let out a frustrated groan. “Have no fuckin’ idea how much I missed this greedy cunt, sweetheart, shit.” He thrusts in a few more inches, and breathless moans and babbles of his name fill the air.

“Suckin’ me right in, baby, fuck, you’re so pretty like this, mhmm.” His cock moves inside of you, and your hands are wrapped around his back, desperately clawing at it, the fullness making you want more, “you like that, baby, like bein’ full of me?” A heavy sound leaves his lips, pathetic and you pulse around him. 

“S’so good Eddie, and s’big,” you barely manage to let out, and he watches you with that burning amber gaze, thrusting all the way in without hesitation. Those plushy lips that hang open, that filthy mouth, the prettiest fucking features—you, were going to be the death of him. 

Maybe it’s because you had missed him, or maybe because you hadn’t experienced this in a long time, or fuck, maybe, just maybe that the song had created a new type of need between the two of you. Using sex as a sort of connection that the both of you desperately needed. But, shit, was it this different this time. 

He felt different—his lips, touch, skin as it slapped against yours, it was different. 

Full. You feel so fucking full that your back involuntarily arches against him, fingers clenching desperately, your screams and cries filling the room the more he plunges inside of you, deeper, hungry, and just as greedy as you. 

“Yeah, better than that asshole?” It rolls off his lips so bitter and jealous that you can barely register it. Not being used to this possessive side of him, and it’s glorious, especially when he’s pounding his frustrations and insecurities into you. 

“Mhmm, so much better.” You clawed at his back, every thrust of his hip making you feel higher and higher, mind filled with nothing but him. 

“So pretty like this when you say my name, sweetheart… so goddamn beautiful, and all mine, yea?” He wants a confirmation, and wants to hear you say it, his head ducking between your breasts again to kiss, taste, suckle them. Make sure he never forgets it. 

“Wanna hear you say it.” He hums, the vibrations reverberating through your chest straight into your core, cock plowed so deep inside of you that you can barely speak through your cries, hitting that sweet spot that every other asshole misses. 

You’re too scared to give him what he wants. But you feel him, everywhere, and you still want more, of course, you’re his. That’s all you fucking wanted anyway. Plushy lips shake as you gaze up at him, his amber hues are so sticky-sweet that you still struggle to process it, words come out in a ramble “All yours, Eddie.”

His mouth crashes onto yours roughly, desire coursing through both of your bodies, almost interconnected. “Shit, fuckin’ hell sweetheart, ‘m not gonna last long.” His thrusts are getting sloppier, yet you feel the ravaging desire coursing through your veins. 

“So perfect,” he murmurs, the kiss he lays on your lips just as relentless, not letting you breathe or think for a goddamn second, you’re so goddamn close.

And you wonder, how the fuck did you even go two months without this? Without him?

“Eddie!” You cry out once you feel the pad of his thumb rubbing against your clit, eyes squeezed shut as your orgasm washes over you. Pure bliss overtakes you while you claw at his back, his body tenses, and cock flexes as he cums inside of you, groans and curses left in your hair. 

Minutes pass of you lying next to each other, breathless, processing everything that just transpired. And you should feel guilty, embarrassed, and should run to the hills for doing this with him again. 

But you’re obsessed, addicted. He’s like an excitement that you’re sure you’ve never felt before, running through your veins, like a fucking drug. 

Both of you get dressed in silence, the party booming outside is quick to bring the two of you back to reality, and out of the trance that he pulled you in. 

He breaks your bewilderment with a slight “Fuck.” Standing on the opposite side of the bed before he fully turns to you. “This wasn’t—I was supposed to talk to you.” He mutters, fingertips anxiously running through his tousled hair.

Caught off guard and awfully curious, you mumble, “About what?”

“The song…”

“I told you I liked it.”

His brow furrows deeper, and he shakes his head in frustration. “No, that’s not it—uh, did you not listen to the lyrics?”

“I did.”

“And?”

Your face searches his for some clarity, you take a step closer to him, the distance between the two of you was still awfully much according to him. “What are you asking of me, Eddie? Did you really think one song would just solve everything?”

“You don’t get it, do you?”

“W—what am I supposed to get Eddie? You wanna have your cake and eat it too! And I just can’t fucking do that, not anymore.”

“That’s—that’s not it!” His voice wavers, with urgency, and desperation in his tone. He takes a step forward, attempting to bridge the emotional gap, feeling so fucking frustrated that he wants to rip his hair out.

“Then fucking explain it to me!” You plead. 

“You want an explanation, fine! Fucking fine!” His frustration echoed through the room, pacing back and forth, making you take a deep breath. 

Was he… actually gonna do this? 

“You wanna know what the fuck I’ve been doing ever since you ghosted me?” He ran a hand through his hair, scared, gaze all mellow and vulnerable in a way you have never seen before. It makes your shoulders slump when you nod. 

“I go to those stupid Hollywood parties, meet asshole rockstars—the most interesting shit, yet somehow someway the thought of you will pop up in my mind, uncalled for, might I add, and then I can’t stop thinking about it, can’t stop thinking about you the whole fucking day.” Your eyes widen, trying to absorb his revelation, yet he won’t stop rambling and you feel your chest tighten with each word, fuck, he’s finally doing it.

“I—I never—shit! I never thought myself capable of feeling things like this, but fuck, you came along, with that goddamn smile, throwing a manicured middle finger right in my face, a—and just put up with my bullshit.” His voice softened, and he couldn’t help but trace the contours of your face, to desperately know if you were on the same boat, and you look at him with such glistened eyes that his heart leaps to his stomach. 

“My world flipped upside down, and you have proven me, so goddamn wrong that I don’t even know who the fuck I am anymore!” The tears almost welled in your eyes, because, fuck, there was no way this was real.  

You reached out instinctively, the corner of your mouth twitching uncontrollably. “E—Eddie, please… please stop saying things you don’t fucking mean.” 

“Things I don’t mean?” He gives you a breathy chuckle, ironic, and nowhere near funny. His eyes bore into yours, intense and searching. “Do you think I like feeling whatever the hell this is? I fucking don’t, you have me acting like someone I’m so unfamiliar with, to the point where it scares me. All I can think about is you, you, you, because you occupy every single space of my mind.” Your eyes soften, the room seemingly pulsing with his emotions, making you feel hot everywhere on your body. 

He felt the same way.

Eddie felt the same way. 

“B—but fuck I’m scared, honey, I’m so goddamn scared,” He admits, the vulnerability in his voice cutting through the tension before he’s at your side, calloused hands grabbing you by the shoulder, so softly that you melt into him.

“Because what if—what if all of this comes crashing down one day?” His voice trembles, gaze avoiding yours, he was scared, so goddamn scared of losing you. Forever. He doesn’t want that, he couldn’t afford that. 

“Just two months away from you fucking sucked. I didn’t—I don’t wanna feel these things, but you make it so hard not to.”  His forehead rests against yours, making you suck in a deep breath, it’s all so fucking sentimental, and all you wanna do this kiss him, tell him you feel the exact same way. Tell him about your fears. 

“And now I can’t fucking stop, fuck,” He confesses, admission punctuated by a frustrated sigh. 

“I wrote you a song,” he gently caresses your cheek, and you’re so scared to look up at him, to meet his tender gaze, because you know you can’t hold yourself back. 

“I came over to this party in a frenzy when I found out you’d be here,” he continued, his fingers tracing a delicate pattern along your jawline. “I—I just I haven’t even been able to touch another girl.” Your eyes snap open, you’re sure they’re almost heart-shaped now, with the adoration you look at him.

“And, do you actually fucking think I'd write songs for just anyone—” His question lingers in the air before you shut him up with a kiss, rough, sweet, and making Eddie feel dizzy all over, his head struggles to comprehend it all, breathless but he manages to react just in time.

The booming music becoming a mere background noise when he had you, mind swirling with all the possibilities and mouth begging to never stop tasting you. He wants to let you completely engulf him, feel you everywhere.

Everything he wanted and more.

He fucking hates himself for doing this, but he pulls away, mesmerized, eyes so wide that you can’t believe this is Eddie, he’s all flustered, salmon pink. And it makes a wider grin sit on your lips. “So… you—uh, what does this mean?”

You smile at him, lips widely stretching into a grin, as you shrug. “It means I feel the same, Eddie.” you admit, tone a tender reassurance. “That’s why I tried to shut you out… to try to move on, because I was scared—fuck, but I feel the same way.”

“So, does that mean we're dating now?”

“We can take things slow, figure everything out?” you mutter with a shy gaze, lips itching to twitch into a smile, again. “But I—uh—I like you, I really, really like you.”

“Gone soft on me already, sweetheart?” he mumbles with a stupid grin, making you elbow him softly, with an exaggerated playful huff. 

He’s quick to flinch, rubbing his arm as if you even delivered a powerful blow. “Ow—what the hell is wrong with you?”

“You think I’m going soft? You’re the one who wrote his feelings as an exaggerated love song!” 

He leans further slightly, his grin widening when you gave him those adorable eyes, finding you both equally amusing and endearing. “Oh… just you wait.”

You arched a brow, curiosity piqued, “What the hell does that mean?”

“The album is coming out soon, sweetheart. If you think this was an exaggeration, you should hear the whole fucking thing.”

That glint re-appears in your eyes just as quickly, gaze softening as you melt into his embrace.

“You’re an idiot, Eddie Munson.” You tease, scrunching your nose at him, so adorably that he leans down and presses a gentle kiss onto your hair.

He's an idiot, a total complete fucking idiot, but he's all yours.

[sleepynoons]

jing yuan x f!reader, nsfw, 18+, not beta read

cw: nudity, suggestive content

notes: pls lmk if i'm missing any tags or warnings. anyway, nothing explicit this time, experimenting more w/ pieces that heavily focus on sexual tension + build-up. anyway x2, not sure how to describe the setting of this piece. still uses some hrs concepts like aeons. jing yuan is rich, the reader is his maid, and both use more formal language. this was a fun exercise!

THERE ARE a lot of rumors surrounding your master. you hear them when you go grocery shopping, visit the tailor, pick up the dry cleaning, drop off lunches at the front desk on days that he’s busy. some of them are about you – who are you? his wife? mistress? there’s no way you’re just a friend, right?

you’re trained to maintain a stoic facade, but inside, you can’t help but be entertained. you are none of those things, and one can only dream of sharing such a bond with him. you’re content with simply being his maid – you mustn’t tread closer.

on a wooden tray, you neatly arrange a cup of chamomile tea, another cup of warm, honeyed milk, and a folded newspaper of today’s news. before you leave the kitchen, though, you make sure to drop a few treats into a feeding bowl and rub at mimi’s stomach, your master’s beloved dog.

“your father needs some time alone,” you say to the animal. seemingly able to understand your words, mimi’s ears droop at a slight angle and she licks at your fingertips, seeking consolation. “he’ll be out soon, i promise.”

you get back up, wash your hands, and pick up the tray, heading over to your master’s bathroom.

from the hallway, you can hear the sound of water splashing and sloshing. if you strain a bit more, you can arguably make out some humming, nonsensical and haphazard in melody. when you reach the door, you hear submerging, and you know you’re right on time.

you knock on the door twice. “master, may i come in?”

you hear a faint noise of affirmation, no doubt muffled by the wall, and carefully enter without spilling the contents of the tray.

you’re greeted with a dazzling smile and glimmering droplets of soap and water slipping down naked skin.

your master greets you, fine smile lines outlining his rosy lips and delicate nose. “how many times have i told you that just my name will suffice?”

“master jing yuan,” you say as you place his drinks and paper on a designated drawer beside the tub, “how many times have i told you that you shouldn’t ask me to join you when you’re in the bathroom?”

“but who else can help me with my unruly mane of silver?” he pouts, tone feigning innocence.

“your hair isn’t unruly.”

“did you not call it that last time?”

you click your tongue. your master chuckles and turns away from you to face the other end of the tub. you grab a stool, hand him his newspaper, and take your place behind him. with a brush in hand, you unravel the red ribbon tying his hair and, with quick, gentle strokes, run the brush through the thick layers. you didn’t mean to call his hair unruly before, but you think there’s quite a bit of truth to it anyway. you also note that his hair has gotten quite long.

“master jing yuan, perhaps it’s time for a trim?” you suggest.

your master hums and leans back so that your hands can reach the crown of his head. “you are right. i shall leave it to you, then?”

shaking your head, you respond, “you really ought to get it done at a professional salon. i can only do so much.”

“you are a woman of many talents. i am sure you will do just fine,” he reassures. you huff in protest.

as your master’s only taking a soak today, you plait his hair into a thick braid before tying it up into a bun. you hand him his cup of tea, which is no longer scalding, and stand up to leave.

“oh!” he suddenly exclaims. “i seem to have forgotten my bathrobe.” he looks up at you expectantly, and you nod in understanding.

“i’ll go grab it. i’ll be right back.” you bow quickly before closing the door behind you on the way out and heading towards the laundry room.

you take your time. really, you needed an excuse to leave the bathroom. you’re glad that your master’s such a big fan of bath bombs, or else you’d see everything… you pat harshly at your warm cheeks to break free from your reverie. don’t tread any closer. you’re behaving like a schoolgirl experiencing her first love, and you can only groan internally at yourself. but you can’t blame yourself either – anyone would fall in love with your master if they know him the way you do. he’s so irresistible, and having been his maid for so long has only enabled you to witness more of his charisma and charm. you sigh, sitting on the floor in front of the dryer as you wait for it to de-wrinkle your master’s robe.

you return ten minutes later, both for your own wellbeing and to also give your master some time to himself.

“master jing yuan, i’m back. may i come in?”

instead of a reply, though, the door cracks open, and your master, wearing nothing but a towel tied loosely around his hips, appears before you. you yelp and rush to cover your eyes. he simply laughs at your antics before grabbing you by the arm and leading you into the bathroom.

“what – what are you –“

“i hurt my arm today, so i will need your help putting my robe on. it is quite heavy, after all.”

you don’t know where to look. you certainly can’t look at the bathroom mirror that covers the top-half of one wall or the marble on the other that shines and reflects so clearly. you opt to close your eyes and hold the robe up by the collar.

“this is hardly appropriate,” you mutter, embarrassment and nervousness coloring your tone. as a result, you try to distract yourself with another subject. “besides, couldn’t you have told me earlier? i would’ve prepared something in advance had i known.”

“i just noticed the bruise as well. seems i was a little careless today.” he then chuckles – at himself or you, you’re not sure.

you remark, “you? careless? that hardly goes together.”

your master lets you know that he’s put on his sleeves, so you step away, eyes still closed. 

immediately, he hums with obvious disapproval. “hm? why are you backing away?”

you sputter, “m-master jing yuan, i should not be here! if you could just – i don’t know – turn around or something, i can –“

“i have turned around.”

you sigh in relief, happy that he’s obedient for once. your master is often relentless in his teasing and tricks, and you’re grateful that he’s granting you mercy in this moment. so you open your eyes, ready to find your way to the door –

your master is standing dangerously close, so that you’re eye-to-eye with him. from this view, you can also see that his chest is barely covered, knot slowly slipping undone.

“master!” you gasp. the proximity, the surprise, the challenging look in his eyes – they’re all driving you mad.

he clears his throat. “jing yuan.”

“master jing yuan.”

“jing yuan.”

“oh, for aeons’ sake, jing yuan! you’re not wearing your robe properly!”

jing yuan gloats. he then says in a low, low whisper, “my hands have cramped up. can you do it for me instead?” he speaks directly into your ears, and you want to scream.

shaking, you stretch out your trembling hands and take the ends of the belt. you can feel jing yuan’s hot breaths fanning your cheek, and you can even smell the faint trace of lavender from the bath bomb. your fingers are too clumsy, though, and you fail multiple times in properly tying the belt. after a few more fruitless attempts, jing yuan reaches down, softly grabbing your hands, and gently guides them.

“and… like this,” he breathes. even when you’ve secured the knot, though, he doesn’t let go.

don’t tread any closer. “j-jing yuan,” you whimper. “please…”

his hands inch up, gliding from your palms to your forearms to your elbows. he does it so slowly, so seductively, so intentionally. he tugs you impossibly a little closer, and now you can feel the heat of his chest through your uniform. then, jing yuan rests his head on your shoulders, and his lips ghost the sensitive skin of your neck, causing you to shiver and shudder at the sensation. the two of you just stand there, him taking deep breaths, you holding yours.

finally, after a few minutes, jing yuan breaks the silence. “i can no longer employ you, my dearest.”

you feel faint. you’re never escaping the gossip now.

[fr0stf4ll]

A court of Shadows and Moonlight - Part 12

paring; Azriel x reader

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

word count ; 5.3k

Trigger warning; //

notes; hello hello, hope that everyone is doing great ! The month of January is finally over I can't wait for the weather to get warmer because it's freezing. Anyways, shorter chapter but a nice one hehe, just for you guys to be ready the next chapter will be longggg. Well see you all soon. Love you and thank you for reading this story <3333

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The first thing you noticed was the pain—a sharp, unrelenting ache radiating from your back and shoulder. It was enough to wake you, though not enough to drown out the feeling of utter comfort surrounding you. You blinked slowly, disoriented for a moment. The bed you were in wasn’t yours, but it smelled warm, familiar, and safe.

Azriel’s.

The realization came slowly as you glanced around the room, taking in its simple yet elegant decor. Dark walls, a shelf lined with well-used books. The soft morning light filtered through the curtains, hitting your bare back and warming your skin. You hadn’t slept this well in... years.

Groaning softly, you pushed yourself upright, the movement sending fresh waves of pain through your body. The bandages on your shoulder and back tugged slightly, a reminder of the arrows that had pierced you only hours ago. Still, you managed to shuffle toward the small dresser, where a set of spare clothes had been left for you. A simple shirt and trousers—functional, but clean and comfortable.

As you slipped into the shirt, pulling it carefully over your still-healing wounds, you heard the door open behind you. You glanced over your shoulder to see Azriel standing there, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and exasperation.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice low but sharp with concern. “You need to rest.”

You finished pulling on your boots, tying the laces with deliberate precision, and looked up at him. “I’m fine,” you said, your voice steady despite the discomfort. “I need to get home, and there’s work to do—”

Azriel cut you off with a humorless laugh, stepping closer and crossing his arms. “Madja warned me about this,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “‘She’ll try to get up the moment she wakes,’” he quoted, his tone mimicking Madja’s no-nonsense voice. “‘She’ll say she’s fine. Don’t let her fool you, Azriel. Knock her out again if you have to.’”

You huffed, folding your arms in defiance despite the strain it caused. “I’m not going to let a little pain stop me. I’ve dealt with worse.”

Azriel’s golden eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. “You’re not going anywhere,” he said firmly, his voice like a command. “Madja will have my head if you collapse again, and I’m not about to risk it.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, incredulous. “What are you, my mother? Last time I checked, you’re not. Let me go, Azriel.”

His lips twitched as if he were fighting back a smile, though his tone remained firm. “No. Back to bed.”

“Azriel,” you said, exasperated, standing your ground. “I don’t have time for this. People need me at the clinic—”

“And you’ll be no use to anyone if you tear open your wounds,” he retorted, cutting you off. His shadows swirled faintly around him, emphasizing his words. “For once in your life, Y/N, let someone else take care of things.”

You stared at him, your annoyance warring with the undeniable truth in his words. The man was infuriating, but you knew he was right. You were exhausted, barely able to stand without the dull throb in your back reminding you of your limits.

Finally, with a huff, you threw your hands in the air. “Fine. I’ll rest. But only because I don’t want Madja chasing me down with one of her syringes.”

Azriel allowed himself a small smile, though his relief was palpable. “Good,” he said, stepping aside to let you return to the bed. “Now lie down, before I have to carry you.”

You shot him a glare but complied, easing yourself back onto the bed. The mattress seemed to welcome you, wrapping you in its warmth, and despite yourself, you let out a small sigh of relief.

Azriel leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed and his golden eyes fixed on you with a mixture of exasperation and concern. “Sleep, Y/N,” he said firmly, his voice gentler now but still laced with authority. “The rest of the world can wait.”

You stared at him, your frustration bubbling to the surface as you locked eyes with him. “I’m not going to sleep,” you said, your voice steady and defiant. “I’m not tired.”

Azriel raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by your argument. Before he could open his mouth to protest, you pressed on, your tone softening just slightly. “But if it’ll make you happy, could you at least bring me the files I need to work on? I can do it here, in bed.”

For a moment, Azriel just stared at you, his expression unreadable. Then, with a long-suffering sigh, he pushed off the doorframe. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, shaking his head as he turned toward the door.

You smirked, leaning back against the pillows as you watched him go. “Thank you,” you called after him, a hint of triumph in your voice.

Azriel paused in the doorway, glancing over his shoulder with a look that was equal parts fondness and exasperation. “Don’t think this means I’m letting you off the hook. You’re still resting.”

“Of course,” you replied sweetly, though the glint in your eye betrayed your true intentions.

Azriel rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath about stubborn healers as he disappeared down the hall. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself, a flicker of warmth spreading through your chest. Despite everything, there was something undeniably comforting about having him around—whether he was scolding you or fetching your work.

Azriel entered the clinic, his sharp gaze sweeping across the space. To his relief, everything seemed calm. Healers moved with measured efficiency, and there was no sign of chaos that might worry you further. Elira, noticing him, approached with a friendly smile that quickly morphed into concern as her eyes landed on the bandages wrapped around his wings.

“Are you all right?” she asked, her voice tinged with worry.

Azriel inclined his head. “I’m fine,” he replied evenly, his shadows shifting around him like restless companions.

Elira’s gaze flicked behind him, searching. “And Y/N?” she asked hesitantly, her voice lowering. “Where is she?”

At her question, it was as if the entire clinic paused. Every healer nearby seemed to stop what they were doing, their ears subtly tuned to the conversation. The tension was palpable, the concern for you evident in their eyes.

Azriel straightened slightly, his tone reassuring but firm. “She’s fine. Resting. But I need to pick up some files for her.”

Elira nodded, though her shoulders relaxed only marginally. “Of course. Give me a moment.” She disappeared upstairs, the creak of the wooden steps echoing in the silence as the others went back to their tasks, albeit with less focus.

When Elira returned, she was carrying a massive stack of files and documents, the weight of them making her arms strain slightly. Azriel’s brows furrowed as he took in the sheer volume.

“This is everything?” he asked, his voice laced with incredulity.

Elira set the stack on the counter, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “No,” she said, almost sheepishly. “These are just the most urgent ones. The rest can wait—but there are still two or three more piles like this that she needs to go through.”

Azriel’s expression darkened, his shadows curling tighter around him. “How does she have this much work?” he asked, his tone bordering on disbelief.

Elira sighed, her voice carrying a note of sympathy. “It’s always like this. Healers from all over Prythian—and even beyond—reach out to her for advice. Taking over for Madja is no small task, and Y/N...” She trailed off, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Well, she’s not the type to ignore anyone who needs help.”

Azriel huffed softly, a mix of frustration and admiration flickering across his face. He gathered the stack of files with practiced ease, the weight barely registering in his strong arms. “Thank you,” he said curtly, and with a nod to Elira, he turned and left the clinic.

Azriel returned to his bedroom, his sharp senses immediately noting the absence of you. His heart skipped a beat, a pang of unease settling in his chest. You wouldn’t have left—not like that, not in your condition. He glanced around the room, as though you might still be there, but the space was untouched, the bed neatly made except for the slight indent where you had slept.

The sound of quiet frustration carried through the halls, pulling his attention. He followed it, his steps quick and deliberate, until he reached the door to one of the guest bedrooms. Pushing it open, he found you seated at a small desk, a blanket draped over your shoulders as you pored over a stack of damaged papers. Relief surged through him, but it was quickly followed by exasperation.

“You moved?” he asked, his voice low but carrying a note of incredulity.

You glanced up at him briefly, then back at your papers. “It’s your room,” you said matter-of-factly. “I didn’t want to disturb you more than I already am.”

Azriel frowned, stepping into the room. “You weren’t disturbing me,” he said, his tone firmer now. “You’re supposed to be resting.”

You shrugged lightly, the movement almost imperceptible beneath the blanket. “I’m fine. Besides, this is more comfortable for me.”

His jaw tightened, but he let it go, knowing you well enough to recognize when you wouldn’t budge. Instead, he moved to the desk and set down the stack of files he’d retrieved from the clinic, the weight of them landing with a dull thud. The sound drew your attention, and you glanced at the pile before offering him a small, tired smile.

“Thank you,” you murmured, but your gaze flicked almost immediately back to the paper in front of you, the frustration clear on your face as you tried to decipher the smeared ink.

Azriel leaned against the wall, crossing his arms as he watched you. “Are those the ones from the meeting?” he asked.

You nodded, gesturing to the papers. “Some of them. Most of them got soaked when we fell into the sea. I’ve been trying to salvage what I can.”

He frowned, stepping closer, his shadows curling inquisitively around the papers. “Y/N,” he said softly, but there was an edge to his voice. “You need to take a break.”

“I can’t,” you replied, shaking your head. “There’s too much to do.”

Azriel raised an eyebrow, gesturing to the massive stack he’d brought in. “Elira said this is only the urgent pile. There are two or three more stacks like it. You can’t possibly handle all of this right now.”

You let out a frustrated sigh, leaning back in your chair. “I’ll figure it out. I always do.”

For a long moment, he studied you, his golden eyes softening as his shadows danced faintly around him. Then he stepped forward, gently prying the damaged paper from your hands. “And you will,” he said quietly, his voice calm but resolute. “But not today.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the intensity in his gaze stopped you. There was no anger, only quiet determination—and something else you couldn’t quite name.

“You don’t have to do everything alone,” he added, his voice dropping to a near whisper.

The weight of his words settled over you, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself believe them, even if only for a moment.

Azriel left the room after ensuring you were settled with the files you insisted on working through. His hands trembled slightly as he closed the door behind him, his breath uneven. Every time he was near you, the bond hummed louder, stronger, as though it were trying to pull him closer.

He returned to his bedroom, his steps heavy with the weight of everything he had learned—and everything he was still trying to understand. The faint scent of you lingered in the air, a mix of something soothing and uniquely yours. Without thinking, he lay down on the bed, his wings spreading slightly as he sank into the mattress.

The remnants of your presence surrounded him—your scent on the sheets, the faint warmth left behind—and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he felt... calm. Comforted.

Azriel closed his eyes, his hand resting over his chest as he lingered on the bond. It was there, pulsing softly, unrelenting in its presence. He exhaled deeply, the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly as he let himself feel it.

You were his mate. And that knowledge, as terrifying as it was, filled him with a sense of purpose he hadn’t felt in years.

You spent the rest of the day trying your best to work through the ever-growing list of tasks demanding your attention. Miraculously, you managed to recover most of the documents from the meeting, painstakingly piecing together their content from the water-damaged remnants. It was a small victory in the chaos, but one that left you utterly drained.

Azriel hadn’t come to check on you again, and while part of you was relieved for the reprieve, another part felt an inexplicable pang of sadness. You and Azriel had grown closer during the trip to the Dawn Court. His worry after the storm and the attack had been palpable, and that memory brought you both comfort and pain. But it was the look in his eyes, when you were both struggling in the sea, that was inked into you—a mix of fear, determination, and something deeper that you couldn’t quite name. You shook your head, willing those thoughts away, but they lingered, haunting the edges of your focus.

Despite the warmth of the townhouse and the relative quiet surrounding you, the weight of the bond between you and Azriel pressed harder against your chest. It had been easier to ignore before, but now, after everything, it was as though the bond had its own heartbeat, pulsing insistently whenever you thought of him. It wasn’t just Azriel—there was Elain, too, a presence that complicated everything. You knew their relationship had made waves in the Inner Circle, creating a tension that was difficult to ignore. And yet, you couldn’t deny that part of you wished, irrationally, that things were different.

A soft knock on the window drew your attention, breaking you from your spiraling thoughts. Ydle, your faithful bird, perched just outside, his golden feathers glinting in the afternoon light. You quickly moved to open the window, letting him hop onto the desk. The sight of him brought a small, genuine smile to your face.

“What news do you bring me today, Ydle?” you murmured, stroking the top of his head.

The bird tilted his head, chirping softly as he offered a small pouch tied to his leg. Inside was a neatly folded note from Elira, detailing updates from the clinic. She reassured you that everything was on track and that you shouldn’t worry. Patients were healing, the other healers were managing well, and there hadn’t been any emergencies requiring your attention. You exhaled deeply, relief washing over you.

“Good,” you whispered, tucking the note away. “At least something is going smoothly.”

But that relief was short-lived as you turned back to the first document Azriel had brought you earlier. It detailed the latest updates from the Illyrian healers. Progress was being made, but it was clear that the work was far from over. Collaboration with the largest camps in Illyria had helped spread techniques and materials to smaller, more remote camps, but resources remained scarce. The thought of returning to Windhaven twisted something deep inside you. You’d grown to hate that part of the Night Court, its memories etched into your very bones. But duty called, as it always did, and you knew you’d have to face it soon.

A soft knock at your door pulled you from your thoughts. When you called for them to enter, Feyre stepped inside, cradling Nyx in her arms. She offered you an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” she said, her voice gentle, “but I had a feeling you’d be working when you should be resting.”

You managed a small laugh, setting the papers down. “You’re not wrong. But thank you for checking in.”

Feyre’s gaze softened as she looked at you. “You’ve done so much for all of us, Y/N. This house is for family, and you have your place here. Don’t ever feel like you’re imposing.”

Her words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you were left babbling, unsure of how to respond. The warmth of her sentiment, so genuine and heartfelt, left you momentarily speechless.

“Thank you, Feyre,” you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper. “That means more than you know.”

She smiled and nodded toward the door. “Come downstairs with me. Take a break. Tea’s ready, and I could use some company.”

For once, you didn’t argue. Setting the documents aside, you stood and followed her out of the room. Nyx cooed softly in her arms as the two of you made your way to the cozy kitchen. The prospect of a warm cup of tea and Feyre’s steady presence was a welcome respite from the weight of everything you carried.

As you settled into the kitchen’s comforting glow, a part of you felt lighter. There was still so much to do, but for now, you allowed yourself to simply be—surrounded by warmth, acceptance, and a fleeting sense of peace.

The soft clinking of teacups filled the warm, sunlit sitting room as you and Feyre chatted, Nyx settled comfortably in her lap. The conversation drifted easily, lighthearted and refreshing. Feyre had been recounting one of her recent painting lessons, a vivid smile lighting up her face.

“So there I was,” Feyre began, her voice laced with amusement, “trying to show this group of kids how to mix colors for a sunset. And one of them, this tiny little boy, just looks at me and says, ‘But why can’t the sky be green?’ I didn’t even have an answer—he completely caught me off guard.”

You laughed, imagining the scene. “What did you tell him?”

“I told him that he should paint it however he sees it,” Feyre said with a grin. “And you know what? He did. His whole canvas was just this swirl of greens and golds, and it was beautiful.”

“It sounds like you’re inspiring the next great painter of Prythian,” you teased, leaning back in your chair.

Feyre waved a hand dismissively but couldn’t hide her pride. “Honestly, it’s just fun to do something different. I spend so much time dealing with court matters that these lessons feel like a breath of fresh air.”

You nodded, feeling a similar sense of relief in the moment. It was nice, for once, to talk about something other than healers’ strategies or court politics. “I should come by sometime,” you mused. “Maybe I’ll learn a thing or two.”

“Oh, you absolutely should,” Feyre said, her eyes lighting up. “Though fair warning—I’ll probably put you to work helping with the kids.”

The thought made you smile, and for a while, the two of you continued chatting, the conversation flowing with an ease that left you feeling lighter.

Nyx, meanwhile, had grown increasingly interested in you. His wide eyes fixed on your face as he reached out with tiny hands, making soft babbling noises. Feyre chuckled, adjusting him in her lap. “I think someone’s curious about you.”

When he continued to squirm, Feyre offered him to you with a small shrug. “Do you want to hold him?”

You took him carefully, cradling him in your arms. He settled almost immediately, his little fingers tangling in your hair as he let out a delighted giggle. You laughed softly, trying to free your hair from his grip. “He’s strong,” you said, glancing at Feyre.

“He gets that from his father,” Feyre replied with a fond smile.

Nyx continued to babble, his tiny face lighting up as he played with your hair. Feyre watched the interaction with a thoughtful expression. “It’s funny, isn’t it?” she said after a moment. “How easily some bonds form. Sometimes without us even realizing.”

Her words carried a note of curiosity, and you tilted your head slightly. “If I may ask, how did you and Rhys figure it out?” you asked, your tone light, though the question lingered in the air with an unspoken weight.

Feyre smiled faintly, her gaze softening. “It wasn’t immediate,” she admitted. “For a long time, I didn’t even know. Rhys… he waited for me to see it, to understand it. And when I did, it was like everything finally made sense.” She paused, her eyes drifting to Nyx, who was now babbling softly in your arms. “It wasn’t easy, though. There were so many obstacles, so many moments when I thought it wasn’t meant to be. But in the end, it was worth every challenge.”

You nodded, absorbing her words as Nyx tugged gently on your hair again. He let out a delighted giggle, his tiny face lighting up, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“And you?” Feyre asked, her tone careful. “Have you ever thought about… bonds like that? Or someone who could be?”

The question lingered, but it didn’t feel intrusive—just an honest curiosity shared between two friends. You hesitated, choosing your words with care. “I suppose I’ve thought about it,” you admitted. “But it’s never felt like the right time or place. Even when I’ve had partners, it’s always been hard for me to truly connect. There’s always been something... missing.”

Feyre nodded in understanding, her expression open and encouraging. “Sometimes, it takes time. And sometimes, it surprises you.”

Before you could respond, the door to the sitting room opened, and both Rhysand and Azriel stepped inside. Their sharp gazes swept the room before softening as they saw the two of you. Azriel’s eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary before he looked away.

Rhys grinned, crossing his arms. “Looks like my family has taken over the sitting room.”

Feyre smiled, standing carefully with her arms outstretched. “Time to go back to your father, Nyx,” she said, reaching for him. But as soon as the baby left your arms, his face crumpled, and a loud wail filled the room. He squirmed and reached toward you, his cries growing louder.

“What in the—” Feyre began, trying to soothe him, but he continued to cry until you reluctantly took him back. The moment he was in your arms, he quieted, resting his head on your shoulder.

The room went silent for a beat, everyone exchanging curious glances.

“Well,” Rhys said, breaking the quiet with a chuckle. “Looks like we’ve found Nyx’s new favorite person.”

Azriel’s expression remained unreadable, though his shadows curled faintly around him. You cleared your throat, brushing off the attention. “It’s probably the soothing balm,” you explained lightly. “It’s calming—it must have lingered on me from earlier. It’s one we often use to comfort babies—though I assure you, it’s a much lighter concentration than what I needed."

Feyre raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further, instead smiling softly. “Whatever it is, he clearly feels safe with you.”

Azriel, who had been standing silently nearby, took a step closer. His voice was low and careful when he asked, “Are you feeling better now?”

You lifted your eyes from Nyx to meet his, offering a small smile. “Yes,” you said softly. “I’m still a bit sore, but I feel much better. Thank you.”

Rhysand, standing beside Azriel, crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. “I’m glad to hear that because last night was... quite the spectacle. We need to talk about your version of the story.”

You nodded. “Of course. I also have recaps of the Dawn meeting to give you, along with various other documents about the other courts.”

Rhysand tilted his head, his mouth twitching into a grin. “Weren’t you supposed to be resting today?”

You gave him a playful wink. “If I hadn’t been resting, those would have been finished yesterday.”

Rhysand laughed, shaking his head. “Remind me never to question your work ethic again.”

With a gentle smile, you carefully handed Nyx back to Feyre. The baby protested faintly, a small whimper escaping him, but soon settled in his mother’s arms, curling against her. Feyre gave you a grateful look. “I’ll send you some of that balm,” you promised. “It works wonders.”

“Thank you,” Feyre said softly, cradling her son close. “And for more than just the balm.”

Rhysand and Azriel watched as you straightened your posture, their gazes following your every movement. The room was warm with unspoken camaraderie and a quiet understanding, a shared bond strengthened by the challenges you’d all faced together.

After leaving the warm scene downstairs, you made your way back to the room you were occupying to gather the files you needed to give to Rhysand. Azriel followed silently, his presence a constant, steady shadow at your back. As you entered the room, your focus shifted immediately to the neatly stacked papers on the desk. You began sorting through them, murmuring to yourself about the updates and notes you needed to include.

Azriel lingered near the doorway, but his shadows seemed less patient. One curled around your ankle, its cool, featherlight touch pulling your attention momentarily. Another drifted into your hair, twining softly like it was exploring. You laughed under your breath, amused but without turning around. “They really seem to like me.”

“They do,” Azriel said, his voice low, almost contemplative. There was a subtle warmth in his tone that made your heart skip.

You continued organizing the documents, explaining aloud the updates and recaps you had prepared. Azriel stepped closer, his footsteps soft against the floor, until he was standing just behind you. When his hand came to rest gently on your back, it was as though a million jolts of energy coursed through you, mingling with the pulse of the bond that flared between you. Butterflies erupted in your stomach, your breath catching for a moment before you forced yourself to focus.

“Do you ever actually stop?” Azriel asked quietly, his hand still on your back, his touch grounding yet somehow electrifying. His golden eyes held yours when you glanced up, his expression equal parts amused and serious.

“Stop what?” you asked, your voice slightly breathless. “Working?”

He nodded, his lips curving into a small smile. “It’s... insane.”

You hesitated for a moment, then babbled, trying to keep your voice light and steady. “Honestly, I don’t mind. I love what I do, and there’s always so much that needs to be done. It doesn’t feel like work when it’s something I care about.”

Azriel’s smile deepened, and for a moment, his gaze lingered on your face. The faintest blush crept up your cheeks, and you quickly looked back at the papers, clearing your throat. “But enough about me. We should head to Rhys’s office before he decides to drag us there himself.”

Azriel chuckled softly, stepping back to give you space. “Fair enough,” he said, his voice carrying a rare warmth. “Let’s go.”

As you gathered the files and walked out together, his shadows trailed behind you like silent sentinels, and the bond between you pulsed faintly—an unspoken connection neither of you could yet put into words.

You entered Rhysand’s study with Azriel close behind you. Without preamble, you dropped the stack of papers onto his desk with a satisfying thud. Rhys looked up from his seat, his eyebrows shooting up as he took in the sheer size of the pile. His lips quirked into a faint smirk as he leaned back in his chair.

“What is all of this?” he asked, gesturing to the stack.

You crossed your arms, tilting your head with mock innocence. “Pretty much everything we covered during the healer meeting. The decisions and actions that need validation from the High lords, updates on court matters—particularly Autumn and Spring, which are... sensitive right now.” Your gaze sharpened as you added, “Highly private, Rhys. Not a word of this leaves the inner circle.”

He nodded, his expression turning serious as he picked up the top sheet. “You have my discretion,” he promised, before his eyes drifted back to the stack. “Anything else in here I should know about?”

“There’s also a missive from Thesan,” you said, gesturing to a smaller envelope placed on top of the stack. “He asked me to ensure it reached you directly.”

Rhys chuckled softly. “Well, that’s just lovely. I’ll review these after dinner,” he said, setting the letter aside before folding his hands on the desk. “Now, about your travel back here. Azriel filled me in on some details, but I need the full story.”

You glanced at Azriel, who stood quietly near the door, his expression unreadable. Taking a steadying breath, you began recounting the events. “It started just after we left the Dawn Court’s borders. The storm came out of nowhere. One moment, the skies were clear, and the next... everything changed. Time stopped.”

Rhysand’s brows furrowed as you continued, your voice steady despite the unease creeping into your tone. “I saw a black cloud, like a sentient presence. Death itself. Then, the arrows started flying—aimed directly at us. I don’t know how, but I managed to break whatever spell had frozen time, and we avoided most of the shots, but...” You trailed off, gesturing vaguely to Azriel’s wing and your own shoulder, which still ached faintly.

“And you fell into the sea,” Rhys concluded, his tone quiet but sharp.

“Yes,” you confirmed, folding your hands tightly. “It was chaos. But I swear, the moment the storm appeared, I felt it—it wasn’t natural. It was deliberate.”

Rhysand exchanged a glance with Azriel before his gaze softened on you. “Madja mentioned your influence and powers. She believes it could be the reason Koshiev is targeting you.”

You nodded, already anticipating his next question. “It’s not just Prythian. In the continent, the powers of Koshiev are... insidious. For the past century, I’ve seen diseases and epidemics that defy explanation—illnesses that seem to come straight from hell. They spread like wildfire, targeting not just people but entire ecosystems. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever encountered before.”

“And you’ve cured them,” Rhysand said, his tone more a statement than a question.

“Most of them,” you replied. “But it hasn’t been easy. Some of the cures required years of work, collaborations with healers across courts and continents, and even then, there were losses. If Koshiev is behind those diseases, then it makes sense he’d see me as a threat.”

Rhys leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his jaw as he processed your words. “That would explain a lot,” he murmured, his eyes darkening. “If Koshiev is trying to weaken the world through sickness and fear before strating a war, and you’re undoing his work... yes, you’d be a target.”

Azriel, who had been silent until now, stepped forward slightly. “We need to assess his reach. If his power extends beyond Prythian, it’s not just the courts here that are at risk.”

Rhys nodded, his focus shifting between you and Azriel. “Agreed. But for now, you both need to recover. Let us handle the next steps.”

You met Rhys’s gaze, appreciating the concern but unable to suppress a small smirk. “I’ll rest when the work is done.”

He sighed, shaking his head with a wry smile. “You’re impossible, Y/N. But I’ll hold you to that.”

As you gathered your remaining papers and stood to leave, Azriel’s shadows flickered around his shoulders, and you caught the faintest look of resolve in his golden eyes. Whatever the next steps were, you knew neither of you would be standing idly by.

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[shenachigans]

Office activities with the Kirammans | KIRAMMAN SANDWICH AU

LawProfessor!Cassandra can’t believe her daughter’s audacity. How could she touch you like that without her knowledge or permission? You belonged to the older woman the moment you met on your first day as her TA. She had planned everything meticulously to make you want her as much as she wanted you. From her light touches, sultry tone, close proximity, and hooded, wanting gaze… It was the perfect spell to bewitch you.

Cassandra was patient and prudent, especially considering the power balance and age gap between you. Everyone on the campus knew of your hold on the usually composed professor, and decided not to meddle in Cassandra’s affairs. It was clear that you were off limits. Still, her endeavors were in vain as CollegeStudent!Caitlyn snatched you from her mother’s grasp with little effort, recklessly marking you as hers with her bruised kisses on your skin. It was a painful and irking sight to Cassandra. It should’ve been her marks, not Caitlyn’s.

“I already have to deal with news of you sleeping around like a starved woman. You have girls at your beck and call, so why choose my TA of all people?” the older woman hissed, brows knitting together in frustration and suspicion. Her voice echoing in her soundproof office on the campus. “I had set my eyes on her long before you knew of her existence. Spare her of your nonsense, Caitlyn. She is mine to keep.”

“Yet I was able to bed her first,” Caitlyn snapped back, a hint of mockery and 100% sass in her tone as she stood her ground. Despite being shorter than her daughter, Cassandra still commanded the room. Caitlyn was no exception but would gladly go against her mother because she wants you too. “And I am serious about her, Mother. She’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met, I’m sure you can sympathize with me for once.”

Translation: finders keepers, losers weepers.

The Kirammans continued to bicker over their ownership of you, almost forgetting the faint buzzing and constant muffled whimpering in the corner of Cassandra’s office. Then their eyes land on you after hearing a loud groan. 

Ah. Right. 

How could the two women divert their attention and act like petty children when you were there blessing them with your sinful song? Perched on one of the older woman’s couches, panties and pants discarded on the floor, and only your bra and unbuttoned blouse remained, your legs quivered as a vibrator wand attached to your thigh abused your angry, swollen clit. All the while your hole was clenching around nothing as cum oozed out onto the couch. Exquisite.

Desire shot through Caitlyn and Cassandra at the sight of your tearful and blissful expression, lost in pleasure as you tried to writhe from your binds. Your jaw is sore from the gag (courtesy of Cassandra’s tie) and your pelvis hurts from your legs being forced open by ropes tying your ankles to your thighs. Even your wrists were tied too.

The older woman tries to compose herself as her breath hitches at the masterpiece she created. You were utterly beautiful as you looked up at them pleadingly. For what? They didn’t know. Yet, it was a sight to behold, and Caitlyn agrees with the bob of her Adam’s apple. Suddenly, the office’s atmosphere becomes charged with lust and need. 

Perhaps they could share you just this once. They can settle for a temporary truce, yes? 

A/N: Not a full fic as requested but something is something right… (forgive me) The shorter it is, the more food I can serve. Still, glad you beautiful people enjoyed the last one. This can be read as part two or as a standalone. I need a different scenario or two with this AU now bc it feels like I’m writing the same thing…

© shenachigans — do not plagiarise, translate, repost, or copy.