#beyond our space and starlight

[elstattoo]

Ellie (I Wanna Ruin Our Friendship)

MINORS DNI, MEN DNI

Pairing: Ellie Williams x Reader

WC: 7k

Summary: Ellie was infatuated the day she met you. The two of you instantly growing close, in turn she fell in love with you. One problem, she was a coward.

Content: 18+, best friends to lovers troupe, college auish, loser!Ellie, femme type reader, both Ellie and reader are oblivious asf, weed (e using), smut, sub! ellie, thigh riding, pussy eating, fingering, biting, marking, top! reader

Divider Credit: @enchanthings (I love your work so much! You make the cutest stuff) 😭💗

Author’s Note: Huge thank you to @astralnymphh for reading this for over and giving me suggestions! You’re the best and I love you mwah!! You also inspired me to write loser Ellie… Sooo ♡ Based on the song Jenny by Studio Killers! Also… We need more sub! Ellie… please

I. A Smile Beyond Words —

Both you and Ellie had been friends as long as you could remember. The memory was like yesterday: it was first when Ellie moved into your neighborhood, your mom lugging you over with her, freshly baked cookies in hand, she knocked gently on the door and waited for an answer.

“Mom, they’re still unpacking. This is probably such a bad time,” you sighed. Anxiously you began bouncing your foot, staying close to your mom almost to hide yourself from whoever would answer the door.

A smile was still present on her face. With a hand, she waved you off. “Nonsense, sweetheart! Who wouldn’t want home-baked goods?” she giggled. The house's front door opened, and a gruff-looking man nodded, greeting you both. 

“Hello, may I help you?” he remarked, his hands still steady on the door. 

“Hello! Sorry to bother you sir, but my daughter and I here saw you move into the neighborhood..” your mother began, her tone was cheery, and welcoming, “And we wanted to say hello! And give you this.” She offers him the cookie container.

His mouth hung open for a second in disbelief, before he collected himself and took the container from her hand. “That’s very kind of you, miss. My name is Joel… Joel Miller,” he mumbled, his other hand reaching out to offer his hand out to shake your mother's.

“Well, it’s great to meet you, Joel… Got any kids?”

“Yeah.” His eyes fell onto you briefly before continuing, “Probably about your age actually, let me call for her.” His head turned, and he yelled: “Hey Ellie! Come greet our neighbors.”

A voice from farther within the home yelled back, clear annoyance in the tone, “Hold on!”

“No! Ellie, now,” he hollered, rolling his eyes, and turning to your mom. She laughed, knowing all too well how that felt. 

A sigh escaped Ellie’s lips. She stopped unpacking her room and made her way to the front door, where she saw her dad chatting away, a container in his hand, and a woman on their front steps with a girl who looked her age beside her.

Joel noticed Ellie and cleared his throat, “This is my daughter… Ellie.”

Ellie, now seeing you, awkwardly stood beside Joel and didn’t dare utter a peep. Her freckled cheeks flushed, embarrassment crawling over her bones realizing not only your mom heard her reply, but so did you. She realized the tone she used wasn’t the best… especially for her first impression. Joel’s free hand slung around her shoulder, and she groaned, waving at you realizing that’s what he was hinting to do. 

She didn’t expect you to brightly smile at her and introduce yourself, finally feeling at ease seeing a girl your age in your neighborhood, let alone your next-door neighbor. And, that’s how you and Ellie met.

She’d somehow found the courage to bring you to her room, posters of Savage Starlight, space, and her favorite band adorning her walls. 

“Wow! Your room is so cool, I haven’t had a girl my age like you in our neighborhood in… who knows how long,” you sighed. 

Ellie gulped, nervously fiddling with her nail beds. “U-uh thanks…” Her eyes were glued to the many boxes still scattered around her room.

You settled your eyes back on her, noticing her frigid gestures. I know you’re nervous, but I am glad to meet you,” you beamed, hand reaching out to shake hers. “I do want to be your friend… Your best friend, maybe even…” 

Ellie laughed the thought at the time seeming impossible to her lonely self. “You’re joking right?” She bit her lip, feeling bad suddenly because of her tone.

You shook your head, reaching out and grasping her hand. “No, I’m serious. I promise, pinky swear,” you winked at her, holding out your pinky.

Her mouth hung open, this was the first time something like this had ever happened to Ellie. “Okay…. Let’s give this a try then—shall we?” She stuck out her pinky finger, twisting it with yours to conclude the pinky promise. 

From there, the two of you were stuck together like glue in your college, even through your high school years. The two of you had a relationship like no other, even with the new friends you’d both made over the years.

Things never changed.

II. Best Friends —

Even though you and Ellie met at fourteen, it didn’t stop you from having things like matching bracelets. Both you and Ellie had a set of bracelets you made together, first when your friendship had started. 

It was an idea sparked when the two of you were looking for a specific movie. You shuffled around different items to try to discover the movie you’d both tried your hardest to find. But with no luck yet, you kept your search up.

This leads to you finding a box of beads, strings, and other things to make bracelets or other jewelry. 

You glanced over the box, showing it to Ellie. “Hey! This looks fun, Ellie. Let’s try it. Pretty please…”

She rolled her eyes, her slit eyebrow-raising. “Beaded bracelets? What are we—in middle school?” Ellie teased, she was kidding and wouldn’t ever want to be mean to you seriously. She’d never want to cross that line or break it. 

You pouted, hugging the box to your chest. “Ellie… If you’re going to be my friend… We need matching bracelets, so…pretty please?” You gave your best puppy dog eyes, trying to make them appear bigger to guilt Ellie into accepting. 

She was going to accept, either way, she just liked pushing people’s buttons. “Of course we can do it!” She smiled at you, grabbing the box and the two of you created each other a bracelet. It read your name, yours reading hers, along with your favorite color beads, and some charms. 

You smiled, looking over the bracelet now on your wrist. You’d swore you’d never take it off, and Ellie did the same. 

“Thank you,” you shyly said.

You were too kind, too kind to be thanking for something like a friendship bracelet. She was just so honored to be your friend, so silently, Ellie hugged you. 

The embrace cut you off guard, her not saying anything back besides abruptly pulling you into a hug. A hug you never wanted to let go of. 

Ellie’s physical affection towards the people she loved was one of her strongest ways of showing she cared about someone, including you. She was like a koala bear.

Your koala bear. 

III. Stolen Lipstick —

Ellie was captivated the day you smiled at her; it took her breath away, and even to this day, it makes her heart pound slightly in her chest. Ellie stared at you, sitting in your vanity chair and applying lipstick to your lips. She observed the way the pink made your eyes pop, the color complimenting the color of your skin.

You hummed, shaking your head, hand extending for a makeup wipe to remove the color. “It’s not the right one, El. I don’t know, I’ll try this one,” you frowned. You removed the previous color, puckering your lips, and applying the new darker shade of pink to your lips. “Yep! This is the one.”

Ellie smiled, loving either color on you. “Whatever makes you happy, babe,” she shrugged, the stupid giddy smile never leaving her face. It was like you cast a spell on her from the day she met you, that had her obsessed, and hopelessly in love with her perfect best friend.

You shifted your body to face her, “You’re too nice to me, I’m going to the bathroom, and then let’s get going, okay?” You muttered, getting up and slipping out of the door hearing a little ‘mhm’ from Ellie.

Once Ellie was sure the coast was clear, she got up from your bed and slipped over to where you sat only moments ago. She grabbed the previous color of lipstick you wiped off, pocketing it into her baggy camo pants. She figuratively crossed her fingers, hoping and praying you wouldn’t notice the color gone. In her gut, she felt bad but knew it truly would go unnoticed due to the many lipsticks you had.

She swallowed, awkwardly looking at your vanity for a moment then remembered you’d be back soon. She went over to the bed and laid back down in the position she was previously in before you left. Her face hit your pillow, the scent of your perfume filling your lungs, almost lulling her to slumber. Ellie was almost grateful she scurried back into your bed, because only seconds after you came bouncing back into your room. 

“Hey! Sleepyhead! Wakey, wakey let’s go,” you excitedly clapped your hands together and walked over to your bed, where Ellie was comfortably lying.  

She groaned, turning her head propped up on your pillows to face you. “Alright, fine I’m getting up,” she spoke and got up from your bed. 

You grinned at her, and it made her hold her breath at the sight. As a person you are so alluring and pretty to Ellie, the simplest thing like your smile had her down so bad. It was almost hard to be around you at times. The two of you were always together, so always pushing aside her feelings for you was swallowing her whole. 

But one thing about Ellie is that she is a coward. A coward too afraid to admit her feelings for you and ruin your friendship. So that’s why she did little things, like stealing your lipstick and other things now and then. It was nothing you’d miss, but those things meant the world to her. So, Ellie felt like both a loser and a coward simultaneously.

IV. Hidden Sorrows —

Silence. A dead silence fell over Ellie.

Ellie felt her mouth run dry, she opened it for a moment and quickly closed it, still at a loss for words. Her brow arched, green eyes glimmering under the car’s light. “You got a boyfriend…?” She uttered, finally forming words.

You were sitting next to her in the passenger seat, nervously fiddling with your manicured nails. “Mhm, he asked me out yesterday, and I wanted to tell you. Are you upset?” You noticed her quiet behavior when you mentioned it and frowned. 

Ellie noted the obvious frown on her face and shook her head, “No, no! I didn’t mean to come off that way. Just… scared he’ll hurt you or something,” she whispered. She tried to play off her quietness and shift in attitude upon hearing the information as simply, that. 

She didn’t want you to know that her heart broke in two. The words hit her like a ton of bricks, sadness washing over her knowing her perfect best friend was taken. Taken and stolen from her now that you had a boyfriend. Ellie wanted to be the person you were taken by, but she’d never admit that, especially not to you.

It was silly, she knew she’d never get a shot with you or even a chance, but here she is, sad over you getting a boyfriend. Which was inevitable, wasn’t it? It was like the earth was mocking her and playing some huge prank on her.

“Is that it? I don’t know… You just seem so off since I told you about it,” you pouted, puffing your cheeks. You were being playful, but also serious with your tone. Ellie could tell. She could always read you, like an open book.  

Ellie eagerly nodded, not wanting to infringe on your happiness. Even if she loved you, your feelings always came first. It would be selfish of her to be upset. 

So she bit back those feelings, as always, and pushed a reassuring smile on her face. “Yes that’s… it. I promise.” She grabbed your hand, squeezing it gently to try and reassure you.

Your hand squeezed hers back, leaning over from your seat to lean your head against her broad shoulder. The way you comfortably rested your head on Ellie had her breath hitching for a moment, the smell of your perfume filled her nostrils, and the warmth of your hand was so comforting. 

“Thank you for looking out for me though, El,” you muttered, nuzzling yourself more into Ellie’s shoulder. 

You always enjoyed being close, and physical with Ellie. It was one of your favorite aspects of your friendship. Sometimes you’d wonder why no other person made you feel the way Ellie does. Somehow, you chalked up how you felt for Ellie as nothing more than a friendship. Despite the numerous times you or Ellie had been asked, you’re nothing more than friends.

Feeling you nuzzle more into her shoulder, she peered down, despite you being in a relationship now she couldn’t love you any less. Ellie felt her face grow warm, she knew she was staring but you looked so pretty in the dim light of the car, your hair sprawled on her shoulder and face nuzzled into her shoulder.

Ellie leaned down, inhaling the scent of her hair and pressing a sweet kiss to your head. She didn’t miss the muffled giggle from you, and she smiled, her hand squeezing yours once again. It was a habit of hers. 

“Always, pretty.”

V. Smoke It Away —

There were always points in your and Ellie's relationship that crossed the line, many, many times. Even due to just how touchy the two of you were. Always cuddling, holding hands, and hugging. It was things friends did, but it always felt like there was more between you two.

Ellie sighed, her tattooed arm gripping the pillow in frustration. Why did feelings have to be so complicated? Why did she have to be so hopelessly in love with her best friend? These were questions that often crossed her mind, especially now you had a boyfriend named… What was his name again? Derek? Micheal?

Ellie, in all honesty, didn’t care. She would find herself drifting off when you’d bring anything about your boyfriend up. She wanted to be happy for you, and she was; but the more you talked about him and spent time with him the distance grew. Ellie didn’t like that. Distance between the two of you isn’t something she’s used to, so when she saw you texting her less, not replying to her spam of Instagram reels, and just less of you. It made it all worse.

She felt almost hollow, laying on her bed, messy auburn hair sprawled across the pillow. She felt her heart break just like the time in her car when you’d first broken the news. Ellie hadn’t yet noticed her eyes watering, the tears building up and pouring out, dampening her cheeks. She reached up to wipe them, the effort almost pointless with more and more tears breaking the floodgates. 

The walls she worked so hard building up came crumbling down, and Ellie let herself finally feel it. Previously, she was forcing herself to not cry. Almost like she wasn’t allowed to feel heartbroken over you being in love with someone else, but was she? It felt selfish in a way, but now you were distancing yourself.

It felt like a punch in the gut, she sobbed harder, nails digging into the sheerness of her pillowcase. She sniffled, finding it harder to breathe because of how hard she was crying. She’d never felt such an overwhelming feeling. She hated it.

Ellie’s love for you was a powerful all-consuming force. It filled her heart to the brim, leaving little room for anyone else. But then the heartbeat and sadness you’d somehow brought into her life hit her like a tidal wave, overpowering everything else she felt. She knew it wasn’t you who was responsible for this pain, but her cowardice for not revealing her feelings to you weighed heavily on her shoulders. She was haunted by the what-ifs and the could-have-beens, wondering if things would have been different if only she had found the courage to speak up.

Maybe you didn’t realize the amount of affection Ellie truly held for you. Ellie knew you were oblivious to her feelings, she always tried to hide them even with how close your relationship was. Boundaries were in place, at least she thought and she’d never tried anything with you or crossed them, because Ellie genuinely loves you. 

Ellie sat up from her tear-stained pillow and wiped the remaining tears with her sleeve. “Fuck this… I need to smoke,” she mumbled to herself. Her voice sounded hoarse from her crying. Ellie rubbed at her eyes, the skin puffy and red, and her previous tears also accompanied the congestion in her nose. 

Opening the little drawer on the side table, Ellie pulled out her pre-rolls and lighter. She mentally thanked herself for preparing a few for times like these. She brought the end to her lips, flickering the lighter to light the other side. She inhaled it, the smoke filling her lungs, helping numb her emotions.

She breathed out the smoke, the room growing foggy from it. Ellie brought it back to her lips, taking another drag, then another, and another before she dabbled the end of the finished preroll into her star-shaped ashtray. 

The weed made her feel giddy and light, but she sat there on her bed, its effects washing over her, and her thoughts turned to you. She felt a longing for you, a sense of comfort and familiarity, as the thought of you was like a warm embrace from home. Her heart ached for you, even after everything Ellie missed your presence in your life. 

It didn’t help when she caught eye of the friendship bracelet clad on her wrist, yet another reminder of you. Ellie pitifully frowned, using her free hand not occupied holding the pre-roll, to slide it off her wrist. She meekly clutched it in her hand, tossing it onto her bedside table.

A buzz sounding from her phone tore her from her antics. She hummed and grabbed the device, the screen lighting up with a notification, it was from you.

You: ‘Hey Els, sorry for not replying to these till now. Is it okay if I come over?’

Ellie’s breath hitched reading the message, but without thinking she clicked on it and began to reply. The weed had lowered her inhibitions, making it easier for her to give in to her true feelings. Despite the tears that had streaked her face less than an hour ago, Ellie couldn’t deny seeing you. She found herself missing you more with every passing minute. 

Ellie: ‘Yeah, come whenever. See you soon :)’ 

Ellie let out a soft sigh as she turned her phone off, throwing it on her bed and laying back. She closed her eyes, the silence in her room seemed to echo the hollowness in her chest, and she found herself staring at the ceiling as her thoughts swirled over you. She tried to push the memories of you aside while she waited for you, the sound of your laugh, the way your eyes crinkled when you smiled, but they stubbornly refused to be silenced. 

Her brain or heart was somehow always testing her too long for you, and you finally would see her after a dreadfully long week. It felt incredibly long to her, never going so long without seeing the person who… made her the happiest. 

VI. Friends? Or More? —

You almost felt stupid for not listening to Ellie or reaching out about how your stupid boyfriend, just shy of one week, cheated on you by kissing some random girl at a party, you kicked him in the nuts and walked away. Somehow, you did an excellent job of swallowing down the tears in front of everyone and shakily calling your mom to come pick you up. 

Your mother answered immediately and was on her way to get you within minutes once you texted her the location. When she arrived, she found you in a state of despair and self-pity. Following the party, you locked yourself away from the world, wallowing in your stupidity and pain of the entire situation.

The universe seemed to taunt you with every attempt you made to move on from Ellie as if it was trying to send you a sign that you should just confess your feelings to her. You had tried to find happiness in your current relationship, and when your boyfriend asked you out, it caught you off guard, but you accepted nonetheless. 

You cried over being cheated on but didn’t feel sad over your ex-boyfriend. You were lying in your bed, covers swallowing you up, and self-pity absorbing all your being. Usually, you were a bubbly person, full of energy, and always reaching out to your friends, but not for the past week. You’ve been radio silent, even with Ellie whom you never went thing long without seeing or texting. You pouted to yourself, feeling bad for leaving Ellie in the dark for so long. Lifting out of your cave of blankets, you reached over to your nightstand and texted Ellie asking if you could come over. 

When Ellie quickly replied and agreed to meet up, your heart leapt in your chest, almost infusing you with a sudden burst of energy through your veins. You couldn’t wait to see the person you love the most in the world, Ellie. You kept it in the back of your mind as you dressed it had been a foolish decision to try dating a man, and the very thought of romantic interactions made your stomach churn with repugnance. It was never worth accepting his offer, to begin with, then he goes and cheats on you.

The entire situation seemed almost comical as you developed deeper into your thoughts, and you couldn’t help but chuckle at your attempts to enthusiastically tell Ellie about your relationship. The truth was, your feelings for her had been eating away at you the entire time, plaguing your mind and every thought. You gave a shake of your head in an attempt to dispel the tingling sensation that coursed through your body when you thought about her. 

Ellie had always been your closest, dearest friend, and you over time fell in love with her. It was hard not to, she was so kind to you and treated you like a person. She was the most genuine person you’d ever known. You yelled down to your mom you were going to Ellie’s, throwing on a coat in an attempt to keep yourself warm and shielded from the cold and making your way out the front door.

Within seconds, you were over to Ellie’s, her living next door so convenient. You raised your hand, knocking softly but loud enough for Ellie or Joel to hear. It was only seconds after you knocked, the door opened and you saw Joel standing there. 

He smiled widely at you, “Hey Kiddo! Been a while seen I’ve seen you, Ellie is in her room. Come in it’s freezing.” 

You returned his smile, walking in through the door to escape the cold. Joel closed the door softly behind you. “Yeah, it’s great to see you too! I’m going to go see Ellie,” you replied, a polite smile still etched on your face. 

He nodded, walking back to the living room to the sofa. You made your way upstairs, gulping as you made your way up the stairs, your stomach doing somersaults, your right hand clutching the wooden railing. You never felt so nervous to see Ellie, but having to explain… everything and potentially confess to her crossed your mind. So you were in a pickle. 

When you reached Ellie’s room, you knocked waiting for her to signal it was okay to proceed inside. “Come in!” She yelled, it was muffled by the door.

You braced yourself before turning the doorknob and entering her room. When you saw her figure, sitting on her bed with her grey sweatshirt, eyes red and blotchy, the room smelly of weed: your heartbeat sped up. You closed the door and quickly made it over to her, taking a seat only inches apart.

“Hey… So I’m sorry about being kind of distant this week,” you muttered, the guilt you felt making it too hard to make eye contact. 

Ellie fiddled with her fingers, her leg bouncing with anxiety. “Kind of distant…?” Ellie huffed, not bringing herself to look at you either knowing she’d fold at the sight of you. Her tone came off harsher than she intended. She bit her lip, thoughts going millions a minute after she said that. 

You almost felt your mouth go dry, but you understood why you never did this to Ellie, not in all the years you’d known each other. So the guilt continued to reside in your every being, your hands felt clammy as they lay by your side. You bit your lip, shaking your head, “I’m so sorry- Ellie please look at me,” you pleaded, your hand reaching out to grasp hers. “Let me explain.”

Ellie’s hand grabbed yours, squeezing it and finally looking up. Her usually brightly green eyes were duller looking, which made you frown. “I’m sorry for my tone, sweetheart. Didn’t mean it, just grouchy your douchy boyfriend stole you,” she whispered.

You chuckled at the mention, which had Ellie opening her mouth an ‘o’ shape, surprised you didn’t already bite back at her remark about your boyfriend. “Speaking of, he cheated on me, and turns out men aren’t for me. I disappeared because I was wallowing in self-despair,” casually you shrugged it all off as if it weren’t a big deal. Your whole demeanor seemed nonchalant. A smile was tugged stupidly on your face, your hand squeezing Ellie’s back. 

Her eyes see red upon hearing the mention of him cheating on such an amazing person like you, but then again… Now you’re single and he’s not in the picture. Relief flooded over her, the weed accompanying that feeling. “Wait… He cheated on you and you don’t like guys?” Her eyebrow quirked, somehow she needed you to confirm it again.

“Yep…” you purr, scooting closer to Ellie, your thighs now touching. “I like someone else.” Your other hand reached over and grasped her face, forcing Ellie to maintain eye contact with you. Your thumb trailed over the numerous freckles littered upon her cheek, a sly grin on your face as you moved your face closer to Ellie’s. “I like you, Ellie.”

Her pink tongue ran over her lips quickly, she blinked a few times, not believing what she was hearing. “W-what…” she uttered, disbelief written on her face. “You- Sweetheart, like me? I must be dreaming, I swear…” 

“Nope, you aren’t, Ellie…” you rasped, your thumb tickling her skin. Even with her eyes all red, and her hair thrown in her usual half-up bun, she looked so pretty. Without thinking your lips fell onto hers, only for what felt like seconds before you pulled away. “Fuck- I just confessed and kissed you, El. I’m sorry-” 

Your worries were swallowed by Ellie’s lips on yours, she hungrily kissed you again, your lips swallowing the tiny moan she let out. As you kissed her, you could taste a distinct tang of weed on her tongue. Her hand lets go of yours, her fingers gripping your sides. The kiss was wet and intense, fueled by a sense of urgency and longing. Both of you are feeling the weight of the week-long separation. 

You pulled back briefly in need of air as you were caught off guard by the kisses. “Ellie, I’ve wanted to ruin our friendship for who knows how long…” you panted, your eyes glued to hers. 

She felt jittery, your hand now free from hers, comfortably grasping her side, your hand going up and down her side. It was like the weed heightened everything she was feeling, her pupils were blown out as she took her breaths of air. 

She shook her head, tongue once again darting out to wet her lips. “You’ve… wanted to ruin our friendship? God, I’ve wanted to kiss you… I felt like some stupid lesbian yearning over her best friend.” She sighed, shaking her slightly at her obliviousness to your feelings for her. 

You giggled, the sound making her smile harder. She missed you… and missed that sound escaping your lips. She wished she could mentally take a picture of you, the way you captivated her was like nothing else. You were like an angel, somehow, that blessed the earth with your beauty and kindness. 

“Glad we both feel the same way, now shut up, and kiss me, Els,” you playfully tugged her forward and pressed your lips against hers. The desire, and need for each other are overly apparent.

She nodded her head eagerly into the kiss, her lips eagerly pressing back. Your tongue swiped against her lower lip, the sensation driving her wild. It was like nothing she’d ever experienced before, you were an entirely new experience for the girl. 

An experience like this she’d imagined more times than she could count on her hand, but one that was happening. She still couldn’t believe it. 

She opened her mouth, realizing you wanted excess inside. Feeling your tongue against hers made Ellie let out another breathy moan, your tongues messily sliding against one another. You took the opportunity to suck on Ellie’s tongue, the sensation going straight to her core, her grip tightening on your hips. 

The grip she held on you only furthered fueled your actions, you went back to greedily kissing her, almost sucking the life out of the poor girl from just kissing. 

The pair of you separated, chests rising and falling, small huffs escaping your lips. You and Ellie stared at one another, a stupid grin on both of your faces. Ellie’s once dull eyes were dilated, focused, and glistened with a spark of something else. 

“Ellie,” you grinned, “Would you… Are you okay with me going further than just kissing? If not that’s okay… just really want to make you feel good.” Your own eyes twinkled, the same sparkles appearing in Ellie’s like your own. 

“Yes… Absolutely. Anything you want I’ll do, just please…” She gripped your hips, the begging having more of an effect on you than you’d think.

“I’m glad you want it just as much as I do. Okay lay back on your bed for me,” you breathed out. She obeyed, immediately getting onto her back as you instructed.

You crawled over to her, your gaze fixed on the sight before you - Ellie lying back, eyes begging for something… anything, her hands pathetically gripping the sides of her bed. It surely was a sight. Her whole demeanor leaked of neediness, her lower lip caught between her teeth as she patiently waited for you. She looked absolutely delicious, ready to be eaten up. 

Of course, you were starving for a taste. You tugged at her sweatpants, signaling to her you wanted them off. She nodded eagerly, you discarded the piece of clothing and threw it behind you without a care in the world. 

Ellie was sprawled beneath you, her body now clad in only her boxers and a sweatshirt. You wanted to savor this moment, engrave it in your memory, to finally show Ellie how you truly felt for her. You wanted to make her feel so good she’d see stars, the same ones she excitedly points out to you. This was a special moment for you, considering how long you’ve yearned to touch her this way.

You moved to sit between her legs, grabbing at the flesh of her thighs that was decorated with various freckles and moles. The feeling of your hands on her skin made Ellie tremble, her green eyes closed in bliss. Until they fluttered open, her head snapping to look at the unexpected sensation now pressing between her legs.

The sensation was coming from your knee pressed against her clothed pussy, you rubbed it back and forth, your eyes never peeling from Ellie’s face to watch how she’d react. Her mouth dropped open, hands dropping to the sheets to ground herself. You applied a little more pressure, slowly going faster and then slow.

Ellie’s eyes looked glossed over, almost like glass. “Please… do something,” she whined, hips lifting to rub against your thigh herself. 

This had you halting her hips immediately, Ellie pouted at the action. If she wanted to do the work, then she could. You backed away, retracting your knee from against her, Ellie’s pout growing wider. The distance you created displeased her, she wanted you as close as possible.

“Ellie, I want you to listen to me and follow my instructions. I want you to straddle my thigh and ride it for me. Do you think you can do that for me?” You batted your eyelashes at her, your lower hand slowly gliding from the lower part of her leg to the inner part of her thigh. 

Her skin felt like it was on fire, every touch of your skin against hers sending another wave of warmth over her. She nodded her head, too eager to form words yet. “Yes, I can.” 

You couldn’t help but smile as you felt the eagerness and desperation radiating off Ellie. She shifted her body back, no longer laying down, and created space for you to lean back against her pillows. You settled yourself against her many pillows and stuffed animals, spreading your thigh to provide a space for her to sit. Faintly, you tapped your thigh, signaling to her what to do.

Ellie bit her lower lip, teeth nibbling into her soft lips. She crawled over to you, sitting herself comfortably on your thigh. When she finally sat herself down, underwear still on, she felt her face grow hot. “Should I.. uh… keep this on?” Ellie avoided eye contact with you, finding it too embarrassing due to the position and how new this all was.

This was not something you would let slide, not for a minute. You grasped under her chin, lifting her forest green eyes to meet yours. You clicked your tongue, shaking your head. “Ellie, I never said to take them off, did I?” You pressed her, leaning forward to tug at her sweatshirt. “This though? Off.”

Ellie listened, taking the hoodie off and throwing it into the abyss of her room. She looked at you again, waiting for further instructions.

“Waiting for more instructions from me? Good girl, Els.” 

The nickname sounding velvety off your tongue, Ellie subconsciously moved against your thigh, the rough material of your pants making the perfect friction for her pussy. She moaned, a breathy whiny moan slivering out of her pretty lips, her hands desperately gripping your shoulders, dull nails leaving crescent patterns in their wake from how hard she was digging. 

She moved her hips back and forth, wanting—no—needing more friction. “Yes, please let me keep going,” she whined, eyes skewing shut, and holding onto you for dear life. 

 “I’m not stopping you,” you leaned closer, your lips mere inches from her ear, “Make yourself feel good.” Before pulling away you pressed a kiss to the shell of it, the action making Ellie’s breath hitch. 

Ellie frantically began moving her hips, her underwear growing damper, the friction gliding perfectly with her clit. She snapped her head back, her boobs moving with the frequency of her hips. Your hand moved forward, grabbing at her breasts, your lips sucking at her nipples. You nibbled and sucked, leaving marks on the flesh—to claim her as yours.

Ellie sighed, loving the harsh love bites you were littering across her chest. Ellie moved one hand to grip your waist, the other steadied on your shoulder. She tried moving faster, the friction from her underwear no longer enough for her. She needed more.

“This not enough for you?” You quipped, noticing her once fast movements suddenly slowing little by little. 

Ellie pathetically shook her head, her voice trembling as she spoke, her face begging for more. “No, I need more. Please… Can you touch me without these on? Can’t feel anything…” 

You pretended to debate and think about your answer but nodded. “Yes, lay down,” you instructed. You massaged her sides, fingertips dipping her sides playfully as she scooted off you. Her legs were shaky, making you laugh.

Ellie slid off next to you, rolling her eyes at you laughing at her. The sensations flowing through her body and straight to her core were the cause of no one other than… you. Without a word, she removed the last layer of clothing still clad to her body. Her underwear. 

She shimmed them off, leaving her fully bare and exposed, her wet pussy now on full display for you to see. Your mouth began salivating at the sight, her pussy already so sensitive and puffy from just dry humping. You returned to your original position, Ellie lying down, you hovering over her, in between her thighs. 

Your hands pressed firmly, grabbing at the fat of her thigh, your dainty nails ever so gently scraping the surface of her delicate skin. Your face inched closer to her core, and you pressed a gentle kiss along her thighs, making your way close to where she wanted. In your wake, you left more love bites, and little bruises making sure to leave as many as you could.

You craved to express your devotion and admiration for Ellie in the most profound way possible, and this was your way of doing so. As you worship her body, taking the time to adore and cherish every part of her body, every little nook and cranny. Finally, you pressed a tender kiss to her clit, Ellie’s hand flying instinctively to grip a fistful of your hair. She let out a groan, one deep within her throat, too overwhelmed by the sensation and her pussy pulsing for attention. 

With your tongue, you licked from her clit and down and greedily sucked away at the wetness. The taste of her was unlike anything you’d ever experienced before, as you slurped away at her juices, Ellie tried to squeeze her legs shut, the sensations from your tongue almost too much for her. Your grip tightened on her legs, refraining her legs from closing around your head.

“My god, El… You taste amazing,” you groaned into her heat, the vibration adding an extra layer of sensitivity to the mix.

“Please! I am so close… Oh fuck-” Ellie shuddered, her mouth agape and tiny whines leaving, hips moving against your mouth desperately. Her forehead crinkled, sweat drops forming as she got closer and closer to her sweet release.

Her stomach was twisting in knots, your tongue relentless and not stopping as you sucked on her clit like it was your favorite piece of candy. Ellie’s wetness was leaking out from her hole; to help further push her over the edge, you pushed two of your fingers inside. An obscene wet sound came from it, just showcasing how wet Ellie was. You pumped your digits a few times, Ellie’s hold tightening even more.

The coil within her stomach snapped when she felt you curl and pump your fingers in, then out. Alongside the nonstop stimulation of your tongue working itself to get a drop out of her. Ellie whined, riding out her release on your face, your slender fingers still curled inside before slipping them out. You eased them out with a squelch, dragging them up to swipe through Ellie’s folds.

Lazily, you cleaned up her, not wasting a single drop of her orgasm. Your tongue lapping up her juices as if your life depended on it. Her grip loosened on your hair, Ellie’s chest rising and falling, trying to recover from her high. You sweetly kissed Ellie’s clit one more time, pulling away and kissing up her stomach.

“How did that feel?” You glanced at her, noticing her body trembling from the release. “I hope it felt okay, and… I really do mean what I said, Els.”

She lifted her head, eyes still shut, but snapping open when she heard you say those words. “I know, and it felt amazing… Are you kidding?” Ellie chuckled, a dazed smile on her lips. “I meant what I said too.” 

You felt yourself instantly melt hearing her say that, you laid your head on her stomach, finding comfort in listening to Ellie’s breathing. You peered at her from that position, heart racing a million miles a minute. “I love you, Ellie. I’m in love with you.”

She grinned harder, her hand reaching to smooth out some loose hairs at the top of your head. “And, I’m in love with you. You’re truly my dearest friend.” 

“Friend? You know we’re more than that now… Way past being just friends, Ellie,” you snorted. You leaned up to kiss her on the lips, pecking them softly, before pulling away to rest your head against her chest. 

Your eyes trailed off to the side, catching sight of the charmed matching bracelet you and Ellie shared, promising to never take it off, you clicked your tongue and narrowed your eyes teasingly. “Really, El? Took off the bracelet?”

She snapped out of her blissful trance, cheeks warming that you’d noticed. She’d completely forgotten she took off the bracelet in the mess of her feelings. You’re an observant person, so of course, you’d pick up on something like that. “Fuck, sweetheart. Smoked a little and got too… into my feelings.”

You reached over, and with little effort grabbed the bracelet. Guilt twanging your heart for making Ellie so upset, you sat up again, grasping Ellie’s wrist delicately, and sliding the bracelet back on. “Not a big deal, now, never take it off,” you pouted. Fingers tapping her wrist, dancing over the smooth surface.

Ellie’s lips curled into a small grin, hands enveloping around your waist, tugging you so you were on top of her. “Never,” she whispered, voice oh, so promising, squeezing your hips in reassurance.

Author’s Note: Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed :)

[earthlybeam]

Could you do Gil-galad finding out someone in court talked badly about reader because that person doesn’t think reader is worthy of being married to the high king?

Thanks, I enjoy your work so much!

That means so much to me—thank you! I’m really glad you enjoy my writing. It always makes my day to hear that, and I appreciate you taking the time to say it! 🥺❤️‍🩹✨

Gil-Galad version below

🏵️𝓖𝓲���-𝓰𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓭

The halls of Lindon’s court shimmered with the golden glow of lanterns, casting soft light upon the gathered nobles. Murmurs of conversation wove through the air like strands of silk, some filled with diplomacy, others with idle gossip. Among the clusters of elves, one voice dipped into a more venomous tone, barely above a whisper yet sharp enough to cut.

“It is unthinkable, truly,” the noble sneered, swirling the wine in his goblet. His Sindarin robes were finely woven, the embroidery glinting like starlight, but his words dripped with disdain. “That one of such… questionable lineage should stand beside the High King. No noble blood, no standing of renown. A passing fancy, nothing more.”

Several elves exchanged uneasy glances, some nodding in silent agreement, while others seemed unwilling to involve themselves. Yet the noble pressed on, emboldened by the lack of immediate opposition. “It is an embarrassment, really. Does our king not see how this weakens his rule? To tie himself to one so undeserving, it makes him appear sentimental, reckless even. We are Noldor—our rulers should not be guided by fleeting affections but by wisdom and tradition. Tell me, what do they bring to him but whispers of the heart? What alliances? What power?”

Another courtier, hesitant but intrigued, dared to ask, “And what of the rumors? That they have bewitched him, ensnaring his heart with unnatural means?” The noble scoffed, his lips curling into a smirk. “I would not claim such things outright, of course… but the thought has crossed more than one mind. And if not magic, then what? A moment of weakness? The High King deserves a queen, not a passing shadow unfit for a crown.”

A sharp intake of breath halted the conversation. The warmth of the lanterns seemed to dim as a figure stepped forward—Elrond, his expression unreadable, though his keen eyes glinted with displeasure. His voice, though quiet, carried the weight of centuries. “Strange,” he mused, tilting his head slightly. “For one so concerned with the dignity of Lindon, you seem remarkably comfortable tarnishing it with petty slander.”

The noble stiffened, his bravado faltering for a brief moment. Around them, the court grew still, the murmurs fading into watchful silence. “And what, I wonder,” Elrond continued, stepping closer, “do you think the High King will say when he hears how lightly you speak of his honor? Of his judgment?”

A flicker of unease crossed the noble’s face. He opened his mouth as if to defend himself, but Elrond merely turned on his heel. “We shall see soon enough.” And with that, he strode toward the High King’s chamber, his footsteps measured but unyielding, carrying the weight of what had just been spoken—words that would not go unanswered.

…

The chamber was quiet, save for the faint rustling of parchment and the occasional flicker of candlelight against the polished marble walls. The evening air carried the crisp scent of the sea from beyond Lindon’s borders, mingling with the faint traces of ink and wax. It was a peaceful setting, a moment of respite carved from the relentless demands of kingship.

At the heart of it sat Gil-galad, his form statuesque yet utterly at ease, clad in robes of midnight blue embroidered with silver filigree. His long fingers idly traced the borders of Lindon on a sprawling map, his sharp eyes scanning its contours with the weight of quiet contemplation. Thoughts of defenses, treaties, and the ever-looming shadow of Sauron occupied his mind, leaving little space for lesser matters.

When the door opened, he barely lifted his gaze. Yet the measured steps that followed—the purposeful yet unhurried gait—caught his attention. He recognized the stride without needing to look. “Elrond,” he greeted, his voice calm but acknowledging. Elrond entered without preamble, his expression schooled into the composed serenity befitting his station. And yet… there was something beneath it. A trace of something heavier. Concern, perhaps. Disapproval. The faintest flicker of restrained anger, buried beneath the mask of diplomacy he so often wore.

Gil-galad finally looked up, his piercing blue eyes locking onto his most trusted counselor. He had spent centuries reading Elrond’s moods, and though few could claim to decipher the younger elf’s carefully measured expressions, Gil-galad was not one of them. He straightened slightly, setting his quill aside. “What is it?” Elrond did not answer at once. Instead, his gaze swept briefly across the chamber, taking note of the few attendants lingering at the edges of the room. They were quiet, dutiful, but observant. Too many ears.

Gil-galad noticed the glance and gave the smallest nod. At once, the attendants bowed, understanding the unspoken command. Footsteps receded. The door clicked shut. Now, they were alone. Only then did Elrond speak. “There has been talk in court,” he said evenly, but there was no mistaking the edge beneath his tone. “Disrespect. From one who should know better.”

The flickering light cast shifting shadows across Gil-galad’s face, but his expression remained unreadable. “Who?” he asked, his voice steady. Elrond hesitated, just briefly. “Lord Lysander.” The name was spoken with careful precision. “He believes your choice of consort… unworthy.” The words lingered in the air, hanging between them like a blade poised to drop. “He did not hesitate to share his thoughts with others,” Elrond continued, his voice tightening almost imperceptibly. “Going so far as to claim that your judgment has been clouded. He speaks of alliances, of tradition. But his words tread dangerously close to insult—both toward your beloved and toward yourself.”

Silence followed. Gil-galad did not move. He did not immediately react, nor did he allow even the subtlest shift in expression to betray his thoughts. And yet, the weight of his displeasure settled over the room like an approaching storm—silent, but suffocating. The candlelight flickered, its glow catching the sharp line of his jaw, illuminating the sudden stillness in him. His fingers, which had rested lightly on the map mere moments ago, curled ever so slightly into a fist. Not in rage, but in something colder. More controlled.

Elrond had seen Gil-galad in war. Had seen him command armies with unwavering resolve. Had seen him wield spear and shield at the head of his forces, unyielding and relentless. But this… this was different. This was not the fury of a warrior. This was the restrained, sharpened ire of a king. A long pause stretched between them. Then, slowly, deliberately, Gil-galad exhaled. “I see.”

The words were soft. Almost too soft. And yet, they carried a finality that sent a chill through the chamber. For a long moment, he did nothing. He simply sat there, his gaze unfocused, as if weighing something unseen. Considering. Calculating. Not because he was uncertain—no, Gil-galad had already made his decision. But he would not allow anger to dictate his course. He would not be goaded into an emotional response. He would act. But he would act with purpose. When he finally lifted his gaze once more, it was sharp as steel. “Lord Lysander will learn that my choices are not to be questioned.” His voice did not waver. It did not need to. “Thank you, Your dismissed Elrond”

The door had barely shut behind Elrond when the silence in the chamber grew heavier, pressing against the walls like an unseen force. The flickering candlelight cast restless shadows over the High King’s study, the golden glow dancing across the polished wood of his desk, the rich indigo of the drapes, the intricate carvings upon the bookshelves that lined the walls. And yet, for all its familiar warmth, the room felt colder now.

Gil-galad remained seated, motionless. His fingers rested lightly against the arm of his chair, his posture composed, regal. But beneath the stillness, there was a storm. His silver grey piercing gaze was fixed unseeing on the map before him. The parchment lay undisturbed, its inked lines marking the borders of Lindon and beyond. Only moments ago, his mind had been occupied with governance, with treaties, with the ever-present weight of his people’s safety. And yet now, all of it had been eclipsed by the words Elrond had spoken.

Unworthy. The word echoed in his mind, slow and deliberate, laced with scorn not his own. Gil-galad exhaled sharply through his nose, jaw tightening. How dare they? How dare he? Lord Lysander, a noble who had stood in his court for centuries, who had seen his rule, who had pledged fealty to him—how dare he presume to judge what was beyond his right to question? To speak your name with anything less than the reverence it deserved?

A muscle tensed in his jaw as he leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing. It was not the insult to himself that angered him most—kings had always been scrutinized, their choices debated in the shadows of their own halls. That was nothing new. No, what ignited something cold and dangerous within him was the insult to you.

His beloved. His treasure. His world. Did they truly think so little of his judgment? Did they believe him a fool, led astray by sentiment, as if his heart was some careless thing, easily swayed? No. He was Gil-galad, High King of the Noldor, bearer of Aeglos, heir to the wisdom of the Eldar before him. And if they thought he had chosen lightly, if they thought his love for you was anything less than absolute, they were wrong.

He ran a hand over his face, exhaling slowly, trying to temper the sharp edge of his thoughts. But it was not so easily done. His mind drifted—to you, to the way you smiled when you thought no one was watching, to the way your hand fit so perfectly in his, to the quiet moments when the weight of kingship felt lighter simply because you were near. Did you know? Had you heard the whispers in the halls, the murmured words meant to remain unseen, unheard? Had they reached your ears like poison seeping through stone?

The thought sent a fresh wave of ire through him. If you had heard, if you had even for a moment believed their words, if you had wondered whether you were truly worthy— No. He would not allow it. Gil-galad stood abruptly, the legs of his chair scraping against the stone floor, his hands bracing against the desk as he stared down at the map beneath him.

His thoughts sharpened, crystallizing into purpose. He would not let this insult go unanswered. Lord Lysander had spoken too freely, had forgotten who it was he served. That would change. But more than that, you needed to know—needed to be reminded, beyond any doubt, that no whispered insult, no courtly arrogance, no outdated tradition could ever change what he had chosen. And what he had chosen was you.

…

As two days passed since Gil-Galad been brooding thinking…till now he takes action he know what he must do….The court was alive with murmured conversations, nobles and advisors gathered beneath the high, vaulted ceiling of Lindon’s great hall. Sunlight streamed through tall, arched windows, casting golden pools across the polished stone floor. The banners of the High King fluttered gently, though the air within was anything but light. There was a tension—subtle, but unmistakable—woven into the silence that fell when Gil-galad rose from his throne.

His presence alone commanded the room. Dressed in robes of deep sapphire, his silver circlet gleaming in the light, he stood with the quiet authority of one who had ruled long enough to need neither force nor fury to make his will known. His gaze swept the hall, piercing yet unreadable, lingering just long enough on each gathered noble to remind them that no whisper went unheard, no action unseen.

And then his eyes found him. “Lord Lysander,” Gil-galad’s voice rang clear, smooth as tempered steel. “Step forward.” A shift rippled through the assembled court. Heads turned, expressions flickering between curiosity and apprehension. The noble in question hesitated, his well-groomed features betraying a flicker of unease before he masked it with carefully measured grace. He stepped forward, bowing low.

“My lord,” Lysander greeted, his tone smooth but guarded. Gil-galad regarded him in silence for a moment, then descended the steps from his throne, closing the distance between them. He did not sit high above his court to pass judgment from afar. No—he would look him in the eye. “There are whispers in my halls,” Gil-galad began, voice even. “Words spoken in shadows, yet meant to stain the light. Words that question my judgment—my heart.”

Lysander’s posture stiffened, though he did not yet speak. “I will not cast accusations lightly,” the High King continued, tilting his head slightly. “So I will grant you the opportunity to speak first. Tell me, my lord, what concern weighs so heavily upon you that it must be shared in hushed corners rather than in my presence?” A hush settled over the court. All eyes were upon them now.

Lysander cleared his throat, his expression carefully schooled. “Your Majesty, I have always spoken with the kingdom’s best interests in mind,” he began, his words measured. “I meant no disrespect. Only that—given the weight of alliances, the expectations of the Eldar—it is natural to… consider what is best for the realm.”

“What is best for the realm.” Gil-galad repeated the words slowly, letting them hang in the air like a blade poised to drop. His gaze sharpened. “And you believe yourself more fit to determine this than I?” The noble paled, just slightly. “That was never my intention, my lord.” Gil-galad took a step closer, his voice never rising, yet growing heavier, colder. “No? Then explain to me—clearly, before all who stand here—why you think my choice unworthy. What flaw do you see that I, in all my years, have somehow overlooked? What lacking do you perceive that my heart has failed to recognize?”

Lysander hesitated, sensing now the perilous ground upon which he stood. He chose his next words carefully. “I only meant… Your Majesty’s decision is unexpected to some. Many believed you would wed one of high lineage, one who—”

“One who would serve as a political tool?” Gil-galad cut in, his voice quiet, but edged with something dangerously sharp. Lysander flinched. Gil-galad did not let the silence stretch. “You are mistaken if you believe my love is a matter for courtly debate.” His eyes burned with an intensity that made even the seasoned nobles in the room avert their gazes. “Did you think I chose lightly? That my heart was led astray, as though I am some young lordling making folly of his affections?” Lysander shook his head quickly. “Of course not, my lord—”

“You speak as though you know what is best for me,” Gil-galad pressed on, taking another deliberate step forward, his presence pressing down like a storm on the horizon. “Yet I am the High King. My choice is mine alone. And you would do well to remember that those who question it—who would seek to belittle or insult the one I hold dearest—speak not only against them, but against me.” A sharp, collective inhale rippled through the court.

Gil-galad let the words settle. The weight of them was undeniable. Lysander had paled further now, realizing—too late—the depth of his folly. His throat bobbed as he struggled for words, but no excuse would serve him here. The power in the room had shifted; the court was no longer on his side, but silently aligned with the High King’s will. Gil-galad did not smile, did not soften. He let the silence press upon Lysander like an iron hand. And then, in a voice like the calm before a storm, he delivered his final words.

“Consider this your first and only warning,” he said, his voice low but absolute. “I will hear no more whispers. I will not tolerate another word of disrespect toward the one I have chosen. Do I make myself clear?” Lysander bowed hastily, the movement stiff and trembling. “Yes, Your Majesty.” Gil-galad did not acknowledge him further. He turned, ascending once more to his throne, his mantle sweeping behind him. The court remained silent. None dared to speak, none dared to breathe too loudly. It was clear to all. The High King’s love was not to be questioned.

The court had dispersed, but the weight of Gil-galad’s decree still lingered in the air like the final echoes of a struck bell. The nobles had spoken in hushed voices as they departed, some shaken, others murmuring quiet approval. Lord Lysander had left with his head bowed, stripped of his influence in court—his privileges revoked, his presence diminished. A warning, not a ruinous punishment, but one that would not be soon forgotten.

Gil-galad remained for a moment after the hall emptied, standing in the vast quiet, his hands resting lightly on the arms of his throne. The golden light of the late afternoon sun slanted through the high windows, catching the silver embroidery of his robes, yet the warmth did little to soften the lingering cold in his chest. He did not regret his words. The insult had not merely been against him, but against you—his beloved, his heart. And that, he would never abide. Without another word, he turned on his heel and left the hall, his steps purposeful but not rushed. His attendants saw the look in his eyes and did not dare to interrupt. There was only one place he wished to be now.

You were in the gardens when he found you, sitting beneath the ancient willow that draped its silver-green branches over the quiet paths. The scent of blooming flowers filled the air, but your mind had been elsewhere, your heart weighed by the knowledge of what had transpired in court. You had not been present, but whispers traveled quickly in Lindon, and you had heard enough to piece together what had happened.

…

You looked up when you heard the soft rustle of his robes, the firm, steady steps approaching. And then, he was there—Gil-galad, in all his quiet radiance, his expression carefully composed but his eyes speaking of a storm just passed. He did not speak immediately. Instead, he simply lowered himself onto the bench beside you, his presence warm, grounding. For a moment, neither of you said anything. The wind stirred the branches above, sunlight dappling his face, tracing over the sharp line of his jaw, the quiet power in his features.

Then, softly, he spoke. “I will not ask if you have heard,” he said, “for I know you have.” You nodded. You had heard of Lysander’s words, of the insult he had dared to voice. But more than that, you had heard of Gil-galad’s response. The court had not expected such fierce devotion from a king known for his measured diplomacy.

“You did not have to defend me,” you murmured. His gaze sharpened, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “Of course I did.” You looked away, fingers curling slightly against the fabric of your sleeve. “I know what some think. That I am not—” Gil-galad reached for your hand before you could finish. His fingers were strong, calloused from years of wielding a blade, yet his touch was gentle as he intertwined them with yours.

“Do not say it,” he said, voice low but firm. “Do not give weight to their folly.” You swallowed, your heart tightening at the raw sincerity in his tone. When you met his gaze again, you saw not the High King of the Noldor, not the ruler whose word shaped the course of nations. You saw him—the man who had chosen you, not out of obligation, nor for politics, but out of something deeper, something unshakable. “I did not have to defend you,” he said, repeating your words, “but I would. Always.” His thumb brushed over the back of your hand. “Do you know why?” You knew, but still, you whispered, “Tell me.”

“Because you are my heart.” His voice was softer now, but no less resolute. “You are my choice, my equal, my love. They may whisper their doubts, but their words will never touch what I know to be true.” A breath shuddered through you, the weight of the day dissolving in the warmth of his devotion. He lifted a hand to your face, his palm resting against your cheek as his thumb brushed lightly along your skin.

“Never doubt what you mean to me,” he murmured. And then, slowly, reverently, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead—a promise in its own right, silent yet unbreakable. The tension you had carried melted away, replaced by something steadier, stronger. You leaned into him, letting your forehead rest against his shoulder, and he held you there, the scent of him—warmth, cedarwood, the sea—enveloping you.

For a long moment, the world was just the two of you beneath the willow, the wind whispering through its leaves, carrying away the remnants of courtly whispers. That evening, when the halls had fallen into quiet and the golden traced patterns through the windows, Gil-galad sat in his study. A single candle burned beside him, its light casting flickering shadows across the parchment before him. He rarely put his emotions to words in such an away. His devotion was spoken in actions, in steadfast loyalty, in the way he held you, the way he fought for you. But tonight, he let the ink speak for him. His quill moved across the page, steady and deliberate. A poem, not of grand declarations, but of quiet, unwavering love. A love that no whisper could shake.

….later on in dusk

The last light of the sun melted into deep indigo as dusk settled over Lindon. The grand halls of the palace had quieted, and the weight of the day had lifted, leaving only the hush of the evening breeze and the flickering of lanterns casting golden warmth against stone walls. In the sanctuary of your shared chambers, you lay curled on the bed, parchment in hand, your fingers gently tracing the lines of inked Elvish script. His words.

You had read them once. Twice. Now, perhaps a dozen times over. And yet, each line still sent a rush of warmth through you, the poetry weaving around your heart like a silken thread, binding you closer to the one who had written it. Your lips moved soundlessly over the verses, and though you tried to maintain composure, a telltale blush had spread across your cheeks, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

Gil-galad, standing by the chamber’s edge, watched you with quiet amusement. His heavy ceremonial robes had long been discarded, hanging neatly upon their stand, and his boots were set aside. Now, he was clad in nothing but his linen tunic and fitted trousers, the formality of the day replaced by a rare ease. The High King of the Noldor had been set aside for the night—here, he was simply yours.

And yet, you had not noticed him. Not truly. Not as he approached the bed with slow, measured steps. Not as he placed a knee upon the mattress, the frame dipping beneath his weight. Not even as he leaned forward, his presence drawing nearer, the warmth of him filling the space between you.

No, you were still too enraptured by his words to realize he had slipped onto the bed entirely, that he had crept closer—until at last, with a single deliberate motion, he pushed his way between your arms. A startled gasp left you as parchment crinkled in your grasp, his head suddenly appearing between your elbows, his golden hair catching the glow of the bedside lantern. “Enjoying yourself?” His voice was low, teasing, his lips already hovering far too close to yours.

You blinked, caught between flustered laughter and helpless adoration. “You—! I was reading that!” Gil-galad hummed, tilting his head, pressing in closer, his breath warm against your skin. “I noticed.” Your arms had slackened, the parchment falling slightly as he stole the space between you, his broad frame settling easily against yours. He was everywhere now—his presence, his warmth, the faint scent of sea air and cedarwood clinging to him.

And then, before you could recover, his lips brushed against yours. It was not urgent, nor desperate, but deliberate—a kiss meant to steal the breath from your lungs, to replace whatever words had been on your tongue with the simple, undeniable truth of him. Your fingers found purchase against his shoulders, gripping the soft linen of his tunic as he kissed you again—slow, lingering, as if tasting the giddiness still lingering on your lips from his poem.

When he finally pulled back, just enough to meet your gaze, his blue eyes gleamed with quiet satisfaction. “You’ve read it enough to burn the words into your memory,” he murmured, lips curving. “And still, you blush.” Your cheeks flamed anew, and you huffed, weakly swatting his arm. “It is unfair that you write such things and then expect me not to react.” He chuckled, deep and rich, before finally shifting to settle beside you. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you effortlessly against him, until your head rested against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heart beneath your ear.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The night stretched around you, soft and quiet. His fingers traced idle patterns along your back, and yours played absently with the fabric of his tunic. “You truly meant every word?” you whispered after some time, voice barely above a breath. Gil-galad’s hold on you tightened ever so slightly.

“I have never spoken anything more true.” A warmth, deep and unshakable, bloomed in your chest. You sighed, content, as his lips pressed lightly against the crown of your head. And as the night deepened, you allowed yourself to close your eyes, knowing that in his arms, you were cherished. You were home.

[whisperingmidnights]

Chasing Starlight: Chapter 25

Pairing: Poly!Feysand x female!Reader

A/N: We have feelings at the beginning and smut at the end. Warnings include: blowjobs, vaginal penetration, teasing, turning Rhys's magic into fun sex toys. This one's largely unbeta'd, so any mistakes you see are my own. Thank you for hanging with me while I worked through my own feelings about this one, it's finally yours to enjoy!

     The wooden floors are so cold, I can feel them through the lining of my slippers. Tugging my robe tighter around me, I gently pull the nursery door shut and loose a sigh of relief when no cry follows after me. It’s probably my fault Nyx has been so fussy since we returned. Anxiety has been my constant companion and my family, my home, everything I touch is stained with it. Glancing down the hall at the doors to our rooms, I know I’ll likely find Rhys and Feyre as I left them when I heard the babe begin to fuss: asleep, wrapped so tightly around each other that there’s no way I’ll be missed. The bonds in my chest are dormant, hazy with sleep since the frenzy is satisfied for the time being.

     I need to take this opportunity to walk and clear my head. The cold air will help, and it won’t be long enough to need a cloak or real shoes. There isn’t snow on the ground.

     I repeat these things to myself over and over and I slip down the stairs on the tips of my toes. Theoretically, the wards shouldn’t activate, but I hold my breath when I step through the door to the kitchen garden anyway. Frost covers the ground, glittering in the moonlight. It’s so cold, my breath hangs before me like a cloud, but I press on towards the river, winding through winterized garden beds and beneath the boughs of the bare trees. The steady crash of waves breaking over the rocks as the river winds through the city drowns out the noise in my head, and once I’ve made it to the back gardens overlooking the river, I tilt my head back and look up.

     Every star is out tonight.

     Beneath the star-filled sky, my problems feel smaller. More manageable, somehow. Leaning against the garden wall, I allow myself to sink into the depths of that endless night as my mind stills. I am forever holding onto the wrong things, I think, but I don’t know how to let them go. Instead, every part of me feels like an open wound that every new transgression cuts a little deeper. Even after all of these years and the space between me and the dead I still carry, I can’t bring myself to lay it all to rest. How can I when it seems as though they rise from the ashes of their pyres to haunt me when I least expect it?

     My mother planted this sickness planted in my mind, binding the magic that should flow through my veins, cutting me off from everything I might have been. My father, at least, knew the truth and he, too, kept it from me. Those who were supposed to care for me allowed me to walk through life feeling like a disappointment, like a burden for all of the ways I did not measure up, and they called it love. Perhaps it is unfair of me to be angry about the secrets they kept, knowing what it would have cost them if the truth emerged…what it cost them in the end anyway, for all the good their secret keeping did.

     Would I have made a different decision for my own child? Could I have done this to them, allowed them to live this way with no foreseeable end in sight? A moot question, since I likely won’t have children beyond those Rhys and Feyre bring into the world. Disappointment settles in my chest like an ache. Another wound, another grievance for the pile. I hadn’t allowed myself to hope for my own little ones before, hadn’t dreamed of them for myself, but now? It should not matter, I should be grateful to have a family to love at all…but I look at them and I wish, more than anything, that I could have my own piece of them. That I could give them something of me, to remain long after I am gone. A legacy that, honestly, I probably will not even have the time to create…if it would even be worth creating.

     I did not need the reminder of how cruel life can be.

     I cross my arms over my chest, tilting my head until my neck finally cracks, releasing the pressure beginning to build at the base of my skull. They’re going to need to adjust the dose again for whichever tonic or potion keeps these headaches at bay…probably for everything else, too. They are not designed to be a long-term solution, whatever time I have is borrowed and I’m out here, feeling sorry for myself. I don’t know how to be free of it, this misery. Something flutters at the other end of our bonds, a vague sense of worry muddled with sleep, and I quietly close off my end before they can get a taste of the anguish roiling through me. I don’t need comfort or a witness to pain I should already have processed.

     I need to get myself together.

     A flare of crimson lights the frosty ground in the periphery of my vision has me drawing myself up, whirling wide-eyed to see Cassian land in the corner of the garden, silent as any apex predator on the prowl. In the months I’ve been here, I’ve never seen him dressed quite so casually. He appears to have just crawled from bed himself, if the thin, black pants are anything to go on. The coat fastened around his large, bulky frame is black wool, thick enough to withstand the chill. I imagine the bewildered look on his face is mirrored on my own, and I check the tie on my robe to ensure it’s firmly closed as I take a step closer to the male my mate calls brother.

     “What are you doing here?” I ask, trying to keep my voice light.

     “I could ask the same of you.”

     “I do live here, you know.”

     “That’s not what I mean,” he says, casting a long look up at the house as he closes the distance between us. The light from the siphon around his neck floods over me, a shield against the chill that I’m immediately grateful for. My limbs are cold and stiff, more than I’d like to admit, and even the slightest buffer helps. “It’s late, you should be asleep-”

     “I am hardly a child in need of minding.” My stiff reply hangs between us as the general rubs the back of his neck, shoving his free hand deep into the pocket of his coat.

     “That’s not…” he sighs, settling against the wall at my side, seemingly in invitation for me to relax as well. “I hadn’t thought Rhys or Feyre would let you out of their sight for a while, given everything that’s happened. Congratulations, by the way.”

     “Thank you.”

     “Do you want to talk about it?”

     “Talk about what?”

     “Why you’re out of bed so late.”

     “Do you?” Cassian’s wings twitch as the question is turned back on him, but he shrugs like he might be willing if I am. I get the feeling I’m not meeting with the Night Court’s general or Rhysand’s brother, but the friend Feyre spoke so fondly of in her recounting of how she came to be High Lady. I’ll admit that our relationship has been so closed off and fraught that we haven’t spent as much time integrating with the rest of the family as it seems she did, but perhaps that’s something I can change. I’ll never get back the family I lost, but maybe I can allow myself to truly be a part of this new one.

     “I can’t sleep,” I admit, fixing my eyes on the long shadows cast by the trees. “I don’t know what you know…”

     “Azriel filled me in on the pertinent details.” Of course, I should expect no less from our spymaster.

     “I…I thought I wanted to know the truth of my history, rather than the manufactured version I was raised with, but…but now that I know, I don’t know what to do. Or- or how to feel. Beron is vile, Cassian, the way he treats his wife and children…most of his sons are cruel, vicious faeries who delight in pain and terror. To know that he sired me, how…I don’t know how I’m supposed to live with that. He’s monstrous. What if I–”

     “Any male can sire a babe.” I take a breath, glancing back up at him as he presses on. “Any male. So far as I can tell, there isn’t a measurable taint passed through the blood, no matter how vile the father is. I didn’t know my sire, and my mother was long dead before I was old enough to think to ask about it.”

     “I’m sorry–”

     “Don’t, it doesn’t matter. The camp lords and Rhys and Az had more bearing on the male I became than he ever did, for better or worse. He doesn’t have any bearing on who you are now, Dove.”

     “How do you know?” I ask softly. “How do you know that there’s not something monstrous in me, just waiting for this blood oath to be broken? If my magic was stolen from him, how do we know that it wasn’t tainted with something when my mother cursed him?”

     “I don’t believe it would have passed to you if it hadn’t been a fitting payment for something already taken. I don’t think the Mother shapes us with cruel intent, or...or whatever it is that lays the foundation for what we might become. Everything I’ve seen of you from the moment we met suggests that you are kind and good, Dove. Who he is and what he’s done changes nothing about who you are.”

     “Thank you.” My eyes are burning and my throat is entirely too tight, but I manage to give him a watery smile that’s met with a sigh and a hand clapped on my shoulder. Cassian truly is larger than life, but his hand is a comforting, grounding weight. “Do you want to talk about what’s bothering you?”

     “It’s not that important.”

     “It is to me, if you want to talk about it.”

     “I don’t sleep well when I have a lot on my mind.” The Illyrian shrugs, his hand falling away to hang limp at his side. “I thought flying would help ease it a bit. There was an attack here, before the war. More people died than I care to think about. Azriel and I take turns, when we’re here, flying over the city every now and then. We can’t check the wards the way Rhys does, but sometimes it helps to see that there’s nothing waiting on the outskirts to catch us off guard, you know?”

     “Do you think about the war often?”

     “No. I’ve fought in many wars, that one was no different than any other, but…but I think about my family and everything we stand to lose if there’s another. When it was just me and Rhys and Az, it wasn’t so bad, you know? Then Rhys found Feyre and they have Nyx, and I have Nesta…now there’s you. And between that female and her strange magic and what’s happening in the camps-”

     “What’s happening in the camps?” I ask. Beyond the unfortunate incident all those months ago, Rhys and Feyre don’t tell me much about Illyria and, to be fair, I don’t ask. I have not ventured beyond the borders of Velaris, but as their mate…perhaps I should? Something to discuss later, I suppose. If there is a later for us…for me. Cassian looks at me for a moment like he’s trying to decide if this is something he should be disclosing, since it’s clear I have no idea what he’s talking about. “They likely haven’t told me because I haven’t asked, if you’re worried about crossing some line.”

     “Or because they don’t want you stressed at such a sensitive time. You’re precious to them, Dove. If they want to protect you from everything else right now…well, I won’t work against that. Come on, you must be half frozen by now, you should get inside.”

     “Why won’t you want to tell me? Is it that bad?”

     “It’s not good. You shouldn’t worry about it, though. We’re going to take care of it.”

     “Of course you are.” And I’m going to ask Rhys about everything going on in the territory, not just as it pertains to me. I might not want to rule them, but these are my people now. I should at least care about what’s happening to them. Before I can say anything further, I notice thin tendrils of darkness creeping down the lawn towards us. They’re nothing like the shadows Azriel wields. These are made of full, unyielding night without even a glimmer of starlight to soften them, seeking out a wayward mate.

     Cassian’s crimson shield drops before the tip of one can brush against it. I wonder if this power would mistake him for an enemy, what it would do if it thought he would keep me from my home. The cold darkness slithers beneath the hem of my robe to wind lovingly around my ankle, giving it a gentle tug before it begins to climb higher. I shiver again as it settles around my thigh, and bid Cassian goodnight before I begin to trudge towards the house. Rhys has never truly used his powers on me, and I can’t say I’m not curious about everything these little tendrils might be capable of. Following the winding path through the trees, I’m unsurprised when a flare of crimson filters through the limbs overhead to guide my way.

     Once the door is closed behind me, I feel the wards flare to life as heat begins to roil low in my belly. It’s usually slow to build, a nagging want that gives way to driving need, but this is all hot, painful desire. Those slithering tendrils at my side begin to swirl, tugging at my robe as though they might undress me and I bat them away as I unfasten my robe and step out of my slippers. My skin is flushed, hotter than it should be after a walk on a cold night, and the fabric disappears before I can even strip it away. That darkness winds its way up my body, cooling even as it tugs me away from the staircase that will take me towards the bedroom.

     Instead, I find myself wandering towards the office.

     A ball of faelight glows in the lamp in the corner. Rhys is seated at his desk with reports and diagrams in front of him. I don’t have to look at them to know they all pertain to me, records from the healers of whatever they have or haven’t found to try and cure me. I wish he wouldn’t fixate on it as he does. It’s in his nature to fix things, but I don’t know that I want to be one of the many worries on his plate.

     His eyes flick up as I walk towards him, clothed only in the dark power that winds over my body, and he settles back in his chair. His chest is bare, and my mouth waters at the sight of those striking tattoos stretching across his lovely, warm brown skin. The wanting shouldn’t surprise me, how could I not crave the taste of him when he looks like that?

     “What were you doing outside?” he asks, his voice rough with the edge of fierce possession every newly mated faerie feels.

     “Taking a walk. Did you leave Feyre alone in bed to come and brood?”

     “Did you?” I want to snort at the way he turns my question on me, but I shouldn’t provoke him now. Not when I need the taste of him to sate this hunger tearing through me like hot knives. I’ll need far more than a taste, but it’s a start.

     “No, she had you when I left her.”

     “We were both missing you.”

     “I went to check on Nyx and needed a walk. Cassian-” A growl rumbles low in his chest at the mention of another male, and I roll my eyes as I round the edge of the desk. “-found me and we had a talk, nothing more. It helped.”

     “You couldn’t have talked to us about it?”

     “Don’t be jealous, Rhys, I just needed to work it out and he happened to be there. I probably would have come to the same conclusion on my own in a few days. What are you doing down here instead of keeping our lovely mate company?”

     “Waiting for you.”

     “Doing some light reading?” I ask as his power tightens around me, squeezing me in a way that isn’t unpleasant. I don’t mind the way it molds to me like a second skin, smelling so strongly of him that I want to drown myself in it. My mate. My love. He pushes his chair back to make room for me to lean back against the desk, standing between him and his reports. The lounge pants he wore down here are thin and loose, but I’d have to be blind not to see the way my presence affects him. His tongue darts out to wet his lips and I follow the movement with my eyes. I won’t touch him until he gives me permission, but I want to. I need to.

     “A little,” he agrees, leaning back in his chair. “I didn’t find anything new.”

     “You won’t if you’re working with the same information, High Lord. There’s been no change.”

     “There has to be something-”

     “Put it to bed, Rhys. Let others work on it for a while, so we can focus on each other. Can you do that?”

     “Can you?” I nod at his question, ducking my head as I think of all of the ways I haven’t been present with them since we came home. Cassian’s right about one thing, at least. Whoever I’ve come from has no bearing on the female I’ve become, and I need to embrace who I am and everything I’ve gained since I fled my home court. What energy I do have, I need to pour into being here with my family while I have them.

     “I can,” I agree, sinking to my knees between his spread legs. “And I’d like to make it up to you, if you’ll let me.”

     A flicker of light sparks in those dark, violet eyes. Papers flutter at the twitch of his fingers, sailing off to wherever they live when he’s not obsessing over them. I can see the outline of his cock through the thin fabric, how it twitches against his thigh when my focus lands there. His hand drifts over the length of it, squeezing gently as I settle back on my heels, waiting for permission.

     “I think we’re about to have an audience,” he warns, giving me the opportunity to back out if I don’t want our mate to watch. I hear her footsteps on the floor, light and sure as they carry her to us, but I give him a smile and shrug.

     “I’d prefer it if we do.”

     “You’ll need to come a little closer then,” he says, gesturing me forward. The hands that reach for me are careful, gentle in spite of the way they shake as they guide my hands to his thighs.I lean forward to rest my forehead against his abdomen as the scent of his desire washes over me, musky and warm. We’ll need to have a real conversation when this is over, when just looking at him doesn’t send me headfirst into the throes of a desire so fierce I think it might burn me alive. His fingers wind through my hair to cradle my head where it rests.

     ‘You’re precious to them,’ Cassian had said, and the truth of it hits me as I feel Rhys brush against my mental shield. Tentative, careful, like even he is afraid of pushing in too deep and disrupting whatever delicate balance currently keeps me together. They’re precious to me, too. My mates. My family. I have to let the past rest if I’m going to move forward with them. Worse yet, I’ll have to do the thing I’ve always found most dangerous: hope.

     I have to hold on to that wild, reckless thing in my chest that has pushed me ever onward, guiding me the whole way here, even when I refused to give it a name. Hope led me here, searching for a better life, a better future than what had previously been ahead of me, and I found it. I have to believe it will carry me on, in spite of the mounting odds and time working against me. When I’ve let it lead, it has never steered me wrong.

     It is hope I feed Rhys when I let him inside the flimsy shield I hold around my mind. Hope and love, all wrapped up in an apology I cannot voice for fear I might cry and ruin the moment. The apology is waved away like dust on the breeze, but the other two emotions he seizes and plays them back to me like a symphony as his power falls away from me and his warm hand slides beneath my chin, raising it so we can look each other in the eye.

     I found you, I found you, my heart seems to sing. And I will not lose you yet, not to this.

     I don’t know if I thought the words or simply pushed the feeling along the bond, but it’s worth it to watch the light return to his eyes. His thumb trails over my mouth, so I part my lips and pull it in just to hear the sharp inhale as I flick my tongue against the tip of it. That’s how Feyre finds us: me, on my knees between Rhys’s legs, my lips curved around the base of his thumb. She hums, a hungry sound that makes me sink my fingers into the thick muscles of Rhys’s thighs.

     “You’ve found our mate after all,” Feyre coos, and there’s nothing gentle about the way her husky voice washes over me. I hear little more than a whisper of silk as she settles atop the desk behind me, but I see her pale feet lightly perch on his knees as her scent floods the air around me, bright and sharp with desire. “She’s so pretty on her knees.”

     “Isn’t she?” he asks, but it’s not really a question. I left them in bed and now they’re toying with me, but I don’t mind the game. “I’ve been trying to decide what I should do with her.”

     “It looks like she’s in a prime position to suck your cock, my love.”

     “Do you think I should let her?”

     “Oh yes,” she says, an eager undercurrent in the words that makes me smile around the digit in my mouth. Rhys removes his thumb with a wet pop, then presses two of his fingers against my lower lip. I let him ease them in, that damned tongue flicking against his lips again as he watches them disappear, then I close my lips around them and begin to suck, bobbing my head a little for show. Those dark tendrils of power appear in the periphery of my vision, but this time it’s Feyre’s legs they’re winding around. They seem more solid as they tighten against her skin, holding her open behind me.

     “And what should I do with you, Feyre darling? I can’t leave you wanting while she’s busy with me.”

     “Oh, I can entertain myself.”

     “You can,” he nods, “but you won’t.”

     “Oh.” Her gentle moan makes me want to turn my head and watch what’s happening behind me, but I keep my focus on the fingers in my mouth, stroking against my tongue. As a reward, he projects the image of her into my mind, stretched out on his desk with her legs splayed wide, held tightly by those bands of power while thinner, smoky tendrils wind in slow, lazy circles around her nipples. It’s an impressive display of control, the way he wields his power to pleasure her, and I’m so distracted that I barely notice his fingers slip from my mouth.

     I blink furiously as the vision fades and dip my chin to mouth at the outline of his cock against his thigh. It pulses between my lips as he sucks a harsh breath in through his nose. I want nothing more than to taste him, to make him feel as good as he’s making Feyre, and he gives me an indulgent smile as his hands guide mine to the waistband of his pants. It’s all the permission I need to free his erection, and I watch it bob against his stomach with a shaky sigh. The tip is flushed and leaking pearly beads of precome, and my eyes map each vein as it winds from root to tip.

     I lean in, running my tongue along the thick vein there just to watch his lashes flutter. His abdominal muscles twitch, contracting as I lightly trail my fingers over the soft skin there before I run them along the length of his shaft and take him in hand, guiding the head of his cock to my lips. Time seems to slow as I take him into my mouth, inch by inch until I can go no further. Behind me, Feyre moans, and when I close my eyes I see her watching me with naked desire, her fingers curled around the edge of the desk as one of those tendrils of power strokes along the length of her pussy, spreading the slick dripping onto the dark, wooden surface.

     She looks divine. I want my mouth on her, too, I can’t be in two places at once. Rhys laughs at my frustrated whimper as he slowly guides my head to match the rhythm he wants, his hand fisted in my hair. I suck down the musky, salty taste of him to replace that laugh with a groan as my hand begins to work the rest of him using the spit dripping from the corners of my mouth. I must look a mess, but a mingled surge of pride and need down the bond tells me that’s exactly what my mates want to see.

     Me, a mess between them. Always between them.

     I want to make Rhys come, but my gods do I want to taste Feyre. He continues to show me what she looks like, caught in the bonds of his power, her breasts heaving as they’re squeezed and stroked. Her nipples are hard, rosy buds, and she arches into that phantom touch as those tendrils of power pluck at them. My legs are shaking, straining with the effort to keep me seated as I feel a gush of fluid stain my thighs from all of the visual stimulation. I want to be touched, I need it–

     And, suddenly, Rhys is lifting me off of him and into his arms, turning me so I can slowly sink onto his cock while Feyre watches. Her pupils are blown so wide, I can barely see the blue of her lovely eyes as they track the hands pushing my legs onto either side of Rhysand’s, holding them apart. A whoosh of air is pushed from my lungs as he bottoms out inside of me, filling me so completely that my head drops back against his shoulder as I adjust to the size of him. Will I ever get used to it? The way he feels when he sinks into me is incredible.

     “I’ve got you,” he whispers, dragging his teeth over my shoulder. “I’m always going to give you what you need, baby. Always.”

     A sharp flare of jealousy flashes in Feyre’s eyes, and his answering chuckle is full of dark amusement. Rhys’s fingers trail down the center of my body to spread the lips of my pussy obscenely, showing her exactly where we’re joined. Possession screams down the bond, tinged with jealousy I don’t understand, but it seems he does. And he’s playing her like a fiddle. The vee of his fingers traps my aching clit between them, and the whimpered whining that tears from my throat is unlike any noise I’ve made before.

     This is how thoroughly they undo me, every fucking time. It’s no wonder I crave it.

     “Do you see how I fill our pretty little mate, Feyre? The way she stretches around my cock? Isn’t she beautiful?” He nips at my jaw as she whines, her gaze fixed on the slow slide of his cock as he slowly, lazily rolls his hips. The tendril of darkness toying with her slick, swollen cunt begins to slide into her, stretching her with the same slow rhythm he’s using to tease me.

     I might beg him to take pity on her if the noises she makes weren’t so pretty. She’s beautiful like this, stretched out on his desk like a display. I want her so fucking bad, I think it’s going to eat me alive.

     “What do you want, Feyre? Do you want her lovely mouth on you? She isn’t using it anymore, it needs something to do.” There’s a wickedness in his voice that makes my walls flutter around him, clamping down until he sucks in a ragged breath. His fingers flutter on either side of my clit, pushing me closer and closer to the edge of release, but I won’t go. Not without them. “Or do you wish to be inside of her? Do you want to tell her what you dreamed of, Feyre? What woke you in the middle of the night, urging me to find our girl?”

     “Rhys,” she whimpers, shuddering as those bonds of power begin to work her harder. The desk trembles beneath her, a sure sign of one of them losing control as they climb closer to release. I’m intrigued by whatever fantasy she has yet to share, but the hot flush in her cheeks has me surging forward, planting my hands on either side of hers as I pull one of her nipples into my mouth and then the other, moaning at the sweet taste of her skin. “Fuck, fuck! Please, Dove, please-”

     Thankfully, Rhys has a good enough handle on what we need to follow me as I trail kisses in a path along her sternum and stomach until I reach the apex of her thighs. The power doesn’t slow as I begin to lap at her hard, throbbing clit, if anything it’s spurred on by its master, who begins to roll his hips in earnest at the sight before him. There’s so much love flowing along the bonds that I can’t make sense of who’s feeling what, but it doesn’t matter. The hands that hold my hips are reverent in their touch, and Feyre cries my name like a prayer to the gods as she comes. I lick her through it and, together, we quickly bring her to a second orgasm when I find my own.

     Everything slows when I feel Rhys pulse inside of me, his fingers digging like claws into my hips. I don’t care, I needed this. We needed this. My head rests against Feyre’s stomach as she falls limp against the top of his desk, fighting to catch her breath as she strokes my hair.

     “I love you,” I whisper to no one in particular as my breath begins to steady. “I love you, I’m sorry–”

     “You don’t have anything to apologize for,” Rhys murmurs as he rubs slow circles over my spine. “Are you okay?”

     “More than. I promise. I just…can we maybe try this again in a bed? I don’t think this desk can take much more tonight without reinforcements.”

     Feyre laughs then, a bright, happy sound as she leans up to look at me.

     “We can, and we should. Rhys is a little old to be doing all of that work-” She squeals when he pulls on her foot and I laugh, winding my arms around her when she finally sits up.

     “And it sounds like you have something to share with me.”

     “Oh, that,” she mumbles, and I look up to watch a deep flush spread over her cheeks and chest. Yes, there’s definitely something she needs to share with me. I, for one, can’t wait to hear what it is.

[surielstea]

Washing Warriors

Pairing: Cassian x Fem!Reader

Summary: Reader washes Cassian and he returns the favor

Warnings: Suggestiveness | Groping | handsy Cassian | pet name usage (sweetheart)

2.2k words

The house was eerily silent, and knowing my mate that could never be good. After I realized the silence it nagged at me despite my want to enjoy the peace with a nice book in my hands. Though every creak and croak of the house now distracted me and I found myself rereading entire pages.

Eventually I grew beyond fed up and closed my book, not bothering to mark it when I'll have to go back later anyways. I exhale deeply and place my book on the armrest before getting up, expecting to return to the comfortable chair soon.

"Cassian!" I call up the stairs but I earn no reply. A frown forms on my lips and I begin the ascent. Once going through the hall I peer through every open door. The general was never one for closed doors, enjoyed the open space he always told me. Meaning if any of them were closed he most likely didn't want to be bothered.

I spied into my office which was the last remaining open door before our bedroom. But alas he wasn't in there. I click my tongue on the roof of my mouth and enter our shared bedroom. Starlight seeped past the sheer curtains, the full moon illuminating the entirety of the room. The bed still clean and made from this morning, untouched. I notice the armoire door cracked open and walk over to it, shutting it with a click.

A dim light beams from the alcove leading to the master bathroom. The tenseness in my expression relaxes when I round the corner of the nook and find the bathing chambers entrance wide open. Not one for closed doors at all.

I spot my mate in the bath, quietly running water down his arm and watching as it dripped from his finger tips. His large back was faced to me, broad shoulders and rippling muscle along with so many scars. His hair was down, cascading only a few inches below his neck.

"You're staring, sweetheart." Cassian hummed, his baritone voice startling me out of my stupor. "Sorry." I twist on my heel and go to leave. He turns his head to look back at me. "Sweetheart!" He calls before I can leave fully. I catch myself on the corner of the wall and peek my head back in. "What is it?" I ask dumbly, his eyes somehow beckon me closer and I find my feet following his silent command.

It wasn't long before I was standing beside the edge of the basin and he was staring up at me, looking like a lost puppy dog. "Can you wash my wings?" He asked sweetly and I rolled my eyes. "Can't you do it with magic?" I tease. "I prefer your hands." He shrugs. "You've had me training all day," I sit on the edge of the tub. "I'm tired." I huff, blaming his laborious tasks on his own demise. "You won't be as sore tomorrow if you get in the hot water." He argues with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Please." He places a wet hand onto my dry one and gives it a soft squeeze, the gentleness of his touch so hypocritical to the coarse callousness marring him. The same roughness I loved so much. He stared up at me like a goddess and I was his only salvation, like nothing else mattered and it was only me and him. He knew what he was doing. "Cass." And he knew it was working. A smile curves his lips because it's evident in my voice that he's got me hooked.

"If you don't I'll splash you." He warns and I gasp dramatically. "Making threats now are we?" I stand back up and he nods cheekily, his sharp canines digging into his lower lip. He shamelessly stares as I strip my night gown off, exposing myself entirely. His vision make direct contact with my breasts and I roll my eyes. I grab his hand and slide my hairband from his wrist that was probably holding his own hair up today. I step into the water while tying my hair up in order not to get it wet. His gaze trails from my breasts up to the exposure of my neck, to my hair that I rarely ever had tied back.

I groan as the hot water wraps around my muscles, coming up to my chest as steam surrounds the both of us. A smirk curves his lips as he stares at me and I sigh, leaning closer then pressing a loving kiss to his smile. "Turn around." I instruct and a bright smile spreads over his lips. "Thank you sweetheart." He hums happily as I detach from his lips and he swivels so his back faces me. "Training better be easier tomorrow as my reward." I demand, wetting my hands in the warm water.

"I was thinking something different for a reward." He intones as I pour a hefty dollop of soap made especially for Illyrian wings onto my palm. I flush at the insinuation. "I expect that too." I say as if he doesn't already 'reward' me with that every time I ask for it.

"Just don't go splashing me and we won't have any problems." I warn and a smile tugs at his lips. "You're not into waterplay then?" He taunts. "You were banned from the summer court for a reason." I giggle, beginning to pour water from a pitcher over his flared wing. "That doesn't mean we couldn't get you banned too." He taunted and I only shook my head and rolled my eyes.

Washing an Illyrians wings was an intimate and personal process, some males were so protective of them they didn't let anyone touch them, not even a healer. Cassian had always said those males were missing out. And he must've been telling the truth because here he was with his head hung back with a bright pink flush dusting his golden skin, a groan occasionally slipping from his sensuous lips every time my fingertips brushed over a vein or a scar.

Though the exercise of washing his wings was tedious and sensitive it was just as rewarding for me as him. He'd send the most overwhelming waves of love and adoration through the bond the entire time, as if I was feeling the pleasure myself and it urged me to go on. I didn't want the appreciation to end, something told me neither did he.

"You're too good to me." He sighed out, a gleam of sweat lining his forehead from both the heat of the water and the passion in which his skin burned as I touched him where no one else could. "Nonsense, my lord." I tease, kissing just below his ear along his jaw. "You know I hate when you call me that." He sighed and I giggle teasingly. I did in fact know that. "Apologies, General." I correct and kiss the same spot again. He grunts in reply like some sort of untamed beast and I grin wildly.

"You'd be better off not calling me that either." He advises and I continue my work on the membrane of his large wings. "Why?" I ask. He reaches back, water dripping down his impressive forearms and to his biceps that could crush my head in. His fingers intertwine with my dry hair and he guides me down so when he turns his head it's his lips on mine.

It wasn't words but it was reply enough. Calling him such a name would get me in trouble, but not the kind I feared. "Let me finish your wings before you forget we're in a bath." I back away from his mouth and he sighed in a low growling reply. I smile knowingly and he narrows his eyes on me, begrudgingly his hold released and he allows me to return to my task.

He seemed so relaxed I thought he might fall asleep before making it back onto the bed. Though I knew better then to doubt my mates stamina, I was reminded of that the hard way far too much to forget. Honestly the male might hold a world record.

I get distracted in my lewd thoughts and allow my massaging hands to dip from his wings to his shoulders, then down to his biceps where the carved muscle felt like the mother herself graced him with them. "I may need to brush up on my Illyrian anatomy, but last time I checked those weren't my wings." His voice rattles me from my dissociative state. "So because I pleasure you doesn't mean I can't indulge myself?" I ask, digging my nails into his shoulders with the slightest force. "By all means," He props his arms up on either side of me and I giggle when he purposefully flexes them.

My hands slowly move back to his wings— making sure to memorize every muscle and curve on my way there. I'm finishing the pleasurable job with a few more gentle strokes along his veins, the kind of touches that made his nails dig into his palms and his head hang low. I relish in the feelings flowing from his end of the bond to mine, pure warmth and affection. Cassian has always been a little more protective of his wings than the others, it took awhile before he allowed even me to touch them. But once I did it was something he always wanted.

I finalize my task by rinsing the large wings, pouring a steady stream of water over the backs of them. I watch as the soap dissolves and the suds slide away. "All done?" He cranes his head back to look at me from upside down. I nod enthusiastically and lean forward, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. "How was work?" My voice is barely a whisper against his skin. He groaned, as if remembering the fact that he flew back from Illyria today.

"The usual." He sighs, lifting his head up and shifting away from the rim of the tub. Sensing he didn't want to talk about it I didn't push any further. "Well, my day was great." I dip back into the warm water, sitting down and allowing it to rush over my slightly cold body. "Yeah? Tell me about it." He prompts as he poured body wash from a vial into his large hands.

"Well I mostly read all day," He grabs me by the waist and pulls me closer to him and I just allow it. "And the books I'm reading are so good Cass." I smile just thinking about them, how they were exactly what I was looking for. "Do you want to tell me about them?" He asks as he lifts me up onto my knees with only one of his hands, making me rise above the water. "No," I shake my head. "These ones are just for me." I grinned, turning around. "Okay." He places a soft kiss to my bare shoulder before placing his soapy hand on my middle, then lathering all over my body with his calloused, large hands. "What'd you eat today?" He asks softly, expecting me to answer as if his rough hands weren't rubbing along the small of my back or the side of my waist. "Leftovers from dinner last night," I manage to utter as soon as I regain control of my thoughts.

"Mm, what are you thinking for dinner tonight?" His voice was as gentle as his touch, reverberating from right beside my ear. He knew exactly what he was doing and I wasn't going to fall for it. "I don't—" My breath hitched as both of his hands round my ribs and cup my breasts. "You don't what?" He prompts and his taunts makes me close my eyes. "I don't know." I confess.

I can feel him smile against the curve of my neck. He begins to knead my breasts, giving them extra care compared to my other body parts. He places soft kisses up my neck and I slowly sink down so I'm sitting on my knees, giving him access to my jaw and my ear. "Cass." My hand clamps around one of his wrists but his ministrations don't relent, his other hand beginning to circle around the hardened peak of my breast. "Sweetheart." He taunts. "Have I told you you're beautiful today?" He asks and I think back on it. Then shake my head no. "Hm, that's disappointing." He sighs then kisses my cheek. "You're beautiful." He states it with so much confidence it sounds more like a fact. "I'm naked." I correct and I can feel his smile spread along his lips. "Exactly, my beautiful wife." He says softly before pecking my cheek once more. One of his hands moves away from my breast but the other continues its movements.

His rough fingers trail past my collar bone, up the column of my neck, and to my chin where he pulls my head to the side, directed towards him. "My very beautiful wife." He corrects and it takes everything in me not to smile at the sappiness of it. He presses his lips against mine and I can no longer contain it, I allow the smile to spread. I shift the angle of my body to face him before wrapping my arms around his neck. "I think I'll take that reward now." I whisper against his soft lips and he nods in understanding, his hands trailing down to my hips.

[daisychainsandbowties]

any avatrice recs :)))) have already read all your fics and now i am depression (genuinely daydream abt ur star wars au daily)

i could hype each of these fics individually but basically if it’s here i think it’s incredible and you have to read it 💖💖🥰

///

the sweetest taboo// 1930s au &

i know now what no angel knows// fallen angel au by @dumpsterfireofsubtext

indy au part 1 & part 2// or, ava peels an orange & makes me feel insane 🫠🫠🫠 by @estherthenormal

lemon drop boy// t boy ava au

lazarus woke with a kiss// scp/ lab rat ava au &

how to stitch holes in the sky// dragon age au, all by @the-darkness-does-not-bargain

teach me to love (as you have loved me)// this is. yeah. this is beautiful. newbea au by @birgittesilverbae (💖💖 ily)

beyond our space and starlight// eldritch au by @thistleation

escape attempt number whatever thousand, some hundred and four, probably// hades au by @foulbearobservation

do a flip// aikido gfs au by @sunsafewriting

if saints and angels spoke of love// (bea is a math teacher & ava’s basically the guy from dead poets society) by @mermaidandthedrunks

choose the devil i know (over the heaven i don’t)// firefighter au by @sapphicstacks

leave the light on (i’ll find my way home)// lighthouse au by @snowandwolves

on the run from a losing game// chef au by @fiddleabout

this must be the place// lumberjack au by @littledata

love thy neighbour// my fav roommates au. pokemon strap-on fic 😌🙏

turning sun into sugar, spinning straw into gold// pnw au by @gohandinhand

the world is just an illusion (trying to change you)// roadtrip au, &

a lover, or something of mine// reincarnation au by @smokestarrules

who needs comfortable love// sentient halo au by @the-ominous-owl

this celestial glow is blinding// firewatch au

the thought of high windows// 60s au

pull back the curtains for venus// alien bea au &

of greater marvels yet to be// fleabag au, all by @seabiscuits-us

[alms4oblivion]

So my friend and I are currently OBSESSED in the eyes of a child it’s so fucking good props to you! But she wanted to know (and not so secretly so do I) if you have read any avatrice fics that you’d recommend for us. We’ve read through nearly all of yours and simply Korra’s stuff but we need something that’ll keep us busy while we wait for your updates! (Bridgeton AU is 20/10 hands down best fic ever just saying)

🥹 First of all, those are "make my whole day" compliments, so thank you so much. Like make me want to cry happy tears compliments.

Second, do I have any Avatrice fic recs? Do I have any Avatrice fic recs!? I think most of my original following were people who liked my fic recs, but I guess I've fallen out of the habit. Must mean it's finally time for me to make a massive fic rec post!

I'm going to start with hidden gems, and move in no particular order through different categories and authors, with the goal of more or less ending with fics that most people seeing this will have read, because they're among the most popular in the fandom. I've read...a LOT of fics, so this is really just scratching the surface, and I probably should make an SMAU section at some point, but this should be enough to get you started.

HIDDEN GEMS

Beyond Our Space and Starlight - so good and creative it should be a novel or TV show or something, but the world fits perfectly for Warrior Nun's cast and themes. Brilliant sci fi, incredible action and emotional depth, and the FLIRTING. A must-read hidden gem of the fandom (since you mentioned SK, you'll find her in the comments section if you look, talking about how incredible this fic is). It's technically AvaBeaLil, but the Lilith side is just tension and feelings through the first seven-chapter arc (which is what's currently published).

Casper (daisychiansandbowties) - a person rather than a fic, they are the best prose writer in the fandom, in my opinion. Their writing is dense, the subjects are diverse, but if you want to get knocked flat by a phrase, read them. Notable fics: chess tournament AU, Alien (1979 film) AU, Interview with a Vampire AU, Pokemon trainer Bea AU, Critical Role AU, 17776 AU, Star Wars video game AU, Napoleonic dragon riders AU. Note that if you absolutely cannot stomach AvaBeaLil, chess, Pokemon and 17776 are your safe bets.

SCP AU - Stormy has a lot of great fics, including tboy Ava, a great AvaLil (unusually with zero Beatrice romance), and a Dragon Age Inquisition AU, but this is the one for me, Ava is a subject at a secret research institute for unexplained phenomena and Beatrice is the researcher who's just been assigned to her.

Summer camp AU - LongWindedAnswer is too well known for this to be as under-read as it is, so I guess it goes here. Ava's got some serious chronic medical issues, they meet at summer camp, and we've got sweet camp hijinks followed by angsty stuff as they grow up with a happy ending.

Post-It Notes AU - I can't believe this has been out as long as it has and is as under-appreciated as it is. Starts funny crack, then turns poignantly beautiful.

ONE SHOTS

Lots of one-shots are hidden gems all their own, and a lot of these authors have written a LOT of them, so check the authors' other works as well! These are just my favorites, or one of my favorites, for each.

Dead mom recipes - a MUST READ, the framing device and the emotional tenor are too good (and jt also does phenomenal ficlets here on Tumblr).

Citadel of Immortal Daylight - reads like the beginning of something bigger, or the middle of it, in the best way. Ava is undead, Beatrice might be a vampire, in a city that hates both.

Dog and cat AU - I'm a sucker for creative premises and I think Sheep absolutely nailed this one (another standout from her is Religion, but she has so so many one shots).

60s small town AU - waitress Ava x photojournalist Bea. One shot is kind of a stretch, this is really a long, deep romance novella.

Wedding artist x wedding musician - omomoification is a guarantee of excellence. Read all their stuff, they have some truly fantastic one shots, including this one.

Blood; Orange - post-canon angst with a happy ending, dealing with the trauma of the Holy War. Collab between MsWitsEnd, Wyper (willowedhepatica), and LongWindedAnswer (whose name got taken off the author list when she temporarily hid her ao3 account). Fantastic piece.

Museum AU - Ava is the curator of program animals, Bea is curator of the Planetarium. Just adorable fluff.

Artist Bea x actress Ava - it's just really good. No spoilers, just read and enjoy.

sunday people - roommates AU where Sundays are for the girls, until Bea starts dating someone who isn't Ava. Jealousy and angst and humor (happy ending of course).

You're My One Regret - Ava is an actress who gives an interview about the one who got away in high school. People figure out she's talking about Beatrice.

MATURE ROMANCE

Leaves of an October Sky - mom!Ava meets married Bea, soulmates but without any of the common soul mates tropes, they just literally get reincarnated and always find each other. This is part of Noel's brilliant Mobius series, which is arguably better read in order, and you really should read them all (chem professors in particular is a classic), but I think this one is my favorite so far.

a little broken, a little new - exes to lovers romance on a road trip. Nothing fancy, just really nice relationship dynamics as they try to work through what went wrong the first time around and forgive.

Call the Midwife AU - 60s midwives AU, tremendous depth and sense of place and time in this one. Lots of tough topics with a nice mature slow burn, and a fantastic early setup.

MOSTLY FLUFF

Timely Suited - demisexual autistic Bea my beloved.

Bookstore x coffee shop AU - Bea works at a bookstore and is roommates with JC, who works at the coffee shop across the street. Beatrice and JC as besties agenda is in full effect. Fluffy and fun.

Coda - ballet dancer Bea x lighting designer Ava (ambulatory wheelchair user Ava too!). Really sweet, plus Adler did some great art for it.

Museum curator - slow burn where Ava is helping Bea with a museum event, but it's really them falling in love.

If You Missed the Mistletoe - autistic coded nerd Bea gets together with her childhood crush, Ava. All fluff.

Hook, Line, and Tinder - pop star Ava goes on Tinder and finds Bea, who thinks she's being catfished. Very fun and cute.

DEADLY ANGST

Liturgia - ongoing at present, incredible music stars AU where more established singer Ava and up and comer Bea fall for each other, but struggle to make things work without damaging the prospects of Beatrice's band. They both have emotional trauma. They hurt each other. It's fantastic.

Failed LDR - Ava and Beatrice broke up when Ava moved away, they meet again at Mary and Shannon's wedding and they're both still broken as hell. Super angsty, really good, still in progress, they're not together but they're in a relatively OK place at the moment.

Frankenstein - Mary Shelley AU, this goes under angst because of chapter 3, chapters 1 and 2 are smut and humor, but chapter 3 alone makes this, for my money, the saddest fic with a happy ending in the fandom. The dialogue and prose are sensational in this as well.

holier than thou - Ava and Beatrice went to boarding school together, and Bea broke Ava's heart (BADLY). The run into each other again years later on the streets of New York. Pretty fluffy by the very end, but it's very angsty for a while.

FANDOM CLASSICS

Would You Be My Wife - not fair to Pinechips to call this a classic because it came out pretty recently, but it became an almost instant classic, one of the most beloved fics in the fandom despite releasing well after the show's cancelation. Fake marriage AU, absolutely brilliant.

Do a Flip - sunsafe's super fluffy slow burn told almost entirely from the POV of Diego as Ava's friend from the orphanage who becomes more or less her kid brother/son, with occasional interludes to show the POVs of other observers. My go-to "feel better" fluff fic and a big inspiration for my decision to make In The Eyes Of A Child from Mira's POV. Technically part of a series (and technically incomplete, even though the story has everything it needs), read it all.

Love Thy Neighbor - first long-form fic I ever read, puppybusby's classic "will they or won't they" slow burn romance where Ava moves in down the hall from Beatrice with the help of her more or less adopted sister Lilith, only Beatrice thinks Ava and Lilith are together. Hijinks ensue.

Art Therapy - Beatrice is an art student, Ava is a model who becomes her muse. Intense, emotional, erotic, a must-read.

Death Doesn't Dream - sled dogs AU, one of the best meditations on grief in the fandom.

Lumberjack Beatrice AU - more or less what it says on the tin. It's really good. It has Beatrice as a sexy lumberjack. Ava moves in next door.

Just to Stop the Thoughts - chem professors AU from the Mobius series. Funny, cute, romantic, fluffy slow burn.

Order for Ava Silva - Bea is a delivery rider who always gets assigned to drop off food for Ava, for some reason.

choose the devil I know (over the heaven I don't) - firefighters AU, all about grief and trauma, very well written.

pull back the curtain for venus - Alien!Bea AU.

The thing about love - college AU where they pass each other in the morning and develop crushes on each other and don't realize they're neighbors who annoy each other through the wall.

Sublime - pro soccer AU. Super slow burn, the confession scene and its immediate aftermath are CLASSIC, absolutely hilarious, some of my favorite writing in the fandom.

The to do list - changed how I thought about confident Bea, big inspiration for how I approached the Practical Guide, Ava makes a list of things that she thinks might turn her on if a woman did them to her and wants Beatrice's help experimenting with her sexuality. Beatrice gets competitive with the hypothetical person who inspired Ava to think she might like women.

Your vows - best use of second person POV in the fandom, professional level framing. Bea is an airline heiress who meets Ava at airports. Trust me.

can i get your house key? - forever roommates AU. Absolutely love this one. Slowburn where they're so clearly in love, but who will make the first move when there's so much to risk? OK, that sounds like a lot of fics, but trust me that this elevates the tropes, and is a classic for a reason.

will you find me (after life) - ghost Ava AU. Beatrice, Lilith, and Camila move into a house that happens to be haunted. Sort of. You'll see. Adorable slow burn.

The trials and tribulations of Snapchat - college AU, fluff and smut and a hint of angst and jealousy where Ava and Beatrice get each other worked up with risque photos.

5 excuses and a confession - 5+1 fic of times Ava finds an excuse to kiss Beatrice and Beatrice can't take the hint. Tagged as fluff, but I think it's actually fairly angsty for most of it. Really, really good.

divine intervention - what if they had sex and acted like they weren't in love with each other and THEN caught feelings? Angsty and smutty, and technically incomplete, but the author got to the love confession so read it.

Lakehouse AU - Ava is finally coming back to visit and get Bea back when everyone goes to Lilith's lake house, except "everyone" includes Beatrice's new girlfriend whom no one told Ava about. Super angsty with a happy ending, absolutely love it.

Mastermind AU - established actress Bea x up and coming actress Ava. A must-read.

in my veins - arguably THE vampire Bea AU, certainly the most popular, and for good reason. Funny, sexy, dangerous, a huge amount of worldbuilding that mostly serves as an obstacle to Avatrice being together as often as they would like. Incomplete at 209,069 words, but they're together, so read it.

Wrong Number AU - Ava texts the wrong number. It's Beatrice. Things get cute.

To climb a tree - the second long-form fic I read. Personal trainer Beatrice tries to help Ava reach her goals for physicality after Ava regains mobility and finishes physical therapy. Very smutty, but also very sweet.

on the run from a losing game - if I was forced to go back and told I could only reach one Avatrice fic but I could pick which one, it would probably be this one. Chefs AU, and it's so, so good.

...is that enough to tide you over?

[colouredbyd]

The Nightingale X: Alliances

Regulus Black x fem!reader Hunger Games AU

summary: in a forest where reality frays, the Games twist deeper into madness as the arena’s psychological torment intensifies. hallucinations blur the line between memory and moment, testing the minds of those still standing. amid blood and betrayal, unlikely alliances begin to form in the shadows.

warnings: Graphic content including death, detailed graphic death, physical violence, descriptions of combat, the use of weapons such as spears and arrows, aftermath of brutal injuries, injuries, stitches, hallucinations, creepy tribute talk.

w/c: 10.2k

a/n: we all miss regulus, also this ones extra long as an apology for the slow update </3

previous part next part series masterlist main masterlist

My body rocked, trembling against the cold earth, muscles twitching, breath too shallow to hold.

The world was wrong. Tilted. Spinning. Trees blurred overhead like a carousel of ghosts. My chest heaved but the air felt thick, soupy, clinging to my lungs like smoke. I couldn’t breathe right. Couldn’t think.

“I’m not crazy,” I whispered, but the sound slipped out too high, too sharp, as though something inside me were coming undone. My hands clutched my scalp, raking through tangled hair in a frantic search for anything solid. “I’m not—I’m not—”

Something brushed my mouth.

I froze. Hands—warm, sure—cupped my jaw, and I opened my eyes.

Regulus.

“No,” I breathed. “No, no, no.” I shoved at him, crawling backward through leaf‑rot and grit. “You’re not real. You’re not real. Get away from me!”

He leaned forward until our foreheads touched, the gesture soft as a promise. His palms framed my face as though it were a reliquary.

“I’m here,” he whispered, voice fragile as frost. His breath shuddered. His fingers trembled.

“I’m here now,” he said again. “I found you, Star, and I’m not letting go. I swear on the stars you sketched across my skin, on every breath I have left.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. “You’re not him.”

“I am.” Each word cracked in his throat. “It’s me. You’re hallucinating—the fog is poison. But I am real.”

Murk rolled between the trees, threads of silver mist weaving a phantom garden around us. It lapped at my boots, curling like a living thing. Beyond it lay nothing but white.

“Where is Evan?” I rasped.

“I don’t know.” Regulus glanced into the pall. “You were together when the fog came. I heard you screaming.”

The memory scraped raw across my mind—reaping lights, camera flashes, faces leering from Capitol balconies.

Regulus pressed his brow harder to mine. “Breathe with me,” he murmured. “Match the rhythm. In—hold—out.” His lungs hitched yet found a cadence, and I followed until the tremor in my chest dulled.

Slowly I lifted my gaze. Sweat jeweled his hairline; his ribs worked for each inhale. Still he kept me anchored, watching the mist as if it might swallow us whole.

“See?” he said, voice barely more than wind. “I’m right here.”

I blinked.

For a moment his outline wavered, as if water rippled across glass. The pressure of his hands faded into a phantom warmth. I reached up—and my fingers passed straight through.

“Regulus?” The name broke like a bone.

He smiled, sad and distant, the kind of smile carved on gravestones. Light bled through him. His freckles became pinpricks of starlight, the hollows of his cheeks a paper sky.

“Stay,” I begged, clawing at empty space. “Please. Don’t leave me again.”

His lips moved—perhaps an apology, perhaps my name—but no sound reached me. With the hush of a candle snuffed, he dissolved. Mist swallowed the place where he had knelt. Only cold remained.

The world reeled.

“No,” I breathed, then louder, tearing my throat raw. “No. No, no, no—come back!”

I stumbled forward, hands scooping smoke, nails digging into mud that offered no answer. “Regulus!” The cry bellowed from a place deeper than lungs, deeper than marrow.

“Please,” I sobbed. My knees hit earth. Wind keened through the branches above, but no arms closed around me, no heartbeat steadied mine.

“Please, I can’t—” The words dissolved into a howl, animal and endless.

I screamed until my voice splintered, until air tore through me like shards of glass, until even the ghosts of trees seemed to flinch.

Silence followed, thick and merciless, pressing against my ribs.

And in that silence I understood: the only thing real here was the ache echoing inside my chest, hollow as a cracked bell, ringing for someone who was never there.

I blinked hard, trying to clear the ghosts from my vision. The garden shimmered, reality unstable, folding at the edges.

Shadows moved in the mist, some too tall to be trees. I didn’t know if they were real or if they were the Games reaching for me again.

But the fog was getting thicker.

Evan was nowhere in sight, and Regulus had been gone for nearly a day.

The fog was so thick it felt alive. It clung to the trees like wet wool and pressed against my skin, heavy and damp. Each breath scraped the back of my throat.

I couldn’t see farther than a few feet, and even that space was distorted — blurred edges, trees that shifted when I wasn’t looking directly at them. 

I couldn’t tell if the warmth on my palm was blood or just the heat of my own skin, fighting the cold. The silence was wrong. It pressed in like a fist.

Branches twisted into jagged claws. The trees stood too close, their trunks warped, bark split like peeled flesh. Roots writhed beneath the soil, rising without warning to snag my ankles. The air reeked—rot, iron, something sweeter underneath, like decaying fruit or perfume left too long in the sun. The world pulsed with sickness.

I stumbled forward, one foot after another, though I no longer knew where I was going. My limbs felt wrong—elongated, disconnected, like my body belonged to someone else.

Shapes flickered in the periphery. A girl in a Capitol gown with her throat torn out. A boy crawling, fingernails ripped clean. Eyes watched me from the hollows of trees.

I told myself they weren’t real. Shadows, tricks of the light, illusions born from fear. But when I looked down, my knife was gone. I didn’t remember dropping it. I didn’t remember anything except the steady thud of my heartbeat and the tightening in my throat.

Then the scream came.

It wasn’t distant. It wasn’t a hallucination. It was close—too close—and it didn’t belong to the Capitol, or to one of their creatures. 

It belonged to a girl. Her voice cut through the forest like shattered glass, high and sharp, splintering the air. It wasn’t the kind of sound you hear and forget. It was the kind that enters your chest and stays there. The kind that climbs in and claws around, becoming part of you. 

It rose to a pitch that should have broken, should have died, but instead it cracked wide open and kept going. It shifted, reshaped itself mid-air into something more awful, more honest. Something that echoed against bark and bone, refusing to fade.

I ran.

Branches whipped at my face, slashing across my skin like they meant to stop me. Roots twisted beneath my boots, reaching, pulling, as though the ground itself had turned against me. The earth moved like it was breathing, like something just beneath the surface had woken up.

I tripped once, my knees colliding with the dirt, warm blood soaking through the fabric. I fell again, palms sinking into the mud, breath torn from my lungs.

Still, I kept running. The scream wasn’t behind me. It was ahead. It was everywhere. It filled the spaces between the trees, swallowed the sky, became the rhythm of my feet pounding forward.

The forest began to thin. The light changed, softened, took on an eerie glow. The green was no longer comforting. It was foreign.

I pushed through the last tangle of underbrush and stumbled into a clearing, and there, waiting in the center of it all, was water.

A pool, still and clear, tucked between gnarled trunks and moss-covered stones. I collapsed beside it, falling to my knees with the weight of something I couldn’t name.

My reflection blinked back at me—wide-eyed, dirt-streaked, hollow. My lips trembled. My hands shook. I drank, too fast, choking on the cold. It didn’t matter. I needed something to hold me down. Something real. Something that wasn’t screaming.

But as I lifted my head, breath slowing, a quiet settled over the clearing.

And across the water, the trees parted.

And there it was.

A forest, darker than death. Its trees towered like gallows, bark black and veined with something that pulsed. The trunks curved inward, enclosing the space like a cage, like a wound healing shut. It was alive—but wrong. Breathing, but backwards. Everything about it twisted the air into something sour and metallic.

And it was raining.

Not water. Blood.

Heavy, thick drops, the size of knuckles, falling slow and steady from an unseen sky. They didn’t patter. They splatted, bursting on the canopy in fat red slaps, sliding down leaves like veins spilling open.

The scent was unbearable—iron, bile, something dead with its mouth still open.

The mist writhed with each impact, as if it too were in pain. It wasn’t fog. It was muscle, smoke-thin and twitching, curling around my ankles like ligaments freshly torn. Every breath I took scratched my throat, like I was inhaling rusted nails.

And then came the scream.

One voice.

High and shrill, vibrating with so much force it splintered itself. It ricocheted through the branches like a razor, carved through my chest, made my teeth ache.

I stumbled back. My boots slipped on the slick red earth. My fingers clawed for anything solid, but everything pulsed. Everything bled. I dropped to my knees—sank—and the ground didn’t feel like mud.

It felt wet and warm, like sliding into the gut of something freshly gutted.

That’s when I saw the water.

It had turned red. Not in ripples, but in waves. It bloomed from the opposite shore like a wound spreading, slow and purposeful. The blood wasn’t staying in the forest. It was leaking out. Reaching. Spilling forward like it had chosen its next offering.

And then—

In the center of the forest, strung between two massive trees, was a girl.

District 9.

Or what was left of her.

Her arms were stretched out, joints bending the wrong way. Vines wrapped tight around her wrists and ankles, hoisting her off the ground like a crucifixion in motion.

Her head hung low, then snapped back so violently I heard the crack from where I stood.

The bark behind her split open like a mouth, slick and red on the inside. It pulsed. Vines slid from it like tongues and entered her—one shoved down her throat, another forced its way under her ribcage. There was no gentleness, no mercy—just tearing, splitting, wet meat sounds. Her belly bulged. Something inside her was moving.

She screamed again.

Blood streamed from her nose, her ears, her eyes. Her mouth hung open in a perfect circle, but the sound had changed. It was raw now, gurgling, bubbling through blood that frothed like something boiling alive. Her legs twitched, spasmed. The vines inside her pulsed—feeding, draining, filling.

Her skin peeled in places. Strips of flesh clung to bark. One of her fingers tore clean off as the vine jerked upward. Her chest rose and fell in shallow spasms, but she was still alive. That was the horror of it—her body was breaking, opening, splitting—but she hadn’t died.

She couldn’t.

The trees weren’t killing her.

They were keeping her.

Feeding off her terror. Thriving on it. Her body had become a passage—a living wound—and the forest kept crawling inside.

Her scream cracked.

And all around her, the trees moved. Their bark twisted into faces—howling, grinning, hungry. Branches groaned and stretched. Roots dragged themselves toward her blood like tongues lapping at spilled wine.

I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t blink.

She was still alive.

The forest was still hungry.

And the blood rain hadn’t stopped.

I reeled back, breath shattering in my throat.

This wasn’t a nightmare. This was a message.

The scream. The blood. The paths that twisted when I wasn’t watching. The hallucinations sharpening like blades.

The Capitol had stopped playing. No more pretty illusions. No more games to draw out time. This was a countdown.

And when the Capitol starts counting down, it means they're ready to end things. Fast. Brutal. Public.

They were about to kill a lot of us.

I turned and ran.

The forest spun around me in a blur of black bark and red mist. The air had thickened, damp and metallic, like breathing through cloth soaked in iron.

I didn’t know where I was going—I only knew it had to be away. Away from the scream. Away from the blood.

But it followed.

The girl's voice didn’t fade with distance. It multiplied. It stretched through the forest, fractured like glass, and came back in pieces. I could hear her pain in the leaves. Her panic in the wind. Her final breath pouring out of the trees like smoke. Every step I took seemed to call her closer. Her scream lodged itself beneath my ribs, pulsed against my heartbeat. I couldn’t tear it out.

It was Day Four.

I hadn’t seen Evan since sunrise on Day Three, or was it before then? I can't tell time anymore.

And Regulus—he’d been gone longer. A day and a half. One minute he was with me, pale and quiet, eyes sharp in the dark. The next, he was gone. Vanished. No body. No cannon. Just the echo of silence where his name should’ve been.

The arena was shrinking. Not in size, but in mercy.

I tripped over a tangle of roots and slammed into the earth, my knees tearing open on the forest floor.

I crawled forward through the dirt, breath ragged, hands slick with mud and blood. Somewhere behind me, the air began to hum—low and hungry.

When I dared to look back, I saw it.

The blood-rain forest.

It had been set ablaze. Fire had clawed its way through the treetops, blackening bark and splitting trunks open like bone. But the blood—thick, dark, endless—had fallen like a storm and drowned the fire, leaving behind something far worse.

Charred trees stood like burnt ribs, the forest hollowed out and glistening red. Blood clung to the branches like sinew. It soaked the earth, slick and warm, pooling around ash-covered stumps and still-smoking corpses.

The stench hit me next—burnt flesh and iron, thick enough to choke on. I gagged, doubling over, bile scraping my throat. The scent coated everything. It filled my mouth. It wouldn’t leave.

It looked like the sky had been split open at the seams. As if the heavens themselves had ruptured and bled onto the world below. 

I didn’t want to think about whether it was real. Whether that blood had a name. A heartbeat. A face. I wouldn’t put it past the Capitol—to drown us in the blood of past tributes, to make us run through it like animals. To end the Games in a flood of memory and mutilation.

But if they thought this would break me, they were wrong.

I straightened, knees bleeding, spine shaking but unbowed.

I would crawl through every last river of blood before I let them watch me die.

And I would not scream. I would not beg. I would not give them what they wanted.

I didn’t look back again.

The forest stretched ahead like a throat ready to swallow me whole, but I ran into it anyway. Each step jarred my body, each breath tore through my lungs like broken glass. The pain in my knees pulsed with every movement, blood trailing down my shins, mixing with dirt. My boots stuck in the sludge the blood rain had left behind, but I yanked them free. Again and again. I didn’t slow down. I didn’t dare.

After what I’d seen—what I’d heard—I was done being prey.

Eventually, my legs gave a warning tremble, and I stumbled to a stop beside a fallen log mottled with lichen and streaked in something that looked like soot but smelled like rot.

I dropped behind it, gasping, my pulse hammering against my ribs like a trapped animal. I unhooked the flask from my belt with shaking fingers, praying there was still something left inside.

I tilted it back. A few warm drops slid over my tongue—metallic, stale, but water all the same. I held the last mouthful for a second before swallowing, as if it might bring back the person I was four days ago.

It didn’t.

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and stared out at the trees. Smoke still clung to the sky like bruises. Somewhere behind me, the remnants of the blood rain forest waited like a memory that would never fade. And somewhere in front of me, the Games were still happening. People were dying. Hiding. Hunting.

And I hadn’t seen Regulus since.

I’d circled the entire west sector at dawn. No trace of him. No marks in the dirt. No signs of struggle. No body. Just absence. Heavy and echoing and unbearable.

And Evan had vanished too, sometime in the night, when the trees had started shifting. I’d called his name twice—once softly, once like I meant it—and both times, the only answer had been a mockingjay mimicry, repeating his name back in a sing-song tone that made my blood curdle.

I gripped my knife tighter.

I could feel it now. The line in my chest where something had broken and then healed the wrong way. I’d spent the last three days ducking shadows, nursing bruises, swallowing grief. I’d whispered apologies to ghosts, flinched at thunder, hidden like prey in the roots of trees. But this morning, something in me had shifted. Snapped.

The Capitol wanted horror. They wanted screams and sobbing and feral little girls begging for their lives. They wanted to see how far they could twist us until we unraveled on live television.

I pressed my fingers into the mud and stood. No more shaking. No more begging.

They didn’t get to unravel me.

Then the sky began to hum.

It started low, a mechanical vibration threading through the trees, barely louder than breath. The Capitol anthem rose from nowhere and everywhere at once—grand, orchestral, gilded in triumph. It coiled through the branches like a serpent, dragging a chill in its wake.

I didn’t want to look. But the sky lit up anyway.

A pale beam broke through the canopy, casting silver across the leaves, and there—framed in that cold, indifferent light—A face appeared.

Peter Pettigrew. District 5.

Dead.

His image hovered, flickering faintly as the music swelled, a ghost etched in gold. Then, just as quickly, it vanished, swallowed back into the dark.

It didn’t matter.

I wasn’t going to hide anymore.

I wiped the blood from my legs. Tightened the straps of my boots. Adjusted the belt that held my blades. I counted the knives I had left—two at my side, one in my boot. A fourth one missing, somewhere near the tree where I’d first heard the screaming.

If Regulus was still alive, I would find him. If Evan was, too, I’d drag him out of whatever hole he’d vanished into. And if either of them were gone—if the blood forest had taken them like it had taken so many—then the Capitol would learn what it meant to bury a girl who could still sharpen her bones into weapons.

I picked a direction—north, toward the high rocks where the earth tilted steeply into shadows—and I moved.

Let the cameras follow. Let the audience watch.

If they wanted a show, I would give them one.

But it wouldn’t be the kind they could cheer for.

I’d barely made it fifty paces when the underbrush exploded in front of me.

I didn’t even have time to raise a blade. A blur came crashing through the trees—fast, stumbling, frantic—and slammed into me shoulder-first.

We both went down hard. My breath shot out of my lungs as my back hit the earth. Pain lit through my spine like fire.

I rolled instinctively, knife already in my hand, rising into a crouch.

So did she.

She scrambled up on the opposite side, swaying. Her chest heaved. A hunting knife clattered out of her grip as her arms trembled, raised in shaky defense.

She wasn’t much older than me. Maybe a year. Black, with deep brown skin glazed in sweat and blood. Her dreads were half-tied, half-falling loose, tangled with leaves and what looked like ash.

She wore the tribute suit of District 3—black and grey, threaded with copper wiring and scorched across one sleeve. Her right leg buckled slightly beneath her weight, blood soaking through a makeshift bandage wrapped around her thigh.

But it was her face that made me freeze.

Terror was carved into every inch of it.

Her eyes—dark and wide—locked onto mine, and she opened her mouth, lips trembling, shoulders shaking like a leaf ready to fall.

“Please—” she gasped, voice raw. “Please don’t kill me.”

She wasn’t holding a weapon. Wasn’t lunging. Wasn’t even standing fully upright. She was clutching her side with one hand, the other still raised like a child shielding their head.

“I’m not—” I started, knife still drawn, but I didn’t move closer.

She dropped to her knees.

It wasn’t a trick. I could see it now—her body was giving out. Her leg had soaked straight through the cloth.

She tried to steady her breathing, but it came out in uneven sobs, not loud, not wailing—just soft and tired. Like she'd been crying for hours and was too empty to keep going.

“I—I don’t want to fight anymore,” she whispered. “I’m not like them. I just—I just ran. I’ve been running since day one. I didn’t even kill the one they said I did. He fell. He slipped. I tried to pull him up, I swear—”

Her voice broke. She buried her face in her hands, shoulders curling inward like a shield she didn’t have.

And just like that, the knife in my hand felt heavier.

This wasn’t an ambush. She wasn’t trying to survive by killing me. She was trying to survive by begging someone—anyone—not to make her die today.

I straightened slowly, my muscles still tense, still expecting a trick. But she didn’t move. She didn’t lunge or reach for the knife she’d dropped. She just sat there in the dirt, shaking and broken and so painfully human that I felt something twist behind my ribs.

This wasn’t what the Capitol wanted. They wanted me to strike. To survive. To be brutal.

They wanted her blood and my blade and a camera to catch it.

But all I saw was a girl who looked as tired as I felt. Maybe more.

I lowered the knife.

“I’m not going to kill you,” I said quietly.

Her head snapped up, eyes wide, disbelief flickering behind the panic.

“But you need to stop moving,” I added. “You’re bleeding out.”

She nodded too fast, as if afraid I’d change my mind if she blinked. “Okay. Okay. I just—thank you. Please—thank you—”

I crossed the distance slowly, crouching down beside her, still on edge, still watching her hands, but I reached for her leg. The bandage was a joke—just a torn piece of sleeve tied in a knot that had already soaked through.

She winced when I touched it. I winced when I peeled it back.

The gash was deep. Too deep for a regular fall. A blade, probably. Or a trap.

“You need stitches,” I muttered.

“I don’t have any thread,” she said, voice cracking.

“I do.”

And for the first time since the Games had started, I wasn’t using it to bind something shut inside myself.

I started digging through my pack with trembling fingers, every motion purposeful, every second a silent refusal.

She was trembling. Blood clung to her leg in thick streaks, smeared with dirt and ash, and the wound was deeper than I’d realized—jagged, vicious, torn instead of cut. I eased her onto the ground, knelt beside her, and rummaged through my pack with trembling hands.

Thread from one of my old tokens. A bent needle scavenged from a first-aid kit two days ago. It would have to do. It was all I had.

Her breath came in short, wet pants, tears streaking her cheeks though she didn’t make a sound. Her eyes were wide and shining, fixed on the sky like if she looked hard enough, she could blink herself out of here.

“This is going to hurt,” I said quietly, already threading the needle. The shaking in my fingers made it hard. “A lot.”

Her mouth twitched like she wanted to smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “It already does.”

I didn’t say anything else. Just pressed my hand to her thigh, bracing the muscle beneath my palm as I guided the needle in.

She tensed all at once, her whole body coiling like a snapped wire, spine arching off the dirt in a silent, jagged cry, as if the pain had broken through her throat but not her voice.

Then—quick, desperate—she bit down on the thick, frayed fabric of her sleeve to smother the sound, to keep it locked in her lungs where no one else could hear. Her eyes clenched shut, lashes trembling against skin gone ghostly with pain.

The flesh around the wound had already begun to swell, angry and dark, the metal embedded in it puckering her skin like it was trying to spit it out.

Blood welled fast, thick as syrup and twice as stubborn, pooling along her arm with heat that clung to my hands like guilt, and still, I forced myself not to look away. Not even for a second.

I worked slowly. Each motion deliberate, my lip caught hard between my teeth, the taste of copper lingering behind every shallow breath. My fingers didn’t tremble, but they ached from the restraint, from the need to hurry warring with the terror of hurting her more. 

I looped the thread, pulled it tight, then looped again, each pass sealing the wound while the thread turned red and slick and uncooperative beneath my hands.

It was a cruel kind of wound—jagged, uneven, the shape of something wild and feral. 

This hadn’t come from a fall. No blade had done this. The edges weren’t clean, weren’t controlled. This was the kind of mark left by teeth.

Not an accident. 

I paused only for a moment, long enough to swipe the sweat from my brow with the back of my sleeve, my eyes flicking up to her face. She was too still now. Too quiet.

“Where did you get this?” I asked, my voice low, drawn tight like the thread I held between my fingers. 

It barely cut through the hush of the trees, where the wind stirred with the sound of secrets—rustling leaves, distant branches creaking under the weight of something unseen.

“That’s not from a fall. Someone—or something—did this to you. I need to know what we’re dealing with.”

She didn’t answer right away. Her gaze had unfocused, like she wasn’t really here anymore, like the pain had peeled her away from the moment and flung her somewhere distant. 

Her head tilted back slightly, eyes glassy, staring past the canopy above, where smoke streaked the sky in bruised ribbons. She wasn’t crying, but there was something broken in the way her chest moved—shallow, uneven, like every breath had to be coaxed from her ribs.

I thought maybe she hadn’t heard me. Maybe she wouldn’t answer at all. But then, finally, her lips parted, and a whisper escaped.

“I don’t know what they are,” she said, and her voice— her voice—it wasn’t just tired. It was hollow. 

“They didn’t look human. I—I ran before I could see their faces. They moved fast. like... like animals waiting to pounce.”

She swallowed hard, her jaw tightening as her eyes finally met mine.

“I think they were hunting me.”

I looked up.

She swallowed hard, the motion tight and painful, like even that small effort cost her something. 

“I don’t know. Maybe machines. Maybe monsters. They looked human at first, but... they didn’t move right. Something was off, they were robotic? Like their joints were wired wrong.”

Her voice dropped lower, rough around the edges. “They twitched sometimes—jerky, like they were glitching. And their eyes... they were all white. Like they weren’t seeing, just scanning.”

Another stitch. My hand was slick with blood, the thread slipping once before I caught it again. Still, I worked.

“What do you mean?” I asked, quietly. “Traps?”

She gave the smallest shake of her head. “Not traps. Traps don’t chase you.”

Her breath caught, and for a moment I thought she might stop, shut down entirely. But then she went on, voice thinner now, like she was remembering it in pieces.

 “I heard it over the speakers, right before. A voice—mechanical, calm. It said, ‘Protocol release: Death Eaters initiated.’ And then… they were there. Coming out of the trees.”

She paused, blinking hard, jaw tightening.

“I was near the red ones. I thought I was alone.”

My pulse slowed. “You mean the blood forest?”

Her eyes met mine. There was no hesitation in them. Only fear.

“Yeah,” she breathed. “That’s what they called it.”

I closed the final stitch and tied it off, fingers stained red, lips pressed into a thin line. Her leg was shaking beneath my touch, but the bleeding had slowed. The thread glistened where it pulled her torn flesh together.

She exhaled, shaky and small. “They bit me.”

I didn’t speak. Couldn’t. Just sat beside her in the silence, the needle still warm between my fingers, the blood not yet dry on my hands.

I wiped the blood off my hands as best I could, though it still clung beneath my nails, still stained the creases of my palms.

The thread was used, the needle bent, and she was still trembling—but she was stitched up, breathing, not bleeding out. That was enough for now.

She laid her head back against the bark of a half-burned tree, wincing as she shifted her leg. I let the silence hang between us a moment longer, let the wind sigh through the charred leaves, carrying with it the copper scent of fading fire and distant ash.

Then, gently, I asked, “What’s your name?”

She blinked slowly, then looked at me like she was remembering where she was.

“…Dorcas,” she said hoarsely. “District three.”

She watched my reaction carefully, and I could see it—the way her body tensed, the flicker of uncertainty in her bruised expression, like she was ready to bolt if I so much as twitched wrong. I didn’t move. Just nodded.

“I’m Y/N from district seven.” my voice was quieter now, steadier. “I won’t hurt you.”

I held her gaze for a long moment, heart still thudding, nerves still on edge. My fingers hovered near the hilt of my blade. The forest had taught me not to trust too easily.

But it had also taught me something else: sometimes survival wasn’t about who you killed. Sometimes it was about who you saved.

“I’ll help you,” I said finally. My voice was sharper than I meant it to be. “But if you do anything—anything—I think is suspicious, I won’t hesitate to finish what this forest started.”

Her eyes widened, but she nodded quickly. “I swear. I won’t. I—I just want to live.”

I believed her.

Carefully, I reached out and offered her my arm. She took it, biting her lip as I helped her to her feet. She was heavier than she looked, all dead weight and trembling limbs, but she held herself upright, jaw clenched, every breath a fight.

We didn’t speak after that.

We moved slowly, slipping between trees and ash, staying low. The forest had quieted now—too quiet, the kind that made your skin crawl. The blood rain had dried in places, crusted into dark stains across roots and rocks, and every step we took left faint red prints behind.

But the sun was beginning to set, casting long gold slats through the smoke-hung air.

It was the end of Day Four.

I found us a hollowed-out knot beneath the twisted roots of a fallen tree, its insides scorched black but dry. It would hide the firelight, if we dared to light one. It would muffle our breathing. It would hold.

I helped her inside, settling her against the curve of bark and moss. Her eyes were already starting to close, exhaustion winning out against pain.

I didn’t let myself sleep—not yet. I sat at the edge of the hollow, blade in hand, watching the forest twitch under the dying light. Somewhere far off, another cannon boomed. Another life, snuffed out.

And I was still here. Still breathing.

But now, I wasn’t alone.

The forest never really slept. Leaves whispered against each other like they were trading secrets. The wind prowled through the branches, pulling at scorched bark. Every so often, something cracked in the distance—branches, bones, it was hard to tell anymore.

We lay beside each other, not touching, but close enough to feel the heat of each other's breath. The silence stretched long between us. Then, Dorcas spoke, voice low and scratchy, like the words had been sitting in her throat all day.

“You’re here alone?”

I stared up through the broken weave of roots above us, where a sliver of moonlight slipped through like a knife.

“I wasn’t originally.”

Dorcas didn’t press. She just nodded, like she understood. Like we all understood what it meant to say that and nothing more.

But then, after a pause, she said, “Your partner… He was the one everyone was talking about. Right? Capitol couldn’t shut up about him.”

My breath caught, but I didn’t look at her.

“They kept rerunning his volunteer clip. Said it was the first time a Victor ever re-entered the arena.” She shifted slightly, wincing. 

“There were… bets. Speculation. Whole segments about whether it was a twist, or a glitch, or a joke. People screamed when his name was read. He’s... kind of their golden boy.”

I let the silence answer for me.

“I don’t know how,” Dorcas muttered, “but it happened. Either way, it was stupid. Dumb of him. He put himself through this again, and now he’s missing?”

I turned to face her, finally. The hollow light caught her cheekbone, the blood-stained collar of her tribute suit.

“Missing since before yesterday. Haven’t seen him since he went for supplies near the Cornucopia.”

“Capitol favorite, lost in the trees,” she said quietly. Then, almost to herself: “That’s sad.”

“Why would that be sad?” I asked. The words came out harsher than I meant.

She went still.

It was just for a moment—so quick I might’ve missed it—but I saw it. Her fingers froze around the cloth she’d been gripping for warmth. Her mouth pressed tight, too fast to be natural.

Then she exhaled and looked away.

“Nothing. Just thinking out loud,” she said. “Forget it.”

But I didn’t. I lay there with my pulse flickering at my throat, the weight of her words settling like dust in my chest.

Regulus Black. Capitol favorite. Missing. And somehow, sad.

The silence returned. But this time, it felt heavier. Like something had been said without being spoken at all.

We’d gone quiet again. The kind of quiet that didn’t sit still—it shifted and breathed, settling in the spaces between us like fog. 

Dorcas had her head tipped back, eyes tracing the darkening canopy overhead, lashes catching the last amber threads of daylight. Her arm was bandaged now, my stitching jagged but holding.

Her breathing had evened out, but I could tell it still hurt. Every so often, her fingers would twitch near the wound.

She didn’t cry anymore. Not out loud, at least.

I sat with my knees drawn up, chin resting on them, flask cradled in my hands. There was barely a mouthful of water left. I hadn’t told her that yet.

After a while, Dorcas broke the silence.

“My partner’s name was Mulciber,” she said softly. “I didn’t know him well. He didn’t talk much. But I saw his cannon flare.”

She didn’t explain how or where. She didn’t have to. The way her voice curled around the name—quiet and a little bitter—was enough.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

She nodded, like she didn’t expect the apology but appreciated it anyway. “Thanks.”

“How many of us are left?” she asked, after a moment.

“Ten,” I said. “I think.”

“Only ten,” she murmured. “Feels like we just got here.”

We both looked up then, like we might catch sight of the Capitol drones shifting in the sky. But the clouds were too thick now, the sun too low. The arena had turned to shadows.

“I wasn’t alone either,” I said eventually.

She turned her head slightly toward me, waiting.

“There were three of us, at the start. Me, Evan, and…” I hesitated. “Regulus.”

She didn’t say anything, just watched me, waiting for me to fill in the silence.

“He volunteered. For me. I still don’t know how they allowed it—how a Victor got back in—but he did.” My voice went low. “And now he’s missing.”

Dorcas reached out slowly and flicked a small curled leaf off my knee. It was such a simple gesture, barely a breath of movement, but for some reason it made something ache in my chest. She leaned back on her good arm and gave a tiny smile, tired but real.

“Sounds like he’s a dumbass,” she said.

I laughed, not because it was funny, but because I needed to. It shook out of me like a cough.

She shrugged, glancing sideways at me. “No offense.”

“None taken,” I said. “He is.”

We were quiet again, but this time it felt lighter. The kind of silence that could hold something good.

“You remind me of someone,” I said after a while, not really thinking it through until it was already out.

“Oh?” she raised a brow.

“My best friend, back home. Pandora.”

Dorcas chuckled. “That’s a name.”

I smiled. “Yeah. She’s all weird stories and kindness and curiosity. Once tried to teach me to knit using vines she found by the river. Nearly got both of us strangled.”

Dorcas snorted, then winced as her stitched arm tensed. “Sounds like my kind of person.”

“She’d like you,” I said quietly, before I could stop myself. “You’ve got the same… softness, under all the sharp.”

That made her go still, like she wasn’t used to people seeing that in her.

“Thanks,” she said finally. “That means more than you think.”

I nodded. The trees creaked above us. Somewhere far off, an owl called once, low and long.

For a moment, I imagined the three of us together—Dorcas and Pandora and me—sitting beside a river instead of blood-soaked roots, passing time, weaving garlands out of weeds.

And it felt… possible. Ridiculous, but possible. Like the world might still hold a future beyond this.

And that, somehow, made it hurt worse.

After a while, Dorcas shifted onto her side, cradling her stitched-up arm. She winced, but her color looked a little better now, and her breathing had evened out. Still, she looked fragile in the dimming light, like if the wind turned sharp enough it might carry her away.

“You any good with survival stuff?” I asked, keeping my voice soft, the way one does when speaking in the half-dark—like louder words might break the spell of calm.

She gave a short breath of laughter, dry and self-deprecating. “Not even close.”

I glanced over.

“I can build a proximity detonator blindfolded,” she added, “but ask me to light a fire or tie a snare and I’ll probably burst into tears.”

That got a small, surprised laugh out of me. “Useful,” I said. “If we ever run into a Capitol control room in the middle of the woods.”

She smiled, but her eyes were tired. “What about you?”

“I can climb, hunt a little. I know how to sharpen blades, how to throw them too. Nothing fancy—just what I learned growing up.”

“That’ll get you farther than I’ll ever make it.”

“Don’t be so sure,” I said, reaching for a blade at my side, inspecting its edge. “This place feels wired. Literally. I’ve seen lights flicker when they shouldn’t. Sounds that feel too… intentional. Whatever’s running the show, I bet there’s tech under all the bark.”

Dorcas tilted her head, thoughtful. “I did notice that, too. Some of the trees buzz—faint, but it’s there. And I swear the vines in the blood forest recoiled from heat. Like they had sensors or something.”

I nodded. “Exactly. That’s where you come in.”

She blinked. “Me?”

“We make a deal,” I said, sitting up straighter. “I teach you survival—blades, food, hiding, climbing. You teach me anything you can about how this arena might be built. Weak points. Glitches. Maybe even ways to fight back.”

Dorcas looked at me, wary, like she wasn’t used to being offered anything but suspicion. Slowly, cautiously, she let her good hand relax on her lap.

“You think we have a shot?” she asked, voice barely above the wind.

“I think it’s better than dying alone.”

For a long moment, neither of us spoke. The silence stretched warm between us, not tense, but not comfortable either—just something delicate. Something new.

Then she said, “Okay. Deal.”

I offered her a small smile. “Good.”

We must’ve been asleep for no more than an hour. A shallow, shivering kind of sleep—thin as mist, too fragile to be real rest. My muscles ached with fatigue, my throat sore from thirst, but something in my chest had finally gone quiet. 

For just a moment, it felt like peace. Not safety, not warmth—but stillness. Like the woods had folded around us in exhausted silence.

Then the cannons fired.

Two sharp cracks split the sky like lightning without light, echoing so loud and sudden that the air itself seemed to recoil.

I sat up too fast, my spine protesting with a jolt of pain, my hand already moving, gripping the handle of my knife before thought could catch up.

Beside me, Dorcas stirred with a soft gasp, her body curling inward, one hand flying to the bandaged wound on her arm as if to guard it from whatever came next. Her eyes found the trees first—wide, searching, brimming with the kind of fear that didn’t need words.

Together, without speaking, we looked up.

The sky flickered overhead, Capitol gold turning sickly under a veil of static. The anthem was thin now, choked by interference, as if even the Hunger Games was beginning to unravel at the edges. Then the faces appeared, bleeding through the static like ghosts on broken glass.

Avery. Marietta Edgecombe. Both district nine.

I knew immediately that was the girl i saw hanged up in the blood forest, it felt like torture knowing she was hanged there for 4 whole hours before she was granted mercy.

Ten this morning. Now Eight. Me. Dorcas. Evan. Regulus. And four others I hadn’t spoken to, whose names I didn’t know, whose faces I’d only learn once they were framed by death.

“I don’t like this,” Dorcas whispered, but the words felt distant, hollow, already irrelevant.

Because something was wrong.

It started softly—a low, wet sound, gurgling like breath through blood. Then the drag. Slow, rhythmic, scraping through the underbrush like something too heavy to walk on its own, like limbs being pulled across dirt that didn’t want to let go.

Then, beneath it all, another sound.

I turned my head slowly, every part of me taut with dread. I didn’t blink. My heart was pounding now, not fast but hard, like it was trying to push its way out of my ribs.

And then I saw them.

Not one.

They crawled out from the edges of the clearing like nightmares stitched from rust and rot, their bodies jerking forward in broken, stuttering movements—too precise to be animal, too corrupted to be human.

At first, they were only shapes shifting between the trees, shadows with no source, rippling toward us as if peeled from the darkness itself.

Wolf mutts, or something like them, but wrong—violently, irrevocably wrong.

They didn’t stalk or snarl or prowl the way beasts should. They clicked. Twitched. Glitched forward like broken puppets dragged across invisible strings. There was no fur. No warm breath. No growling. These weren’t animals. These were carcasses carved into machines and dressed up in what was left of flesh.

Their skin hung loose, flayed in strips, half-melted and wet with black blood that shone like oil in the clearing’s thin light. Patches of fur clung to them in uneven clumps, scorched and peeling at the edges.

Bone jutted from their joints—shoulders, knees, even along their backs—sharpened into unnatural blades, as if someone had carved them open and repurposed their skeletons into weapons.

Their legs bent backward at the knees like prey animals, but moved with none of the grace. Just snapping tension, like wires pulled too tight, like something forced to imitate life.

And then there were the jaws.

Unhinged, stretched low and wide down their throats, so far their mouths tore the skin at their cheeks, which bled in slow, oozing ribbons. Teeth that didn’t match lined their mouths—some too large, others jagged, crooked, shattered—and gums that pulsed with rot. But it wasn’t their bodies that stopped me.

It was their eyes.

Not red, not blank, not robotic. Human. Some blinked—slowly, carefully, like they were trying to focus. Some were clouded and dead, pupils glazed over like drowned things.

And some were clear—achingly clear—hazel and green and brown and blue. Eyes I could’ve seen in the mirror. Eyes that might’ve belonged to tributes. To Peacekeepers. To victors who’d vanished without goodbye. One pair—sharp grey—stared back at me too long, too knowingly, and my stomach dropped.

I froze where I knelt. My breath snagged halfway up my throat, couldn’t go forward, couldn’t come back. My mind screamed to move, to run, but my body wouldn’t listen.

One of them tilted its head at me, slow and childlike, curious in the way a toddler studies something shiny. For one unbearable second, it looked like it remembered me.

And then its face split open.

The jaw fell lower, wider, stretching until the skin tore with a slick rip, and what started as something almost human turned monstrous in an instant. There was no bark, no growl, no sound an animal might make.

It screamed.

A shriek like shattering glass and grinding bone, sharp and endless, tearing through the clearing in waves that made the trees shudder and the earth tighten beneath our feet.

Then the rest joined in—one by one, and then all together—and the air filled with a wailing chorus that didn’t stop, didn’t falter, just rose higher and higher until I thought it might split the sky.

And then they moved.

As one, the pack lunged, mouths open, limbs cracking, blades of bone flashing in the dim light. There was no warning, no signal—just the sound of something unnatural charging forward with all the hunger of death itself.

I didn’t think. My hand was already grabbing Dorcas, yanking her upright with more force than grace, her wounded arm catching awkwardly as she cried out.

But she followed. She ran. We both did, feet hammering the ground, breath coming too fast, too shallow, the forest spinning around us like a carousel of branches and shadows. The screaming behind us didn’t stop—it followed, echoing between the trees, growing louder, faster, like the sound alone might devour us if the creatures didn’t.

I didn’t look back.

But I could hear them—metal claws scraping stone, paws pounding dirt, the slithering of something too big moving too fast. They didn’t run like wolves.

They swarmed. Like insects with too many legs. I could feel the heat of one at my back—hot, oily breath pouring down my spine. Another crashed through the trees to our right, sending wood splinters slicing past my face.

Dorcas stumbled, and I caught her before she hit the ground, my fingers locking around her elbow, hauling her upright with a grunt. Her weight sagged against me for half a second, her boots slipping in the wet leaves.

She didn’t cry out—just sucked in a sharp breath, her teeth clenched tight against the pain.

“Keep going,” I hissed, tightening my grip. “You can’t stop now, do you hear me? Dorcas—look at me.”

She nodded once, her face pale, lips trembling, but she didn’t slow. “I’m trying,” she gasped. “I’m trying, I swear—”

Then the forest exploded.

A wolf mutt—if you could even call it that—barreled out from the left, faster than thought, and slammed into me like a wrecking ball. My back hit a tree hard enough to knock the air from my lungs, bark splintering beneath the impact. For a heartbeat, all I saw was black.

Dorcas screamed my name.

The mutt had already hit the ground, body twisted and twitching, but it sprang back up, snarling. Its snout had been split down the middle, like someone had taken an axe to it, the flesh torn open into something too grotesque to be called a face. And its eyes—God, its eyes—clear, human, watching me.

“No, no, no—” Dorcas choked out. “It’s one of them. It’s one of the ones I saw—”

I didn’t wait.

My fingers found the hilt at my belt. I drew the knife and hurled it.

It sank deep into the creature’s shoulder, the force of it spinning the thing sideways. It let out a shriek—high and sharp and metallic, like teeth scraping a rail—but didn’t fall. It twitched once, violently, and then lurched forward again.

“It’s not stopping,” Dorcas cried, stumbling backward. “Why isn’t it stopping?”

“Run!” I shouted, grabbing her again. “Just run!”

We fled—mud sucking at our boots, branches slapping our faces as we pushed through the underbrush. Every step felt like wading through something alive, something that wanted to hold us here, feed us to the earth.

The trees loomed taller now, darker, dripping with something that smelled like rot. The blood-rain had changed them. Warped them.

Dorcas wheezed beside me, barely keeping up. “I can’t—I don’t know how long I can—”

“You can,” I snapped, not out of cruelty, but desperation. “You have to.”

My foot caught on something half-buried—a root, maybe a bone—and I went down hard. My knees slammed into the muck, and my hands scraped against stone. My chest hit the ground, breath knocked out of me in one sharp burst. My vision went white at the edges.

“No—no, no—” Dorcas dropped to her knees beside me. “Come on. Please get up—please—”

“I’m fine,” I lied, pushing up through the pain. My arm throbbed. My ribs ached. “We have to go.”

Behind us, one of them let out a horrible rattling noise—like bones clattering in a metal drum. A signal. The others answered, weaving through the trees with uncanny precision, their claws leaving gouges in every trunk they passed.

They were herding us.

I realized it too late. Every time we turned, one of them would appear—not to attack, but to guide. They drove us with jagged shrieks and the sharp percussion of their clawed feet pounding against the soaked earth. The sound echoed off the trees like a war drum. 

We weren’t escaping. We weren’t even running free. We were being delivered—boxed in from all sides, pushed down a path we couldn’t see, toward something waiting.

And still, we ran. Mud sprayed up our legs. Our lungs burned. Every inhale tasted of iron and decay. Dorcas was wheezing now, stumbling more than running, her arm a limp weight at her side. But I didn’t let go. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.

A branch lashed across my face. I tasted blood. The forest was closing in, thick with fog and the scent of something ancient and cruel. Whatever this was, it wasn’t a chase. It was a game. And we were prey.

Then the trees opened—and something else stepped through.

At first, I thought he might be another mutt. He stepped out from the mist with eerie grace, tall and coiled with an unnatural stillness. His uniform was unmistakable—the Games-issued combat gear, mud-caked and bloodstained, clinging to his lean frame like a second skin.

The number 1 was plastered across his chest in bold, flaking red. 

His hair, white-blond and slicked back with rain and gore, clung to his temples. His face was carved from marble, a masterpiece of sharp angles and calculated cruelty. Eyes like pale glass swept over us, devoid of mercy, reflecting nothing but the thrill of the hunt.

He looked like he’d been bred for this.

He smiled when he saw us.

"Well," he said, his voice syrupy smooth. "Aren’t I lucky?"

Dorcas crumpled to the ground beside me, gasping. I stepped in front of her, hands up, body shaking with too much adrenaline and not enough hope.

The man didn’t raise a weapon. He just walked closer, slow and deliberate, dragging something behind him.

An axe.

He trailed a thumb along the edge of his axe—a twin-bladed monstrosity with notches already sunk into the steel. Blood, viscera, maybe even skin clung to it like a second sheen. He didn’t raise it. 

"I was hoping the mutts would leave something behind," he continued, almost playfully. "You’re prettier than I expected. Mud and all."

I didn’t answer. Just squared my shoulders and grabbed the broken branch at my feet. A joke of a weapon. But better than nothing.

His smile widened, cold and gleaming. "What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?"

"You don’t want this fight," I said, breathless.

He tilted his head, the motion slow and unnatural, like a puppet testing its strings. Then he laughed—low and raspy, the kind of laugh that sounded like it had been dredged up from a throat raw with screaming. 

“Oh, but I do,” he whispered, eyes glittering with something unhinged. “I live for it, little bird. The moment they realize they’re going to die.”

Then he lunged.

The axe came down like a guillotine, shrieking through the air. I threw myself sideways—felt the rush of wind as it passed just above me—and shoved Dorcas back with a cry. 

The axe hit the ground with a brutal, wet crunch, biting deep into the earth I ran for him, swinging the branch. 

He caught it with one hand, crushed it like paper, and shoved me back so hard I fell. My knees slammed into rock. Pain exploded up my spine.

He turned toward me slowly. “You look just like the girl I killed two nights ago,” he said almost fondly. “She begged too.”

His boot pressed into my chest. Not hard enough to kill. Just enough to keep me pinned. Dorcas was sobbing behind me, dragging herself toward a fallen log.

He crouched beside me, brushed a blood-matted strand of hair from my cheek.

"You’re the singer, aren’t you?" he whispered. "The one with the pretty voice."

I stared at him, trembling. "How do you—"

"Oh, everyone’s heard you by now. The Capitol adores a good tragedy."

Then he grinned and leaned in closer.

“Sing for me, little bird”

Something inside me turned to fire.

I could feel everything—the blood trickling in a slow, sticky line down my arm, seeping into the fabric at my elbow. 

The sting of mud embedded in the raw gash on my cheek throbbed with every breath. 

His boot was still pressed into my ribs, grinding down with the weight of his whole body, pushing bone against bone like he wanted to snap them for fun. 

Pain flared, sharp and bright, but it didn’t matter. 

None of it mattered. Not compared to the heat that bloomed in my chest, roaring up my throat like it wanted to scorch the world.

My lips curled back. My hands, slick with dirt and blood, clenched into fists where they were pinned at my sides. I wasn’t crying. I wasn’t pleading. I wasn’t broken.

I was burning.

How dare he.

How dare he look at me like I was something soft—some trembling bird he could pluck feather by feather until I sang sweet enough to die for him.

How dare he speak to me like I was already dead, like my voice was a prize he could claim from my corpse.

He thought I was a trophy, a little songbird trapped in the arena just to amuse him, to amuse the Capitol. Another broken girl forced to perform on command—singing for cameras, for sponsors, for mercy. 

Like my voice was a thing he could own. Like it belonged to anyone but me.

I lifted my head, the movement slow and trembling, not from fear but from the fury it took to hold myself together. My gaze locked onto his, and there was no softness left in me.

And then I spat in his face.

Blood and spit landed across his forehead, thick and dark, sliding down his jaw in a crimson smear. He froze, his smirk faltering for the first time. The silence between us cracked like glass. For a moment, all I could hear was the wind in the trees and the ragged rasp of my breathing.

My voice was low, guttural, torn from the pit of me where rage lived like an animal.

“Go to hell.”

He would kill me for it. I knew that.

He snarled—animal, furious—and any last trace of amusement twisted into raw, murderous rage. His lips peeled back in a snarl, and he raised the axe high, both hands clenched tight around the handle. The blade gleamed slick with old blood, catching a cruel glint of fading light. His chest heaved. His muscles tensed. The executioner, poised.

I didn’t move. Didn’t cower. My spine was straight, knees sunk into the muck. My face was bleeding, my ribs screaming where his boot had crushed them, but I didn’t care. I would not give him the song. I would not give them the bird.

If I was going to die, then I would make them watch.

He raised it higher—

Thwunk.

A black spear tore through the top of his skull with such force that the bone split like wet plaster.

A sickening crunch followed—then a crack as it punched straight down through the brain, splintering the skull like an axe through firewood.

The tip burst from his mouth with a wet, retching rip, shattering his teeth, wrenching his jaw open in a grotesque scream. A waterfall of blood erupted, thick and glugging, coating his face in steaming crimson.

Bits of grey matter clung to the spear like shreds of spoiled meat, strung out between shards of bone. One eye bulged grotesquely from the socket; the other rolled upward, white showing, the iris jerking as if trying to flee.

He staggered back. Two steps. Knees buckling, head lolling like a puppet whose strings had been severed. Blood poured from the bottom of his chin, down his neck, dripping in heavy gouts into the mud, mixing with the filth and viscera already coating the ground.

Then he dropped.

Face-first into the earth, spear still lodged in his skull like a dark, jagged crown.

For a moment, I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

He wasn’t just dead. He was ruined. Broken. Split open like a goddamn carcass. And for one long, frozen moment, the world said nothing.

The clearing pulsed with silence. Not calm—something far more brutal. Even the birds had vanished. Blood soaked the moss in grotesque patterns. The body at my feet had been torn apart so completely it was hard to tell where man ended and monster began. His face was a ruin.

I couldn’t breathe. My heart slammed against my ribs like it was trying to break free, but my lungs stayed frozen between sob and scream.

I was still on my knees, body locked in some jagged echo of fight and disbelief. My hands were shaking. My mouth was dry. I should’ve cried. I should’ve collapsed. But I didn’t. I just stared. Because something about this wasn’t finished.

Behind me, a sound—low, guttural. Dorcas. I turned, barely, just enough to see her crumpled in the dirt. Blood soaked through her shirt, pooling beneath her ribs. Her face was pale, smeared with sweat and dirt.

Two shapes stepped from the ridge above the clearing, silhouetted by fractured sunlight. I couldn’t see their faces—the light was behind them, turning them to shadows. One taller, bloodied from temple to boot, his fists still clenched. The other thinner, sharper, his stance loose but alert, a glint of silver in one hand.

And then—laughter.

Rough. Breathless. A little wild.

“Nice aim, Starling,” one of them called down, voice warm with something close to amusement. “Right between the eyes.”

My breath caught.

They stepped forward, finally stepping through the light.

Regulus and Evan.

And Regulus—He looked at me like he was seeing the sunrise after years underground, like the sight of me was the only thing anchoring him to this world. He looked like devotion forged in fire, like hope disguised in fury, like the boy who had never stopped watching the sky.

There was blood on his hands, shadows hollowing the skin beneath his eyes—but in them, there was light. A flickering, fragile kind of light. Recognition and relief.

As if, after everything, I was still something worth saving. As if I had pulled him back from the edge without even trying. He knelt there, wrecked and radiant, and I couldn’t stop looking. 

Not at the blood. Not at the bruises. But at him—this boy who had once carved stars for me in secret and had never stopped watching the sky. 

And now, he was here. The weight of everything we lost clinging to him.  But still, he had come. Still, he had found me.

And this time, it wasn’t a hallucination.

He was here.

He was here.

a/n: next chapter is gonna hurt </3

taglist: @fadingcollectivenightmare @spidermansfangirl   @foulwaterss @slaybestieslay946 @aelinwya @yvessentials @sickly-afraid @urfunnyvalentin3 @hufflebubble53 @sterngvcker @rainfell-m @ell0ra-br3kk3r @revesephemeres @winterbearwonderland @revesephemeres @ell0ra-br3kk3r @th3b4tm4n @nyaaka @rinnjinx @beau-min @sunflowerscloudydays @unstable-cucumber 

[fr0stf4ll]

Forge of Starlight - Epilogue - A New Dawn

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; In the heart of Velaris, a skilled blacksmith's quiet life is turned upside down when unexpected bonds begin to form with the enigmatic Spymaster of the Night Court. As she navigates the challenges of her craft and the complexities of newfound relationships, she discovers that love and loyalty may be the strongest forces of all in a world where darkness often lingers just beyond the light.

word count ; 4.1k

warning; mentions of death, fight.

notes; Hey so here is the last chapter of the story, i hope that you enjoyed it. It was something very new to me to write such story but i'm happy that some of you stayed until the end. I'm working on some one shots for the moment, much lighter than this story, my requests are also open for those who have ideas. See you soon and thank you again <333

here is the link for part 16

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The first rays of morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft, golden glow across the room. You stirred in the warmth of your bed, the familiar scent of home wrapping around you like a comforting embrace. As you slowly blinked your eyes open, the first thing you saw was Azriel, lying beside you, his gaze already on you, filled with love and warmth.

“Hello, my love,” he whispered, his voice soft and tender as he reached out to brush a stray lock of hair from your face.

A smile spread across your lips as you leaned into his touch, the warmth of his hand on your cheek grounding you in the present, in this moment that was filled with peace and contentment. You reached out, wrapping your arms around him, pulling him close as you buried your face in the crook of his neck, breathing in his familiar scent.

“Good morning,” you murmured against his skin, your voice still thick with sleep but laced with happiness. You hugged him tighter, savoring the feeling of his strong arms wrapping around you in return, holding you close as if he never wanted to let go.

These were the moments you cherished most—the quiet, peaceful mornings where it was just the two of you, wrapped up in each other, the world outside nothing more than a distant memory. It was a far cry from the life you had once lived, filled with turmoil and pain, but now… now, there was only love, only happiness.

After a few moments, you pulled back slightly to look at him, your eyes tracing the familiar lines of his face. There was a softness in his gaze, a quiet joy that made your heart swell with love.

“I still can’t believe this is our life,” you whispered, your fingers gently brushing over his cheek. “That we’re here, together, after everything…”

Azriel’s smile deepened, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your head, pulling you close for a gentle, lingering kiss. “It’s our life, Y/N. Our home. And I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.”

You glanced around the room, taking in the space that had become your sanctuary, your haven. The apartment was different from the one you had once shared with Alex, the one filled with so many memories—both good and painful. This was a new place, a new beginning. The walls were painted a soft, calming shade, and the furniture was a mix of both your tastes—modern pieces blended with rustic touches that gave the space warmth and character.

It was your home, yours and Azriel’s, and every corner of it reflected the life you were building together.

The decision to move had been difficult, but ultimately necessary. You had wanted a fresh start, a place that wasn’t haunted by the ghosts of your past, a place where you and Azriel could build something new, something that was just yours. And here, in this apartment in the heart of Velaris, you had found that.

“Are you happy?” Azriel asked, his voice gentle as he searched your eyes, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

You nodded, a smile spreading across your lips as you leaned into his touch. “I am. More than I ever thought I could be.”

Azriel’s eyes softened, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead, holding you close. “Good. That’s all I ever wanted for you.”

You sighed contentedly, resting your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “And you? Are you happy?”

He chuckled softly, his hand gently stroking your hair. “How could I not be? I have everything I’ve ever wanted, right here with you.”

You closed your eyes, letting the peace of the moment wash over you. Two years had passed since that fateful night in the forest, since you had reclaimed your power and your life. So much had changed since then, but through it all, Azriel had been by your side, your constant, your anchor.

Becoming the emissary of the Night Court had been a natural progression. You had always been skilled in diplomacy, in navigating the complex web of relationships between the courts. And now, you used those skills to strengthen the Night Court’s position, to forge new alliances and maintain old ones. It was a role that suited you, that gave you purpose.

But even though you had taken on this new role, you hadn’t completely left behind the forge. Blacksmithing was still a part of you, a part of your soul. Now, it was more of a hobby, something you did when you needed to clear your mind or when inspiration struck. You had set up a small workshop in the apartment, where you would spend hours tinkering with new designs, creating weapons that were as much art as they were instruments of war.

It was a balance that brought you peace, a way to honor your past while embracing your future.

As you lay there in Azriel’s arms, you couldn’t help but think about how far you had come, how much you had grown. The pain of the past would always be a part of you, but it no longer defined you. You had found a way to move forward, to build a life filled with love and happiness.

Azriel shifted slightly, his hand tilting your chin up so that you were looking into his eyes. “What are you thinking about?”

You smiled softly, your hand coming up to rest over his heart. “Just… everything. How lucky I am. How grateful I am to have you.”

He smiled, his thumb brushing over your lips before he leaned in to kiss you, slow and sweet. “I’m the lucky one,” he murmured against your lips.

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “We’re both lucky, then.”

He pulled you closer, holding you tight as if he never wanted to let go. And in that moment, you knew that this was where you were meant to be—right here, in Azriel’s arms, in the home you had built together.

And no matter what the future held, you knew that you would face it together, with love, with strength, and with the unbreakable bond that had brought you both to this moment.

As the morning light grew brighter, you felt a sense of peace settle over you, a quiet contentment that filled your heart. This was your life now, and you wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

The day passed peacefully, a gentle rhythm of tasks and small moments of joy that filled your new home with warmth. As evening approached, the anticipation of gathering with the Inner Circle brought a sense of excitement. The bond you had with Azriel’s family—the family you had become a part of—was stronger than ever. Tonight was just one of those nights where you could all come together, relax, and enjoy each other's company.

You dressed in something simple yet elegant, a deep blue dress that complemented the rich tones of Azriel’s favorite color. He smiled approvingly when he saw you, his eyes lingering with a mix of admiration and love. “You look stunning,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

“Thank you,” you replied, returning the affection with a gentle smile. “And you look as dashing as ever.”

Azriel, in his usual dark attire that fit him perfectly, offered you his arm, and together, you made your way through the winding streets of Velaris to the townhouse where the rest of the Inner Circle awaited. The stars were just beginning to appear in the sky, twinkling above like a promise of the good night ahead.

When you arrived, the townhouse was already filled with the familiar sounds of laughter and conversation. The scent of delicious food wafted through the air, mingling with the warmth and comfort that always radiated from this place.

As you stepped inside, you were immediately greeted by Cassian’s booming voice. “There they are! Took you two long enough.”

You laughed, shaking your head as Cassian pulled you into a bear hug. “Good to see you too, Cassian,” you teased, patting his back before he released you.

Mor was next, her smile bright as she took your hands, squeezing them affectionately. “You look radiant, Y/N. I’m so glad you’re here. You have to tell me everything, how was the Summer Court, you have been there for two whole weeks. ”

“Of course haha. It’s good to be here,” you replied, returning her smile. Mor’s warmth and friendship had been a constant source of comfort over the years, and you cherished her for it.

Amren, ever the enigma, nodded to you from her place near the fireplace, her sharp gaze softened just enough to convey her approval. You nodded back, grateful for the bond you had formed with her—a bond built on mutual respect and understanding.

Rhysand was the last to greet you, his expression filled with genuine affection as he embraced you. “Welcome, Y/N. It’s not the same without you here.”

“Thank you, Rhys,” you replied, feeling the warmth of his words settle in your heart.

The dinner that followed was filled with laughter, stories, and the easy camaraderie that had come to define your time with the Inner Circle. The food was delicious, as always, and the wine flowed freely as the conversation moved from topic to topic.

At one point, Cassian leaned back in his chair, a mischievous grin on his face. “So, Y/N, how’s the emissary life treating you? Got any juicy tales of court intrigue to share?”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “It’s been interesting, to say the least. But I think you’ll have to wait for the next Night Court council meeting for the really juicy details.”

Cassian groaned, pretending to be disappointed. “You’re no fun.”

Mor, sitting beside him, elbowed him playfully. “Leave her alone, Cass. She’s already done enough, wrangling all those high lords and their egos.”

“I’m sure Y/N has some good stories,” Rhysand chimed in, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “After all, she’s met some rather interesting characters over the years.”

You rolled your eyes good-naturedly. “Oh, there have been a few. But I think the best story is how I managed to survive the chaos of this lot.”

Azriel squeezed your hand under the table, his smile softening as he looked at you. “You’ve done more than survive. You’ve thrived.”

The conversation flowed effortlessly, touching on everything from the latest news in Prythian to the more personal, day-to-day happenings in Velaris. There was an ease to it, a sense of belonging that made you feel truly at home.

As the evening wore on, the group moved to the sitting room, where more wine was poured and the fire crackled warmly in the hearth. You found yourself nestled on the couch beside Azriel, his arm draped comfortably around your shoulders.

Rhysand raised his glass, his gaze sweeping over the room. “To family,” he said, his voice filled with warmth and sincerity. “To the bonds we share, and to the future we’re building together.”

Everyone raised their glasses in a toast, echoing his words. “To family.”

You sipped your wine, feeling the truth of those words resonate deep within you. This was your family now—these incredible, powerful, and loving people who had welcomed you into their lives and hearts. And as you sat there, surrounded by laughter and warmth, you knew that this was exactly where you were meant to be.

The night eventually wound down, and one by one, the members of the Inner Circle began to make their way home. Cassian and Mor were the first to leave, Cassian pulling you into another hug and whispering a teasing remark about not working too hard. Mor kissed your cheek, promising to visit you soon for some “much-needed girl time.”

Amren nodded to you as she departed, a rare but genuine smile playing on her lips. Rhysand was the last to see you off, his hand resting on your shoulder as he looked into your eyes.

“You’ve come a long way, Y/N,” he said quietly, his voice filled with pride. “We’re lucky to have you with us.”

You smiled, feeling a lump in your throat as you nodded. “I’m lucky to have all of you.”

With that, you and Azriel made your way back to your apartment, the night air cool and refreshing as you walked through the quiet streets of Velaris. The city was bathed in moonlight, the stars twinkling above like a promise of all the good things still to come.

When you finally reached your home, you paused at the door, turning to look at Azriel. His expression was soft, filled with the same love and affection you had seen that morning.

“Ready to call it a night?” he asked, his voice low and gentle.

You smiled, feeling a sense of peace settle over you as you nodded. “Yes, let’s go home.”

—

The cemetery was quiet, the air filled with the faint scent of blooming flowers as spring finally began to take hold of the land. You walked slowly along the path, the familiar weight of the past pressing lightly on your shoulders. It had been a long time since you’d visited this place—too long, and the guilt of it lingered in your chest.

As you approached Alex’s grave, a sense of peace washed over you. The headstone was simple, yet elegant, adorned with a few weathered tokens left by you and others over the years. You knelt down, reaching out to gently brush away a few stray leaves that had settled on the stone.

“Hi, Alex,” you whispered, your voice soft as the memories flooded back. “I’m sorry it’s been so long since I visited. Life has been… well, it’s been busy.”

You sat down, crossing your legs beneath you as you let the silence stretch between you and the grave. It felt good to be here, to talk to him, even if he couldn’t answer.

“I’ve been working as an emissary for the Night Court,” you began, a small smile playing on your lips. “It’s been challenging, but I think I’m making a difference. I’ve visited nearly every court, negotiating, building relationships. I even went back to the Day Court recently. Helion still hasn’t given up on trying to recruit me, by the way.”

You chuckled softly, imagining how Alex would have laughed at that.

“The shop… it’s closed now. I still do some blacksmithing, but it’s more of a hobby than anything else. I think you’d understand why I needed to step away from it, why it was important to start fresh. Azriel and I have a new apartment in Velaris—our home. It’s a place where we can build something new, something just for us.”

You paused, your fingers idly tracing the grooves in the stone. “I miss you, Alex. I think about you all the time. There’s so much I wish you could have seen, so much I wish we could have done together. But I hope… I hope you’re at peace.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of all that had been left unsaid. You felt a lump form in your throat, but you swallowed it down, determined to keep your voice steady.

“I love you,” you whispered, your eyes stinging with unshed tears. “I always will.”

As you sat there in the quiet, you felt a gentle touch on your elbow. You turned to see Azriel standing beside you, his expression soft and understanding. “It’s time to go,” he said gently, his voice filled with warmth. “We have dinner tonight, with everyone.”

You nodded, giving the grave one last lingering look. “I’ll be back soon, Alex,” you promised. “And I’ll bring you more stories.”

As you stood up, your eyes caught sight of something near the base of the headstone—a small, delicate flower, its petals a brilliant shade of blue, the same color as the flames of your power. It hadn’t been there before, and its sudden appearance felt like a sign, a gentle reminder that life goes on, that new beginnings are always possible, even after the coldest winters.

You smiled, a sense of calm settling over you as you took Azriel’s hand, feeling his warmth seep into your skin. Together, you turned and walked away from the grave, leaving behind the past but carrying its memory with you.

As you left the cemetery, the sky above was clear, the stars beginning to twinkle as evening approached. The world felt alive, vibrant, full of promise. And as you and Azriel made your way to the townhouse, ready to join your family for dinner, you knew that you were exactly where you were meant to be—moving forward, with love, with hope, and with the strength of those who had come before you.

The small blue flower by Alex’s grave swayed gently in the breeze, a symbol of the new life that spring had brought, a life that you would continue to cherish and honor, now and always.

---

tag list: @annamariereads16 @hanatsuki-hime @elsie-bells @shizukestar @rose-girls-world @brit-broskis-cole-fanfic @faridathefairy @elsie-bells @faridathefairy @wolfbc97 @rcarbo1 @kitsunetori @hufflepuff-pa55 @proclivity-for-fantasy-97 @sometimeseverythingsucks @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @angel-graces-world-of-chaos @lilah-asteria @fightmedraco @atomictyphoonkitten @fightmedraco

don't hesitate to comment if you want to be added to the tag list ;)))

[mercurianchild]

Venus in the 12th house

🌌 A Cosmic Ballet of Love and Solitude 🌌

Ah, Venus in the 12th House, where love meets the ethereal realms of dreams and shadows. It's like a clandestine affair with the universe itself, where romance intertwines with solitude in a delicate dance of secrecy and enchantment.

In the 12th House, Venus wears a cloak of mystery, weaving her magic behind the scenes, hidden from prying eyes. Here, love is not always seen or understood by the world, but it pulsates quietly in the depths of the soul, like a secret garden blooming under the cover of night. Those with Venus in the 12th House are the dreamers of love, the poets of the heart, who feel the whispers of romance in the silence of solitude. They may seek love in the hidden corners of the world, finding beauty in the shadows and depth in the unseen.

But beware, for Venus in the 12th House is not without its challenges. It can bring moments of longing and melancholy, as love dances just out of reach, tantalizingly close yet impossibly far. It's like trying to hold onto a starlight in the darkness, a fleeting moment of beauty that slips through your fingers like grains of sand. Yet, amidst the shadows, there is also a profound sense of connection—to the divine, to the universe, to something greater than oneself. Venus in the 12th House invites us to surrender to the mysteries of love, to embrace the beauty of the unknown, and to find solace in the depths of our own hearts.

Venus in the 12th House casts a spell of enchantment upon those who cross its path, weaving a tapestry of allure and intrigue that captivates the hearts and minds of others. Like a siren's song echoing through the depths of the ocean, it beckons with a magnetic pull, drawing souls into its embrace with an irresistible charm. Those with Venus in the 12th House exude an aura of mystery and allure, as if they carry the secrets of the universe within their very being. Others are drawn to their enigmatic presence, unable to resist the allure of their hidden depths and the promise of adventure that lies beyond.

Yet, there is a sense of elusiveness to Venus in the 12th House, like trying to grasp a fleeting dream or capture a wisp of smoke in the wind. Others may sense the depth of their emotions and the intensity of their desires, but they struggle to fully understand or penetrate the veil of secrecy that surrounds them. In the presence of someone with Venus in the 12th House, others may feel a sense of longing or yearning, as if they are drawn to something just out of reach. It's like being tantalizingly close to a treasure trove of beauty and wonder, yet unable to fully grasp its splendor.

Yet, despite the veil of mystery that shrouds Venus in the 12th House, there is also a sense of magic and romance that permeates the air. Others may find themselves swept away by the intoxicating charm of these individuals, lost in the enchanting spell of their presence.

In the end, Venus in the 12th House leaves an indelible mark on those who encounter it, like a whisper in the wind or a lingering echo in the night. It is a reminder of the power of love to transcend the boundaries of time and space, and to touch the deepest recesses of the human soul. 🌊🕯️🔮

[lordofthetwistedflies]

Yuurivoice Characters D&D Classes!!

Based on in-universe evidence, imagery, behaviors, and Evalas versions.

(Just including the main 8 Yuuriboys, might do side characters/Evalas characters if there's demand)

Alphonse: Path of the Beserker Barbarian

Alphonse is a physical fighter who doesn't necessarily care for decorum or formalities. Violence is simply a means to an end for him. Additionally, rage is the thrill of chaos, and when he enters a fury, Alphonse is blind to his own wellbeing. Additionally, when we do see Alphonse fight in Bittersweet, he attacks with brass knuckles and improvised blunt weapons, packing a powerful punch, all behavior in line with the 5e barbarian.

Auron: Assassin Rogue

A strange pick, given Auron the Bloodhound is almost certainly some sort of fighter, right? Yes, I agree. But Beyond Auron is absolutely a Rogue, hands down. For him, death is an art-- a grim and bloody one, but an art nonetheless. Assassins specialize in stealth, poison, and disguise to eliminate their foes with deadly efficiency. Rogues as a class also specialize in deception and persuasion so they can kill without ever getting their hands dirty. Sound familiar?

Charlie: Thief Rogue

Another rogue! Surprise surprise, the story featuring an organized crime ring is gonna have a lot of stealthy motherfuckers. The thief is a stealthy and agile subclass, usually given to thieves and criminals. Additionally from a metagame perspective, they aren't exactly optimized for combat or dealing damage, which is fitting considering how frequently we see Charlie get his ass handed to him! A conman and informant for shady characters, the thief fits our darling rat perfectly.

Faust: Circle of Stars Druid- or College of Glamour Bard

It's a tie! I genuinely couldn't decide between the two for him. The Circle of Stars is fitting given the imagery used for Faust, given his Astral and Celestial associations. They're powerful and elegant, drawing on the power of starlight itself. However, the bard approach makes the streamer and entertainer part of Faust's character more prevalent in his build. College of Glamour bards are flashy and dramatic, captivating and inspiring their audiences. Do you see why I couldn't decide between the two?

Finn: Divination Wizard

I think the only explanation needed for this choice is the description from Dnd5e.wikidot. "You strive to part the veils of space, time, and consciousness so that you can see clearly. You work to master spellsnof discernment, remote viewing, supernatural knowledge and foresight." Unfortunately no innate plant association, but this is so fitting for Finneas' roll in EoE and Bittersweet it hurts. Additionally, magic seems to be something that, while gifted at, Finneas has to practice and study (college of mages and whatnot) so that canceled out any sorcerer possibilities. Additionally, despite all the flower associations, towers in the middle of nowhere is not very druid, but very Wizard-y

Jack: College of Lore Bard

I'm mostly going off of vibes for this one, considering there isn't much content for modern day Jack. But being a bard pairs well with how he inspires his study buddy. Additionally, bards as a whole have an entire trait called "Jack of All Trades", which is not only a pun, but also works with the multiple roles he's filled in different audios since his introduction.

Lucien: ,,, i sorgy

I'm gonna be so fucking for real, unless we get a Dungeon Meshi module that makes cooking a mechanic in game, there was no cleanly adapting Lucien to 5e. I'm sorry. On the plus side!! I can comfortably say he's a cambion!!

Seth: Oath of Devotion Paladin

Oath of Devotion Paladins are the virtuous ideal. They fight for a greater good for a devotion to something higher than themselves. For EoE Seth with his position as the Watcher, this would be directly tied to promises to his community and his anointment. For Beyond Seth, when he does fight, he fights for the people he cares about, even if he isn't always that paragon of moral integrity. He fights for Derek because Derek gave him a place to belong. He fights for Alphonse because he's in love with him. He fights for Sugarboo to protect their happiness. Seth is Devotion and Loyalty wrapped up in one man with pretty hair, sweet arms, and a sexy accent.

[sweetvoidstuff]

Unwanted Cargo - Steel and Starlight

(Jungkook x Reader | Sci-Fi | Action | Enemies to Lovers | Slow Burn | Survival)

A skilled mechanic finds themselves entangled with Jungkook, a dangerously efficient fighter who was meant to be nothing more than cargo. As they navigate threats, their uneasy alliance is tested in ways neither expected. But as they face impossible choices, the question remains—who is truly in control here?

Masterlist

Steel and Starlight

Wordcount: ~550

(Reader’s POV)

The Stellar Hound was no luxury cruiser. It was a cargo hauler, a patched-together mess of rust and reinforced steel, barely held together by your two hands and an ever-dwindling supply of spare parts and had carried all kinds of cargo. Contraband, high-grade weapons, stolen goods—you name it. But this? This was a shit deal.

“Tell me you’re kidding,” you said, arms crossed, glaring at Namjoon.

The captain sighed. “I’m not.”

“You want to put a wanted convict on our ship?” You gestured toward the transport crate where the so-called prisoner was being offloaded. The man inside it didn’t look remotely concerned about his situation. Tall, built like a predator, tattoos all over his left arm, his hair black as the dark void, violet eyes that caught the dim light like something engineered for the hunt. He was restrained in heavy cuffs, but he looked far too relaxed for a man in chains.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

You turned to Taehyung, the pilot, hoping for backup. He only shrugged. “The money’s good.”

“So is not dying,” you snapped.

Still, you knew you couldn’t change Namjoon’s mind. He was too pragmatic, too desperate. The ship needed repairs, fuel, supplies. The ship was one major system failure away from drifting dead in space. A high-risk job like this meant breathing room for a few months.

So, with gritted teeth, you watched as he was hauled aboard. Still, this was a terrible idea.

Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook

Even bound in reinforced cuffs, he walked like he owned the place. Tall, built like something engineered for war, violet eyes cutting through the dim cargo bay light. There was something predatory about him—like a wolf in chains, already calculating when he’d be free.

He flicked his gaze to you and Namjoon, then slowly scanned the ship before exhaling through his nose. Taehyung already leaving, making sure everything would be ready to takeoff.

“Underwhelming.”

Your grip on the wrench in your hand tightened. Namjoons shoulders straitened, but he spoke with a calm voice. “I don’t care what you think of my ship, convict.”

His gaze landed back on you. The violet caught the glow of the control panels, reflecting like a pair of moons.

And then he smirked.

“I wasn’t talking about the ship.”

You wanted to hit him.

Instead, you spun on your heel. Not my problem. You had better things to do—like keeping this rust bucket from falling apart.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

For the next few hours, you stayed in the engine bay, making sure everything was secure before takeoff. Checking seals, calibrating systems, triple-checking the lock on the makeshift brig. It was the kind of precision work you prided yourself on—the kind of work that kept people alive.

You caught Jungkook watching once.

Just a brief flicker of movement from the shadows, his unreadable expression barely visible beyond the ‘brig’s’ reinforced door.

You ignored him.

You ignored the uneasy feeling in your gut, the way the hairs on the back of your neck stood on edge when his gaze lingered too long.

This was just another job.

You kept telling yourself that.

And yet, something told you Jungkook was not just another prisoner.

And that thought?

It was dangerous.

[mysticstronomy]

IS SPACE DARK OR BRIGHT??

Blog#470

Saturday, January 11th, 2025.

Welcome back,

Space is dark. That much is obvious to anyone. But how dark?

Look up on a clear night in the middle of winter and all that appears to be surrounding the stars is inky blackness.

At the centre of our Solar System lies the Sun, which casts brilliant light and warmth onto the planets of the Solar System.

And, of course, there are all the other billions of stars whose light should surely be illuminating the night sky. Why hasn't their light reached us yet?

If the Universe is filled with billions and billions of stars, why isn't the night sky ablaze with starlight?

This is an age-old problem that astronomers refer to as Olbers' paradox, named after the German astronomer Heinrich Olbers.

Many earlier astronomers like Johannes Kepler also advanced the notion.

No-one has sufficiently answered the problem of Olbers' paradox.

It could be that stardust is obscuring star light from the human eye; perhaps the Universe is still too young for all the starlight to have reached us.

Or could it be that light from distant stars has been red-shifted by the expansion of the Universe?

But let's ignore Olbers' paradox for a moment.

How dark is outer space beyond the Solar System? Would two spaceships flying together in the deep, dark Universe be able to see each other?

It's difficult to know for sure, but there are some inferences that can be made.

One astronomer attempted to answer how dark space is by collating the brightnesses of known stars and galaxies, and in the answer converges at a visual magnitude of –6.5, or 0.3% as bright as a full Moon.

Obviously, this average brightness would not stay the same as you journey through the Galaxy: near the galactic centre, far more stars are packed closely together.

Now, whether two space ships could see each other solely by this dim starlight would depend on the shininess of the spacecraft (mirrored or matt black) and whether they carried a telescope on board.

But think how difficult it is to see anything on a dark, moonless night on Earth.

Ocean-going ships passing within just a few miles would struggle to see each other if it weren’t for their navigational lights.

Originally published on https://www.skyatnightmagazine.com

COMING UP!!

(Wednesday, January 15th, 2025)

"IS THERE OXYGEN IN SPACE??"

[gatheredfates]

Hi everyone! It's been a hot minute since I did a Compendium update, but I promise I'm not dead. For those who don't know, I got a new job! That meant pretty much the entirety of October was spent wrapping up my old job, going to my new site and trying to learn the new one. I'm on break in approximately two weeks, yay! ☃️

These updates will take on a wintery/Starlight theme to celebrate the season, much like All Saints. I hope you enjoy.

Additionally, myself and the lovely folks at SEAFLOOR are having a Catch up (for) Starlight Challenge! You should join us if you're interested. ❄️

However, without further the following communities have been added to Sea's Community Compendium for XIV Creatives.

LARGE SCALE

The Help Lines—We are a community-based discord to be used to play the critically acclaimed MMORPG Final Fantasy XIV. We host almost all content including DRS and BA, Raiding, Deep Dungeons, Blue Mage and more. Our mission is to create a welcoming space for any individual in need of assistance to reach out and accomplish their FFXIV goals in a toxicity-free environment.

The Aether Entertainer—Founded in 2021 on Aether, The Aether Entertainer is player-made virtual magazine covering music, theatre, art, current events, and Eorzean popular culture.

LORE

Final Flowery XIV—Compiled by ann0yance(bsky)/@sa8oteur, this guide explores the various flowers in XIV, comparing them to their real-world equivalents and meanings.

On Elementals, Accountability and Criticism—An essay written by @morgana96 that explores the lore of elementals and their place in Gridania (and beyond)!

MISC

Vanilla Gpose Tips by Winterdeepelegy—A how-to guide on effectively utilising the vanilla gpose tools to create visually stunning screenshots, written by @winterdeepelegy.

WoL Reference Sheet—Created by @coldshrugs, a handy WoL reference sheet you can build in Canva!

NA GPOSE Studio/Themed Housing Directory—A player-made repository of North American Gpose studios and themed houses!

CHANGELOG

The Scholar's of Nym—The link has been modified at the request of the owner.

Skystone Co.—Has been removed at the request of its owner.

UI Macro Menus—The link has been modified to accurately reflect the bookmark.

Have you thought about joining our Tumblr Community? You can find it here!

Want to submit? You can either fill out the google form here or send me an ask with the relevant information!

Is my space suitable for the Compendium? Most of the time, yes! Below the read more is some more information/stipulations. This is all publicly available on the document. 🦌

Below are the following things I do not accept on the Compendium:

Personal/Single-Character LFC ads. (Though these get posted to the SEAFLOOR Tumblr Community when I find them!)

Content intended for or can be used for bullying, harassment and OOC gossip. E.g. ‘Secrets’ blogs, receipts, callout posts, etc. This does not include IC tabloid blogs or other ventures used to generate roleplay.

Communities that do not have an RP/writing element (large-scale exempt).

Anything I find personally distasteful or goes against the spirit of this project.

Common-sense rule applies.

I want to put my community on the Compendium but we have an application process. Is this okay?

Yes! Just note somewhere in your application that's a requirement. The only thing that is mandatory for the Compendium is that you must be open to new members or have a public-facing/accessible facet. There's no point advertising a community if no one can join it in some way!

I want to put my Community on the compendium but I only have x number of members —

Also totally okay! People don't start with large communities. Activity is a must but, whether your server has two or two thousand members, if you're looking for new people to join, I'd love to help you find people.

I want to put my community/resource on the Compendium but I worry its too niche?

Okay, and? If your Eorzean Fishing Alliance has four members but you roleplay every second weekend, I still want to know about it. The same goes for resources; if it's relevant to the game, it'll be useful to someone.

How active does a community need to be?

If you find a community has not been active in about two/three months, send me a message and I'll take a look at it. Communities have ebbs and flows, especially event spaces that may take hiatuses depending on member interest/life events. I'm not strict in my implementation provided a space isn't dead. If a link or anything is broken, contact me asap!

I have [insert a question not stated here]?

No drama! Send me an ask or use the #Compendium channel in my Discord!

[spacedace]

A week ago every television, radio, computer and phone had been taken over to deliver a message. The face of an entity, human in shape but not in form. Hair as gleaming white as starlight, eyes bright as the twisting dance of the Aurora Borealis, skin as cold and blue as the tail of a comet. The entity wore armor as black as the depths of space with a crown to match, the latter glinting and shifting with the twisting birth and death of galaxies. A cloak of nebulae danced down his shoulders, eclipsing the world beyond the entity entirely. High King Phantom of the Infinite Realms. The Shifting Where. Son of the Eternal When. Father of the Ever Onward. His Epitaphs many and ever growing. The True Balance. The Promised Bridge. The Devourer of Dark. The Last Child of Between. The Great One. --- Danny doesn't want war, but with the increased ruthlessness of the GIW, his parents' attack on him and Jazz and Elle missing, he doesn't have much of a choice left. The best he can hope for is to try and minimize the fallout. Meanwhile Justice League is doing everything in their power to try and find a way towards peace - a prospect made more and more difficult by the involvement of Amanda Waller.

Thank you again to @catastrophic-crow for the name for the story :D <3 <3 <3

[thatacotargirl]

A Court of Emberfall and Starlight (1)

A warm welcome to A Court of Emberfall and Starlight! This series will explore Eris and Rhys' Sister Reader. I am beyond excited at what this new story will bring, I hope you follow along for the journey!

The character of Rhys' Sister Reader has experienced trauma from her time Under the Mountain. This is not explored in this chapter, but will be explored in future chapters. Please take care to read the warnings for each chapter before you begin.

A special thank you to @the-wall-willow for requesting this pairing 💜

Warnings: descriptions of a panic attack, allusions to trauma

An Eris x Rhys' Sister Reader Fanfiction

Reader POV

With the number of targets we have on our backs and the war with Hybern looming, it's no surprise that my brother has me under lock and key in our home.

It doesn't mean I have to be happy about it.

After Rhys and I came back from Under the Mountain, it was like a switch had flipped in his brain. We had always been the 'dynamic duo', as Cassian called us, scaring our parents half to death with our stupidly daring and adventurous antics. But, after what we went through, it was as though Rhys saw just how close to death we had been, and couldn't stand the thought. Our nighttime flights and audacious excursions ceased immediately and everywhere I went, one of Azriel's shadows followed closely behind. As the hostility between Courts increased, so did my protections, until now - where I am effectively under house arrest for the foreseeable future.

I love my brother and I know he worries, but if I have to spend another day trapped in these walls, I think I might scream.

-

"Y/N, ARE YOU READY YET?"

I'm pretty sure the entire population of Velaris just heard Cassian ask if I am ready. Looking in the mirror, I smooth down my black satin skirt and adjust the silver, cropped tank top. With a brief nod to myself, I head out of my bedroom and down to the living room, where Cassian is waiting to fly me to the River House.

I am living at the House of Wind at the minute, sharing a home with Cassian and Azriel. Rhys wanted me to stay at the River House with him and Feyre, but I argued that I needed my own space - largely so I didn't have to hear them every time I left the room. I mean, really, on the dining table? I eat breakfast there!

Rhys agreed to me moving into the House of Wind as long as I agreed to not leave without Cassian or Azriel accompanying me. Like I'd be able to otherwise... I am quite happy to walk down the 10,000 steps to the street, but walk back up 10,000 steps? Not a chance. I also have to do weekly check-ins with Rhys to make sure I am ok, especially after what happened Under the Mountain. I still haven't spoken about it with anyone, not even Rhys, and he treats me like a fragile snow globe as a result - worried that he'll say the wrong thing and I'll crash and burn.

Today, however, is a little different. Today we are all heading to the River House to discuss the plan for tomorrow's High Lord meeting. All the High Lords will be visiting the Night Court to talk battle preparations ahead of the impending Hybern threat. Now that the High Lords know about Velaris, and at Helion and Tarquin's insistence that they see it, Rhys offered to host as an olive-branch gesture to ensure their alliance should war break out.

"Ready".

You smile at Cassian as you approach and let him tuck his arms under your back and knees, before taking to the skies. You roll 180 degrees in his arms once you're flight-born so he is holding you with both hands under your stomach and your body facing down towards Velaris. It's one of your favourite ways to fly, letting your arms swing out in front of you like you have wings of your own. You can feel Cassian's chest shake with a chuckle as you hold your arms out like a bird, enjoying the way the wind feels around your face. You didn't inherit Rhys' ability to grow wings. In fact, you didn't seem to inherit Rhys' anything. Despite being almost a century old and technical heir to the Night Court, until Rhys and Feyre have their first child, you hadn't yet displayed a single power of your own.

Cassian lands gentle on the balcony of the River House and you give his shoulder a gentle pat in thanks before walking through to find your brother.

"RHYYYYYYSSAAAANNNNNNDDDDD"

"Cauldron, y/n, I'm right here".

You grin as Rhys rounds his office door and engulfs you in a bear hug.

"I've missed you".

"Yeah yeah, don't pull the soppy big brother bullshit on me now". But you hug him just that bit tighter.

"Thank you for coming, we could use your input for the meeting tomorrow".

"My input? Rhys, I'm flattered, but I'm as useful as a chocolate teapot for anything to do with you High Lords".

Rhys chuckles before ruffling your hair and pulling you into his office.

"You've always had a way with words, and we need to appease all the High Lords to make sure we're allied should Hybern strike. It's going to be hard enough with Tamlin attending, let alone Beron".

"Tamlin and Beron are coming?"

You shudder in mock horror, much to Rhys' amusement.

"Yes, both of them. And whilst I might be the one and only Night Court High Lord, no one holds a candle to you when it comes to pulling on heartstrings and having them wrapped around your finger".

He's not wrong. From the moment you were born, you had Rhys wrapped around your little finger. He was your built in best friend and protector. Once Cassian and Azriel joined the picture, you suddenly have 3 best friends and 3 protectors, all of whom would kill for you. Or run out to buy you ice cream at 2 in the morning. Or really anything else you asked them for.

"Fine, I'll help".

"That's my girl. Will you stay here tonight? It would be nice to have you stay for dinner".

"I'd like that. What time will dinner be?"

"7pm - and it'll just be you, me, and Feyre. Cassian has gone to join Az in Windhaven and they won't be back until tomorrow morning now; and Feyre should be home from the studio at around 6ish".

You nod in response and turn to leave, letting Rhys carry on with whatever he was working on at his desk. Looking at the clock as you leave his office, you see that it's only 3pm. A mischievous smile crosses your face as you turn back, checking that Rhys has his back to you, before turning left out of his office towards the front door. Opening it as quietly as you can, you take one last look behind you, before making a break for it.

-

Velaris at 3pm in the early autumn is one of the most special times. There is a slight chill in the air, but the sun still warms you enough to be comfortable. The trees are turning, their red, orange and yellow colours filling your sight as far as you can see. Autumn might just be one of your favourite times of the year, besides Starfall and the Winter Solstice, naturally.

You want to get your brother and Feyre a gift, or maybe dessert for tonight, but you don't want them to know that you snuck out of the House alone against their instructions. Sighing, you decide that you might as well make the most of it, and enjoy a cup of coffee and a slice of cake at your favourite bakery on the Rainbow. You make your way there, walking in a happy daze, watching the rest of Velaris' citizens bustling about with their day. It makes you smile, seeing how happy everyone looks. But with each smiling face, you're reminded of what you had to do to guarantee it. What you had to sacrifice for it. You feel your steps start to falter and you slow down, suddenly feeling an anxiety you hadn't realised was brewing in your chest at the thought of entering the bakery and speaking with the staff. You feel your chest tighten and your breathing become ragged.

Not again.

Looking around, you can't find anywhere private to hide. Although he will be furious, you attempt to call to Rhys, but you're met with a solid, obsidian wall - no doubt in concentration as he prepares for tomorrow's meeting.

You can sense your legs beginning to heat and a jelly-like feeling starts to pass over them. You need to find somewhere to sit, or you will go down in the middle of the street.

Approaching the edge of the Sidra, you drop to the railing, trying to gulp in air but feeling like your lungs are suffocating. You can't get control of your breaths, and your heart is speeding at rapid pace, making everything around you fade in and out of focus. Tears stream down your face and everything hurts.

"Hey, you're safe, you're safe".

A hand gently touches your shoulder, deepening the pressure there once they see you don't flinch away. Grounding you.

"Tell me 5 things you can see".

"The Sidra, the Rainbow, the Book Store, the clouds, my hands".

"Good, now 4 things you can feel".

"The grass, the railing, the wind, the ground, my skirt"

"3 things you can hear".

"The water, the people, you".

"2 things you can smell".

"Coffee and cinnamon".

"1 thing you can taste".

"The pastry I had for breakfast".

You feel the stranger laugh next to you.

"What pastry?"

"It was a custard pastry".

"Was it nice?"

You chuckle. "Yes, it was".

"How are you feeling?"

You check in with yourself, and are surprised to notice that the panic attack has stopped. Your heart is still definitely beating faster than it should be, but you don't feel the impending sense of doom, and your breathing has slowly returned back to normal.

"Better, thank you. How did you do that?"

"My brother has panic attacks sometimes, I use that to help him too".

You look up to lock eyes with the stranger, and kneeling in front of you is the most handsome male you have ever seen. You see a shine flare across his eyes as he studies your face. The male clearly isn't from here. If his red hair wasn't a giveaway, his clothes would have been. Exquisitely embroidered and tailored to fit his body to perfection, it features detailed patterns of flames and red leaves.

The Muse of Autumn. You make a note to share the image with Feyre and ask her to paint him.

"Thank you".

"You're most welcome".

The stranger helps you to your feet, making sure to check you are steady before he lets go of your arms.

"Would you like me to walk you home?".

You consider the offer, but Rhys is already going to be angry if he realises that you left the house by yourself, let alone if your return with a random male in tow.

"I'll be ok, thank you though".

"My pleasure ...?"

"Y/n".

"My pleasure, y/n".

The stranger bows gently to you before walking away towards the coffee shop. As you start to make your way back to the house, bracing yourself for Rhys' fury, you realise you never asked the stranger for his name in return.

[bowtiedauthor]

singularity

or: close encounters with a black hole

I see your deep red heart beating a final cosmic rhythm our dance a supernova of emotion But mass collapse imminent

Light bends at your edges —  Twists where your touch pulls me thin, Atoms unthreading as I unravel In your orbit, my breath tangled in cosmic knots, Each word you speak, a tidal force pulling me closer.

Your silence swallows starlight whole, An eclipse that devours my voice. In the space between your gravity and mine, I fracture, scattered like debris, My pieces swirling in the wake of you —  Each thought pulled apart, stretched thin Until I’m only echoes, drifting.

Time distorts under your gaze —  Hours slip through like distant galaxies, Their light redshifted, fading beyond reach. I chase them, but you’ve curved the path —  Every step brings me closer to your core. I burn bright on the event horizon, A flare of brilliance before the fall.

You wear the weight of stars in your eyes, Heavy with the force of collapsed worlds, And I, a helpless satellite, Caught in the tidal stretch of your pull. There’s no escape, no break in the chain, Just the slow fade into your singularity.

Always falling, always falling into you.

-10/4/24