#thread { descending from on high }

[bloddysnow]

Bunny in heat

Synopsis: In recent days, Xavier’s affection has become especially noticeable. It can be called not just tenacity, but an almost tactible thread that binds you together. At dawn, when the first rays of the sun barely penetrate the curtains, you feel his presence. He's right here, ready to accompany you around the house. When you go to the kitchen for a cup of morning coffee, he follows you, step by step. If you sit down to work, he sits down comfortably next to you, putting his head on your knees. He smells you everywhere, asks for kisses and hugs with such persistence that sometimes it seems as if he is suffocating without your touch. It's like he is become a magnet that follows you everywhere.

warnings: nsfw minors dni. Sub! bunny hybrid Xavier, soft dom! reader. Gn reader (cock or strap), anal sex. in heat. breeding kink. lactation. praise kink. possessive behaviour, begging. anal plug.

Xavier blinked slowly, as if he was struggling to perceive the light penetrating through the high windows of the bedroom. Despite the scorching summer sun, which brought unbearable heat to the ground, his body is covered with chilling trembling.

He's unbearably cold, and he buried himself under a heavy blanket, trying to warm up. His face is distorted by a painful grimace, his fluffy ears are pressed against his head, his eyes are half closed with fatigue, his lips are compressed, and his forehead is covered with drops of sweat. From the pain in aching bones and trembling muscles, he moans quietly.

He's holding a cup of ginger tea that you made for him before going to work. Steam rises from a hot drink, warming his face when he takes a small sip. Xavier found out in the morning that he’s in heat, but he didn't tell you, because he didn't want you to think and worry about him during your mission.

Having fallen off the edge of the bed, he began to rise slowly, feeling every pain, but ignoring it. Gathering the remaining strength, he systematically moved towards the pillow cabinet.

Xavier carefully placed the pillows so that they form the walls of the future nest. He added soft blankets to create extra comfort and warmth. When the nest was almost ready, he went to dig through your clothes trying to accurately determine your strongest smell in them.

His hands tremble when he goes through your clothes, sticking his nose into the collar, deeply inhaling the smell that has always been associated with safety and comfort... whining left his lips, because the next moment the slick poured out of his hole, getting his pants. His eyes looked down, only choking from the sight of the bulge in the front of the pants and the shirt wet with two waterfalls from the lactation.

Having thrown off all his clothes, he climbed into the nest. His hand slowly descends to the wet hole so that his clumsy fingers can satisfy his itchy need. He feels a storm of emotions raging inside him. His breathing becomes more frequent and intermittent, his eyes are full of prayer and passion, he is waiting for your permission to touch himself to finally satisfy this irrepressible desire.

But you're not here. He gathered his will in his fist, trying to keep himself from temptation, but it hurts him so much. Xavier is your good boy and he won't touch himself without your permission. He whined with his face in the mattress, tears pouring from his eyes.

"P-please...hurry up."

You came to the door, a soft smile appears on your face when you think about how you will come in and hug your bunny. You mess around a little bit trying to find the keys in your pocket or bag and finally open the door. And from the very threshold you have a strange feeling. Usually Xavier is always waiting for you, meets you at the door with a bright smile. You take off your shoes and go further into the apartment, looking carefully.

You call him by name, but in response only a deaf silence. The thought flashes in your head that he may be sleeping.

You carefully approach the bedroom door quietly opening. Even in the dim light, your eyes easily distinguished his twisting figure. The naked plump thigh was raised up, twitching slightly in nervous anticipation. Between his perfectly round buttocks, there was a flashing hole from which a shiny stream of slick flowed out. It looked ready to fill and stretch, framed by red skin and pulsating muscles.

You couldn't take your eyes off his chest, which filled with milk and turned into perfect hills. They seemed so soft to the touch. The caramel-pink nipples were hard, and milk slowly flowing from them, streams down his skin. Every drop sliding down increased the feeling of unbearable tension. His breasts seemed to be begged to be free from this sweet burden, causing you to want to help.

The image of his blushing face, drenched in tears, was unbearably touching. He squeezed the sheets so hard that his knuckles became white. Tears flowed down his cheeks, leaving wet paths on his skin.

The hair stuck to his forehead, and you stretched out your hand and carefully removed the strands, your heart jumped when your fingers touched his burning skin. Your hand slides gently over his fluffy ears, and he began to tremble. He made a quiet moan. A puddle of glass eyes appeared behind the veil of trembling eyelashes and looked around in a stunned look before they focussed on you with round puppy eyes and trembling inflated lips,they were a temptation for you to kiss and suck until they swelled.

Xavier suddenly let out the needy howling, reaching for you. The discomfort of not touching his partner was depressed at the moment when he was in protective warm hands and pressed against your chest. Relief spread over his trembling body like a tsunami as soon as he touched the skin and he immediately hugged your neck, pressing against you. In his touch, there was a feeling of urgency, which was caused by his heat.

"[Name] P-please please…[N-name]. Take me! I need you inside m-me!- breed me! I w-won't spend a d-drop! Promise!…J-just please fuck me. Please!"

You focussed on calming him down, ignoring your erection, although he probably felt it touching him.

"Shh.. It's all right, baby." His body trembled in your arms as he inhaled deeply, as if your smell was his life. He pressed tightly against you.

"P-please don't leave me, please, I'll do anything, don't leave me!" He was soping, squeezing your shirt as if you were his only need in the world.

Xavier couldn't think clearly. His mind was shrouded in a fog of desire and passion. His teeth dug into your neck with such force, as if he was desperately trying to take possession of you in some way. You felt a hot wave run through your body, and at the same moment you reacted sharply. You turned him over, pressing him to the bed, being on top. Your lips persistently crashed into him, and he immediately answered the kiss, moaning. He pressed against you, spreading his hips, making sobs and whining, incoherently begging you to fuck him.

"Such a good little bunny for me," you mutter in a quiet, affectionate voice, making his hips spread even more. Your breath is hot on his skin.

You bring two fingers to his hole, slowly and carefully, so as not to scare away this moment. His body responds instantly, his muscles tense, and you see his hole shrink and relax, anticipating your touch. Precum slowly flows out of the tip of his dick, forming drops that erotically flow down, leaving a wet trail.

Xavier looks at you with a pleas in his eyes and, suffocating, begs: "Pleaseee!...Name, d-drink my milk. only f-for you-aaah. Please! It hurts!" His voice trembles, he feels despair. You feel his body tense, his dick pulsating from the accumulated tension. You lean towards his chest. Your lips wrap around his nipple, and you start sucking gently, feeling his body bend towards your lips. His breathing becomes heavy and intermittent when you start moving your fingers inside him, stretching and preparing him for more.

You feel the taste of his milk, diligently continuing drinking. His hands are trembling, clinging to your shoulders. The sweet taste of his milk stays on your tongue, and you bend over to kiss him. Your lips meet, and you share this taste with him. He answers greedily to a kiss, his tongue tastes its own taste.

You put your fingers away, watching his body respond to it. He looks at you greedily, his eyes are full of expectation and desire.

You slowly raise his hips, bringing yourself closer, feeling the warmth and tension coming from him. With one hand, you point your dick to his hole, and start slowly entering. You could feel his nails dig into your back, leaving hot, burning marks on your skin.

His body begins to tremble from the intensity of the feeling of fullness, and suddenly he cum. His orgasm overwhels him, his dick pulsates, throwing out hot streams of sperm. He moans, his body bends, and you feel his muscles shrink around you. A wet liquid flows out of its hole, adding to the overall picture of discharge and satisfaction. He chokes, clinging to you, and you see how waves of pleasure cover him.

He repeats your name, as if it was a prayer, as if you were his god. His voice trembles from every sensation, from every push of pleasure. "I'm yours, I'm yours, I’m yours..." he repeats, every time his body shudders with a wave of orgasm. You realize that at this moment he completely and undividedly belongs to you.

From the fact that he squeezes you so hard, you also reach the peak. You cum deep inside him, filling him with your sperm, and his body responds to it with a new surge of pleasure. His stomach swelled, a small hill appeared.

His body suddenly softened, and he lost consciousness, his head fell involuntarily on the pillow, his breathing slowed down. You gently pull out of him, feeling a part of your sperm begin to flow out of his hole. You took the plug out of the locker near the bed and carefully insert it to keep all the liquid inside him.

You know that he always does that: Every time you fill him up, he inserts a plug and doesn't pull out it all day.

"I will keep them warm," Xavier usually says, gently stroking his swollen stomach. His fingers gently touch the skin, as if he took care of your seeds, like something precious. He likes to feel your sperm inside him, to keep it in himself as something expensive and valuable.

Even when you're not around, Xavier continues this ritual, smiling and taking care of his stomach. His fingers gently massage his skin, and he whispers to himself words of love and devotion. You know that this is his way to keep a part of you with him, to feel your closeness and care even in your absence.

You look at his serene face and swollen stomach, wondering if he can really get pregnant from it. You gently cover him with a blanket and sit next to him, knowing that when he wakes up, he will ask you for it again.

[illyrianbitch]

Handsome as Life and Poison

For @erisweekofficial Day 6: Retellings

Pairing: Reader x Eris

Summary: Defying your father’s sacred command, you wander to the grove where Spring and Autumn blend, only to encounter a sinfully divine figure with glowing amber eyes.

Warnings: sexual content/smut, nsfw! religious & biblical undertones & allusions, reader is overly innocent/naive, implied loss of virginity, sinner eris

Word Count: 3.5k

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

You shouldn't be here.

You can feel it in your bones.

You've never traveled this far, never managed to make it to the border. Your father warned you about this area, where the bloom of spring meets the decay of autumn.

He says that there is evil that lurks under the canopy of fire trees, that the blood of Autumn is so cruel it's cursed their very ground. Father has warned you that if you were to come across a fall beast, you would never return. At least, not the way you once were.

You understand his concerns—to a certain extent. He's protective. He has a certain plan for your life. Safety, purity, security above all. And father has been stressed recently, twitching hands and sharp reprimands.

Your High Lord has descended into madness, moving on all fours, his paws sinking into the mud, more beast than man. He prowls in the darkness now, no better than the creatures he once cared for, and your father believes there’s safety in the small village you call home.

It’s far enough from the heart of Spring to grant a quiet, predictable life. The faces around you never change, familiar and worn like the stones that line the village paths. It's peaceful, quaint—a life promised to you forever once you marry Adramis, the neighbor’s son.

Until then, your father urges you to stay safe, to temper the curiosity he knows stirs within you, the kind that might lead you too far, too soon.

Yet, despite his warnings, you find yourself here, day after day, drawn to the very place you’ve been commanded to avoid.

It's prettier, somehow, at this time of day— in the dim dusk, when the birds are beginning to tire. The air is tinged with an unfamiliar chill, a whisper of the season’s change that beckons you closer. You can see the colors of the autumn leaves clearly, watch as they sway in an intricate dance of red, orange and gold.

The movements stir something within you—a call like the ancient siren songs your father once spoke of, drawing you into the twilight's fire embrace. You take another step further into the shifting hues of the forest.

The rustling of leaves comes to your ears—soft, hesitant, as though a beast moves swiftly through the underbrush. The sounds intensify, multiplying by the second.

Beasts, you think, multiple.

You catch a fleeting glimpse of red hair through the tangled foliage, a figure half-hidden by the encroaching shadows.

You stop, and a sickening thrill rolls through you. You should turn back. But a phantom hand seems to beckon to you, an invisible thread leading you deeper.

Then you see him.

His clothes, finer than any you’ve seen even at your High Lord’s court, cling to his tall, lean frame, the dark green fabric glinting with gold thread that catches the last remnants of the fading sun. Each detail—his long, tailored coat, the sharp lines of his collar—speaks of wealth, power, and a meticulous cruelty you’ve only heard whispers about.

Your breath hitches. You know, deep down, who he is.

He’s surrounded by beasts, ferocious creatures with eyes gleaming in the half-light, their snarls low and guttural. Their presence should terrify you, yet you can barely hear them over the thundering in your chest. You count more of them than you have fingers, but with a subtle motion of the prince's hand, they fall still. Regal, patient, they sit at his side, watching you with the same unnerving calm as their master.

He studies you.

You want to take a step forward, to speak to him, but a rustling sound breaks through the stillness behind you. You turn sharply, scanning the underbrush.

From your side, a firm hand clasps around your arm, jerking you back with startling urgency. Almost immediately, once your body has been moved, the touch leaves you.

You meet the frantic gaze of your fiancé. His eyes are wide and his chest is rising and falling with uneven breaths. He ran here, you conclude. Past the border of Spring.

He's scared. Not just for you—but of something else entirely. Adramis is afraid of your father more than he is of what lurks in these forests.

"What are you doing here?"

“I saw—” You turn quickly, pointing toward where the figure stood moments before, but the woods are empty. The fire hue of his hair, the regal presence, the hounds—all gone, swallowed by the shifting shadows of the trees.

You glance back at Adramis. He's staring at you with furrowed brows, lips pressing together as if he's unsure whether to scold or comfort, wary as if you were troubled in the mind. His eyes scan your face, searching for something. You're not sure what.

“It’s almost dark,” he says, his voice calm but insistent. “We should get back.”

There’s no question in his tone. It’s not a suggestion, not really. He’s telling you—gently, but still telling you. He'd never force you, no, Adramis is sweet. Simple. But he’s a male and you are his promised bride. What good would you be if you were to get lost in the autumn woods?

Nothing at all, you suppose.

You don’t answer him. Your mind wanders to the fire-haired prince, to his amber eyes and the strange pull that brought you here.

Your silence seems to worry Adramis more. He steps closer, his hand hovering near your skin but never making contact, as if he’s afraid to touch you.

“Are you feeling alright?”

His voice is soft. Too soft, almost, to where it makes you shiver uncomfortably, like the touch of something too light, too ghostly.

You momentarily expect him to reach out, to place his delicate hand on your forehead or gently touch the flushed skin of your neck. But Adramis only hesitates, his hand hovering in the air for a moment longer before pulling back.

Too good for his nature, too holy to even touch you with a bare hand.

With a slight shake of your head, you dispel the strange sensation that lingers.

“No, I’m alright." You blink and muster a smile. "Thank you.”

He nods, though his eyes remain troubled. You follow him back toward the familiar warmth of home, casting one final, reluctant glance at the encroaching shadows of where autumn's decay kisses the air.

The leaves are aflame with fading light, but beyond them, the darkness waits—quiet, watchful, tempting.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

You're grateful for the familiar routine of your father’s sleeping hours, for the certainty that he wouldn't wake for another few hours.

The sun is still waking now, too, its low, gentle light spilling into the navy sky. It is as slow and tentative as you, quiet in its bearings.

The air is cool and biting, the kind of chill that lingers in the space between night and day.

You wrap your cloak tighter against yourself. It's a thin fabric, white with green thread. It does little to ward off the morning’s bite, but you don’t mind. You welcome the cool breaths that manage to slither past the soft cloth.

The scent of the autumn forest is sharper, more vivid than the soft blooms of home, where everything is neat and ordered. It smells richer, more alive. As traitorous as it feels, you almost prefer it.

It’s only a short walk before you find yourself in the familiar patch of trees. The autumn leaves sing their song, that same siren call that led you here again.

And he’s there—alone this time. Waiting.

His amber eyes gleam and shine with a glow that you’re certain is sinful. You know, deep down, that you should leave, that holding even his gaze, with that burning stare, is treacherous. But you do not.

You're unsure of what to say, unsure if you should wait for him to speak. He pushes himself off the tree he'd rested against.

"Hello again, little lamb."

His voice drips with a smooth, hypnotic cadence. It wraps around you like an incantation, compelling and unholy.

It's strange to see him before you, to have him acknowledge you, to hear his voice directly. You glance around him almost instinctively, as if expecting his hounds to materialize from the shadows, to form a regal, beastly, floor-lain crown once more.

As if he senses your question by look alone, he lets out a small laugh.

"It's early," he says. "Even beasts must sleep at times, too."

Against your better judgment, the corners of your lips twitch upwards. He scans your face, taking another step towards you. You stand still, remain in the spot you had froze in. He begins to study you, walks around you like a shrine.

"A bit far from your home. Curiosity must be a powerful force."

He stops before you. You can smell him now. It envelops you—rich and intoxicating, a blend of autumn leaves and something darker, more primal. You clench at the sensation, a sweet tingle spreading through your body. It courses from your head to your fingertips, settling deep in your now aching core.

"My father says it's my nature."

Eris hums. The answer seems to please him. "And what else does your father say?"

You admire him for a fleeting moment. When the gentle breeze rakes its fingers through his hair, it glows like a live fire. Freckles dot his skin, spread across the pale coloring like the stars you adore in the sky. His eyes are a molten gold that match the detailing on his fine coat.

"That I shouldn't be here," you finally respond.

A serpent-like smile curls at his lips. It spreads slowly.

"And yet here you are."

You nod. The faintest shiver of fear lingers in your veins, but you're unable to tear your eyes from him. You feel an inexplicable pull, wishing for him to come closer, to feel the brush of his presence against you. 

Eris takes a step forward, his hand extending to graze the edge of your cloak. The touch is feather-light, a barely-there whisper of contact that sends a jolt through you. But it's firmer than Adramis's touch. It leaves you wanting more.

"Do you know who I am?"

You nod again. "Prince," you say, almost timidly. Quiet like a prey. "Son of the High Lord."

"Eris," he corrects. "My name is Eris."

"Eris," you repeat, his name falling from your lips like a comfortable prayer. You want to say it again, to taste the sweetness it offers your senses.

"And you are?"

You pause, brows furrowing slightly as you hold his gaze. His eyes still gleam, still glow with something so deliciously sinful, but something in them coaxes an answer from you.

"Y/n."

A moment passes. Eris takes a breath.

"Why did you return, Y/n?"

The way he says your name—a silky caress, a whispered secret—makes you yearn for him to repeat it, to let it roll off his tongue again and again. You have never heard anything so beautiful, so mouth-watering. You've never felt a desire this strong.

You struggle to find words, your head shaking slightly. “I-I don’t know.”

Eris’s gaze drifts to your lips, eyes darkening with a predatory curiosity. You're acutely aware of your lip trapped between your teeth and self-consciously release it, swallowing hard.

His eyes are intense as he meets yours again, almost devouring. But not scary. Not terrifying like you'd once believed.

"Does your village bore you?"

He knows where you live. That buried sense of fear begins to flare and you blink, swallowing hard as you take his presence in once more. He doesn't move, doesn't say anything else. Slowly, the fear dissipates.

"Yes," you admit. There is a stillness in your home that bores you. It makes your bones ache with craving. "But it is all I know."

He studies you for what feels like an eternity, his gaze intense and all-consuming. His hand, almost imperceptibly, brushes against the fabric of your cloak once more.

"You should return home, little lamb. Your father is going to worry."

Eris turns and leaves before you have a chance to respond.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

The secret should make you feel dirty, feel guilty like a reckless child, but it does not.

You wake before dawn and, like clockwork, you're traveling before the first ray of morning.

It's become routine now.

You approach the familiar area, where the border of Autumn seems to hold its breath, waiting for you. And there, amid the crimson and gold of fallen leaves, lies Eris.

He’s sprawled on a blanket laid out on the ground, a feast spread before him. The array of foods is a vision plucked from your most indulgent dreams, an array of rich, and tempting dishes. Your mouth waters at the sight—at the lavish feast and the male who has provided it.

"Come," he beckons and pats the blanket beside him. "Sit."

You lower yourself, the fabric soft beneath you. The scents of the feast rise to meet you, mingling in the crisp autumn air. You turn to him, your large eyes drinking in the sight before you, the face of celestial allure: hair like a smoldering fire, eyes glowing with the golden light of autumnal sunsets. Eris’s features are etched with an ethereal grace that seems both ancient and timeless.  With each passing day, you find yourself yearning to worship at his feet, to forge a devotion just for him. 

“Eris?”

A melodic hum leaves his throat. “Yes, little lamb?”

“Why do you call me that? ‘Little lamb.’”

Eris's fingers graze your cheek, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His touch is gentle, almost reverent. "I believe you know," he murmurs, his voice a low, soothing caress.

"Why did you seek me out again?” You ask him, “Why do you wait here?"

A smile curls at the corners of his mouth. He lets his fingers trace the line of your lips, his touch light as a sigh. “I believe you know that, too.”

Eris's eyes glint with something that seems almost divine. It is unlike anything that you’ve ever known, nothing like the stories your father has told you. Your gaze drifts to the feast laid out before you. You reach for a small, perfectly ripe apple, its glossy skin catching the muted light. The fruit feels cool and smooth against your fingers. 

Somehow, autumn's bounty surpasses even the lush abundance of spring. 

A sense of longing stirs within you.

How naïve you had been to think that your village, your court, held all the wonders the world had to offer. You had planned to stay, to settle into a life of security and predictability, never daring to venture beyond what was known.

You turn to Eris once more. His eyes flicker, amber catching the light as he reaches out, fingers brushing against your arm. His touch is featherlight, yet it sends a ripple of warmth through you. 

Your voice is barely a whisper as you confess, "I want to know a life bigger than my village."

“You wish to be free, little lamb?” He trails his hand down to where the apple rests in your grip, and with a slow motion, he gently takes it from you. "I can show you," he murmurs, turning the fruit over in his palm. His voice is like honey, rich and smooth. "You’ll know life—pleasure, want. All of it."

A tingle spreads through your body at his words, your breath shallow as you nod, leaning unconsciously into the heat of his presence. 

“Yes," you breathe, the word barely a whisper. "I want to be free.”

Eris’s lips curl into a grin, a quiet satisfaction settling in his gaze. He looks pleased, eager, as if he’s waited for this moment since time itself began. He draws closer and you can feel his presence everywhere, consuming, enveloping.

His lips brush against your ear. “Then let me show you.”

The apple falls from his hand, forgotten. He inches closer, the space between you dissolving as his warmth spills over you. A hand finds the delicate line of your throat, fingers grazing against your pulse.  With the lightest pressure, he lifts your chin, tilting your face toward his. His touch feels like a benediction.

He’s so close now that his breath melds with yours, the air around you thick with the scent of earth and fire. The world shrinks and the only thing that exists is him—his heat, his gaze, the slow, measured closeness that steals away your reason. His lips hover just above yours, and the ache of not touching nearly brings you to begging.

The first brush of his mouth against yours is light, a whisper, a tease, and you tremble beneath it. And then he claims you, his lips pressing against yours with a slow, haunting fervor. Your body goes slack as his movements seem to weave a spell, binding you to him with every caress of his tongue, every sigh he draws from your lips. 

You feel him guiding you, lowering you gently onto the blanket beneath, the world beneath you falling away. Eris hovers above you and dips his head, pressing his lips to the soft skin of your neck. His mouth sears your senses as he works his way down, the press of his touch growing heavier, more possessive with every inch.

“Such beauty,” he murmurs, “Unfolding before me like the dawn. You were meant to be here.” 

His words fall like a decree, a promise, and his lips continue their journey down, parting from your skin only to explore further. His fingers find the fabric of your dress. 

The air shifts around you, something soft brushing against your skin, falling away with the gentleness of leaves in autumn, leaving you bare to the elements—and to Eris. The cool air grazes your skin in places untouched by even the sun.

His calloused hands explore your bare form, one cupping your breast, fingers pressing and kneading with a practiced touch. His lips follow, settling on the other, and your hands grip the blanket beneath you— knuckles white as he demands your gaze to remain on him. His tongue circles your nipple, amber eyes locked with yours, burning, all consuming. 

Eris continues his careful exploration, moving downward as his lips follow the path of his hands. 

Fingers spread you apart with a confident touch. 

The sensation is profound and awakening, a mingling of sacred heat and cool anticipation. The essence of your very being is laid bare before him. You feel the brush of his fingertips against the tender places, feel as his lips follow with a similar reverence, their touch becoming a worship of its own.

And then he devours you with his mouth and hands. 

His tongue traces every inch of your throbbing core, flicking and teasing your sensitive nub. Your entire body quivers beneath him. You’re overwhelmed by a tidal wave of sensations you’ve never known before—an innocent purity being slowly unraveled and transformed by his touch alone. You tangle a hand in his auburn hair as his fingers plunge deep inside you, scissoring and pumping, working you over until you’re a quivering mess of desire.

Your body responds instinctively. You’re writhing and squirming, small sounds of pleasure falling from your lips. He bathes in the moans, groans in response as you repeat his name like a prayer. 

Eris sits up and soon you’re staring at his sculpted form, bare before you, ready to be worshiped, touched as he had explored you. His hardened length rests against you, blunt tip against your aching core, and you tighten your legs around him, pulling him closer. The crown of him splits you open with a steady pressure and he fills you completely, a divine intrusion that makes you gasp with the pleasure of being so thoroughly claimed. 

Eris stills, his body pressed flush against yours, your walls clenching around him as you adjust to the new, overwhelming sensation. His face nuzzles into the crook of your neck, his hand cupping your breast, thumb teasing your nipple in slow, deliberate strokes.

“Let me show you how pleasurable life can be.” Eris leans down, his lips brushing against yours in a tender caress. “Just tell me you’re mine.”

You arch into him. “I’m yours,” you whisper, voice trembling with surrender. “Free me.”

And as he begins to move, begins to roll his hips against yours, you turn your head, gaze falling to the apple lying beside you, untouched yet no longer gleaming—its perfect surface now bruised, smeared with the dirt of the earth.

Father was right about one thing.

You'd come across a beast, indeed, and you could never return.

Not fully.

Not the way you once were.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

author's note: happy retelling day from ur local exmormon!! im an eve defender till i die. biblical lore goes crazyyyy

as always, thank you for reading <3

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[sungbeam]

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐭

nonidol!wen junhui x f!reader

you don't have to love me; you just have to not hate me.

2.1k words, fluff/minor angst?, historical-adjacent romance (NOT HISTORICALLY ACCURATE), general!jun, arranged marriage au, mention of wine and food, est. relationship, it's like... kind of soft?, mentions of not consummating the marriage, barely proofread

a/n: this will prob be the last thing you see from me until i finish finals in the coming week or so :') wish me luck, and hope y'all enjoy this low-key self-indulgent drabble

You loathed pretense. It was partly why you dreaded any interaction at court, and why you abhorred your very purpose as a woman born into a world of men. Your purpose was to be sold to the highest seat at the table, and it just so happened to be the General of the North.  

There were plenty of daughters of noble families who looked upon you with envy; this promotion was the next best thing to becoming the consort or concubine to a royal. One of the five high generals of the empire was a score and should never be taken lightly. 

But it was dreadfully lonely. 

You should have been more grateful, you thought as your servants combed through your hair, soaked your body in rose petals ported from far west. You should have been more grateful, you thought as they dressed you in fine silks from the southern shores of the empire, embroidered in the most exquisite gold threading and crystal beads. You should have been more grateful, you thought as the doors to the dining hall slid open and you bowed in greeting to the man seated at the head of the table. 

“Husband,” you murmured politely, head dipped low as your mother ingrained into your spine until your waist hinged like second nature. 

“Wife,” he acknowledged. 

When you raised your head, you were met with General Wen Junhui's unreadable stare. His face and body were carved equally of a godlike form, something wickedly beautiful and cruelly detached. He had his dark hair pulled back with a ribbon, the shorter bangs hanging part way in his eyes. It wasn't terribly long—it barely brushed his shoulders, having been chopped off in a messy shag some point in battle months ago, before you were wed. It was unconventional, but still handsome on him. 

You took his greeting as permission to move to your seat, and you lowered yourself at the table across from him. The table was spread with a decadent array of dishes, seasoned and roasted to perfection in five different techniques. Here was another thing you should have been grateful for. 

You clasped your hands in your lap, waiting. 

General Wen continued looking at you, as if considering something. His lips rubbed back and forth against one another and his finger tapped silently against the table. 

When your name fell from his lips, you nearly jolted. 

“Yes, General?” you replied. 

There was a flicker in his gaze, followed by a sigh. “Nevermind. Please—” he gestured to the food, then picked up his chopsticks in a show of encouragement. 

You followed, your movements slow, but elegant. You allowed your actions to loiter behind him, watching with a sharp eye to ensure he took the first bite. It was what you were taught. 

Only once the piece of roast duck passed his lips did you bring your chosen bite up to your own mouth. 

The dining room descended into silence, filled only by the muffled sounds of chewing and the soft clicks of utensil against plate. It was painfully awkward, but you'd been through worse, such as political dinners with your parents, where they openly presented you like cattle to their counterparts’ sons as if you could not hear them. You were their perfect, little pawn, molded into their perfect, little noble wife. You were their ticket to the high table, but wasn't that the definition of a daughter?

Across the table from you, Junhui cleared his throat and reached for his wine cup. “Would you like to take a turn around the garden with me once we finish dinner?” he asked, and the question came with a quick flash of heat at the back of your neck. This was new. 

“If you would like me to join you, General, then I will—”

His face contorted into a brief grimace. “I am asking if you'd like to,” Junhui said. “I would like you to, but you may not agree, and if so, then you are not required to join me in the garden.”

Oh. 

The image of his home garden flickered in your mind's eye: the lotus pond filled with koi, moonlight glinting off its onyx surface; flora grown and nurtured with great care by the grounds staff. You had walked the path about the garden once or twice before in the evening, and enjoyed making it your reading spot during the day. A small smile flitted to your lips at the thought, a miniscule spark of hope. 

“Yes, I will join you.”

A nod, and perhaps even the ghost of a smile. “Good.”

Dinner resumed in peace. 

Though you had spent plenty of moments alone with the general, very few of them shared the air of walking in the garden at night side by side. On the night of your wedding, you both shared a bed for the sake of it, but did not consummate your marriage. He seemed more determined to get a good night's rest than fulfilling that marital duty. You didn't mind; you weren't sure you wished to bring children into this cruel world, and Junhui was awfully occupied with his own obligations and work as it was. 

The night air was a comfortable temperature, with the humidity sitting delicately on your skin through your silks. You kept your hands tucked into the folds of your sleeves as the two of you strolled side by side upon the cobbled path winding through the garden. The pond sat as still as a painting, reflecting tonight's half moon upon its glassy surface. Small lanterns dotted the garden's perimeter to illuminate the way, as well as to allow you to admire the beautiful arrangements around you. 

The man beside you let out a small exhale. “I hear that you spend most of your days here,” he said, casting you a glance. “I take it you like it?”

“Certainly,” you replied with a nod. You weren't surprised he was informed of your whereabouts; the servants here were more loyal to him than they would ever be to you. Perhaps with time that might change with your own personal maids. “It's beautiful. The gardeners are truly masters of their craft.”

“Agreed.” 

The two of you paused at the apex of the small, wooden bridge that spanned the widest portion of the pond to peer at the garden splayed before you. In the early summer nights, you could hear the grasshoppers chirping their sweet melodies, hidden away somewhere in the plants. 

“I,” Junhui began, “know that you did not choose to be wed to me.”

You fought the urge to whip your head up in surprise. Where was this coming from?

Junhui kept his eyes off in the distance, unable to look at you quite yet. The dim flow of the nearby lanterns casted a pretty shadow across his defined jawline and nose, his dark eyes gleaming like a jewel. “You were likely raised to be married off, I can understand that much,” he continued. “But this doesn't have to be painful for either of us.”

“I don't quite follow,” you said quietly. 

He turned toward you then, and his gaze pierced through your own, hooking you in and preventing you from looking anywhere else. “If you had a lover before we were married, then I apologize. I won't pretend to understand that kind of love, but I've felt love for others before. You don't have to love me—all I'm asking is that you do not hate me.”

Something clutched at your heart. You did not hate the general; he likely married you to get the sharks off his back who were hounding him to wed. The only thing was that you could not force yourself to pretend around him—pretend that you loved him and were in awe of him, like any 'good’ wife would. It was especially difficult when he was away for most of the day and hardly spoke to you. After your wedding night, you both slept in your own chambers, retiring as soon as dinner was cleared. 

But… you couldn't ignore the look in his eyes. You'd never seen them reflect light in such a way, so pleadingly. You would wager the general hardly ever needed to beg, but there was a quality to his expression now that was close to it. 

“I don't hate you,” you murmured, facing him. “I simply—dislike this situation.”

“Being married to me?”

“Being married at all,” you replied frankly. “This was all I was bred for, all that I've been told to look forward to. I wish it weren't.”

Were you drunk? You should not have been speaking so freely to this man, husband or not. To be so outwardly contemptuous about marriage to one's own husband was instinctually forbidden. Were you praying for punishment?

Yet punishment did not come; he only bowed his head. “I see.”

“You will not reprimand me?” you blurted. Perhaps you really were inebriated. 

Junhui's brows creased considerably. “Of course not. You're only speaking the truth, and…” his voice trailed off as his eyes flickered upward. You followed his gaze—a blur of dark blush pink wafted down from the night sky, a plum blossom. The errant bloom drifted down into Junhui's outstretched palm. “This is the longest conversation we've ever had.”

He was right, as pathetic as that was. Even dinner was eaten in silence. If you didn't share that meal with one another, you would likely never see him. 

General Junhui, in this light, became a different man. Though he shared the same features as the man you married, they softened a value in the dim lantern light. For a moment, he looked like a young man who hadn't been burdened by such honor and great responsibility. In this light, he became reachable and someone just as alone as you were. 

His words from earlier echoed in your mind. “About what you said,” you piped up, “about a prior lover—I never had one. It's only ever been you.”

You didn't know why it sounded like that when it left your mouth. Your cheeks warmed beneath his stare. 

“I mean,” you stammered, “I've had no prior partners.”

Junhui nodded. “I understand. Neither have I, really. I've seen what it's like, however.” His voice was gentler at the tail end, wistful almost. 

“Who, if I may ask, General?”

His posture seemed to straighten, and he reached over to take your hand. The velvety petals of the plum blossom tickled your palm as he enclosed your fingers around it.

“I'm Junhui to you,” he said in earnest. “We’re husband and wife. Please don't call me what everyone else does.”

Your heart rattled so violently in your chest, it threatened to catapult into your throat. You were imprisoned by his beautiful eyes, imploring you to heed his words. 

You managed a swallow, your fingers curling around the plum blossom as his hand continued to warm yours. “Alright, Junhui,” you breathed out. The name was so intimate coming from your mouth. 

The tension in his shoulders loosened, and the corners of his mouth seemed to twitch upward. Junhui nodded. “That’s… much better, thank you. And to answer your question, it was the crown prince and his princess.” This time, he did not fight his wistful smile at the thought. 

Could the memory be so lovely as to cause such a beautiful expression to bloom upon his handsome face? Would you one day be able to be the cause of such a smile?

“Crown Prince Minghao?” You recalled the uproar that entire scenario caused. A crown prince, destined for the imperial emperorhood, falling in love with a seamstress was unheard-of. Though high society was predictably scandalized, much of the whispers among the lower classes revered the seamstress princess as proof of class mobility. It was a love story fit for the ages, and legends never died. 

You could be happy for them but understand that theirs was an exceptional case. Not all would be blessed with such circumstances. 

Junhui hummed. “Yes. His partner was a friend of mine whom I grew up with in the northern provinces. When I was relocated here to the capital city, she was a part of my party. I like to believe it was fate.”

You looked on at him in foolish, tender hope, that spark catching oxygen to burn into a flame. 

He gently squeezed your hand with his. “We don't have to have their love,” he whispered, “but we can make the best of this.”

Maybe the little girl inside you who longed for something more was still buried somewhere deep within you. She cupped that flame of hope in your chest, and began to nurture it until it warmed your soul. You nodded at him, covering his hand with your free one in quiet agreement. 

Beneath the evening plum blossoms, you and Junhui made a pact on your own terms, together—you chose to search for the light along this path you were both forced to follow. 

a/n: don't forget to reblog + comment if you enjoyed!

svt m.list

permanent taglist: @flwoie @vatterie @seomisaho @hqrana @ja4hyvn @outrologist @rikizm @luumiinaa @lotties-readings @tinkerbell460 @meosjinnn @hyunjaespresent-deobi @otterly-fey @floatingpluto @ethereal-engene @gyulfriend @jaehunnyy @shakalakaboomboo @eunseok-s @bless-311 @leaz-kpop-life @fluorescentloves @thesunsfullmoon @haechansbbg @kpopjackie @jundundun @http-gyu @mars101 @moonyswolf @honeyrecommends @synthwxve @thecarnivaloflies @p-d1ddy @thatonedemigodfromseoul @foivetimesthecharm

[gloomwitchwrites]

Rescue

Thranduil x Female Elf Reader

Content & Warnings: canon-typical violence, brief blood, secret feelings, mutual affection

Word Count: 800

A/N: Requested by @kakashipandadog for 3.5k Spooky Bingo (Cult Sacrifice)

You’re captured on a scouting mission, believing that you’re being left to your fate. At your most desperate moment, help arrives.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // 3.5k spooky bingo masterlist

The stones are singing. Chanting.

That is all you see and sense. There is solid rock beneath your palm and pressed against your cheek. Voices upon voices all communing in unison wrap around you, and yet there is something deeper here you cannot place. Perhaps if you just blink away the haze or rub at your eyes, your vision will clear and it will come to you.

Have you failed your king? You must have. Why else are you so disoriented?

You attempt to stretch, to move your limbs, but scratchy resistance greets you, rubbing against your leather armor and bits of exposed skin.

Groaning, you close your eyes.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

The chanting becomes clearer—becomes guttural.

No. The stones are not singing. Nor do the trees. These are voices. Living and present.

On your next exhalation, you twist just enough and see a dark sky above you. There are no stars—just a void. Around you are torches, burning bright with fire but providing no warmth. You are tied down with rope to a large stone slab. Around you are orcs, circling your restrained body, beating their chests and stomping their feet.

From their mouths comes the language of their maker. Black Speech. An abomination. You do not know the words or what they mean but you recognize it for what it is.

There is no hope here.

You are to be sacrificed to something and no one is coming to rescue you.

This was supposed to be simple scouting. King Thranduil gave you instructions, but you've failed to return. Will he send someone to find you? Or is your fate already sealed?

With what little movement you have, you attempt to search for your weapons. While your bow and quiver of arrows are gone, the orcs may have overlooked the hidden daggers. Orcs are not particularly smart and it’s entirely possible you might find something sharp to cut your way out. Defending yourself is a different matter. There are several dozen orcs, and if you only wield a small knife, you may not make it far once you’ve freed yourself from your bonds.

The chanting increases, becoming a crescendo. One of the orcs breaks from the group moving toward you with their serrated blade held high. It raises it over its head, ready and poised to bring it down.

Your fingers splay wide, roaming down to grasp at your boot. This is your last chance.

It's malicious grin wanes, body seizing suddenly as if frozen in ice as it prepares to drive the blade home.

You don't know what to make of this until your gaze drops and lands on the blade sticking out the orcs stomach. The point of the metal is coated in black blood.

Your eyes widen as it's yanked out and the orc falls sideways, revealing King Thranduil.

He's ethereal and calm, blade already spinning to strike another orc down.

He came for you.

King Thranduil did not come alone. There are several other Elves with him, each with blade or bow, cutting through the small horde of orcs with ease.

Hope rises, and with it comes a wave of determination. With another twist, you manage to reach your boot, an in it, a dagger. Removing it, you turn it on the rope, sawing as fast as you can as everything around you descends into chaos.

The threads fray, and the rope snaps. You move to the next, already feeling lighter. It is unraveling—loosening—but it is entirely too slow. At the moment, you are at the mercy of others. Though you are being rescued, you still have to depend on yourself.

An orc comes rushing forward as just as you start on the final tightened rope holding you in place. You saw at it manically, breath coming in quick bursts as you ready for the incoming blow. You might not have the use of your legs but you have your arms.

The orc swings—and the rope snaps.

Turning the blade handle around in your palm, you thrust upward, sinking the knife into the orc’s throat.

It gurgles, dark blood bubbling in its mouth.

Withdrawing the knife brings more blood with it, and the orc keels over, hitting the ground hard.

King Thranduil appears behind it, sword raised and at the ready, his gaze following the corpse. That icy stare turns on you, becoming soft and concerned. There is momentarily flare of affection that blooms in your chest.

You hastily swat the feeling away. It’s not something you can act on.

“You came for me,” you say, voice slightly raspy from disuse.

That softness only intensifies in his eyes, and it resonates, wrapping you up in quiet comfort.

“I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving you behind.”

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@firelightinferno @protosslady @thetaekwondofeline @glassgulls @childofyuggoth

@coffeecaketornado @glitterypirateduck @foxxy-126 @km-ffluv @sweetbutpsychobutsweet

@singleteapot @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath @ferns-fics

@ninman82 @waves-against-a-cliff @eternallyvenus @beebeechaos @smileykiddie08

@whisperwispxx @chaostwinsofdestruction @weasleytwins-41 @thewulf

[wchswift]

Under the Lights ༉‧₊˚ 

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader Summary: A sweet and peaceful Christmas with Dean. Content: fluff, mostly soft moments, family, first Christmas at the bunker, I hate Mary but she is mentioned briefly, not proofread, English isn’t my first language :) Word count: 2k A/N: almost christmas and im so excited!! I really love christmas and lately these are the only ideas I can think of to write lol. i just love soft and happy dean so I thought I'd write a cute one shot about him having a good christmas bc all i wanted was to spend these holidays with him

mdni 𖤐 18+

Dean leaned against the doorway, the faintest curve of a smile playing on his lips. The sight of you, utterly absorbed in decorating the tree, tugged at something deep in his chest. The soft glow of the twinkling lights painted your face in golds and silvers. You were on your toes, reaching for a high branch, determined to hang an ornament in its perfect place. From his vantage point, Dean couldn’t help but grin. The way your nose crinkled when something didn’t sit just right, the soft hum of Christmas music as you worked—it all made the bunker feel a little less like a fortress and a little more like home.

The table behind you bore the chaos of your efforts—ornaments arranged and rearranged, tinsel spilling onto the floor like silken threads of moonlight. It was chaos, yes, but it was yours, and Dean found it impossible to look away.

“Sweetheart,” he finally said, his voice warm and teasing, breaking through the soft hum of Let It Snow playing in the background. “Not to rush a masterpiece, but you’ve been at this tree longer than it takes Santa to finish his route.”

You turned, giving him a mock glare, your lips pressed into a pout that was as endearing as it was teasing. “It has to be perfect, Dean.”

“It already is,” he countered, stepping closer, his hands casually stuffed into his pockets. “Lights, ornaments, a star on top—what more does a tree need?”

“Your enthusiasm,” you shot back, turning back to adjust the ribbon for what must have been the hundredth time.

Dean chuckled, moving to your side, sliding an arm around your waist, and pulling you against him. “My enthusiasm’s here,” he murmured, his lips brushing your temple. "I'm just more contained about it."

You let out a soft sigh, letting yourself lean deeper into his warm embrace as you closed your eyes for a moment, savoring the comfort he provided. "I know, Dean," you began, your voice gentle but filled with understanding. "But I also know how excited you get about these celebrations. Deep down, you wish for that typical family cliche, and you and Sam truly deserve it. I just want us to have a memorable time together… Could you please enjoy this too and get into the mood with me?"

You turned your face to meet his gaze, your eyes sparkling with hope and sincerity. Your tone was calm, and the warmth of your words seemed to hang in the air between you. Dean, ever the skeptic, tried to roll his eyes in playful defiance, but a smile broke through despite his efforts. The corners of his mouth lifted, and he leaned in, planting a quick, soft kiss on your lips before surrendering to your encouragement, as he usually did.

The sound of boots against metal echoed through the bunker as Sam descended the stairs. His voice rang out before he even reached the bottom. “Dean, what’s going on in here?”

Sam paused, his eyebrows shooting up as he took in the sight of his brother atop the map table, duct-taping garland to the ceiling beams.

"Decking the halls, Sammy. What’s it look like?” He replied, still focused on the lights.

“It looks like a fire hazard,” Sam deadpanned, crossing his arms as he took in the mess of lights, ornaments, and tinsel scattered across the room.

You emerged from the kitchen, carrying a tray of cookies, just as Dean hopped down from the table. “Sam, you should’ve seen him earlier. He tried to hang stockings with fishing wire.”

Dean shrugged, unapologetic. “It worked, didn’t it?”

Sam sighed, shaking his head. "So, this is your new thing now? Christmas?” He muttered though a small smile tugged at his lips.

“Oh, come on, Sam,” you chimed in, setting the cookies down on the table. “It's the best time of the year. Even hunters deserve a little holiday spirit.”

Dean grabbed a cookie, pointing it at Sam. “She’s right. Stop being a Grinch.”

Reluctantly, Sam joined in, helping you and Dean finish decorating the bunker. By the time you were done, the usually cold, utilitarian space looked warm and inviting. Lights draped across the walls, the centerpiece Sam had crafted out of pine branches and candles sat proudly on the map table, and the tree sparkled in the corner.

Dean stepped back, hands on his hips, surveying the scene. “Not bad for a bunch of hunters, huh?”

Later that evening, the bunker had settled into a cozy stillness. Sam had retreated to his room, leaving you and Dean sitting by the softly glowing tree. The faint crackle of a vinyl record Dean had unearthed earlier filled the air, Bing Crosby crooning about dreaming of a white Christmas.

You leaned back against the armchair, watching Dean as he entertained himself by drinking his hot chocolate. The moment felt right, so you reached beside you and pulled out a carefully wrapped box tied with red string.

“Okay,” you said, your voice tinged with both excitement and hesitation, “before you make a big deal out of this, I just want to say that it’s practical.”

Dean’s eyebrows rose as he took the box, his lips twitching into a grin. “Practical, huh? Not sure what that means coming from you.”

“Just open it,” you urged, your hands fidgeting nervously in your lap.

Dean unwrapped the box with care, his grin softening as he revealed a thick leather-bound journal. His fingers brushed over the cover, and for a moment, he was quiet, his thumb tracing the edges of the pages.

“It’s, uh…” you started, your voice softer now. “I noticed you don’t really have a place to write things down—your thoughts, memories, whatever. So I thought… maybe you could use it. For good stuff. Things you want to remember. Not like hunting stuff or anything like your dad's but something good? Or whatever you want I don't know...” you rambled, feeling anxious.

Dean opened the journal, flipping through the blank pages. Inside the front cover, you’d written a small inscription in your neat handwriting: For all the moments you want to hold on to.

He stared at the words for a long beat before letting out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “You know me too well, sweetheart.”

“I just thought,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, “after everything we’ve been through, it might be nice to have something that’s yours. Something that’s just… good.”

Dean closed the journal and set it carefully on the table beside him. Then he turned to you, his green eyes impossibly soft. “You always know what I need before I even know it myself.”

Before you could respond, he reached behind him and pulled something from his jacket pocket. “Okay, my turn.”

He held out a small box, its edges worn, like it had been carried around for some time. “It’s not new,” he said, almost apologetically. “But I’ve been meaning to give this to you.”

You opened the box slowly, revealing a simple yet beautiful silver bracelet. The charms hanging were clearly chosen by a hunter, it was small and subtle, but unmistakable.

“It was my mom’s,” Dean said quietly, his gaze dropping to the bracelet. “She always said it was for protection. I’ve kept it all these years, but… I think she’d want you to have it.”

Your throat tightened, and tears pricked at your eyes as you looked at him. “Dean, I… I can’t take this. It’s too important.”

Dean shook his head, reaching out to take your hand. “You’re important,” he said simply. “And if anyone deserves to have it, it’s you.”

You stared at the bracelet, overwhelmed by the gesture. Then, without a word, you leaned forward and wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in his shoulder. He held you tightly, his hand cradling the back of your head.

When you finally pulled away, you slipped the bracelet onto your wrist, smiling through the tears in your eyes. “Thank you, Dean. I’ll take good care of it.”

“I know you will,” he said softly, his thumb brushing across your knuckles.

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, the only sound the soft hum of the record player. And as you leaned back against him, the bracelet resting cool against your skin, you felt a sense of belonging that you hadn’t known you were missing.

The warm connection from the gift exchange flowed naturally into the next day, making every interaction lighter, and more meaningful.

The kitchen was a flurry of activity as the three of you prepared dinner. Dean insisted on taking charge of the main course, proudly presenting a vegetarian lasagna for Sam and you.

“See? I’m not just a pie guy,” he said, grinning.

Meanwhile, you and Sam teamed up to bake cookies. It started out innocent enough, but it quickly devolved into a flour fight when Sam accidentally knocked over the mixing bowl.

Dean walked in just as you lobbed a handful of flour at Sam, only to hit him square in the chest instead. He froze, staring down at his now-flour-covered shirt. “What the hell, guys?”

Dean just watched you and Sam burst into laughter, trying to stay mad.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean muttered, brushing flour off his jacket. “Real funny. Guess who’s cleaning this up?”

“Not me,” you and Sam said in unison, making you chuckle again.

Dean shook his head, a grin appearing on his face despite his attempt to remain irritated.

Later that night, the three of you gathered in the living room, your plates cleared and the remnants of the day’s chaos tucked away. Sam stretched out on the other armchair with a book, the corner of his mouth twitching upward as he occasionally glanced at you and Dean by the tree, his arm draped protectively around your shoulders.

The bracelet he’d given you caught the soft glow of the lights, its charm resting lightly against your wrist. You found yourself absently touching it, grounding yourself in the weight of what it meant.

Sam finally closed his book, setting it aside as he stretched his long legs. “You know,” he said, breaking the comfortable silence, “You two actually did a pretty good job. I think this might be the first time the bunkers actually felt… normal. Like a real home.”

Dean snorted softly. “Took long enough, huh?”

Sam smiled, his expression soft. “Yeah. But I’m glad we got here.”

Dean raised his mug in a mock toast. “To surviving another year and not burning the place down with Christmas lights.”

Sam rolled his eyes but lifted his mug too. “Yeah, yeah... To family.”

You lifted your own mug, smiling as you echoed the sentiment. “To family.”

The three of you sat quietly for a while, watching the lights twinkle on the tree. Eventually, Sam excused himself, muttering something about research, leaving you and Dean alone again.

Dean nudged you gently, drawing your attention. “Come with me for a sec,” he said, his voice low but insistent.

Curious, you followed him as he grabbed a thick blanket from the couch and led you up the large stairs of the bunker. He stopped at one of the heavy iron doors, twisting the wheel to unlock it before pulling it open to reveal the wide, open expanse of the night sky.

The cold air hit you first, crisp and biting, but the sight of the stars made you forget it almost instantly. Dean draped the blanket over your shoulders and pulled you close, his warmth a welcome contrast to the chill.

“Figured we could use some fresh air,” he said simply, his voice quiet.

You leaned into him, your head resting against his shoulder as you gazed up at the stars. They glittered against the inky blackness, impossibly bright and infinite, like tiny promises of hope scattered across the sky.

“We really did it huh?” Dean murmured, his voice low and warm.

“Did what?” you asked, tilting your head to look up at him.

“This,” he said simply, gesturing back to the bunker. “Christmas. The whole thing. It’s not half bad.”

“It’s perfect,” you said softly, resting your head back against his shoulder.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The world felt distant here, the weight of hunting, loss, and responsibility held at bay by the vastness of the universe.

Dean’s voice broke the silence, soft but sure. “You know, I never thought I’d get something like this.”

You turned to look at him, your brow furrowing slightly. “Something like what?”

He gestured toward the stars, the blanket, the faint glow of the bunker behind you. “All this. A night where everything’s quiet. Where it feels like we’re not just surviving.”

Your chest tightened at his words, and you reached for his hand, lacing your fingers with his. “You deserve this, Dean. You deserve nights like this and so much more.”

He looked at you then, his green eyes shimmering in the soft glow of the starlight above. A gentle smile played on his lips as he spoke, “So do you,” his voice barely above a whisper. His thumb grazed over your knuckles, sending a warm thrill through you. "Thank you." With a tender sincerity, he leaned in and pressed his lips against yours. The kiss was soft and lingering, filled with a depth of love and unspoken emotions that seemed to wrap around you like a cozy blanket, leaving you breathless in the stillness of the night.

The two of you stayed there, wrapped in the quiet and each other, until the cold became too much to ignore.

As you made your way back inside, Dean caught your hand, stopping you just before you reached the main hallway.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low and rough around the edges. “Merry Christmas.”

You smiled, leaning up to give him a peck on the lips, your heart full. “Merry Christmas, Dean.”

And in that moment, with the warmth of his hand in yours and the quiet hum of life around you, you felt something you hadn’t in a long time: hope. This was home—messy, chaotic, and imperfect. And it was everything you needed.

a/n: oh my god, I had so much fun writing this :) I don't know if I liked how it turned out that much, but I thought it was cute enough to post...

𖤐 reblogs and feedback are appreciated! requests are also welcome, ty!

[judebelle]

Gavi breaking up with the reader bc he needs space and stuff and she takes it really hard and it affects her a lot but he realizes he was wrong for it and gets her back. Just a lot of angst but fluff ending plssss. You are the bestttt

rekindled - p.g. x reader

authors note : thank you guys for the love on my recent posts, and for sending in requests. psa, the more requests i get, the more motivated i am and the more i post!

cw : just heart wrenching angst for the most part, but it gets fluffy dwww!!, swearing, sad :(

wc : 2.3k

pairing : pablo gavi x fem!reader

---

“i just don’t have the time for you anymore!”

his words truly devastated you, tearing apart the delicate threads of your heart. couldn’t he at least try? why was he just giving up?

“i don’t understand why we can’t just try to work it out, pablo! we could compromise, we can even make a schedule.. we could make it work!”

it seemed like only you were really trying, and he seemed eager to end this relationship. over what? a busy schedule? you felt useless, standing in his empty home, the echoes of your voices ringing in your ears. it was as if you were singlehandedly trying to stop a sinking ship from descending deep into the dark and bottomless blue.

“it’s not that easy, y/n! i have a lot on my plate! between football practices and matches, i barely have time for myself anymore. and then adding on this relationship, i need to make time for you as well! its too much. i know you wouldn't understand but-"

"i wouldn't understand? what is that supposed to mean? there are two people in this relationship. and it's not like i sit around all day and do nothing! i also have my own things to do! you make it seem like i am so high maintenance, like i'm too much for you to handle!"

you were growing increasingly angry as the argument progressed. how little did he think of you?

"you know that's not what i meant.."

you sniffled, "i dont think i know you at all anymore."

---

it had been a week since the break up.

you tried not to let it affect you too much, but his absence left a crater in your heart you were left too weak to fill.

the breakup casted a shadow over the once vibrant hues of your life. you found yourself dealing with the aftermath of shattered love. you were picking up the shattered pieces of your heart, the sharp glass cutting through the skin of your hands. you felt the pain during tearful nights when sleep also abandoned you, and in the empty spaces that once resonated with shared laughter.

the breakup left an indelible mark on you.

you didn't call anybody. you just sat at home. it was like pablo's words became your new reality, now you were truly sitting around all day and doing nothing.

you hadn't heard from him at all, thanking the universe knowing that if you did, it would be too much on your aching heart.

---

one month had passed.

you were finally feeling like yourself again. yes, you missed his warm embrace and touching words, but you learned to live without it.

you couldn't depend on someone to be the sole reason for your happiness. you still loved him, and you always will, but fuck did he cut deep.

---

pablo's pov

pablo found himself grappling with an unexpected wave of regret.

the relentless demands of his busy life had driven a wedge between the two of you, leaving him to confront the harsh reality of what he had lost.

pablo now spent the time he would've spent with you alone, in his home. he didn't hang out with friends. he didn't go out for dinner, just ordered food to his house. he felt lonely and bored without you.

how ironic.

the void left by your absence became easily recognizable to everyone around him, and he began to yearn for the warmth of your shared moments.

but pablo kept the painful truth of your breakup to himself, unable to utter the words aloud to anyone.

"hey bro, what's on your mind?"

he felt an arm drape across his shoulders, startling him from his thoughts.

pablo was at barcelona's training grounds, and didn't realize his slumped posture and absentminded features were noticeable to anyone but him.

pedro was walking next to him, his arm slung around the back of his neck.

"hola?? what's up with you?" pedro was insisting on finding out why his close friend was acting so strange.

"sorry, just tired.. didn't get much sleep last night." in all honesty, he hadn't. he spent most of his night lying awake, thinking of how badly he had messed up. his screen time was through the roof, scrolling through your feed and posts, reminiscing on what was once his, about the warm soul that would sleep next to him in this very bed.

"ai, don't lie now. you know i can see right through you. what's wrong, bro?" pedro wasn't giving up, pestering pablo on his silence.

pablo gulped and turned to his friend, "i.. i messed up bad bro, like really bad..".

he didn't elaborate further, unable to bring himself to come to terms with what he had done.

"uhh, that's cool and all, but it would be helpful if you explained, man. i can't help you if you dont tell m-"

"i broke up with y/n."

pablo shut his mouth after, the words leaving the bitter taste of regret in his mouth. he might've said that too loudly, causing some staff members and teammates to look his direction.

pedro didn't seem to believe it, raising his eyebrow at the boy.

"you what? wha... when?"

everyone who knew pablo knew that he was absolutely smitten with you. you were always on his mind, and he was quick to talk about you if he had the chance. it annoyed his friends sometimes, but it was cute how much he loved you.

the fact that he had broken up with you was appalling.

"around a month ago.." pablo confessed, his hands hidden behind his back like a guilty child. "i told her i was too busy to focus on our relationship, and i told her that i needed to focus on my career. it's honestly a load of bullshit. i think i was just stressed and took it out on her."

pedro's confusion was evident, his eyebrows drawn together.

"i don't understand, bro. your schedule was never an issue for you before. and why didn't you tell me? i could've, i don't know, been there for you!"

it was like pablo was being scolded, and he really did deserve it. he'd lost you because of his own stress and poor time management. you didn't deserve to suffer because of him.

"pablo, what were you thinking? i mean, i can't believe it! i would've never expected you to- okay, i'm sorry.." pedro stopped his lecturing upon seeing his friend growing increasingly upset. "my advice to you is to go apologize. and not just a quick 'sorry', but a good one. get her flowers, chocolate - i don't know, whatever chicks like. just go say sorry."

pablo looked up at his friend, hesitation on his features. "what if she doesn't take me back? w-what would i do then?" he stuttered. he was worried you would realize how big of an asshole he was, and how much he didn't deserve you.

"i mean, i wouldn't blame her," pedro smiled teasingly. "but i know y/n pretty well, she would understand." he laid a comforting hand on pablo's shoulder. "don't sweat it bro, it'll all be okay."

---

your pov

you were currently sprawled across your couch, stuffing popcorn in your mouth as you binged a show you had already seen a million times.

the bell rang.

that hadn't happened in a while. the unfamiliar sound rang in your head before you pulled yourself up from your comfortable position, walking to the door. you yanked the door open, popcorn still in your mouth.

you looked up to see the man you thought you'd never see again.

"..hola.." he whispered before sending you a soft smile. you froze in your spot. not knowing what to do as you weren't expecting this at all.

it was like you'd turned cold from shock. you acted before you thought, slamming the door on his face. you scrambled to fixed your hair and finish chewing your popcorn.

giving yourself a moment to breathe and think, you quickly opened the door again, worried he might leave. surprisingly, he was still standing there, waiting for you.

"can i come in?"

---

you let him in, of course. how could you not?

he walked in with a hunched back. his feet dragged against the floor wearily.

you told him to sit on the couch and wait as you grabbed two waters, one for him, and one for you.

the unexpected arrival of pablo, whom you thought had become a distant echo of the past, sent tremors through the newly rebuilt walls around your heart.

is there a possibility of rekindling what was once lost?

you finally dragged yourself out of the kitchen and back into the living room to where pablo was sitting with his legs shaking anxiously and his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. there were still popcorn crumbs on the couch, the halfway eaten bowl of it placed on the table across from the paused movie displayed on the tv.

oh, how you wish he warned you before showing up at your doorstep.

he turned his head to see you standing tensely in the doorframe. he smiled awkwardly as he scooted over to give you some space to sit far from him.

you sat down and placed the waters on the table in front of you. you took a deep breath before gulping hard. you eventually found the courage to croak out a few words.

"what happened, is everything alright?"

the air was thick, the unspoken history you shared lingering in the air. his eyes were red and cratered by bags. he tried to hide the lines on his face by putting on a decent outfit and gelling his hair back, but you saw right through his façade.

"i just.. wanted to apologize.."

your silence was his cue to continue speaking.

sitting in the soft glow of your living room, pablo took a deep breath before breaking the heavy silence.

"i need you to know how sorry i am for what i did, y/n. breaking up with you was the biggest mistake of my life, and i've spent every day regretting it. i miss you, not just the idea of you, but you - the way you laugh, the way you challenge me... i was foolish, and i can't keep living my life without you in it. i came here to make things right, to find a way for us to work through the challenges together. can we try again? can you forgive me?" His vulnerable pleas hung in the air while also knocking you down like heavy wind.

your gaze flickered with a mix of surprise as pablo's heartfelt words settled in the room. the weight of his apology hung between you, and for a moment, time seemed to stretch as you discerned the sincerity in his eyes.

you took a moment before responding, your voice a sorrowful blend of vulnerability and caution.

"pablo, you hurt me deeply when you walked away. i've spent nights replaying those moments, the day you left me, wondering if i meant as much to you as you say now...". The room held a fragile hope as your eyes locked.

in a desperate plea, pablo's words spilled forth with an intensity so raw it stung in the depths of your heart. his eyes reflected the sincerity of his emotions. "y/n, i can't imagine my life without you. every moment without you feels like a void i can't fill. i was foolish, and i let something so precious slip away." his voice wavered with a mix of regret and hope, showing the depth of his desire to rebuild what was lost.

"please, i'm begging you, give me another chance. i know i hurt you, and i'm willing to do whatever it takes to make things right. i've learned from my mistakes, and i'm not the same person who walked away. i love you, and i'm ready to fight for us. please, take me back."

you listened to pablo's heartfelt pleas carefully. after a thoughtful pause, you spoke with a calm and resolute tone,

"pablo, i appreciate your honesty and the effort you're putting into this. it's not easy to admit mistakes, and i can see the sincerity in your eyes. but i need some space to process everything. let's take things one step at a time."

pablo quietly absorbed your response. he nodded, a silent acknowledgment of the weight of his actions. "i understand, y/n," he said with a quiet sincerity,

"i know i hurt you, and i can't expect you to erase that pain overnight. i'm here, whenever you're ready." his words left a subtle sting on your heart. he raised up from the couch, before leaving with the same hunch of his back and drag of his steps that he entered with.

the sound of the door latching closed sent a stab through your heart. your eyes began to water as the painful image of him leaving stuck in your mind.

you were standing in the doorway, and felt a sudden surge of clarity and yearning. spontaneously, you threw the door open and rushed after him, the urgency to convey your changing feelings propelling you forward. "pablo!" you called out, running down the driveway, and as he turned in surprise, you closed the distance between you. without a word, you reached out, cupped his face in your hands, and pressed your lips to his. his hands wrapped around your waist as he dipped you forward slightly, embracing your warmth and forgiveness. your brows furrowed into the kiss as you felt the craters in your heart fill slowly.

the kiss was heavy, holding many unspoken emotions—forgiveness, longing, and the realization that sometimes, the heart finds its way back when the connection is too strong to resist.

in that moment, under the dim streetlights, things changed between you two, and it seemed as though the process of reconciliation was beginning to unfold.

[onebadassunicorn]

His Blue-Eyed Angel

pairing: Azriel x Reader

content warnings: some smut and some serious angst :(

word count: 12.8k

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Story tags: @bravo-delta-eccho @tele86 @tiredsleepyhead @celestialgilb @theflowerswillbloom @fuckingsimp4azriel @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret

Image owned by Dream World Dweller.

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***************

Chapter 12

Y/n POV 

Velaris’s streets had been transformed for the night’s grand masquerade, and there was no shortage of inventive costumes. But as Rhysand and Feyre stepped into the lamplight, they easily stole the show. They descended the marble steps of the townhouse wearing sleek, tailored ensembles inspired by a distant, unknown legend—perhaps something Rhysand had glimpsed in one of Amren’s stranger tomes or a curious book Feyre had found hidden in a dusty corner of the House of Wind’s library.

Rhysand’s attire was cut from the finest black leather, molded to his tall, lean frame. A sweeping cloak of midnight velvet draped from his shoulders, and the chest piece bore a stylized emblem—a black bat silhouetted against a subtle gray background—stitched with shimmering thread that caught the city lights. He wore a cowl that covered the upper half of his face, leaving his strong jaw and mischievous smirk visible beneath it. His wings were cleverly glamoured beneath the cape, making him seem more mysterious, more mortal, like a mythic vigilante prowling the cobbled streets of Velaris.

Feyre’s outfit mirrored Rhysand’s, though fitted to her graceful curves. She wore a sleek, black bodysuit with subtle accents in midnight-blue stitching. A shorter cape fell to her lower back, flaring slightly when she moved. Like Rhysand’s chest piece, hers displayed the same emblem—a silent declaration that she stood as his equal, his partner. Her cowl, more streamlined than his, framed her face elegantly, leaving her mouth and a hint of her high cheekbones bare. She had refused to hide her hair entirely, allowing a few strands of her brown locks to tumble artfully from beneath the mask.

Under the glow of faelight, the two of them drew gazes from every passerby. Rhysand grinned beneath the mask, his violet eyes gleaming through the narrow slits. Feyre moved lightly at his side, a confident tilt to her chin. They looked as if they’d stepped straight from a storybook—two daring shadows come to life, ready to protect their city with wit and cunning rather than brute force.

As they crossed through the square on their way to Rita’s, the crowd parted as if drawn by a silent understanding of who they were—even if they could not guess the story behind the strange, winged creatures on their chests. Feyre teased Rhysand, whispering into his ear that he looked rather intimidating in his mask, while he countered that she looked ready to outsmart a hundred villains with just one glare.

Mor led the way, her laughter ringing out like music over the cobblestones. She was dressed as a red devil, and she owned it. The sleek, crimson bodysuit clung to her like a second skin, the plunging neckline a testament to her confidence. A pair of small, curved horns perched on her head, glittering faintly under the moonlight, and her long blonde hair fell in golden waves down her back. In her hand, she carried a red pitchfork, twirling it idly as her sharp heels clicked with purpose.

“Let me guess,” Mor said, turning back to the others with a wicked grin, her golden eyes sparkling with mischief. “You’re all secretly jealous of my horns. Admit it.”

Cassian, striding beside her in his costume as a gladiator—complete with a bronze chest plate and leather skirt—snorted. “Jealous? You look like you escaped from a child’s nightmare.”

Mor gasped dramatically, clutching her chest as though wounded. “You’re just mad because my costume is better than yours. Admit it, Cass. You couldn’t pull off red even if your life depended on it.”

“I don’t need to pull off red,” Cassian shot back, his grin matching her wickedness. “I pull off bronze just fine, don’t I?” He flexed his arms for emphasis, making Feyre roll her eyes.

“Stop flirting,” Rhysand drawled lazily from the back of the group, though his violet eyes glinted with amusement. He walked arm in arm with Feyre, who bumped her shoulder into him, her smile fond as she whispered something that made his smirk widen. 

I walked beside them, in my pirate costume Mor I insisted I buy for tonight’s party.  My heart beating a little faster than usual, I was still growing accustomed to this place—Velaris, with its endless kindness and charm, still learning to ease my guard in the presence of those who had quickly begun to feel like family. 

Azriel trailed slightly behind, his costume drawing more than a few curious stares. The green and red suit accentuated his tall, lean frame, and the black mask only made him more striking. His shadows seemed oddly muted tonight, curling lazily around him as though taking a break from their usual restlessness. But his hazel eyes were sharp, scanning the crowd even as he remained silent.

Elain walked beside Azriel, the golden-haired Archeron sister dazzling as an Amazon warrior in her red and gold armor, her soft smile lighting up the path ahead. She said something quietly to Azriel, her tone warm, and he nodded once, though his gaze drifted briefly to me before returning to the street ahead.

Amren had chosen a severe, structured outfit of sharp lines and fine velvet, paired with a mask that elongated at the sides like sweeping horns. She walked a pace behind, unimpressed by the theatrics but enjoying the night’s promise of good wine and entertainment.

“I think I see Rita’s up ahead,” Feyre said, pointing toward the glowing entrance where a line of fae in elaborate costumes waited to enter.

Mor twirled her pitchfork again, a wicked grin curling her lips. “Ah, Rita’s. A place where bad decisions are made, and bad ideas thrive. Let’s make it a night to remember, shall we?”

“You mean a night for you to make bad decisions,” Cassian quipped, earning a sly wink from Mor.

As they reached the door, Mor turned back to the group, her grin widening as she gestured grandly with her pitchfork. “Come on, my loyal mortals,” she said dramatically. “The devil commands you to party like it’s your last night in Prythian.”

Feyre laughed, Rhys shook his head fondly, and Cassian muttered something under his breath about needing more alcohol. Azriel remained silent, his gaze flickering briefly to me again before he stepped inside with the rest of the group, shadows trailing at his heels.

And as the doors to Rita’s opened and the music spilled out into the night, Mor led the way, her horns glittering and her laughter echoing like the promise of chaos.

******

Y/n POV

The exterior had been draped in silks of various colors—amethyst, emerald, and gold. Paper lanterns dangled overhead, and Harpys—a local acrobatic troupe—performed on a makeshift platform, their movements reflected in the polished windows.

Inside, the music surged, a lively tune that urged everyone to dance. Costumed revelers pressed in from all sides and Rita’s sprawling bar was backed by mirrors that caught and multiplied the twinkling fairy lights strung across the ceiling.

I found myself at the back of the group as we made our way through the crowd toward the bar. Feyre deftly slipped between partygoers, Rhysand following with an easy confidence that parted the crowds. Cassian’s booming laugh rolled ahead of them, turning a few heads, while Mor and Amren drifted behind, keeping their own easy pace. Azriel settled beside Elain, guiding her gently with a subtle press of his elbow so she didn’t lose them in the throng.

At the bar, the bartender—a fae with a smiling fox mask—tipped his head in greeting. Colorful bottles lined the shelves, potions and liquors in every hue. Cassian ordered something strong and sweet, while Mor demanded a sparkling concoction said to taste like summer rain. Feyre and Rhysand exchanged a private look before they each requested a signature Rita’s special—whatever that might be tonight. Amren quietly asked for her usual: a blood-red wine, dry and full-bodied.

And when the bartender turned to me, I hesitated, uncertain. I looked to Mor, who offered an encouraging grin. 

I finally spoke over the din, “I’ll have what Feyre’s having.” A safe choice, a link between myself and these people who had welcomed me into their fold. As the bartender got to work, I relaxed a fraction. Surrounded by friends—by family—I began to believe I could belong here, in this kaleidoscope of laughter, music, and shimmering costumes.

******

Azriel POV 

Later that evening, as the clamor and brightness of Rita’s masquerade party swelled behind him, Azriel slipped out onto one of the bar’s balcony landings. He rarely took center stage in such festivities; he preferred to linger in the quiet margins, in watchful shadows. But tonight, thanks to Rhysand’s and Feyre’s outlandish costumes, the entire Inner Circle had indulged in their shared whimsy. Which meant he was dressed in a style he’d never have chosen for himself: a fitted outfit of red and green leather, high boots that glinted with polished leather, and a short cape in a brilliant shade of yellow. He had glamoured his wings because they just didn’t seem to fit with his costume theme. A simple half-mask, black and angular, framed his eyes and seemed to sharpen his gaze.

He looked, well… like a sidekick, he supposed. A guardian-in-training. A bright dash of color no one would have expected from the Night Court’s spymaster. Yet, when Rhysand had hinted that this costume would “suit his quiet valor,” and Mor had jokingly nudged him with, “You’ll look adorable,” Azriel had decided to humor them. It was just one night, after all. One night to be something different.

The gentle hush of the night air and a hint of distant music drifted around him as he rested his forearms on the balcony’s railing. He hadn’t expected to be followed, least of all by her. 

Y/n walked out on the balcony, her dark hair cascading down her back like a shimmering curtain of midnight. But it wasn’t her hair that held his attention—it was the outfit. She was dressed as a pirate, but not the type who’d be hidden away on a ship. Her leather corset hugged her curves perfectly, laced tightly at the front and accentuating her small waist. A deep crimson skirt with slits up both sides revealed her toned legs with every step she took, and tall thigh high black boots completed the look. A black hat with a crimson feather perched at a rakish angle on her head, and her usual confidence was amplified by the mischievous smile playing on her lips.

Time seemed to pause for Azriel in that moment, the noise fading into the background as his gaze drank her in. She was breathtaking, striking in a way that made his chest ache.

His hazel eyes traced every detail of her costume, from the glint of the gold chains at her hip to the dagger sheathed at her thigh—an authentic touch that made his lips twitch. Even here, at a costume party, she carried a weapon. 

Of course she does, he thought with a flicker of admiration.

But it wasn’t just her outfit that drew him—it was the way she carried herself. He tore his gaze away for a moment, trying to focus on anything else, but it was impossible. She was magnetic, her presence pulling at him as if the bond thrumming faintly in his chest refused to let him look away.

When she spotted him on the balcony as well, her smile faltered for just a fraction of a second, her gaze locking with his. The moment stretched between them, her eyes wide, as if surprised by his focus on her. Azriel’s jaw tightened, his shadows shifting slightly around his shoulders, betraying the tension coiling within him.

What are you doing, Azriel? he berated himself. He shouldn’t be looking at her like this. Shouldn’t be imagining what it would feel like to trail his fingers along the exposed skin of her thigh, to tug at the laces of that corset and see what lay beneath. He clenched his hands into fists, his knuckles brushing the edge of the railing as he forced himself to look away.

But it was useless. His gaze flicked back to her almost immediately, drawn by some unseen force. 

And then she stopped—right beside him.

She took in his costume one careful inch at a time, her gaze traveling over the rich hues, the sleek mask, the embroidered emblem on his chest. A faint, disbelieving smile curved at the corners of her lips.

“This is unexpected,” she said, voice soft, yet threaded with amusement. “I never thought I’d see you in… something so bright.”

Azriel felt heat creep along his neck, though he managed a small half-smile. “I’m still not entirely sure how Rhysand talked me into this.” He tugged gently at the edge of his cape, as though trying to smooth a wrinkle—or maybe hide behind it. “He said it would fit the theme.”

She stepped closer. The moonlight shimmered over the dark waves of her hair, and the scent of jasmine and sea salt clung faintly to her skin. She tilted her head, her blue eyes catching the light. “Robin, isn’t that what he called you tonight?” The name rolled off her tongue with a teasing lilt.

Azriel cleared his throat. “It’s from the same strange story they plucked their costumes from. Robin is… a trusted partner, I gather. Someone who stands beside the hero.” A subtle shrug of his shoulders. He let the implication hang in the warm night air: that he was a supporting role, a reliable presence, never the main character.

Y/n’s eyes softened. “Standing beside someone doesn’t make you any less important. I’ve heard rumors about this… hero and sidekick. Robin’s loyalty, his quick thinking, and his willingness to step into danger for others. It sounds… familiar.” Her voice held a gentle note, a rare warmth directed just at him.

Azriel’s throat tightened at that, the faint praise laced with understanding. He tried to formulate a response that wouldn’t betray the swirl of emotion within him, but she saved him by leaning in slightly, a playful sparkle in her eyes. “If you ask me,” Y/n said, her tone conspiratorial, “you wear it well. I think this Robin would be proud to have you in his stead.”

Azriel blinked, surprised pleasure flickering in his gaze. He didn’t know if it was the mask granting him courage, but he allowed himself a quieter, warmer smile than usual. “You think so?”

She nodded, stepping just close enough that he caught the shine of starlight in her eyes. “I do. I’m glad I got to see this side of you.” Her gaze flicked briefly over his shoulders, at the colored cape. “The colors suit you in a way I wouldn’t have imagined. It’s… a reminder that even shadows can wear bright things, if only for a night.”

Azriel exhaled softly, a sound that could have been the start of a laugh. He found himself grateful for the mask that concealed enough of his face to hide the full extent of his surprise—and pleasure. “Then maybe I’ll have to keep it,” he teased, surprising himself with the lightness in his tone. “Wear it around Velaris sometime, just to keep everyone on their toes.”

Y/n smiled, a real, radiant one that softened the edges of the night. “I’d like that,” she said, her voice quiet. For a moment, the music and laughter from inside faded into the background, and the two of them stood there, side by side under the Velaris moon. Azriel’s then turned back to her, his gaze lingered over her curves and costume as he drank her in. 

“Enjoying the view, Spymaster?” she teased, her voice low and playful as she tilted her head, the crimson feather in her hat swaying with the movement. Her lips curled into a sly smile, her eyes glinting with amusement as she leaned slightly closer, the scent of her teasing his senses.

Azriel’s throat tightened, his usually steady demeanor slipping for a moment as he struggled to find words. “It’s… a bold costume,” he managed, his voice rougher than usual.

Her smile widened, and there was something almost daring in her expression. “Bold is one word for it,” she said lightly.

His shadows curled tighter, betraying his emotions even as he forced himself to keep his expression neutral. “It suits you,” he said quietly, his gaze flickering down her figure to the dagger sheathed at her thigh before he dragged it back to her face. “Dangerous and beautiful.”

Y/n stilled, the teasing glint in her eyes softening as a faint flush colored her cheeks. 

“I need to go back inside,” he said abruptly, stepping back from the railing. His shadows swirled tighter around him, agitated and restless, reflecting the turmoil he was so carefully trying to hide. “Enjoy the party, Y/n.”

******

Y/n POV

The air on the balcony was cool and refreshing, a stark contrast to the heat and noise inside Rita’s. I leaned against the railing, the city lights of Velaris shimmering below me as Itook a deep breath, trying to steady the flurry of emotions racing through my chest. The party inside was in full swing, the music and laughter spilling out into the night, but I’d needed a moment to myself. Seeing Azriel tonight, the way his eyes had lingered on me in my costume, had stirred something deep inside me—something confusing and raw.

I adjusted the brim of my pirate hat, my fingers brushing the crimson feather as I shook my head. Don’t be ridiculous, I told myself. He’s with Elain. He’s always been with Elain.

The soft sound of boots against the stone pulled me from my thoughts, and I turned just as Lucien stepped out onto the balcony. The golden glow of the city lights danced across his face, highlighting his sharp features and the striking contrast of his long auburn red hair. He was dressed as a pirate too, though his outfit was a little more rugged—dark leather trousers tucked into polished boots, a loose shirt opened to show his chiseled chest with a fitted brown suede vest. He had several pendants around his neck and his weapons hung off the belts around his waist. He topped it off with a sexy black eyepatch over his mechanical eye. 

“Well, well,” he said, a playful smirk tugging at his lips as he leaned casually against the railing beside me. “It seems we’ve had the same idea tonight. Did you plan this?”

I raised a brow, trying to suppress the small smile threatening to form. “Hardly. I think you’re the one copying me, Lucien.”

His smirk widened as he tilted his head, gleaming with mischief. “If I am, it’s only because you wear it so well. But I must say…” He straightened, gesturing between our matching costumes. “We make quite the pair, don’t we?”

I rolled my eyes, though my smile slipped through this time. “Don’t let Mor hear you say that. She’d take credit for both of our costumes.”

Lucien chuckled, his deep, rich laugh warming the cool night air. “That does sound like her,” he admitted. He paused, studying me for a moment before his expression softened. “You look incredible, Y/n. The costume suits you.”

My cheeks flushed faintly, and I turned back toward the city, fiddling with the edge of my hat. “Thanks,” I said quietly, the genuine sincerity in his voice catching me off guard. “You… don’t look so bad yourself.”

He chuckled again, but it was softer this time, and he leaned closer, resting his forearms on the railing as he looked at me. “What are you doing out here, anyway? The party’s inside.”

I sighed, my gaze fixed on the shimmering waters of the Sidra in the distance. “Just needed a breather,” I said after a moment. “It’s a bit overwhelming in there.”

“Ah,” Lucien said knowingly, his voice laced with understanding. “Too many fae in one place, too much noise, and one brooding Shadowsinger staring at you like he’s never seen a woman before?”

My head snapped toward him, my wide eyes meeting his amused gaze. “What are you talking about?” I asked, though the heat rising in my cheeks betrayed me.

Lucien’s smirk deepened, as he straightened. “Oh, come on, Y/n. I’ve known Azriel long enough to recognize that look. He might think he’s subtle, but I’ve seen the way he watches you.” He tilted his head, studying my reaction. “And the way you watch him.”

I swallowed, my hands gripping the railing tightly. “He doesn’t watch me,” I said quickly, though my voice lacked conviction. “He’s… he’s with Elain.”

Lucien’s expression shifted, his smirk fading into something softer, more thoughtful. “Is he?” he asked quietly. “Because from where I’m standing, he seems to be more focused on you than anyone else.”

My heart clenched at his words, but I forced myself to shake my head, turning away again. “You’re wrong,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “It doesn’t matter, anyway.”

Lucien didn’t press me further. Instead, he reached out and gently tugged on the brim of my hat, a faint smile returning to his lips. “Well, if he’s too blind to see what’s in front of him, that’s his loss,” he said lightly. “Because if you ask me, you’re the most stunning woman at this party.”

My breath caught, and I turned to him in surprise, my heart racing at the warmth in his gaze. Before I could respond, Lucien offered me a small bow, the perfect image of a charming pirate. “Now, shall we head back in, Captain?” he asked, holding out his arm with an exaggerated flourish.

Despite myself, I laughed, the tension in my chest easing slightly as I took his arm. “Fine,” I said, shaking my head. “But only if you promise not to call me Captain again.”

“No promises,” Lucien said with a wink, leading me back inside.

But as we re-entered the crowded bar, I felt a familiar pair of hazel eyes on me, sharp and unyielding, even from across the room. When I glanced in Azriel’s direction, his gaze was fixed on where my hand rested on Lucien’s arm, shadows flickering darkly around his shoulders.

And for a moment, the heat of his gaze was almost enough to make me forget everything else. Almost.

******

Y/n POV 

The music at Rita’s had settled into a steady, enticing rhythm as the evening wore on. The costume party was in full swing, and every corner of the bar seemed touched by some fantasy or legend. When I stepped away from the balcony with Lucien and waded back through the throng of revelers, I caught sight of Elain at the far end of the long, polished counter. Elain, usually gentle and understated, had embraced the night’s playful absurdity. She wore armor-like cuffs on her wrists, a gleaming tiara in her softly curling hair, and a red and blue ensemble that paid homage to a warrior woman of legend—an Amazon princess named Diana, Feyre had called her. She radiated confidence and warmth, turning heads as she passed. The pair looked like they had stepped out of a storybook, a flawless couple destined for one another.

“Interesting costume choices, don’t you think?” Mor’s voice cut through my thoughts, a teasing lilt in her tone. I turned to see my friend watching me with a knowing smirk, her sharp gaze darting between me and Azriel.

“Robin suits him,” I replied, my voice carefully neutral as I forced a smile. “And Elain looks… stunning.” I hated how stiff the words sounded, hated how the knot in my chest tightened further as I said them.

“She does,” Mor agreed, though her smirk didn’t fade. “But you didn’t answer my real question.”

I arched a brow, feigning ignorance. “And what question is that?”

Mor’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “What you really think about Azriel and Elain.”

My smile faltered, my gaze dropping to my glass. “I think they look good together,” I said after a moment, the words tasting bitter on my tongue.

Mor tilted her head, studying me with a knowing look. “Interesting,” she murmured, her tone too light to be innocent. “I think they look mismatched.”

My head snapped up, surprise flickering in my eyes. “What do you mean?”

Mor shrugged, a sly smile playing on her lips. “I mean, Azriel may be standing there with her, but I know him well enough to see where his mind is.”

I frowned, my heart thudding in her chest. “And where is that, exactly?”

Mor leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “On the sexy pirate who has him so tied up in knots, he doesn’t know what to do with himself.”

My cheeks flushed, my heart stuttering at the implication. I opened my mouth to argue, to deny it, but Mor had already turned back to the crowd, her smirk widening as she watched Azriel glance in our direction.

My stomach flipped as my gaze followed his, catching the brief flicker of something in his hazel eyes as they locked onto mine for the briefest moment. And then he turned back to Elain, his attention shifting seamlessly as though nothing had happened.

I paused, hovering just at the edge of a knot of partygoers. From my vantage point, I saw Azriel leaning against the bar, his dark hair falling slightly into his eyes, the edges of his robin-themed mask catching the light. He wore it well, even with his shoulders squared as if expecting some danger that would never come. He’d seemed relaxed with me on the balcony before Lucien’s arrival, even teased me lightly. Now, watching him from a distance, I realized that sense of comfort I’d felt moments before was not mine alone to share.

Elain approached him with a gentle smile, and Azriel inclined his head, acknowledging her presence. She said something—I couldn’t make out the words—and Azriel’s lips curved into a quiet, subdued smile in return. They stood close, close enough that Elain’s glossy curls brushed near his shoulder, close enough that my chest tightened at the sight. There was nothing overtly intimate about their stance, yet the ease between them was undeniable. Elain’s laughter, soft and melodic, reached my ears even over the hum of conversation.

I tried to quell the envy, the insecurity coursing through my veins. It was unfair to Elain, who had been nothing but kind, open, and gracious since my arrival. Still, seeing them together—Elain as regal and radiant as a warrior queen, Azriel so at ease by her side—caused a quiet ache in my chest.

It wasn’t the playful banter, or even the teasing glances they exchanged that bothered me. It was the way Azriel, normally so reserved and distant, was allowing it. He was letting Elain into his space, into his proximity in a way that stung deeper than I wanted to admit. My heart twisted painfully in my chest as I watched them, the distance between he and I growing more and more significant with each passing moment. 

And at that moment realized it hit me.

I was in love with Azriel.

And what made it hurt was that Azriel had made his choice...and it wasn’t me.

He had chosen her.

My own costume felt suffocating—too tight around my chest, as though it was somehow mocking me. The corset I wore seemed to accentuate my discomfort, but it was nothing compared to the way my heart twisted as I watched him with Elain. The jealousy that boiled inside me was thick and painful, settling deep in my stomach, making it hard to breathe.

But I couldn’t help the way my eyes were drawn back to them, time and time again. Azriel’s attention was completely focused on Elain, and for some reason, it felt like everything inside me had shattered. The realization that I couldn’t get close enough to him and that it felt like he was slipping away from me—was almost unbearable.

Azriel’s gaze lifted momentarily and swept through the crowd—did he feel me watching him? He straightened a fraction, shadows gathering subtly near his shoulders. Then, as if he found what he was looking for, his eyes met mine across the space, catching me in the act of observing. He didn’t smile, didn’t beckon me over, but something in his gaze hardened. Like I was intruding into something I shouldn’t be. 

And with that thought, I felt something inside me close off. I wouldn’t let him see how much it hurt. 

Not now. 

Not in front of anyone. 

So, I turned away, my heart heavier with each step, determined to hold onto the fragments of myself that were slipping away with every glance I cast in his direction. 

My pulse fluttered. I had no right to jealousy, had no claim over him and yet, the jealous feeling remained, a lump in my throat that wouldn’t subside. I managed a small nod, and forced myself to move, to drift along the bar’s length. I’d find Lucien or Mor, find a reason to laugh, to enjoy the night as I was meant to. 

Still, as I wove through the costumed guests searching for Lucien or Mor, I couldn’t shake the image of them standing side by side. Azriel and Elain—the spymaster and the gentle dreamer turned warrior-goddess for a night.

I met up with Lucien again near the edge of the dance floor, where the crowd thinned just enough for me to spot his distinctive auburn hair.

He straightened as I neared, a grin curving his lips, and welcomed me with an easy bow, offering his hand as the music shifted to a sultry, rhythmic tune. Rita’s had cleared a small space in the center for dancing, and as we stepped into that open circle, I felt the weight of dozens of curious gazes—one in particular.

******

Azriel POV

Azriel’s jaw tightened, his chest tightening with a sharp pang of jealousy as he watched her approach Lucien, and his offering of his hand to her. Then she looked up at him and laughed at whatever Lucien had said. Her smile was radiant, her gaze lighting up in a way that made Azriel’s heart clench. And yet, there was something deeper in his hazel eyes as he watched her—something that burned like a smoldering fire, unyielding and all-consuming.

They were dressed as pirates, the perfect pair. Y/n’s outfit hugged her figure, a corseted jacket of deep black leather. She looked fierce and radiant, her confidence a magnet for every eye in the room. Lucien matched her, his rugged attire equally striking. They looked as if they’d stepped from the pages of a sea-bound epic, a swashbuckling duo come to life.

Azriel’s chest tightened as he watched her laugh at something Lucien said, her hand brushing his arm in a gesture that seemed too familiar, too easy. She looked happy—carefree in a way. And while he knew he had no right to begrudge her joy, the jealousy clawed at him anyway, hot and insistent.

Even as she laughed with Lucien, Azriel couldn’t take his eyes off her. She was everything—his bond, his mate and his self-control was seriously beginning to erode. 

Azriel’s grip on his glass tightened, the cool edge of the tumbler biting into his fingers. His shadows stirred uneasily at his feet, mirroring the storm brewing in his chest. He didn’t need to look around to know others had noticed her too—the way heads turned, admiring glances from fae males trailing her every step. But it wasn’t the others that sparked his jealousy, and it wasn't just her appearance that had his attention-it was who she was dancing with.

Lucien.

Azriel's jaw clenched as he watched them.

Lucien's hands rested on Y/n’s waist, far too comfortably for Azriel's liking, his fingers dangerously close to the lower curve of her back. Every now and then, Lucien's hands would slide lower, just enough to make Azriel's shadows writhe with agitation.

Then there was the way Lucien leaned into her neck, his lips hovering mere inches from her skin as he spoke to her. Whatever he was saying made her laugh softly, and the sound, combined with the way she tilted her head slightly to listen, exposed the delicate line of her throat. Lucien lingered there longer than necessary, his lips so close to her skin that Azriel swore he saw the faintest brush of air between them.

Lucien straightened, his hand on her waist tightening slightly as they danced closer, their bodies almost touching. Their faces were mere inches apart now, their breath mingling as they moved in perfect rhythm to the sultry beat. When she spun, the curls of her hair brushed his cheek; when she stepped forward, her knee slipped between his, bringing them momentarily closer than polite society would ever allow. Her hands went around his neck as they moved and gyrated their hips in a sultry, synchronous dance. The music thrummed, sensual and hypnotic, and their laughter mixed with its pulse.

Y/n’s blue eyes locked onto Lucien's, and the intensity in her gaze made Azriel's chest tighten. Lucien stared back at her as though she were the only person in the room, his gaze fixed on her with a reverence that made Azriel's blood boil.

Their lips were almost touching, their gazes locked, and Lucien seemed utterly lost in her.

He told himself he had no right to feel this way, that she owed him nothing. Fate had bound him to her, but she was free, her desires her own. Still, the quiet ache in his chest refused to fade. His fingertips tapped an erratic rhythm against the bar’s edge as he tried—and failed—to keep his gaze from drifting back to the dancing pair. He motioned the bartender for another shot and slammed it as he motioned again for another one, gripping the glass in a deathlike vice. 

“Careful, Az,” came a voice at his side. He turned to find Cassian leaning casually against the bar, a knowing smirk on his face. “You’re going to shatter that drink with how hard you’re gripping it.”

“I’m fine,” Azriel replied curtly, though the tension in his jaw betrayed him.

A spin brought Y/n face-to-face with Lucien, closer still, and Azriel’s breath caught. The gentle curve of her smile, the glow in her eyes—he knew that glow. He’d seen it on others who found Lucien’s charm enchanting. At that moment, Azriel would have given anything to be the one in front of her, to feel her body responding to the music against his own, to coax that laugh from her lips.

But he remained at a distance, leaning against the bar just off the dance floor, keeping a watchful eye on her. He’d had to swallow down his jealousy more than once tonight as others noticed what he considered to be his. 

His beautiful mate. 

He tried to appear calm, though his posture tense, a subtle sign of the turmoil within him. But the sight of her with Lucien started to become his undoing. 

Lucien’s hand shifted slightly, his thumb brushing a soft circle over her hip, and Azriel's fists clenched at his sides. The way Lucien looked at her-as though she were his—made something dark and possessive roar to life within Azriel.

Beside him, Cassian leaned casually against the bar, swirling his drink in his hand. He followed Azriel's line of sight, his brows rising as he took in the scene on the dance floor.

The music shifted to a an even slower, sultrier beat, and Y/n moved with an effortless grace that made Azriel’s heart twist. Lucien matched her step for step, his hands resting on her hips as he pulled her flush with his body, her arms wrapping tighter around his neck. They swayed together, their bodies so close that Azriel could not see any space between them, their bodies far too close for Azriel’s liking.

Azriel’s hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms as he fought the urge to march onto the dance floor and tear them apart. He could feel the bond between him and Y/n thrumming faintly, an unspoken connection that was only known to him and fueled his jealousy as he watched her smile at Lucien, her body melting more into his they moved.

Azriel's knuckles whitened as he slammed his drink onto the bar with enough force to make the glass rattle. Cassian's gaze snapped back to him.

"Oh shit," Cassian muttered, his eyes darting back to Y/n and Lucien. "This is about to get interesting."

Azriel’s shadows lashed out violently, curling and writhing at his feet as he pushed off the bar and strode toward them. The room seemed to quiet in his mind, the music and laughter fading into the background as his focus narrowed to the two of them.

"That's enough," Azriel said, his voice low but cutting as he grabbed her wrist. His touch wasn't rough, but it was firm, and the intensity in his hazel eyes made her stop mid-step.

"Azriel, what-" she began, her brows knitting in confusion.

"We're talking. Outside. Now," he said sharply, his shadows curling around his boots as he pulled her toward the door.

Lucien started to step forward, but Azriel shot him a look that froze him in place. "Stay out of this," Azriel growled, his voice edged with a warning that even Lucien couldn't ignore.

Y/n barely had time to process what was happening as Azriel guided her outside, the cool night air hitting her face as they stepped into the quiet alley behind Rita's. She yanked her wrist free. 

“What the hell, Az?”

Azriel turned to face her, his hazel eyes blazing. "What the hell were you doing in there? Dancing with him like that? Letting him put his hands all over you?"

Her eyes widened in shock. "Dancing, Azriel. It was just dancing. Why do you care?"

"Why do I care?" he repeated, his voice rising.

The glamour on his wings dissolved, his wings then flaring behind him, and his shadows lashed at the ground. "Because he had his scent all over you. His scent. And you two looked like-like—"

"Like what?" she snapped, stepping closer. "Like a couple? Is that what you're so upset about?"

"Yes!" Azriel yelled, his voice raw with frustration. "You're dressed like pirates together, looking like you walked out of some stupid fantasy book, and you don't even realize how it looks. How it feels to see you with him like that. Lucien—" He stopped abruptly, his chest heaving, before finishing. "Lucien is Elain's mate, Y/n. Don't you think about what that must make Elain feel? How awkward it must be for her?"

Y/n’s eyes narrowed, anger flashing in her stormy blue eyes, the color changing to a deep-sea blue where the ocean water darkens in color as the light can no longer reach it. She was livid, her anger coiled like a snake and ready to strike.

“Elain doesn’t give a shit about Lucien.” She snapped, stepping forward to get in his face. "She's made that very clear. And if you didn't notice, Elain is quite taken with you, Azriel." Her words were sharp, cutting, as she added, "So why does it matter to you?"

Azriel froze, her question hanging heavily in the air. His jaw clenched, his wings twitching as his gaze locked onto hers. "Because you don't belong to him," he said finally, his voice low but filled with unspoken emotion.

Y/n blinked, her breath hitching as she took a step back. "Go back inside, Azriel," she said quietly, crossing her arms as though trying to shield herself. "Go back to Elain. That's what you want, isn't it?"

"No," Azriel said firmly, his voice trembling with the intensity of the word.

"Azriel," she hissed again, her tone sharper now.

"Go back inside. Go back to Elain." She pointed to the door.

"I said no!" Azriel shouted, his voice breaking through the quiet night air as he stepped closer to her, the tension between them was palpable. 

Y/n opened her mouth to argue, but before she could speak, Azriel surged forward, his hands cupping her face as he crushed his lips to hers in a kiss filled with heat, frustration, and something deeper.

She froze for a moment, shocked, but the warmth of his lips, the desperate way he kissed her, broke through her defenses. Slowly, her body relaxed against his, and she kissed him back, her hands moving to his chest, then his shoulders as the kiss deepened.

Azriel groaned softly as her fingers moved up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. His hands slid from her face to her waist, gripping her tightly as he pressed her against the wall, their bodies flush.

His shadows coiled around them, blocking out the world, and he could feel her trembling beneath his touch as he pressed his hard cock against her stomach, wanting her to feel him, feel how she was driving him insane. 

“Gods, angel,” he murmured, as he trailed kisses down her jawline and her neck. “What are you doing to me?” 

She whimpered and the scent of her arousal hit him like a tsunami, mingling with his own, and it nearly undid him. His hands grabbed hers and held them over her head and he pinned her hands down. As his kisses increased in intensity, he held her wrists with one hand and moved the other down her body. She responded with equal intensity, as a soft moan escaped her lips, a sound that sent heat rushing through him, his blood thundering in his veins. 

“You. Are. Mine.” He growled between kisses as his free hand slid up from her waist to her corset, caressing and palming her breast as his mouth continued to devour hers. 

Y/n arched her back against him, seeking the friction she desperately needed against her core as his hand moved down from her breast to the slit in her skirt. He slid his hand up her inner thigh to her lace panties, where he felt the dampness at the apex of her thighs…and he snapped. 

His mouth moved back down to her neck, kissing, licking and biting her skin, her breath coming out in pants. He moved his mouth back up to hers as abruptly pulled her panties aside and ran his fingers over her, his fingers immediately wet from her pussy.

“Mother above, baby, your body is so responsive to me.” He smiled against her mouth as his tongue danced with hers. 

As he his fingers slowly caressed her clit in circles, he swallowed her moans and inserted a finger inside of her, slowly pumping it inside and out.

Fuck, she was intoxicating, and he wanted to just get drunk on her for the rest of eternity. 

“Azriel,” she moaned as he slid another finger inside her. She was sopping wet for him and all he wanted to do was drop his to his knees, pull her leg over his shoulder and feast on her as the scent of her overcame him. 

But then, reality slammed into him.

Azriel pulled away abruptly, his breathing ragged, his hazel eyes wide, pupils blown, with a mix of longing and regret. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I shouldn't have – this was a mistake"

"Azriel, wait," Y/n began, reaching for him, but he stepped back, shaking his head.

"I can't... I can't do this right now," he said, his voice breaking as he turned and disappeared into the shadows, leaving her alone in the alley with the taste of him still on her lips. 

Back inside, Cassian stood at the bar, watching Azriel storm back in and Y/n’s stunned face visible just outside the door. He shook his head with a low whistle, muttering to himself, "Oh shit." He downed the rest of his drink, knowing full well he'd probably be hearing about this later.

******

Y/n POV

I stood in the cool night air, my back against the wall of the alley behind Rita’s, my chest rising and falling as I tried to steady my breathing. The sounds of the party still filtered faintly through the door, but the world around me felt impossibly quiet, as though the kiss had stolen all sound along with my composure.

My fingers trembled as they brushed against my lips, still tingling from the heat of Azriel’s kiss. I could feel him there, the ghost of his touch lingering like a brand. It had been fiery, raw, and so filled with emotion that it left me reeling. I could still feel the pressure of his hands on my face, the weight of his body against mine, the way his shadows had seemed to cocoon us from the rest of the world.

The cool air brushing against face did nothing to calm the storm inside me. I closed my eyes, trying to push away the memory of his hazel eyes blazing with intensity, of the possessiveness in his voice when he’d said I didn’t belong to Lucien and claimed me as his.  

Confusion swirled through my mind, mixing with anger and longing in equal measure. Why had he kissed me? Why had he acted so… possessive? He’d stormed out of the party, dragging me away from Lucien, chastising me as though I’d done something wrong. But I hadn’t. Had I?

My brows furrowed as my thoughts turned to Lucien. We’d been dancing—close, yes, but it had been harmless. Or at least, I’d thought it was. Lucien was my friend, nothing more. The idea that Azriel had thought otherwise made my chest tighten with frustration. 

But Azriel’s words lingered, cutting through my confusion like shards of glass. “Because you don’t belong to him.” His voice had been filled with something raw, something I couldn’t ignore. And the way he’d looked at me… like I was his entire world, like the very idea of me with someone else was unbearable.

My fingers curled into fists at my sides as I opened my eyes, staring out into the dark alley. I didn’t know what to think, didn’t know how to process the whirlwind of emotions that the kiss had stirred within me. All I knew was that it had awakened something in me, something I could no longer ignore.

My heart pounded as I replayed the moment in my mind, over and over again. The warmth of his lips, the way his scent—cedar, mist, and shadows—had wrapped around me, the way he’d kissed me and touched me like he was claiming me, like I was his. It had left me breathless, confused, and yearning for him.

But then he’d pulled away, his expression filled with regret, and his apology had stung more than I cared to admit. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—” The words echoed in my mind, leaving a hollow ache in my chest. He’d walked away, disappearing into the shadows without giving me a chance to respond, to ask him what it all meant.

I pressed my hand against my chest, trying to calm the erratic beat of my heart. I didn’t know what to do with this—didn’t know how to handle the fire he’d ignited within me. All I knew was that I still felt him, in the warmth lingering on my lips, in the way my body ached to be close to him again, to feels his strong hands all over me.

I shook my head, letting out a shaky breath as I straightened. I couldn’t stay out here, couldn’t let myself get lost in the confusion and longing that threatened to overwhelm me. But as I stepped back toward the party, my thoughts were still consumed by him—by the kiss, by the emotions he’d unleashed, and by the way my heart seemed to ache in his absence.

I didn’t know what to think, didn’t know what to feel. All I knew was that Azriel had left his mark on me in a way that felt as permanent as the stars, and I wasn’t sure if I could ever let it go.

“Y/n?”

The voice startled me, and I turned to see Mor standing in the doorway, her golden hair catching the dim light spilling from Rita’s. Mor’s expression shifted from curiosity to concern as she took in my flushed face and the slightly dazed look in my eyes.

“What happened?” Mor asked, stepping closer, her voice softer now but laced with determination.

I hesitated, my fingers brushing my lips again before I let out a shaky breath. “Azriel,” I said simply, the name heavy with emotion.

Mor’s brows shot up, and she tilted her head, urging me to continue.

“He—he pulled me out here,” I said, my voice trembling slightly. “We argued about Lucien, about dancing with him. And then… he kissed me.”

Mor’s eyes widened, and she let out a low whistle, crossing her arms as she leaned against the wall beside me. “Well,” she said, dragging the word out. “That’s a development. What did you do?”

I pulled my hat off and ran a hand through my hair, as I tried to find the right words. “I kissed him back,” I admitted, my cheeks flushing. “But then he pulled away and apologized. And then he… he just walked away.”

Mor frowned, her expression darkening as she considered my words. “That idiot,” she muttered under her breath.

I turned to her, confused. “What do you think is happening, Mor? Why would he… why would he do that?”

Mor let out a sigh, shaking her head. “Azriel has spent his entire life keeping his emotions locked up, trying to convince himself he doesn’t deserve happiness. But you…” She gestured at me, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You’re the first person I’ve seen him look at like this. Like he can’t breathe when you’re not near him.”

I blinked, my breath hitching at Mor’s words. “But he apologized. He looked… regretful. Like it was a mistake.”

“That’s because he’s an idiot,” Mor said flatly, rolling her eyes. “He’s terrified, Y/n. He doesn’t know how to handle what he feels for you, and instead of facing it, he’s going to pretend it’s not there. Classic Az.”

I frowned, my confusion deepening. “What am I supposed to do with that? Just… wait for him to figure it out?”

Mor turned to me fully, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. “Absolutely not,” she said firmly. “What you’re going to do is refuse to let him ruin your night.”

Before I could respond, Mor grabbed my hand, tugging me toward the door. “The night is still young, and you’re not going to stand out here sulking because Azriel can’t get his head out of his ass.”

“Wait, Mor—” I started, but Mor cut her off with a determined shake of her head.

“Nope,” Mor said, her tone leaving no room for argument. “We’re leaving. We’re going to have fun. And I’m not taking no for an answer.”

Once inside, Mor scanned the room until her eyes landed on Lucien, still standing near the edge of the dance floor, looking mildly confused. She marched over with me reluctantly trailing behind her.

“Lucien,” Mor said, her tone bright and cheerful as she looped her arm through his. “We’re taking Y/n somewhere else. Another bar, something more fun. You in?”

Lucien glanced between Mor and I, his eye narrowing slightly as he seemed to piece together what had happened. But then he smiled, a small, knowing grin tugging at his lips. “Absolutely,” he said, his voice warm. “Lead the way.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but Mor silenced me with a pointed look. “You’re coming too, Y/n,” Mor said, tugging me along. “No arguments.”

Mor dropped Lucien’s arm, and he placed his hand on the small of my back to lead me out of the bar. As we turned toward the door, I froze for a moment, my heart skipping a beat. Azriel was standing near the bar, his arms crossed over his chest, his hazel eyes blazing as he watched us. The shadows around his feet were restless, curling and snapping in agitation, and his jaw was set in a hard line.

He didn’t move, didn’t speak, but his expression said everything. He was furious. With himself or with me, I wasn’t sure which. 

I swallowed hard, my heart twisting at the sight of him, but Mor didn’t give me time to linger. She tugged me toward the exit, and Lucien with his hand at the small of my back, leading me out of of Rita’s and into the night.

I could still feel Azriel’s gaze burning into my back as we walked away, my thoughts a tangled mess of confusion, longing, and frustration. And as we headed down the street to another bar, I couldn’t shake the feeling that tonight was far from over.

******

Azriel POV

Azriel stormed back into the bar, the door slamming shut behind him as his shadows curled and snapped around his boots, reflecting the storm raging inside him. The kiss still burned on his lips, the feel of Y/n pressed against him seared into his memory, her moaning his name as his fingers found her wet and ready for him to take her. And yet, he had apologized. Called it a mistake. Even though every fiber of his being screamed that it wasn’t.

He made his way back to the bar, his jaw clenched and his hazel eyes blazing with frustration. Without a word, he motioned the bartender for a shot and swallowed it down, motioning for another and another drink, shooting them in succession, his throat burning, but it did nothing to dull the emotions tearing him apart.

“Azriel?” a soft voice called, tentative and concerned.

He turned his head slightly to see Elain approaching, her brows knitted together in worry. She looked delicate and lovely, as always, her voice a balm to some. But not to him. Not now.

“Are you alright?” she asked, stepping closer. Her hand reached out to touch his arm, a light, comforting gesture, but it only made his muscles tense further. “You seem… upset.”

Azriel didn’t answer, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on the door. And then, she walked back in.

Y/n.

Her blue eyes found his almost instantly, and the weight of her gaze made his chest tighten. She looked confused, vulnerable, and achingly beautiful as the faint glow of the lights caught on her dark hair. Lucien, his arm linked with Mor, came up beside her. Lucien moved his hand to rest lightly on the small of Y/n’s back as they moved through the crowd. The sight made Azriel’s grip on his glass tighten until it threatened to shatter.

Her eyes lingered on him for a moment, her expression sad, almost pleading, before she turned her gaze away and let Lucien lead her out of the bar, his hand still resting on the small of her back. 

Azriel’s breath hitched, the ache in his chest unbearable. He barely noticed Elain leaning closer, her voice soft in his ear as she tried to offer more words of comfort. “Azriel, do you want to talk? Maybe we can—”

“Not now,” Azriel snapped, his voice low but sharp. He shook her off, stepping away from her touch.

Elain blinked, startled by his tone, and took a step back, her lips parting as though she wanted to say more. But Azriel’s focus wasn’t on her. His hazel eyes remained locked on Y/n as she moved toward the door with Lucien.

When she disappeared from sight, Azriel let out a harsh breath and turned back to the bar, signaling the bartender for another shot. He drank heavily, his shadows swirling more erratically now, their movements mirroring the turmoil within him.

Cassian appeared beside him, his brows furrowed as he leaned against the bar. “What the hell is going on, Az?” he asked, his voice low but laced with concern. “You’ve been storming around like you’re ready to kill someone. And what was that with Elain?”

Azriel didn’t respond immediately, his gaze fixed on the glass in his hand as though it held answers to questions he couldn’t ask.

Cassian narrowed his eyes, his tone sharper now. “Fine. If you don’t want to talk about Elain, then let’s talk about Y/n. What happened with her?”

Azriel’s grip on his glass tightened, the tension in his body palpable. He exhaled sharply, his jaw clenching as he muttered, “Nothing worth talking about.”

“Bullshit,” Cassian said, crossing his arms. “You’re drinking like a madman, glaring at Lucien like you want to rip his head off, and Y/n looked like she’d just been through hell. What. Happened?”

Azriel’s hazel eyes darkened, his shadows flaring briefly as he shot Cassian a warning look. “Leave it, Cassian.”

But Cassian didn’t back down. “Brother,” he said, his voice quieter but no less firm, “if you don’t claim her, someone else will.”

A low growl rumbled in Azriel’s chest, quiet but unmistakable. His shadows snapped around his boots, restless and agitated, as his wings flared slightly. “Don’t,” he warned, his voice edged with fury.

Cassian raised a brow, unfazed by the reaction. “I don’t understand you,” he said, his tone laced with frustration. “You’re clearly losing your mind over her, but instead of doing something about it, you’re standing here drinking yourself into a rage.”

Azriel turned away, his hands gripping the edge of the bar as he tried to steady himself. “It’s not that simple,” he said finally, his voice low and rough.

Cassian shook his head, a mixture of sympathy and exasperation crossing his face. “You’re going to lose her, Az. And when you do, you’ll only have yourself to blame.”

Azriel didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the glass in his hand. The shadows around him stilled briefly, as though even they were holding their breath.

But Cassian’s words lingered, cutting through the haze of anger and confusion like a blade. And as Azriel poured himself another drink, his mind raced with the one thought he couldn’t escape: he didn’t deserve her. But gods, how he wanted her anyway.

******

Y/n POV

As the three of us walked down the bustling streets of Velaris, the music and chatter of Rita’s fading behind us, Lucien glanced down at me, his amber eye gleaming with curiosity. He shifted slightly, then draped his arm casually around my shoulders, pulling me close enough to block the chill of the night air.

“All right,” he said, his tone light but probing. “Are you going to tell me what happened back there, or do I have to guess?”

I tensed slightly under his arm, and glanced up at him, my eyes still shadowed with the confusion and emotions swirling inside me. “It’s… complicated,” I said finally, my voice quiet.

“Complicated?” Lucien echoed, his brows arching as he studied me. “Y/n, you looked like you’d seen a ghost when Mor dragged you back inside. Then there’s Azriel, glaring at me like he’s about to summon the shadows to throttle me. That doesn’t exactly scream ‘complicated.’ It screams drama.”

Before I could answer, Mor let out a snort of laughter, her golden hair catching the moonlight as she turned to look at us. “Oh, it’s definitely drama,” she said, her tone teasing but edged with a knowing sharpness.

Lucien tilted his head at Mor. “Care to share, oh wise one?”

Mor grinned, tossing a glance at me, who groaned softly in response. “Azriel kissed her,” Mor said matter-of-factly, her grin widening as Lucien’s eyebrows shot up.

“Kissed her?” Lucien repeated, his voice filled with surprise. He looked down at me again, his arm still resting comfortably across my shoulders. “That’s what this is about? The Shadowsinger finally made a move and then what, freaked out and left?”

I let out a shaky sigh, wrapping my arms around myself as we walked. “We argued about… you,” I admitted, my cheeks flushing slightly. “He was upset about us dancing, about how it looked. And then, out of nowhere, he kissed me. But then he apologized and walked away like it was a mistake.”

Lucien whistled low under his breath, his grip on my shoulder tightening slightly in a reassuring gesture. “That explains the death glare,” he said, his voice laced with dry humor. “But why in the world would he think it was a mistake?”

Mor rolled her eyes, her pace quickening as she turned to walk backward so she could face us. “Because Azriel is Azriel,” she said, her tone exasperated. “He’s terrified of his feelings, convinced he doesn’t deserve happiness, and instead of owning up to what he clearly feels for her, he’s probably sulking back at Rita’s, brooding and feeling sorry for himself.”

Lucien raised a brow at her, his smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You sound like you’ve rehearsed that.”

“Oh, trust me, I’ve had plenty of practice when it comes to Azriel and his brooding,” Mor replied, her grin sharp. She turned to me, pointing a finger at me. “But you, my dear, are not going to let him ruin your night. If he wants to sit there sulking in the corner, that’s on him. You? You’re going to have fun.”

I glanced between Mor and Lucien, my chest tightening as I tried to process everything that had happened. I could still feel the heat of Azriel’s kiss, the way his shadows had curled around us like they were in our own world. But then there was the regret in his eyes as he pulled away, the way he’d disappeared into the night like he couldn’t face what he’d done.

“I don’t know what to think,” I admitted softly, my voice barely audible over the buzz of the city.

Lucien’s arm tightened around my shoulders again, and he tilted his head to catch my gaze. “Then don’t think,” he said gently. “Just let yourself have a good time tonight. Whatever Azriel’s deal is, it’s his to figure out. You don’t owe him anything, Y/n.”

Mor nodded firmly, spinning back around as they approached the glowing lights of another bar. “Exactly. Let him stew in his own mess while we drink and dance and remind Velaris why we’re the most fun people in this court.”

I couldn’t help but laugh softly at Mor’s enthusiasm, a small smile tugging at my lips. “Fine,” I said, my voice a little stronger. “You’re both impossible, but fine.”

“That’s the spirit,” Mor said, grabbing Lucien’s other arm and pulling him toward the bar. “Come on, let’s show this place what a real party looks like.”

And as we stepped inside, I allowed myself, for just a little while, to focus on the warmth of my friends and the noise of the crowd. But no matter how much I tried to push it away, the feel of Azriel’s lips on mine, and the fire he’d ignited, lingered in the back of my mind, a constant reminder of the storm waiting for me when the night finally ended.

******

Azriel POV

Azriel returned to the House of Wind in the dead of night, the city lights of Velaris twinkling faintly behind him as he stepped into the quiet halls. His shadows curled around him, restless and agitated, mirroring the storm inside his chest. The memory of Y/n —her lips, her scent, her touch—was etched into his mind, refusing to fade no matter how hard he tried to drown it out.

He made his way to the sitting room, bypassing the dimly glowing hearth to grab the bottle of whiskey on the side table. Without bothering to pour a glass, he sank into one of the chairs, his wings drooping behind him as he uncorked the bottle and took a long drink. The burn down his throat was sharp and welcome, but it did little to numb the ache in his chest.

He wanted her. Gods, how he wanted her. It wasn’t just her beauty—though that alone could bring him to his knees. It was her strength, her fire, the way her laugh lit up a room and the way she met him as an equal, challenging him at every turn. She had walked into his life and completely undone him, and now he didn’t know how to exist without her.

But she didn’t know. She didn’t know about the bond thrumming between them, didn’t know that every glance, every touch, every word they exchanged felt like a piece of his soul being stitched back together. And she couldn’t know. Because no matter how much he wanted her—needed her—he couldn’t allow himself to have her.

He took another long swig from the bottle, his hazel eyes narrowing as his mind replayed the events of the night. The way Lucien’s hand had rested so casually on her waist, the way they had laughed together like they shared secrets no one else could touch. The way Lucien had touched what was his.

A low growl rumbled in Azriel’s chest, his shadows lashing out and curling along the edges of the room. 

Lucien.

He had wanted to rip him apart right there in the bar, to throw him against the wall and make it clear that Y/n wasn’t his to touch. 

Azriel’s grip tightened around the bottle, his knuckles whitening as he tried to steady the fury building inside him. He hated the possessiveness that roared to life whenever he saw her with someone else, hated how it made him feel out of control, like a beast barely contained. But what he hated most was the jealousy—the quiet, insidious voice in his mind that whispered he might lose her to someone else. To someone better.

Because he didn’t deserve her.

That truth had always loomed over him like a shadow. His past was steeped in blood and darkness, his hands stained with the lives he had taken, the lives he had ruined. He was broken, fractured in ways that could never be healed, and he had spent centuries convincing himself that he wasn’t worthy of happiness. Of love.

Y/n deserved more than him. She deserved light and laughter and someone who could give her the world without the weight of shadows dragging her down. And even though every part of him screamed to claim her, to tell her the truth, he knew he couldn’t.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he stared into the flickering firelight. The bottle dangled loosely from his hand, forgotten for the moment as his mind raced. He had to push her away, no matter how much it hurt. No matter how much it killed him to see her sad, to see her confused, to see her walking away with someone who wasn’t him.

This was better. Safer. For her, if not for him.

But as the night dragged on and the whiskey did little to dull the longing that consumed him, Azriel couldn’t help but wonder if he was lying to himself. If, perhaps, pushing her away wasn’t about protecting her—but about punishing himself.

The thought lingered as he took another swig, the shadows coiling tighter around him like they could hold him together. But even they couldn’t drown out the bond humming faintly in the back of his mind, reminding him of what could never be.

Azriel leaned back in the chair, the bottle of whiskey dangling loosely from his fingers as he took another long drink. The firelight flickered across his face, casting shadows over the sharp planes of his jaw and the tight set of his lips. He barely felt the burn anymore; the alcohol did nothing to quiet the storm in his chest.

He tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling as he let out a slow, shaky breath. But the memory of her wouldn’t leave him. Her azure-blue eyes, the way they had looked at him when she thought he wasn’t watching. The softness of her lips against his, the fire in her touch when she kissed him back. It had been everything he had ever wanted, everything he hadn’t dared to dream of—and he had thrown it away.

This was a mistake.

The words had left his mouth like a blade, cutting through the moment they had shared, tearing apart something he hadn’t even allowed himself to fully acknowledge. Because how could he admit it? That she was his. That the bond between them hummed in his chest like a constant reminder, one she knew nothing about, an ache that grew stronger every time he pushed her away.

He took another drink, the liquid spilling slightly over his lips as his grip tightened around the bottle. His shadows swirled restlessly, curling around his boots and stretching toward the empty room like they were searching for something—someone. They knew what he wanted. Who he wanted.

She. Is. Mine. 

The thought slammed into him, raw and possessive. Lucien’s hand on her waist, the way he had looked at her like she belonged to him. Azriel growled low in his throat, the sound rumbling in the silence as his shadows snapped angrily around him. 

The words echoed in his mind, unspoken but undeniable. His hand clenched around the neck of the bottle, his knuckles white as the jealousy roared to life again. He could still see it—Lucien’s fingers resting too low on her waist, the way he leaned into her laugh like he had a right to be close to her. It made Azriel’s blood boil, the possessive fury threatening to consume him.

He drained the bottle, the whiskey burning as it slid down his throat, but it wasn’t enough. He grabbed another from the side table, his movements jerky and frustrated as he uncorked it and took a deep swig. He wanted to rip Lucien apart, to tear him limb from limb for daring to touch what wasn’t his. 

As the fire burned low and the night stretched on, Azriel drank and brooded, drowning in the desperate, aching need for the mate he couldn’t have—and the fury at anyone who dared to touch her. 

******

Y/n POV

The House of Wind was quiet as Lucien and I stepped inside, the chill of the night air following them. Lucien’s arm rested comfortably around my waist, his touch light but familiar as we walked together. We were laughing softly, an inside joke from our walk still lingering between us, the warmth of the evening’s distraction temporarily easing the tension that had haunted me since leaving Rita’s.

My soft laugh echoed in the quiet hall, but it quickly faded when we stepped into the main sitting room and saw Azriel.

He was slouched in one of the armchairs near the fire, a bottle of amber liquid in his hand, his wings draped loosely over the sides of the chair. The flickering firelight cast sharp shadows over his face, but his expression was clear—dark, brooding, and furious. His hazel eyes immediately locked onto both of us, narrowing as his gaze fell to Lucien’s arm around my waist.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop.

Lucien’s laugh died in his throat, his posture shifting slightly as he caught Azriel’s glare. He didn’t remove his arm from my waist, though I stiffened under his touch as I felt the tension radiating from the Spymaster.

“Well,” Lucien said lightly, his voice breaking the heavy silence, though his amber eye remained fixed on Azriel. “I think that’s my cue to disappear.” He gave me a small smile, his grip on my waist tightening briefly before he let his arm fall away. “I’ll be upstairs if you need me.”

Lucien turned to Azriel briefly, offering him a polite nod, but Azriel didn’t respond. Instead, a sharp, sarcastic laugh escaped him, cold and cutting as his shadows curled more tightly around his boots. The sound stopped Lucien in his tracks, his eye narrowing as he looked back over his shoulder, but he didn’t say anything. After a brief pause, he continued up the stairs, leaving me and Azriel alone.

My heart pounded as I turned to face Azriel, unsure of what to expect. His hazel eyes burned into mine, blazing with intensity as he sat forward in his chair, his wings shifting slightly behind him. His shadows were restless, agitated, curling and snapping at the ground as though reflecting the storm raging within him.

“Y/n,” he said, his voice low and rough, cutting through the silence.

I hesitated, unsure if I wanted to confront whatever this was. But despite myself, I stepped closer.

“I’m sorry,” Azriel said, his tone softer now but filled with a heaviness that made my chest tighten. “For what happened in the alley.”

My stomach twisted at his words, the memory of his kiss rushing back with vivid clarity. My lips parted, but before I could speak, he continued.

“Kissing you was a mistake,” he said, his voice quieter now, as though the words were hard to say. His hazel eyes searched mine, filled with conflict and something that looked like longing. “I shouldn’t have done it.”

I froze, the words sinking into me like a heavy stone. I crossed my arms tightly over my chest, my wings, now un-glamoured, twitching slightly as I stood there, staring at him.

“I let my emotions get the better of me,” Azriel said, his jaw tightening as he looked away. “It wasn’t… right.”

I didn’t respond. The weight of his words left me breathless, and the look in his eyes only deepened the ache in my chest. 

A mistake. 

Kissing me was a mistake. 

A mistake he regretted making. 

Without a word, I turned and walked toward the stairs, my steps deliberate and measured. I was determined I was not going to break down in front of him. I didn’t look back, but I could feel his gaze on me, burning into me like the firelight that flickered around him.

As I ascended the stairs, my thoughts swirled with confusion and frustration, Azriel’s words echoed in my mind. 

When I reached my room and closed the door softly behind me, the silence was deafening. And as I leaned against the door, my hands trembling slightly, I realized I wasn’t sure if I was angrier at him for calling the kiss a mistake—or at myself for how much I had wanted it not to be.

My chest ached as the sound of the latch clicking into place echoed in the silence. The weight of the night pressed down on me, the tension, the confusion, and Azriel’s words swirling in my mind like a storm I couldn’t escape.

The words hit me over and over, sharp and cutting, as though they were etched into my soul. I leaned back against the door, my wings trembling slightly as my knees gave way. Slowly, I slid down to the floor, my arms wrapping tightly around myself as the first tear slipped down my cheek.

I tried to hold it back, tried to swallow the lump in my throat, but the dam broke, and a quiet sob escaped my lips. My hands pressed against my face as my shoulders shook, the pain in my chest overwhelming. I wanted him so badly—wanted his touch, his warmth, his love. But he didn’t want me. He wanted Elain. He chose her.

The thought gutted me. I had seen the way Azriel looked at Elain, the softness in his hazel eyes, the careful way he spoke to her. Even if Elain was distant, even if she hadn’t chosen him, it didn’t matter. I knew Azriel’s heart wasn’t mine to claim. And that knowledge left me feeling hollow.

So why did he kiss me? I thought, the memory of his lips against mine flooding my mind. Why did it feel so real? But then, he’d pulled away, apologized, and called it a mistake. The pain of it felt unbearable, a wound that cut deeper than I wanted to admit.

My cries softened after a while, turning into quiet, trembling breaths as I sat there on the floor, my head resting against the door, the ache in my chest grow stronger.

******

Azriel POV

Azriel stood at the base of the stairs, staring up at the quiet hallway where Y/n had disappeared moments ago. His bottle sat abandoned in the sitting room, the firelight dimming in his absence. His wings shifted slightly, his shadows curling around him as though urging him to follow her.

He didn’t know why he was doing this. He didn’t know why he had let the argument escalate, why he had kissed her, or why he had apologized afterward. The only thing he did know was that it had taken everything in him to pull away from her. Because kissing her, feeling his arousal for him on his fingers, her scent enveloping him… it hadn’t felt like a mistake. It had felt like everything. 

Slowly, he ascended the stairs, his steps light but deliberate. He didn’t stop until he was outside her door, his shadows curling under the crack and pressing against the barrier like they wanted to reach her. He leaned against the wall, closing his eyes briefly, trying to steady the storm inside him.

Then he heard it.

The soft sound of her crying.

The noise pierced through him, shattering the fragile control he had been clinging to. He straightened, his hand hovering just above the door as his heart twisted in his chest. He wanted to go in, to pull her into his arms, to tell her he hadn’t meant what he’d said—that she wasn’t a mistake, that she could never be a mistake.

But he didn’t.

His hand fell to his side, his jaw tightening as he took a step back. He knew better. He wasn’t good enough for her. He never would be. She deserved someone who could offer her everything, someone who wasn’t broken, who didn’t carry the shadows of his past like chains around his soul. Someone who wasn’t him.

He closed his eyes again, forcing himself to turn away from the door. As much as it hurt to hear her cry, to know that he had caused her pain, he told himself this was the right thing to do. Pushing her away now was better—better for her, better for them both. He couldn’t be what she needed, no matter how much he wanted to.

Azriel’s wings drooped slightly as he moved down the hall, his steps heavy, his shadows unusually subdued. And as he disappeared into the darkness of his own room, the sound of her quiet sobs echoed in his mind, a reminder of everything he wanted but would never allow himself to have.

Chapter 13

[hallowpen]

Episode Eleven has a lot to unpack... including some cultural nuances that even I wasn't too knowledgeable about (so I had to ask my mom for clarification)

We're heading to Chao Fah Palace (คุ้มเจ้าฟ้า) in the province of Phrae (แพร่) for this episode... which is derivative of the old Lanna Kingdom and its culture. (We spoke a little bit about Lanna traditions when referencing the hairpins in episode five). Lanna territories are now part of modern-day Siam. In Lanna tradition, women were known as ช้างเท้าหลัง (pronounced 'chang tao lahng') which would literally translate into "the hind legs of the elephant". What it meant was that the direction of a woman's life and family were to be guided by the authority of a man, ช้างเท้าหน้า (pronounced 'chang tao nahr') "the front legs of the elephant". The woman must learn to accept her place. Lanna Buddhist tradition would preach that being born as a woman in this life meant you had not earned enough merit to be born a man, and to pray for better karma in the next lifetime. Ironically, before the rise of Buddhism, Lanna was one of the few territories to practice matrilineal succession... where lineage was passed on from mother to daughter.

Both of these beliefs were somewhat knit together for TLP's narrative in regards to Uangfah... which we'll talk about later.

ผ้าซิ่นตีนจก (pronounced 'pa sin tin jok') is a traditional skirt worn by women in Lanna. The skirts are known to have elaborate borders with strips of precious metals woven together, with spun gold or silver threads, by using a traditional loom. This technique emphasizes the beauty and value of the weaving, as well as the social status of the person wearing the skirt. The garment was generally reserved for high-ranking members of society.

Another practice steeped in Lanna tradition, is the art of making ตุง (pronounced 'toong'). In the northern dialect, this refers to a type of flag used in Lanna art and Buddhist ceremonies. The flags, adorned with various patterns and designs, are used to mark the boundaries of sacred sites as a symbol of the pathway toward enlightenment.

The series highlighted the Phra That Cho Hae Temple (พระธาตุช่อแฮ), which has rich history as a spiritual center and the most sacred Buddhism site in Phrae. Its highlight is the brass wrapped pagoda that stands 33 meters tall, which enshrines holy relics of Lord Buddha.

The Peacock Feather Dance (รำฟ้อนหางนกยูง - pronounced 'ram faan haang nohk-yuung') is a cultural piece of entertainment that sees dancers move in a circle and change positions in order to imitate the movements and courtship "dance" of a peacock. The dancers wear traditional northern costumes while holding peacock feathers. Known for its striking appearance, the peacock holds deep cultural and religious significance in Thailand. It is often associated with the ideas of beauty, royalty, prosperity, and spiritual awakening.

We are introduced to Uangfah's mother this episode. Princess Dararai holds the title of หม่อมเจ้าหญิง (mom-jao ying or M.C.) for being married to a descendant of the king. Princess Dararai wishing for her daughter to remain close to her after marriage has inklings of matrilineal customs, where the husband would typically come to live with the wife's family... and not the other way around.

The suitor Princess Dararai has chosen for her daughter to marry is Lord Muang-Rahm. Muang-Rahm holds the tilte of หม่อมราชวงศ์ (mom rat-cha-wong or M.R.) as a child of one "commoner" parent, but whose ancestry can be traced back to the king.

Uangfah has accepted the fact the she must submit to her mother's wishes and marry a man she does not care for (he's truly terrible... lesbi-honest). It's a bittersweet moment where we realize the realities of a woman who cannot openly pursue the love of another woman, given the views of society.

The proceeding conversation Uangfah has with Muang-Rahm is subtlety indicative of Lanna women who were in charge in their own relationships. Uangfah quietly inserts her authority over their future courtship by informing Muang-Rahm of her intentions to not wed straight away AND by addressing him by his nickname in front of Pia. Given his behavior, Muang-Rahm knows he cannot say anything untoward in order to save face... such a fun scene.

SHE KNOWS!!! The facial expressions 😂😂😂... you have to laugh

Anil and Pin have become more reckless the more comfortable they have become in their relationship... and that spells trouble ahead.

[callsigns-haze]

Oh, How She's Changed...

Pairing: Acotar x reader Warnings: Contains mature themes, including violence, romance, and adult situations. Summary: YN, the immortal descendant of gods, reunites with her friends Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel at a lavish gathering in the Night Court's grand ballroom. As they reminisce about past adventures and observe the antics of other courtiers, they marvel at YN's transformation from an innocent girl into a captivating woman. However, their reunion is cut short when one of YN's guards arrives to escort her away, leaving Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel with lingering thoughts and a sense of longing as they watch her depart into the night.

As the evening sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm, golden hue across the Night Court's palace, YN, the immortal descendant of gods, found herself ensconced in a lavish chamber. Intricate tapestries adorned the walls, depicting scenes of ancient battles and celestial beings, while flickering candles bathed the room in a soft, ethereal glow. At the heart of the chamber, YN stood surrounded by the opulent splendour of her surroundings, her gaze drawn to the figures of Mor and Amren bustling around her.

Mor, her fiery locks cascading in loose waves around her shoulders, moved with a grace born of centuries of battle and camaraderie. Dressed in elegant attire befitting her station as a high-ranking member of the Night Court, she approached YN with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "Well, YN," she said, her voice carrying a note of playful anticipation, "are you ready to grace the fae with your divine presence tonight?"

YN, radiant in her own right, adorned in garments woven from the finest silks and adorned with jewels that shimmered like stars, offered Mor a warm smile. "I hope I can do justice to the legacy of my ancestors," she replied, her voice infused with a hint of humility.

Meanwhile, Amren, the enigmatic being of ancient origins, moved with a fluidity that spoke of eons spent mastering the arcane arts. With a flick of her wrist, she summoned forth threads of celestial magic, weaving enchantments into the fabric of YN's gown. Each stitch pulsed with otherworldly energy, resonating with the divine power that flowed through YN's immortal veins.

"Fear not, YN," Amren reassured her, her voice a melodic echo of distant thunder, "with Mor's impeccable taste and my arcane prowess, you'll be the epitome of divine elegance."

Mor nodded in agreement, her gaze sweeping over YN with an approving smile. "And let's not forget your own innate charm and grace, YN," she added, her eyes alight with pride. "You were born for moments like these."

Grateful for their support and guidance, YN felt a surge of confidence coursing through her veins. "Thank you, both of you," she said, her voice filled with genuine warmth. "I'm grateful to have such wise counsel."

Amren's lips curved into a knowing smile, her eyes glittering with ancient wisdom. "The honour is ours, YN," she replied, her voice carrying the weight of centuries past. "Now, let us ensure that you're prepared for whatever the night may hold."

But as YN caught her reflection in the polished mirror, something stirred within her. Gone was the innocent girl she had always been, replaced by a woman exuding an air of confidence and allure. With a subtle sway of her hips and a coy smile playing upon her lips, she realized that with this new look, she was ready for some spice.

And so, as she stepped out into the night, her heart brimming with anticipation, YN knew that she was not just a descendant of gods, but a force to be reckoned with—a goddess in her own right, ready to conquer whatever challenges lay ahead.

--

In the heart of the Night Court's grand ballroom, the air hummed with the vibrant energy of celebration. The room pulsated with music, the melodies weaving through the throng of fae dancers swirling gracefully across the floor. Amidst the lively festivities, three figures sat at a secluded table, their voices mingling with laughter and camaraderie.

Rhysand, the enigmatic High Lord of the Night Court, reclined in his seat with an easy grace, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. Beside him, Cassian and Azriel, his loyal companions and warriors of the Night Court, shared a toast, their laughter echoing through the hall.

"Another round, gentlemen?" Rhysand suggested, raising his glass in a playful salute.

Cassian grinned, clinking his glass against Rhysand's. "You read my mind, Rhys."

Azriel nodded in agreement, his usually stoic demeanor softened by the warmth of the moment. "To old friends and new beginnings," he said, his voice a low rumble that resonated with quiet strength.

As they sipped their drinks, their conversation turned to memories of times long past. They spoke of battles fought and victories won, of challenges overcome and bonds forged in the crucible of war. And yet, amidst the tales of triumph, there lingered a sense of longing—a yearning for something—or rather, someone—missing from their midst.

"I can't wait to see YN again," Cassian remarked, his eyes alight with anticipation. "It's been far too long since she graced us with her presence."

Rhysand nodded in agreement, a flicker of excitement dancing in his gaze. "Indeed. It will be interesting to see how she's changed over the years."

Azriel's expression softened with a hint of nostalgia. "She was always a force to be reckoned with," he said, his voice tinged with reverence. "I have no doubt that she's only grown stronger with time."

As they spoke of YN, the immortal descendant of gods, their voices filled with a mixture of fondness and admiration. Though separated by distance and time, their bond with her remained unbreakable—a testament to the enduring power of friendship and loyalty.

And so, amidst the revelry of the Night Court, Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel raised their glasses once more, toasting to the promise of a long-awaited reunion—a moment that would soon bring together old friends and new beginnings in a celebration of life, love, and the enduring bonds that unite them all.

As the night wore on and the revelry reached its peak, the grand ballroom of the Night Court was alive with energy. Fae of all shapes and sizes danced in a whirl of vibrant colors and laughter, their movements reflecting the joy and freedom of the moment.

Amidst the swirling throng, Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel found themselves drawn into the rhythm of the music, their spirits lifted by the infectious enthusiasm of the crowd. They moved with a fluid grace, their movements a testament to years of training and camaraderie.

As they danced, their thoughts inevitably turned to YN, the immortal descendant of gods they had long considered a dear friend. Memories of their past adventures together flooded their minds, filling them with a sense of nostalgia and longing.

"I remember the first time I met YN," Cassian reminisced, his voice tinged with fondness. "She was like a breath of fresh air—a ray of sunshine in the darkness."

Rhysand chuckled, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. "Yes, I recall that day well. She certainly knew how to make an entrance."

Azriel nodded in agreement, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. "She was always full of surprises. I have no doubt that tonight will be no different."

As they danced and laughed, their anticipation for YN's arrival grew with each passing moment. They imagined the joy of seeing her again, the warmth of her smile, and the strength of her spirit.

And so, amidst the music and merriment of the Night Court's grand celebration, Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel continued to dance, their hearts filled with excitement and anticipation for the long-awaited reunion that awaited them. For in that moment, surrounded by friends and allies, they knew that no matter what the future held, they would face it together, united in their bond of friendship and shared experiences.

As the trio continued their animated conversation, a sudden interruption from behind caught them off guard. Before they could react, a voice, once familiar but now tinged with a newfound confidence, sliced through the air.

"Did I hear someone talking about me?" YN's voice teased, laced with amusement and a hint of mischief.

Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel froze mid-conversation, their heads snapping around to find the source of the interruption. And there, standing before them, was YN—transformed beyond recognition.

Gone was the innocent girl they remembered from years past. In her place stood a woman of breathtaking beauty and undeniable allure. Her hair cascaded in waves of midnight silk, framing a face that radiated with confidence and strength. Every movement she made exuded grace and poise, her eyes sparkling with a newfound fire that sent shivers down their spines.

For a moment, the trio could only stare in stunned silence, their minds struggling to reconcile the image before them with the memories of the girl they once knew. It took them a beat too long to realize that the innocent girl had blossomed into a captivating woman—a realization that nearly caused Azriel to choke on his drink.

Cassian was the first to recover, his trademark grin spreading across his face. "Well, well, well," he exclaimed, his voice filled with playful delight. "Look who decided to grace us with her presence."

Rhysand's eyes sparkled with amusement as he surveyed YN's transformation. "I must say, you clean up rather nicely, YN," he remarked, his tone teasing yet genuine.

Azriel, usually composed and reserved, found himself at a loss for words. He cleared his throat awkwardly, his cheeks flushing faintly as he struggled to regain his composure. "You... uh... look... stunning," he managed to stammer out, his voice barely above a whisper.

YN chuckled at their reactions, a knowing gleam dancing in her eyes. "Why, thank you, gentlemen," she replied, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "I must admit, it's been quite the journey."

As they exchanged pleasantries and caught up on lost time, Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel couldn't help but marvel at the woman YN had become. And as they continued to bask in the warmth of her presence, they knew that this reunion would mark the beginning of a new chapter—one filled with excitement, adventure, and the enduring bond of friendship that had stood the test of time.

As Rhysand, Cassian, Azriel, and YN retreated to a secluded corner of the ballroom, their conversation took a more relaxed turn. Surrounded by the lively festivities of the Night Court, they observed the arrival of other lords and ladies with a mixture of amusement and mild skepticism.

Rhysand leaned against a pillar, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips as he surveyed the gathering crowd. "Ah, it seems the usual suspects have graced us with their presence," he remarked, his tone laced with a hint of sarcasm.

Cassian chuckled, his eyes scanning the room with a discerning gaze. "Indeed. I see Lord Tarquin has brought his entourage of sycophants," he observed, a bemused expression crossing his features.

Azriel's lips quirked into a wry smile as he watched the various courtiers mingling with practiced charm and false pretenses. "And let's not forget Lady Ianthe, fluttering about like a peacock in heat," he added, his voice dripping with dry humor.

YN, who had been quietly observing the scene, couldn't help but join in their laughter. "It's almost comical, isn't it?" she remarked, a mischievous glint dancing in her eyes. "All this posturing and preening for the sake of appearances."

As they continued to share in their amusement, their conversation turned to lighter topics—old memories, shared experiences, and the absurdities of fae society. They laughed and joked, their camaraderie growing stronger with each passing moment.

But amidst the laughter and light-hearted banter, there was an unspoken understanding—a recognition of the challenges they faced and the dangers that lurked in the shadows. And as they stood together, united in their bond of friendship and shared experiences, they knew that no matter what trials lay ahead, they would face them together, with strength, courage, and a healthy dose of laughter to see them through.

As Rhysand, Cassian, Azriel, and YN observed the arrivals, their conversation took on a slightly more critical tone. They couldn't help but exchange knowing glances and subtle nods of agreement as they assessed the behavior of the other lords and ladies.

"Look at Lord Beron," Rhysand remarked, his voice dripping with disdain as he gestured towards a particularly pompous nobleman. "Does he ever tire of hearing himself talk?"

Cassian snorted in amusement, his eyes following Rhysand's gesture. "I doubt it," he replied, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "He's too enamored with the sound of his own voice."

Azriel, ever the silent observer, watched with a keen eye as the various courtiers vied for attention and favor. "And what about Lord Eris?" he mused, his tone tinged with skepticism. "Does he ever tire of playing his little games?"

YN nodded in agreement, her gaze narrowing slightly as she observed Lord Eris' calculating smile. "He's always been one for manipulation and intrigue," she remarked, her voice tinged with a hint of disdain. "But I doubt he'll find much success here tonight."

As they continued to pass judgment on the behavior of their fellow courtiers, Rhysand, Cassian, Azriel, and YN found themselves sharing in a sense of camaraderie born of mutual understanding. They may have been outsiders in the eyes of some, but together, they formed a formidable alliance—one built on trust, loyalty, and a shared disdain for the superficiality and pretense that often permeated fae society.

And as they stood together, laughing and jesting in their secluded corner of the ballroom, they knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, they would face them with unwavering resolve and the unbreakable bond of friendship that bound them together.

As the night wore on, the revelry continued to swell around them, but amidst the celebration, a hushed murmur reached YN's ears. Turning slightly, she saw one of her guards approaching, his demeanor serious and resolute.

Excusing herself from the conversation with Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel, YN turned to face her guard. His presence reminded her of the responsibilities that came with her divine lineage—the duties and obligations that often weighed heavily upon her shoulders.

With a nod of understanding, YN bid farewell to her companions, offering each of them a warm smile and a promise to meet again soon. Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel returned her smile, their expressions filled with a mixture of fondness and admiration.

As YN began to make her way towards the exit, the trio watched her go, their eyes following her with a mixture of awe and longing. It was impossible not to notice how she had changed—the way she carried herself with a newfound confidence, the subtle shift in her demeanor that spoke of experiences and challenges faced.

"She's grown into quite the remarkable woman, hasn't she?" Rhysand remarked, his voice tinged with a hint of pride.

Cassian nodded in agreement, his gaze never leaving YN's retreating figure. "Indeed. She's like a jewel—radiant and untouchable."

Azriel remained silent, his eyes fixed on YN with a depth of emotion that spoke volumes. He had always felt a special connection to her—a bond forged in the crucible of shared experiences and unspoken understanding. And as he watched her disappear into the night, a sense of longing stirred within him���a yearning to be by her side, to protect her and guide her through the challenges that lay ahead.

As YN disappeared from view, Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel turned back to the festivities, their thoughts lingering on the woman who had captured their hearts and inspired their admiration. For in that moment, they knew that no matter where their paths may lead, their bond with YN would remain unbreakable—a beacon of light in the darkness, guiding them through the trials and tribulations of the fae realm.

Tagging some:

@callsign-magnolia

@shanimallina87

@kmc1989

@djs8891

@hardballoonlove

@callsign-dexter

@mamachasesmayhem

@senawashere

@hookslove1592

@rosiahills22

[sweetbonniebel]

Jaes's hen jēdar

God's of the sky

Six

Daemon x reader, Rhaenyra x reader (platonic), Qoren Martell x reader

Masterlist <-previous , next->

minors mdni

110 AC King's Landing

You stood before the mirror as maids adjusted your dress, a long violet gown with dark red threads of dragons, a low cut cleavage and long sleeves that widened at your elbows. The same dress your mother wore when she married your father, seven and ten years ago.

Rhaenyra watched from your bed as the maids frantically moved around you fixing your dress, hair and putting on jewelry. Rhaenyra had to admit that you looked beautiful, the violet material of the gown matched your complexion and the embroidery went well with your red eyes. She never understood how you received different eyes than the Valyrian purple, both of your parents had violet eyes and yet you defied the custom.

Once you deemed that the maids nagging was enough you dismissed them with a flick of your hand. They quickly left your chamber leaving you and the heir.

"You look beautiful..." Rhaenyra said tracing the hems of your gown.

"It would be rather odd if I didn't." You jested, the princess laughed lifting the rather sad mood.

"I will miss you." She said leaning into you.

"As will I. But remember you have Laena, Daemon and a plethora of other ladies who would jump into fire for you." You tried to remind your niece.

"And yet none of them will ever compare to you." She answered, tears were beginning to form at your waterline, you blinked them back to avoid reddening your eyes.

Ser Steffon escorted you to the carriage that would take the royal family to the Great Sept. The familiar sculptures and tapestries of Old Valyria brought a sense of comfort in this rather nervous day.

The Crownlander's armor rattled with every move.

"Ser Steffon?" You called the knight.

"Princess." His gruff voice answered.

"I would like you to become my sworn shield and travel with me to Dorne." You announced, he widened his grey eyes. "A familiar face always makes a person feel more at home, despite being leagues away."

"I would be honoured, princess." He kneeled on one knee in front of you, you chuckled and placed your palm against his shoulder.

"Rise, Ser Steffon."

...

The great sept was packed with onlookers, the small folk collecting outside the gates of the temple. Your brother despite has decided to give you away. The heavy cloak of your house rested upon your shoulders. Viserys took you by the arm and led you to the altar.

"Who gives this woman away?" The septon asks

"I Viserys of House Targaryen King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the seven kingdoms and protector of the realm give away Princess y/n of House Targaryen to Prince Qoren of House Martell." Your brother recited his verse, his hands took of your cloak as he retreated into the crowd.

"And who takes this woman to be his wife." The septon continued

"I Qoren Martell Prince of Dorne, the lord of Sunspear take this woman, Princess y/n of House Targaryen to be my wife." The Dornishman answered, from your multiple talks you shared over the few weeks you learnt that he was not overly religious. You preferred to marry in the tradition of old Valyria, but Qoren was not of Valyrian descend. According to the council any other ceremony than in the faith of the seven would be an insult to the high septon and the faith.

"In the eyes of the seven you are now bound in holy matrimony. As the father provides justice, the mother mercy, the warrior strength, the smith mends all things broken, the maiden courage, the crone wisdom and the stranger who offers only death, you shall provide for each other with all that the seven pointed star provides." The septon prayed, once he finished he glanced at Qoren.

"With this cloak I bring you under my protection. I will keep you safe, cared for and respected I pledge this in the eyes of the old gods and the new." He draped the orange cloak with a red sun pierced by a golden spear on your shoulders.

"With this kiss I pledge my love, and take you for my lady and wife." Qoren recited the verse as you did yours, once the words have left your throat, the prince leaned in and kissed your lips.

"You are now man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever." The septon ended the ceremony and the crowd erupted in applause and cheers. You smiled at your husband and he did the same.

You raised your joined hands in the air and the small folk erupted in cheers, and applause.

"Long live Princess y/n!"

"May your marriage be blessed!"

"The mother will bless you with many children, princess!"

Different shouts echoed through the great structure. You smiled at the small folk and waved and glanced at your husband to find him staring at you.

"You look radiant, wife." He mused caressing your palm with his thumb.

"You look very handsome yourself, husband."

The feast was grand, the guests danced, jested and ate their fill. You watched from your seat at the high table as Rhaenyra danced with Aegon, the young boy barely keeping up. You laughed at the sight happy that the two were getting along.

"Sister might I have this dance?" Daemon approached the high table, you sighed and nodded taking his hand.

"You look ethereal." Your brother said guiding you to the dance floor, where bards and musicians played.

"Thank you." You answered spinning.

"Will you be happy?" The rogue prince asked.

"Since when does it matter? But I will, If not I shall feed him to Vermithor." You jested.

"A true Targaryen."

"I will miss you..."

"As I you. You are my favourite sister after all."

"I'm your only sister."

"Exactly... According to the traditions of our house I would be the one to marry you."

"If that were true I wouldn't marry you, I would marry Viserys."

Daemon scoffed and picked you up to spin your body.

"I would sooner let Caraxes eat me that see you married to our brother."

The thing you dreaded most was the bedding ceremony, not because you were afraid of loosing your maidenhead but because you refused to have strange men undress you while making rude comments as was the Andal tradition.

After a talk with the council, you announced that the bedding ceremony won't take place. Some members, like Tyland Lannister and the Maester had voiced their disapproval but Daemon quickly silenced them.

Your maids carefully took off the heavy gown and detangled your hair, leaving you in your thin linen undergarments. Your husband has been instructed to visit you in your chambers to consummate the marriage. You knew what the act consists off, your ladies explained as did Ser Steffon. Aemma was just ten and one when she married Viserys you were thankful that you were six years older than the Queen.

Steffon's voice interrupted your thoughts, they were rather grim, something a bride should not concern herself with on her wedding day. Qoren walked in, a simple orange robe covered his body. You smiled a bit nervously at the man.

"It will be all right, I will take great care of your needs." His words slightly settled the nervousness that rattled your insides. You nodded thankfully, Qoren approached your form. You sat at the stool of your vanity, the Martell kneeled before you and took your hands into his.

"If you do not want to we can wait." He proposed but you shook your head.

"The court will talk if I have not been bedded by my husband." You responded looking at the man with slight fondness. He nodded and raised his head so he can meet your lips in a kiss.

"Have you done this before?" You asked as Qoren laid you on your bed.

"I have, my cousins took me to a brothel when I was four and ten." Your husband answered truthfully.

"Have you?"

"Of course not!" You protested, Qoren chuckled.

"I did not mean it as an insult, in Dorne we do not care for the brides maidenhead."

"It seems as if Dorne is a paradise for women." Qoren chuckled and pressed his lips against yours.

Qoren took off the long orange robe leaving him only in a thin linen shirt. You could see the outline of his manhood through the material. Your husband gently slid the undergarments from your body leaving you bare. The chilly air caused goosebumps to erupt on your skin, your nipples pebbled.

"You are beautiful." Your husband whispered as he placed kissed from your neck to your nether regions.

"Qoren-" You whimpered as he pressed a kiss on your mound.

"Shh, I will take care of you." He continued his ministrations, pleasure coiled in your abdomen. Breathy moans escaped your lips as you tangled your hand in Qoren's curly dark locks bringing his mouth closer to the place you needed him most.

"Moan louder I wish to hear how good I make you feel." His tongue pressed against your nub. A moan left your lips at the action.

"So good, please." You whispered as Qoren worked faster, the wetness between your legs grew with each passing second. The only thing on your husbands mind was to bring you ecstasy.

"Oh!" You moaned as pleasure rippled through your body, muscles spasming as Qoren licked your pussy clean.

He chuckled and propped himself up on his elbows, the peach fuzz on his chin glowed with your essence. You smiled hazily at him, blush covering your cheeks as you pressed a kiss against his lips.

"I want you to-" You begun but stopped feeling Qoren's cock press against your folds, coating himself in your wetness. "Put your cock inside."

"As you wish princess." The Martell price smiled, pumping his manhood a few times before gently pressing the tip against your entrance. You sucked in a breath at the unfamiliar intrusion. It was different than your fingers, warmer and bigger. Once his tip breeched your entrance a shaky moan left both of you.

"You're so warm." Your husband moaned and inched himself inside. You felt pleasure as his cock caressed your walls.

"Qoren harder." You moaned clawing at his back, the man nodded and pressed himself fully inside you. His pelvis touching yours, as his balls rested against your bottom.

Your body moved with his thrusts, his lips sucking kisses against your skin. Sex felt good, you were sure to do it more often.

"Close, y/n" He mumbled caressing your thigh. His other hand pressed against your nub amplifying your pleasure and brining you closer and closer. You felt him twitch, the kiss he pressed against your breast tipped you over the edge. Your walls spasming around his length triggering his own release. Ropes of hot seed filled your womb.

Ragged breath filled the chamber as Qoren pressed himself deep inside you.

"That felt good." You said caressing your husbands head that rested comfortably between your neck and shoulder.

"It did princess." The Martell smiled, wanting to roll over but you pressed your heel in his back preventing him from doing so.

"It feels good to have you inside me."

Tired from the activities the two of you fell asleep in each others embrace.

...

After a fortnight your husband has departed for sunspear, you stayed behind preferring to fly on dragon back to your new home than endure the endless bumpy ride of a carriage.

You dressed your red and black riding leather, Rhaenyra put your hair into three long braids. You leaned into her touch.

"I hate to see you go." Rhaenyra said kissing the top of your head. You sadly smiled.

"I will come back soon. Time will fly by quickly." You answered, holding Aegon in your arms. Sunfyre was strapped in a cage on Vermithors side.

You blinked away the tears that threatened to fall as you hugged Rhaenyra.

...

Princess y/n left King's Landing in 110 AC to join her husband Qoren Martell in Dorne. It is said that the red keep has lost it's warmth with the princesses departure. - From the dragon bringer by the feather and quill of Grand Maester Roland.

[violetasteracademic]

A ray of hope there still may be in this, the gift I give to thee...

My darlings, have hope. SJM had been letting us know where this is headed for many years, and she continues to speak to those who understand what to listen for.

I have already made a post sharing the meaning of The Glass Coffin ballet Bryce played for Nesta and Azriel in the bonus chapter, which is Sleeping Beauty.

Let me repeat that again: in the bonus chapter where Azriel is asked if he has a mate (or spouse, or partner), the bonus chapter where he looks down at Truth-Teller, thinking of Elain when describing how the King of Hybern was killed, the bonus chapter where he listens particularly close to Nesta describing if she now finally prefers being Fae to human.... Bryce played Sleeping Beauty for them.

Now, the Elriel being a Sleeping Beauty retelling has been theorized for YEARS.

I will link some of these below, but I want to touch some of my favorite ideas and easter eggs.

Many have pointed out the significance of Briar, the human woman Azriel and Elain carried back from Hybern after Azriel rescued Elain as a Sleeping Beauty clue. Briar Rose is the Alias that Princess Aurora lives by under the protection of the three good fairies.

The fairies are:

Flora (flowers) in possession of the Sword of Truth

Fauna (fawn) who gives the gift of song

Merriweather (the blue fairy) who attempts to give the gift of happiness, but is cut short by a spell

It's actually kind of insane when you start to look at all of these details. Flowers, fawn's, and happiness from the blue fairy being interrupted by a curse or a spell. Something only true love can break.

I agree with the take (which I originally saw on @elriell post found here) that Sarah might invert the Sleeping Beauty retelling for Elriel. Azriel has a few building blocks to indicate he is at a high risk. Koschei is specifically trying to get his hands on Azriel, stating he planned for him for months, and he is in close proximity to the priestesses, some of whom at this moment have the ability to lure and lull. Whether it's G/wyn and her theorized lightsinger and/or siren abilities, the sermon's Clotho suddenly discovered one day amongst random books shelved below Level Seven:

Or Merril, the descendant of the Lord of the Western Wind who considers G/wyn a lackey to be dismissed (while Koschei plants words in courts through whispers on the wind)

There is no doubt in my mind that as Rhys was captured by Hybern and Cassian was captured by Briallyn and the crown, Elain will step into her power to save Azriel from whatever it is Koschei needs him for.

The Sleeping Beauty theory moved beyond theory in HOFAS, in my opinion. I'm not saying Sarah dropped The Glass Coffin specifically for Elriel's, as we all know SJM doesn't have social media on her phone and she tends to keep away from too many fan theories. What I am saying is Elriel's have long picked up on the Sleeping Beauty threads Sarah has been dropping for years, and SJM has done nothing but continue to build on that narrative.

In this year of 2024, in Sarah's most recently published book, after years of speculation:

Azriel confirmed something was indeed wrong with the Cauldron.

Azriel literally listened to a Sleeping Beauty symphony.

Briar Rose, flowers and fawns and the Sword of Truth, sleeping spells which can only be broken by true love, the inside of Elain's mind being described as a sleeping garden.

It's honestly overwhelming.

Hope.

https://elriell.tumblr.com/post/644019925155037184/why-elriel-is-most-definitely-a-sleeping-beauty

https://www.reddit.com/r/acotar/comments/110lyda/sleeping_beauty_retelling_potential_spoilers/

https://www.reddit.com/r/acotar/comments/luk8b7/eighth_court_theory/

[special-agent-sass]

Brighter Future

Warnings: Smut, Dominant Gibbs.

I wanted to try something new so I wrote this in the typical third-person POV but focusing on Gibbs’ thoughts rather than the reader’s. I don’t know how to feel about it.. read it, tell me what ya think haha. I tried my best.

Gibbs slammed the basement door behind him, his jaw clenched in frustration. That damn woman was going to be the death of him. When he'd seen Y/N leave the bar with some pretty boy, laughing and flirting, his gut had twisted into knots. He knew it was irrational - she wasn't his to claim - but that did nothing to temper the surge of jealousy burning through him.

Taking a deep breath, Gibbs tried to rein in his emotions as he started sanding the latest addition to his boat. It was a lost cause, though. No matter how hard he focused on the rhythmic strokes, his mind kept drifting back to her.

Y/N Y/L/N. The beautiful, stubborn, reckless thorn in his side. From the moment she'd joined his team two years ago, Gibbs had been drawn to her like a moth to a flame. With her leather jacket, tattooed skin, those damn tight jeans and devil-may-care attitude, she was everything he never knew he wanted.

They clashed constantly, her recklessness grating against his rigid control. But underneath the arguments simmered an attraction that left them both flustered and on-edge. He'd catch her gazing at him when she thought he wasn't looking, green eyes dark with longing. It took every ounce of restraint not to pin her against the wall and kiss that smart mouth of hers until neither of them could breathe.

Gibbs switched to a finer grit sandpaper, losing himself in the methodical motions. This was useless. She consumed his thoughts whether he liked it or not. He remembered the first time he saw her - long dark hair spilling over a muscular back, tight jeans accentuating every curve. When she'd turned and met his gaze, Gibbs felt a spark of electricity jolt through him. No one had affected him like that in a long time.

From that moment on, she was always there, challenging him, pushing his buttons. He lived for their clashes, the passion simmering between them. But he had to be careful. Dating a co-worker never ended well, and she was too young for the likes of him anyway.

So Gibbs had resigned himself to longing from afar, sure she would never share his inappropriate feelings. Seeing her with that young punk at the bar, Gibbs' restraint shattered like glass. The thought of her going home with someone else sent him into a possessive rage he didn't recognize.

Gibbs looked up when he heard his front door open. Speak of the devil. Y/N hesitated at the top of the stairs, uncertainty clouding her features. His heart stuttered as their eyes met. God she was beautiful, even with her lip caught between her teeth and uncharacteristic vulnerability lurking in her gaze.

Setting the sandpaper down, Gibbs turned to face her. "Shouldn't you be out with your boyfriend?" He winced as the words came out harsher than he intended.

Y/N didn't seem offended, though. Slowly descending the stairs, she said "He's not my boyfriend. Just an old friend from high school."

Gibbs watched her approach, the sway of her hips hypnotic. His mouth went dry when she stopped mere inches away, tilting her face up to meet his gaze.

"I didn't go home with him. I realized there was somewhere else I wanted to be instead."

Gibbs' pulse roared in his ears as her meaning sank in. Unable to stop himself, he reached out and caressed her cheek, thrilling when she leaned into his touch. Her skin was so soft under his calloused fingers and he ached to explore every inch of her.

"Y/N..." he started, but she placed a delicate finger over his lips.

"I'm tired of dancing around this, Jethro. I want you. I've wanted you from the moment I saw you."

That was all the permission Gibbs needed. With a groan he threaded his fingers through her hair and claimed her mouth in a searing kiss. She melted against him instantly, nails scraping down his back as she kissed him back fiercely. It was better than any fantasy - the taste of her, the feel of her supple body aligning with his.

Gibbs maneuvered them until Y/N was pinned between him and the workbench. His hands drifted down to grip her ass, pulling her tight against him as he dominated the kiss, taking everything she offered. When they finally broke for air, he took in her kiss-swollen lips and darkened gaze. She was a vision.

"I need you. Now," Y/N panted, and Gibbs heartily agreed. He made quick work of her shirt, groaning at the expanse of tattooed skin revealed. Dropping hot, open-mouthed kisses along her neck, he deftly unhooked her bra and palmed her breasts. Y/N moaned loudly when he bit down on the skin below her jaw, the sound shooting straight to his groin.

He deftly unbuttoned her jeans. His hand slipped inside, finding her hot and wet for him already. Y/N cried out as he stroked her. Her head fell back, exposing the graceful column of her throat. he ducked down to kiss and nip his way up to her ear.

"Tell me you're mine," Gibbs growled.

"Yes, all yours," she panted.

Gibbs withdrew his hand, ignoring her noise of protest as he stripped her jeans off. He bent her over the table.

"You've been teasing me for months in these tight jeans," Gibbs said gruffly, caressing her ass. He gave her a sharp smack and she yelped. "Now you're going to get what you deserve."

He intended to take his time worshipping every inch of her, but Y/N was having none of it. She looked over her shoulder at him with lustful eyes and begged "please, just take me!"

Well, who was he to deny such a polite request?

He freed myself from his own jeans. With one powerful thrust he was buried inside her tight heat. Y/N cried out, pushing back against him. Gibbs set a relentless pace, all the desire he’d bottled up spilling out.

"Harder!" she gasped. He obliged, gripping her hips bruisingly tight.

Gibbs could feel her getting close, inner muscles starting to flutter around him. He reached around to circle her clit and she shattered with a scream, her climax triggering his. He came hard, emptying himself deep inside her.

Later, they lay tangled together on a pile of blankets, her head pillowed on his chest. Idly trailing his fingers over her back, Gibbs pressed a kiss into her hair.

"What made you change your mind about us?" he asked.

Y/N tilted her face up to meet his gaze. "I saw the way you looked at me tonight. Like I was something precious. No one's ever looked at me like that before."

Gibbs' heart swelled and he pulled her close. "You are precious. And you're mine now."

She smiled softly. "Yours. As long as you'll have me."

"Forever then," he stated simply. Y/N's eyes shone at that and she snuggled into his embrace.

As Gibbs held the beautiful, reckless woman who had captured his heart, he sent up a silent thanks to whoever had brought her crashing into his life. With her by his side, the future seemed brighter than ever.

[alwaysmicado]

save your tears

4.6k | 18+ MDNI | Dieter Bravo x f!reader

Warnings: dubcon (sex while high), alcohol & drugs, unprotected piv, rough sex, choking, loss of virginity, mention of blood, degradation/praise, hurt no comfort, mean!Dieter Summary: It’s your lucky night! Your favorite movie star, Dieter Bravo, picks you up at a club and takes you home. You don’t want to blow it by telling him you’re a virgin, do you? A/N: Never meet your heroes...and please don’t fuck Dieter Bravo raw without seeing a notarized STD test first. I’m super excited to share this fic with you and I really hope you’ll enjoy it!! Let me know your thoughts! ♥︎

Dieter Bravo masterlist ♡ main masterlist

Another kiss with a stranger, another fiery shot of tequila, another night immersed in the opulence of a luxurious club in the heart of Beverly Hills.

The pulsating beat of the music reverberates through the venue, drowning out any coherent thought. A sea of bodies sways in a synchronized rhythm, lost in the intoxication of the music, the free-flowing drinks, and the swirling lights.

You and your friends are no exception, caught up in the vibrant chaos of the dance floor, laughing and moving to the infectious energy of the night.

The tight dress you’ve chosen for the night clings to your every curve, a sleek fabric that accentuates the enticing contours of your body. Its deep, midnight black hue embraces you like a second skin, tracing the delicate curve of your breasts, descending sensuously over your torso, and accentuating the gentle swell of your hips.

As you move, the straps, delicate and barely there, become ethereal threads, caressing your skin with each sway and twirl on the dance floor. The dress’s neckline is daring, a subtle plunge that hints at mystery and allure, inviting the eyes to linger for just a moment longer.

Your choice of footwear is equally as captivating. The heels, sleek and strappy, elevate your posture and add a tantalizing sway to your every step. The ensemble not only looks exquisite but feels like a second skin. In this carefully chosen outfit, you feel an undeniable sense of confidence and allure – you feel like a goddess.

As the night progresses, and a few shots later, you find yourself losing inhibitions with each beat. The alcohol warms your veins, and the euphoria of the moment takes over. The atmosphere inside the club is charged with excitement, the air thick with the scent of perfume, sweat, and anticipation.

And then you see him.

Amidst the crowd, your gaze collides with a pair of intense, dark eyes that seem to cut through the chaotic haze. Recognition strikes you like a bolt of lightning – Dieter Bravo, the famous Oscar winner, stands at the fringes of the dance floor, his gaze fixed on you.

The look in his eyes is predatory, stirring desire deep within you. He gestures with a subtle nod of his head towards the exit, a silent command that sends your heart racing.

You excuse yourself to your friends, your words lost in the overwhelming discord of music and laughter. They barely register your departure, the night unfolding in a blur of colors and sound. The crisp air outside is a welcome contrast, a momentary escape from the heated chaos within.

You take a deep breath.

Before you know what’s happening, a strong pair of hands seizes you, pushing you against the cold exterior wall of the club. It’s Dieter, his eyes burning with desire as he takes in the sight of you. His words come out in a low, husky whisper that sends shivers down your spine.

“You’re so beautiful, baby, I couldn’t take my eyes off you,” he confesses, his breath hot against your ear. You’re trembling slightly as he pulls back a little to look into your eyes, one hand planted on the wall next to your head, the other gently cupping your hot cheek. His touch sends a jolt through your entire being and your skin tingles beneath his fingertips.

“Why don’t we take this party to a more private setting, hm? My place is just around the corner,” he murmurs, his gaze searching yours for a sign of rejection.

His proposition hangs in the air, a surreal moment that seems too fantastical to be real. Dieter Bravo, a man renowned for having his pick of any woman he desires, wants you to come home with him?

You hesitate for a fleeting moment, the thrill and exhilaration of the unexpected encounter mingling with a feeling of unease. Is this a good idea?

Oh, fuck it. 

With a breathless nod, you give in to the magnetic pull of his desire. You’re never gonna get a chance like this again in your life.

Dieter’s eyes flicker with satisfaction at your willingness and a self-assured smirk plays on his lips. “Smart choice, beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice low and seductive, intertwining with the rhythm of the music coming from inside.

With a confident yet gentle touch, he guides you to his waiting car, his warm palm resting on the small of your back.

His driver awaits, a stoic figure leaning against the passenger door with crossed arms, well-acquainted with the routine of escorting the renowned womanizer and his conquests. The man looks a few years older than Dieter, and as you approach, you can’t help but ponder the untold tales and silent observations this seasoned driver must harbor as living witness to the enigmatic world of his famous boss.

Dieter leans in to whisper something into the driver’s ear, a private exchange that ends with a wink and a grin directed at you. With a confident saunter, he rounds the car, slipping into the back seat from the other side.

“Good evening, Miss,” the driver greets you with a practiced courtesy, opening the back door and gesturing for you to step inside. In that fleeting moment, as he meets your gaze, you detect a subtle flicker of concern in his eyes, swiftly masked before you fully register its presence.

You swiftly dismiss the uneasy feeling that briefly fluttered within you and gracefully slide into the luxurious car, taking the seat beside Dieter. The plush interior envelops you, a cocoon of opulence that showcases the movie star’s wealth. As the door closes with a muted thud, the insulating quiet of the vehicle amplifies your anticipation.

The car ride is a blur of sensations.

Dieter pulls you onto his lap, his lips finding yours in a fervent kiss. His hands explore the contours of your body, a mix of escalating desire and urgency palpable in every touch. 

Glancing at the rearview mirror, the driver is a silent witness to a scene that unfolds with unsettling familiarity. Dieter’s reputation as a notorious womanizer is well-known, but the silent driver remains impassive, steering the car towards your destination.

“Fuck, baby,” Dieter whispers against your lips, his erection straining painfully against his pants. “You wanna sit on my cock right here or wait ‘til we’re home?”

You sensuously roll your hips, and he responds by squeezing your ass, a deep, guttural groan escaping his lips at the tantalizing friction.

“I want you to take me in your bed,” you purr, as the champagne and tequila flowing through your veins embolden you.

“Alright, beautiful,” he murmurs between sloppy kisses to your neck and jaw, his hand tracing the delicate skin of your shoulder before sliding down the strap of your dress with practiced ease. “I’ll give you anything you want.”

Every word Dieter utters, every caress of his hands, the heady scent of his cologne—the fact that your idol, a man larger than life, is currently drunk off your beauty—adds fuel to the intoxicating fire that courses through your body, making you acutely aware of the pulsating ache and growing wetness between your thighs.

You’ve never wanted to fuck anyone this badly.

Dieter slides down the other strap of your dress, the fabric yielding to his touch as he pulls it down, leaving it to pool around your waist and revealing your naked chest.

“Goddamn, your tits are perfect,” he whispers in awe, his hands tracing a delicate path from your shoulders down to your breasts, cupping one in each hand. “I almost forgot how good real ones feel.”

Your smile widens in response to his comment, relishing the sensation of Dieter Bravo praising your tits.

He massages them, softly at first, his touch a gentle prelude that gradually escalates in intensity as you wrap your arms around his neck, deepening your kiss, moaning against his lips. Your body responds eagerly, writhing on his lap, your swollen clit rhythmically rubbing against his hard bulge, each movement eliciting a wave of pleasure that has your eyes fluttering shut and your back arching.

Dieter leans in, spurred on by the movement of your body and your little moans of pleasure, pressing your tits together with a hunger that mirrors his escalating passion. His kisses are sloppy, a mixture of lust and possessiveness as he licks and sucks on your nipples, twirling his tongue around them.

The sensations alternate between pleasure and a tingling pain as he bites down, eliciting a desperate whimper from you that he hungrily absorbs by pressing his lips against yours once more. 

“This your first time fucking a real movie star, baby?” he murmurs, trailing kisses and bites down your sensitive neck.

Your head is spinning, and it takes you a few seconds to register what he just asked you. Even if it weren’t true, you’d be smart enough to stroke his famously big ego and tell him what he wants to hear. But, in this case, it is true.

“Yeah,” you breathe, your fingers tangled in his now-disheveled curls.

God, his hair is soft. The thought crosses your mind that being a millionaire must afford you great hair care. Just one of the perks of being one of the chosen ones, you muse with a smile.

“I promise you’ll be thinking of me every time you fuck someone else after I’m done with you, darling,” he smirks at you, satisfied with the fact he’s the first man of his stature you’ve experienced.

If he wasn’t already rock-hard before, he would be now.

You giggle and bite your lip, your dilated pupils telling Dieter everything he needs to know – you want him as badly as he wants you.

“I’ll hold you to that,” you purr, leaning in to suck and nibble on his neck while rolling your hips again.

“Oh shit,” he whispers, letting his head fall against the headrest and gripping your hips with his hands. “I knew you were a bad girl the second I saw you.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Good girls don’t rub their needy little pussy on some stranger’s cock minutes after they met.” His breathing is strained, and he needs to concentrate hard to not come in his pants. “Good girls also don’t let me do a line off their perfect tits.” 

You pull back a little to look into his eyes, and he raises an eyebrow.

Against your better judgment, you nod, and he reaches into the right pocket of his pants to retrieve the biggest coke baggie you’ve ever seen. Goddamn, how does this guy get any acting gigs done if he does massive amounts of coke like this? His manager must be nothing short of a god.

“Push them together, baby,” he says, watching hungrily as you take your tits and press them together to create enough surface for him to put his powder on. “Fuck, that’s it.”

He pours a generous amount onto your skin, creating a line with his finger.

“You’re so fucking hot, baby,” he murmurs, planting a kiss on your warm lips. His gaze drops to the line of coke on your tits before he lowers his head, presses a finger on his right nostril, and inhales the powder in one swift motion.

The lewd, forbidden feeling of letting him do drugs off your body has your pussy clench around nothing. You’re beyond turned on.

“Phew!” He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “This is some primo shit, holy fuck. You wanna try?”

Dieter’s eyes find yours as he wipes his nose and tilts his head. “You’re never gonna find something this pure again.”

“Sure, why not,” you coo, succumbing to the excitement of the moment. One more bad decision’s not gonna kill you, right?

“Such a bad girl,” he murmurs with a smirk, then pours some coke on the back of his hand. He arranges it in a line for you and brings it closer to your face.

The fine white powder lies on his skin like a whisper of the night, and with a quick, controlled motion, you inhale. The sensation is immediate, a rush that starts from the point of contact and spirals into a heady euphoria. The sharp intensity sends a tingling sensation through your nostrils, a mix of heat and exhilaration.

In that fleeting moment, the world seems to shift.

The pulsating lights of the city take on a surreal glow, and the hum of the car’s engine becomes a rhythmic accompaniment to the rush coursing through your veins. The nightclub’s music, still echoing in your ears, melds with your newfound energy, creating a synesthetic experience that blurs the boundaries between the external world and your internal sensations.

You’ve never felt this much like yourself and not like yourself at the same time before—it’s surreal.

A tingling warmth radiates through your body, a sensation that is both invigorating and disorienting, like an electrifying surge that momentarily disconnects you from reality.

Dieter watches in real time as the coke takes effect and your pupils dilate further, your features signaling an intensified awareness of your surroundings.

“That’s it, baby,” you hear him purr before you feel his hand on the back of your neck, pulling you into a messy kiss.

You’re not entirely sure how you made it to Dieter’s bedroom.

– – –

His sheets are incredibly soft, some sort of luxurious fabric that feels heavenly against your naked skin. You’re clad only in your panties, lying on your back with Dieter on top of you, your legs spread to accommodate his hips. 

You hear music coming from a speaker somewhere in the room – he must’ve put it on when you got in. You moan as he kisses your neck, his warm tongue and lips tracing your skin, nibbling, biting, marking you. 

He props himself up with his forearms on the bed beside your head, the soft hair on his belly grazing against your skin with each rhythmic movement of his hips.

“Look at me, baby,” he tells you, breathless, eager to finally bury himself in your pussy. You open your bloodshot eyes, biting your lip at the delicious pressure he’s putting on your clit.

“Tell me you want me.”

He caresses your cheek, his fingertips leaving a tingling sensation on your hot skin. You nod in response and moan when his hard cock rubs against your sensitive clit once again.

“Hey,” he taps your cheek not so gently and bores his eyes into you. “Use your words.”

You’re startled, but a grin forms on your lips as your foggy brain registers what he’s asking.

“I want you, Dieter,” you coo, your nails digging into the meat of his ass. “I want you to fuck me.” His lips crash against yours in an instant, and you whisper, “Please,” against them as your mind drifts off into another realm again.

“Don’t worry, baby,” he murmurs as he straightens up to take off his boxer briefs. “I’m gonna give you exactly what you need.”

Your eyes follow the movement of Dieter’s hands, mesmerized, watching in slow motion as his cock springs free. Fuck. It’s a lot bigger than you’d imagined, and it’s so…beautiful. You wish he’d put it in your mouth for you to taste it, but since you can feel him pulling down your panties, you guess he’s gonna go straight to fucking your pussy.

You feel his hands on your thighs as he positions himself between your spread legs. Then, you watch as he spits on his hand and strokes his cock. You moan at the sight, wanting nothing more than for him to take you, to ravage you, to become one with you.

“Fuck, you’re so wet, baby,” he murmurs more to himself than to you, haphazardly swiping his fingers through your dripping wet folds. You can’t hold back the moan that escapes your lips when he brushes your clit.

He scoots closer, and you can feel the hairs on his thighs against yours as he guides the tip of his cock to your entrance. It’s warm, slippery, feels kinda nice. You close your eyes and turn your head.

This is it. You’re gonna have sex for the first time. 

And with none other than Dieter fucking Bravo – Oscar winner, movie star, womanizer extraordinaire. If you weren’t so out of it, you’d laugh at the ludicrousness of the situation.

He pushes in with one slow, deliberate thrust, savoring the feeling of each inch gradually disappearing into your body.

You inhale sharply, your breath catching at the initial discomfort of his cock stretching you. Your brow furrows in response, and you instinctively grip the sheets with your hands, a mix of pleasure and mild pain coursing through your body.

“Holy shit, your pussy’s tight,” Dieter groans, his hips stuttering at the sensation of being completely sheathed in you. “Feels so fucking good.”

He withdraws again just as you begin to acclimate to the girth of his cock inside you, leaving you whimpering at the sudden loss. Your hypersensitive system is so overloaded with sensations that it compels you to moan, whine, and writhe under his touch, uncertain of how to process everything you’re feeling and experiencing.

Dieter chuckles at your desperate little noises, more than ready to give you as much of his cock as he can, and to show you pleasure you didn’t know you were capable of.

If there’s one thing he takes pride in, it’s leaving his sex partners thoroughly satisfied, mind empty, covered in cum, and wanting more.

He spreads you open again in one smooth movement, your pussy eagerly devouring every inch. Pleased with your moans and the tight grip of your walls, he grabs your thighs and shifts his weight, pressing them against the mattress to penetrate you even deeper.

“Fuck,” is all you can get out as he sets a brutal pace, pushing your body up the bed repeatedly. His cock relentlessly strikes a deep spot within you, each thrust accompanied by the rhythmic slap of his balls against your ass.

“That’s it, baby. Take my fucking cock. Fuck, you’re the best slut I’ve had in a while.”

Dieter wants you to scream his name and come all over his cock. Sure. But he’s greedy and craves more than your physical surrender. He wants to etch his name into the very fabric of your desires, your being, a memory that will linger in your thoughts for the rest of your life.

The initial discomfort you’ve experienced slowly gives way to raw, carnal pleasure, a drug-induced dance of sensations that leaves you breathless. Dieter’s movements are harsh, designed to bring you to your limits, and you find yourself meeting his thrusts with an eagerness that surprises you.

The vast expanse of Dieter’s bedroom is filled with the intoxicating sound of your moans and smacking flesh, creating a dizzying symphony that envelops you in the throes of ecstasy.

“Look at me,” you hear him growl somewhere over you, and when you don’t budge, you feel his bruising grip on your jaw. “Hey, I’m not telling you again.”

You open your eyes, your eyelids so heavy you need to summon all of your strength to pry them open. Dieter’s face hovers close to yours, his breaths ragged, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead, tracing a path down his temples.

His eyes are dark, hungry, dangerous. He gazes at you like he wants to devour you, to consume you wholly. You sense the intensity of his desire, and you’re more than ready to surrender to it.

You feel his hands tighten around your neck, the diminishing flow of oxygen to your brain heightening your senses even more. As your vision blurs and your pulse quickens, you’re caught in a paradoxical dance of ecstasy and fear, an exhilarating moment that pushes you to the brink.

Dieter deliberately hits your G-spot over and over again, his cock throbbing and leaking precum at your increasingly loud moans and spasming walls. 

“Is this what you wanted, huh?” he pants, intensifying the grip on your neck and the force of his thrusts. Instinctively, you start clawing at his arms. “What a sick little thing you are, getting off on me hurting you.” 

Your eyes roll back and you feel yourself slipping away as Dieter’s pelvis puts enough pressure on your clit to bring you closer to climax with every roll of his hips.

“Oh fuck,” you faintly hear Dieter’s voice, “you’re choking the shit out of me, holy–”

You don’t hear the end of his sentence as an abrupt, violent orgasm takes over your body and mind in waves. Your walls spasm and contract uncontrollably around Dieter’s cock, every single muscle in your body tensing as you release a silent scream, caught in a tumultuous mix of ecstasy and distress.

Dieter lets go of your neck and bites down on your shoulder as he comes, emptying himself deep inside you with a guttural groan. His cock pulsates as your pussy eagerly milks and swallows up every last drop of his seed. 

He pulls out of you and collapses onto the mattress, his chest heaving, heart racing, utterly spent. His cum leaks out of you, pooling on the sheets between your thighs.

The room is heavy with the lingering scent of sex as Dieter finally catches his breath. Sweat glistens on his forehead and chest, and his erratic breaths permeate the air. You lie there, silent and still, your body sore, and your mind in turmoil.

The reality of the moment slowly dawns on you – every heartbeat sobering you up a bit more, tangled emotions leaving you disoriented.

Shit. What have you done?

“That was…holy shit,” Dieter chuckles beside you as he props his head up on his hand.

His face falls immediately as he glances at the bloodstains on the sheets. His eyes widen in shock, and a pang of guilt hits him deep. He wasn’t gentle, and you never spoke up. The room is silent for a moment before he breaks it, his voice sharp and accusatory.

“You’re bleeding.” His eyes meet yours, and the storm within them is unsettling. Your heart beats rapidly, fear coursing through you. “Tell me this isn’t what I fucking think it is.”

You look away, a lump forming in your sore throat. “I...I didn’t expect it to hurt so much,” you admit, your voice barely audible.

“Oh my fucking god.” Dieter’s tone is harsh, his face contorted with a mixture of confusion and anger. He swiftly rises from the bed, the mattress shuddering under his abrupt departure. His pacing is agitated, a restless back-and-forth that adds to the already palpable tension between you two.

You sit up against the headboard and pull up the covers to shield yourself from the chilling air that envelops you. You’re shivering. 

“Why the hell didn’t you say something? Are you trying to ruin me?”

Your heart drops. “Wha–”

His accusations hang in the air, and the room feels suffocating. Deep down, Dieter knows he should feel remorse for his actions, but instead, he redirects his hurt feelings towards you. The drugs and alcohol coursing through his system amplify his irrationality and paranoia.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” His voice rises, echoing off the walls. “Is this some sick ploy to get your fifteen minutes of fame or some shit? To expose me?”

You’re left stunned, the whirlwind of pain, confusion, and the sting of betrayal clouding your mind. The vulnerability you shared just moments ago morphs into an uncomfortable reality, a hurtful reminder of what you were to him — a warm, nameless body he could fuck.

And now, you’re a nuisance at best, and a PR nightmare at worst. 

“Dieter, it’s nothing like that," you say, pleading, attempting to diffuse the escalating tension as the walls close in on the shattered remnants of a fun night. “I didn’t know how to tell you and…it’s not a big deal, I’m okay.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he shouts, shaking his head in frustration. “I wouldn’t have fucked you like that if I you’d told me you were–” he cuts himself off, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

The resentment in his gaze sends a shiver down your spine, making your blood run cold.

“Dieter–”

“Get the fuck out of my house.”

“Please, I’m sor–”

“Get the fuck out!” he roars, the anger in his eyes intensifying.

You immediately get up and scramble to get your clothes back on, your hands shaking. You grab your belongings, trying to maintain a shred of dignity as you hastily dress.

Dieter, seething with anger and regret, roughly hands you a wad of cash from his nightstand when you’re done. 

“Here, take this. Get a Plan B or whatever the hell you need, and keep your mouth shut.”

You stare at the money in your hand, then at the man who’s throwing you out in the middle of the night after taking your virginity. The bills are cold in your hand, and you crumple them up, throwing them back at him.

“I’m not your whore, Dieter. Go to hell!”

Heels in hand, you make your way past him and out the door. You don’t stop as he calls after you, his voice strained with genuine remorse.

“I’m sorry!”

He really is.

– – –

The cold night air hits you like a slap, tears blurring your vision as you stumble away from Dieter’s mansion, the weight of what just transpired inside heavy on your shoulders.

His hurtful words echo in your mind, the throbbing pain between your legs intensifying with every step you take. Your breath falters in the frigid air, and you clutch your arms tightly around you as you make your way toward the waiting car.

The driver, standing beside the sleek vehicle, regards you with a mixture of concern and pity. His eyes have seen this scene unfold countless times before – another half-naked girl leaving his boss’s home in disarray.

You hate the way he looks at you, as if he knows more about your vulnerability than you’re willing to admit.

He opens the car door for you, and you gratefully sink into the plush leather seat. The warmth inside the car is a stark contrast to the chill outside, but it does little to ease the ache spreading through your body.

The driver takes his place behind the wheel, stealing glances at you through the rearview mirror.

“Where can I take you to, Miss?” His voice is gentle, filled with a practiced sympathy that makes your stomach churn. You hesitate for a moment, wrestling with the words you don’t want to say.

“Home,” you finally mumble, offering your address with a numb detachment. It feels like a betrayal, a surrender of your secret world to this stranger who witnesses the aftermath of Dieter Bravo’s fleeting affections.

The car glides through the silent streets, and you find yourself staring out of the window, the city lights blurred into a kaleidoscope of colors.

Your head is spinning, and the pain in your body intensifies with each passing moment. Tears escape as you touch the bruises on your neck, tracing silent paths down your cheeks. You wipe them away with the back of your hand, hoping the darkness conceals your shame.

The driver glances at you in the mirror.

“Are you alright, Miss?” he asks, his tone a delicate inquiry into the depths of your distress.

“Just…drive me home, please,” you whisper, your voice cracking with the weight of unshed tears. You don’t want his pity, his judgment. You just want to escape the haunting echoes of what happened tonight.

But you know that will never happen. Dieter got his wish after all.

You will forever remember him.

– – –

♥︎ Thank you for reading!! ♥︎

Dieter Bravo masterlist ♡ main masterlist

[mister-a-z-fell]

People often say to me ‘Aziraphale, what exactly is Firmament?’

And by ‘often’, I mean ‘twice’, and they don’t so much say it as send me little enquiries on the Twitters and the Tumbler, along with inexplicable demands to know whether Crowley or I go ‘on top’.

I’ll get to the point in a moment, but, since you’re here, I would like to make it clear that our sleeping arrangements are nobody’s business but our own.

In any case, we don’t own a bunk bed, so the point is moot.

The subject of Firmament first came up on a clear night a few hundred years after I followed Adam and Eve out from Eden. Seth — their third child — was lying on a stone outcrop near the settlement, watching the sky, and I was sitting a little way off, keeping an eye out for scorpions.

‘Ol-ah-kwa*?’ The boy was usually full of questions, but that night he’d been uncharacteristically quiet. ‘What are they called, the lights above?’ It wasn’t the first time he’d asked and he already knew the answer perfectly well, but that was his way.

‘Those are stars. Has your father shown you how to find your path by them?’ He shook his head, and I resolved to talk to Eve in the morning.

‘How are they there? Are they like flowers on a bush? Or spots on a lizard? How many there are.’

I wished Crowley had been there, just then. He could have explained it so much better. I did my best, although I think I left him with the impression that every star hovered high in the heavens like a hummingbird, and he took some convincing that they wouldn’t eventually grow tired, having nowhere to perch, and come crashing down around us.

‘But why are they like fires? If they were made to fly up there forever, why don’t they grow feathers and just be birds?’

‘Well, that would rather defeat the purpose, B-qa-lyl**.’ And that might have been the end of the matter, but the boy had long since learned my weakness.

‘Don’t you know?’

And this is what I told him:

‘They are stars, because God told them to be stars. If She ever decides that they should be birds, then birds they will become. She told your father and mother to be human, because there was a place made in the world for humanity. Your purpose in this life is to discover what it means to be human.’

‘What about the next life?’

‘Wait and see.’

And this is what I didn’t tell him:

In the Beginning was the Void. And God spoke into the Nothing -That-Was, and that word was the first Firmament.

Firmament exists without mass, without substance. It is the Almighty’s intent, Her design, Her love; it is a blueprint for reality, pure potential and the Universe is spun with its threads. In the hands of the Virtues, it takes on form, accretes matter — becomes Material, a mechanism turned with a key that sounds like ‘LET THERE BE’.

Firmament can only be seen by the shadows that it casts. Gravity. The way that particles converse. Electromagnetism. Slood. It moves in mysterious ways and it reaches everywhere that is not Void. One day, scholars will glimpse the outer edges of ‘omnipresence’, and call it ‘quantum entanglement’.

I should have found a way to explain that — while stars aren’t birds — they share their firmament as all the brush stokes of a masterpiece share their canvas, as the individual notes of a melody are carried on the same breath. Everything touches everything. ‘Look what ye have done unto one of the least of these my brethren, the same have ye done unto me.’

Perhaps if I’d taught Seth that all that lies between each of us and the furthest, strangest star is a triviality called ‘distance’, which only really has meaning inside the preserve of mortal dimensions, he might have understood. I tried to explain it to his descendants, but perhaps they were too old, too certain of themselves, to listen. I was never much of a teacher.

Later, in all the confusion of Babel, rāqīa (something beaten thin to form a surface) and rakhmyn (love) went their separate ways, and whenever I encountered the subject of… celestial scaffolding — for want of a better word — it came in the context of the former. A shell to support the stars, to hold back the upper waters. They forgot about the ‘love’ part.

Later still, Crowley got volubly drunk with a fellow named Copernicus and made some progress, but even his controversial model couldn’t let go of firmament as the pastry around the universal profiterole.

Then there was Giordano Bruno… but we don’t talk about him.

So, here I am, trying again. Hoping that I’ve explained myself better this time, because, after all, that’s what an angel is: Firmament imbued with mind, and grace, willed into life by words of purpose unique to each one of us. Wearing atomic fancy-dress so that we can speak to you in words you can comprehend (ideally without falling down and giggling while your hair smoulders gently).

We are, at base, figments of Her imagination, which is so powerful that it was necessary that She invent free will to stop all things yielding unfailingly to Her whim. As a consequence, reality tends to become malleable in our immediate vicinity.

What is Firmament? It’s everything. It’s Creation. It’s humans, and demons, and angels. It’s stars, and it’s the walls of Eden. It’s the bullet, and the finger pulling the trigger, the magician and the audience, and the shocked air expanding in ripples from the burning powder. It’s the scalpel, and the flesh. And inside, beneath the dancing atoms, it’s love.

Try to remember that part, because sometimes it seems very well hidden.

It’s love.

*Brother

**Something small

[zapreportsblog]

can you do a Twilight Jasper X reader where the reader is Jasper's descendant and she turns out to be a teacher at Forks High School. She goes by her last name which is Whitlock. She does find out they're all vampires eventually. She actually ends up meeting the major later on. Instead of Jasper trying to attack Bella on her birthday, the reader saves the day by stepping in front of the major and calming him down. Feel free to change anything else. Just keep the reader being related to Jasper and that she ends up being a teacher. Garrett is her mate.

Ooh my what an interesting idea

❝descendants❞

✭ pairing : garrett x reader x jasper hale

✭ fandom : twilight x reader

✭ summary : (y/n) is the mate of Garrett and the descendant of jasper Whitlock back from his human days, now attending forks she meets her extended family and even saves someone

✭ authors note : l swear you twilight fans come up with the most interesting ideas but I can’t say I ain’t the same

✭ twilight masterlist

In the quiet town of Forks, (y/n) Whitlock walked the halls of Forks High School, her footsteps echoing softly against the linoleum floor. As an English teacher, she had dedicated herself to shaping the minds of young students, guiding them through the world of literature and writing. With her dark hair pulled back into a neat bun and a determined expression on her face, she exuded an air of professionalism.

Unbeknownst to most, (y/n) carried a secret within her veins, a legacy that connected her to one of the town's most enigmatic figures. She was a descendant of Jasper Whitlock, a connection that had been kept hidden from the world, even from the Cullen family themselves.

As the students filed into her classroom, (y/n) greeted each one with a warm smile, her eyes holding a hint of curiosity as she studied their faces. Despite her best efforts to remain impartial, she couldn't help but notice the nuances and expressions that resembled those of her ancestor.

Among her students was a familiar face - Jasper Hale. His golden eyes met hers as he walked into the classroom, a fleeting moment of recognition passing between them. Jasper's attention had been drawn by her last name - Whitlock. He had heard of the name before, in stories from his past.

Throughout the lesson, (y/n) engaged her students with discussions about classic literature, her passion for the subject evident in her words. Jasper's gaze lingered on her, his thoughts a whirlwind of curiosity and intrigue. There was something about her that stirred memories he thought long buried.

After the bell rang and the students began to file out of the classroom, Jasper approached (y/n) with a soft smile. "Miss Whitlock, your last name caught my attention."

(y/n) turned to him, her eyes meeting his golden gaze with a mixture of surprise and curiosity. "Oh? How so?"

"It's just... well, it's a name I've heard before," Jasper replied, his tone thoughtful. "In stories from my past."

A knowing smile tugged at (y/n)'s lips. She had expected this moment to come eventually, the moment when the legacy of Jasper Whitlock would be acknowledged. "Jasper, isn't it?"

His eyes widened slightly in surprise. "How did you know?"

She chuckled softly. "I have a feeling we have more in common than just our last name. You see, I'm a descendant of Jasper Whitlock as well."

The revelation seemed to take Jasper by surprise, his gaze searching her face for any signs of deceit. "Is that true?"

(y/n) nodded. "It is. Jasper, it's a pleasure to finally meet you. The stories about you and your family have always intrigued me."

Jasper's lips quirked into a genuine smile, a sense of camaraderie settling between them. "Likewise, Miss Whitlock."

As the two of them stood in the empty classroom, the weight of their shared lineage hung in the air. It was a connection that went beyond mere coincidence, a thread that bound them together through time and history. And as they exchanged stories and anecdotes, (y/n) couldn't help but feel that fate had brought them together for a reason, linking their lives in ways that neither of them could have predicted.

“Would you be interested in coming over for dinner?” Jasper asks.

“Sure, I’d love nothing more,” she smiles.

As the evening sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the Cullen household, (y/n) Whitlock found herself standing at the doorstep, flanked by Garrett. Her demeanor was calm and collected, her eyes meeting Jasper's golden gaze with a sense of familiarity. She had agreed to join him and his family for dinner, curious to learn more about the Cullens and the connection they shared through her lineage.

Jasper greeted them both with a polite smile, his easy manner putting (y/n) at ease. The Cullen family welcomed them into their home, and (y/n) couldn't help but feel a sense of intrigue as she looked around the elegant interior.

As they settled in for dinner, conversations flowed freely. The Cullens were curious about (y/n)'s knowledge of vampires and how she had come to be familiar with their kind. When the topic arose, (y/n) and Garrett exchanged a knowing glance before she began to explain.

"Garrett and I have faced the Volturi before," she began, her voice steady. "When we decided to be together, we knew the risks of him being a vampire and me being a human. So, Garrett found a way to make me a half vampire."

The Cullens exchanged surprised glances, intrigued by the revelation. "A half vampire?" Carlisle inquired.

"Yes," Garrett confirmed. "We discovered a way to blend our strengths and weaknesses, allowing (y/n) to benefit from the aspects of being a vampire while retaining some of her humanity."

Esme's eyes softened with understanding. "That's quite remarkable."

Jasper's curiosity remained piqued as he looked at (y/n). "And how did you come to learn about your ancestry and my connection to you?"

(y/n) smiled softly. "I've always known about vampires, considering my own mate is one. Garrett helped me understand my heritage, and through research, we pieced together our connection to your family. We discovered that I'm a descendant of your brother-in-arms, Peter. He was a close friend of my ancestor, Jasper Whitlock."

Jasper's eyes widened in surprise and a hint of recognition. "Peter was a dear friend. It's incredible to think that our bloodline has continued to intertwine through the generations."

The evening continued with laughter, stories, and shared experiences. (y/n) found herself at ease in the company of the Cullens, her connection to Jasper and her mate Garrett creating an unspoken bond.

As dinner drew to a close, Jasper's gaze held a mixture of curiosity and appreciation. "It's not often we meet someone who understands both our world and the unique connections we share."

(y/n) nodded in agreement. "And it's not often I meet others who share such intriguing stories. It's an honor to be here."

Garrett wrapped an arm around (y/n) with a proud smile. "We're grateful for the acceptance and understanding."

As the night grew darker, (y/n) knew that the paths that had led her to this point were guided by fate, weaving together the lives of vampires and humans in ways that were both unexpected and remarkable. And as they bid the Cullens goodnight, (y/n) felt a sense of camaraderie and connection that stretched beyond bloodlines, transcending time itself.

Garrett and (Y/N) had seamlessly integrated themselves into the Cullen family, becoming an integral part of their lives. The Cullens, known for their unique abilities and compassionate nature, had opened their hearts and welcomed the couple with open arms.

In a gesture of love and acceptance, the family decided to build a cozy cabin for Garrett and (Y/N) in the depths of the surrounding woods, a place they could call their own.

The cabin stood tall and sturdy, nestled amidst the trees, offering a sense of tranquility and seclusion. Its rustic charm blended harmoniously with the natural surroundings, a testament to the Cullens' attention to detail and their desire to make Garrett and (Y/N) feel at home.

On a sunny day, the Cullens gathered at their grand house to celebrate Bella's birthday. The atmosphere was filled with laughter and joy as the family exchanged gifts and shared stories. Garrett and (Y/N) were excited to be a part of this special occasion, witnessing the love and unity that bound the Cullens together.

As Bella eagerly unwrapped her gift, a small box from (Y/N) and Garrett, she accidentally nicked her finger on the sharp edge. The scent of her blood filled the air, instantly triggering the primal instincts of the vampires in the room.

Jasper, known for his struggle with bloodlust, felt his control slipping. His eyes darkened with hunger, and his muscles tensed, ready to pounce. But before he could react, (Y/N) swiftly stepped in front of him, her eyes filled with determination.

“Jasper, calm down," she commanded, her voice steady and unwavering. "You have the strength to control your urges. You can resist." To everyone's surprise, (Y/N) possessed a unique gift of her own - the ability to manipulate and control emotions. She had honed this power over the years, using it to bring peace and harmony to those around her.

Jasper's eyes flickered with a mix of confusion and admiration as (Y/N)'s influence washed over him. His tense muscles relaxed, and the hunger in his eyes faded away. He regained control, his gaze softening as he looked at (Y/N) with gratitude.

“Thank you," he murmured, his voice filled with genuine appreciation.

But as Jasper's emotions settled, a different side of him emerged. The Major, as he was known, stepped forward, his presence commanding and intense. His eyes gleamed with a fiery determination, ready for a battle of wills.

“(Y/N)," the Major spoke, his voice deep and resonant. "You have an extraordinary gift. I can sense the power within you. Tell me, how did you come to possess such control over emotions?"

(Y/N) met the Major's gaze, her own eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and respect. She understood the weight of his alter ego, the strength and intensity that lay dormant within him. "I have spent years honing my gift, learning to understand the intricacies of emotions," she replied, her voice steady.

“It is not just about controlling them, but also about empathizing and guiding them. Emotions are a powerful force, and with great power comes great responsibility."

The Major nodded, a flicker of admiration crossing his features. "You speak the truth, (Y/N). Emotions can be both a blessing and a curse. It takes a strong individual to harness their power for good."

As the conversation between (Y/N) and the Major continued, the rest of the Cullen family watched in awe. They marveled at the connection between these two powerful beings, recognizing the potential for growth and understanding that lay within their interaction.

In that moment, the bonds between the Cullens and their newfound family members grew stronger. They realized that they were not just connected by blood or supernatural abilities, but by the shared experiences and the unwavering support they offered one another.

As the sun began to set, casting a warm glow over the gathering, the Cullens and their extended family retreated to the cabin in the woods. They continued to celebrate Bella's birthday, but now with a newfound appreciation for the strength and unity that bound them together.

In the depths of the woods, surrounded by nature's embrace, Garrett, (Y/N), and the Cullens found solace and a sense of belonging. They knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, they would face them together, their bonds unbreakable.

[pandemic-info]

I'm seeing information about the Novavax being formulated for the previous variant and the Moderna and Pfizer being for a more recent one. Is this true and if so, why are so many people trying to get the Novavax?

Hi, glad you asked! Here's a few posts on this:

Graphic (albeit from Novavax, no 3rd-party trials) showing broad neutralization:

Another, thread explaining the above. Particularly:

"Ultimately as the antigenic distance is very close for all major circulating variants, all vaccine options should be very good, and provide good protection against infection and severe disease (even when compared with infection-acquired/natural immunity)."

One more, from NPR: https://www.npr.org/sections/shots-health-news/2024/08/22/nx-s1-5082372/updated-covid-vaccines-fda-approved

The Pfizer-BioNTech and Moderna ... now target the KP.2 variant ... The Novavax vaccine, which is based on an older technology, targets an earlier strain of the virus called JN.1. As many of us know by now, the virus continues evolving to better evade our immune defense, which means regularly updating the vaccines to keep up with the latest strain. It turns out the KP.2 and JN.1 variants have already been overtaken by newer variants. Because those are also descendants of omicron, the hope is that the new vaccines are close enough matches that they can still boost immunity and protect people in the coming months – ideally reducing the chances of a big winter wave. “The vaccine is not intended to be perfect. It’s not going to absolutely prevent COVID-19," Dr. Peter Marks from the FDA told NPR in an interview. "But if we can prevent people from getting serious cases that end up in emergency rooms, hospitals or worse — dead — that’s what we’re trying to do with these vaccines.”

There's a couple of other points I do not have sources for right now; if anyone would like to reblog and add some or correct this, please do!:

I've read that in the past, for example, flu vaccine efficacy was not necessarily dampened when the vax targeted a "parent". They are in the same lineage, so efficacy should be good.

Analogy (albeit imperfect): using a net vs a spear.

Of course, without more data, we don't know. I would wager that people who choose Novavax nowadays may also be informed on #Layered Protection and prioritize physical barriers (N95 masking) as the first line of defense, with vaccine as secondary bonus, since any of them have a non-negligible % of breakthroughs at this point.

It was different in 2021 when they were first released and showed high efficacy; ~3% breakthrough, if that. Now, I would not in any case rely on Pfizer or Moderna alone, so there's not much of a reason to suffer their ill effects for days.

But bodies are all different. Some people tolerate them well. Some have no other choice. As always, get the one you can, that works for you!