#Part 1: One Step Ahead of the Past

[zepskies]

BREAKING POINT - Part 1

Pairing: Russell Shaw x Reader

Summary: Russell made you a promise, but “getting out” of government contract work is even more difficult than he thought it would be. Is he willing to put the past aside, or is this going to be your breaking point?

AN: Welcome back to the Every Second Counts-verse! After the cliffhanger in Bubbly, I know you guys have been wanting this next part of their story. Get ready for a rocky ride — in two parts! 😅 (Also thank you again for all the birthday wishes. You guys are the best. 🥹💜)

Special thanks to the lovely Michelle - @luci-in-trenchcoats - for giving me tons of Tracker spoilers from the books that helped me shape the idea for BP! Both Michelle and Wayne - @waynes-multiverse have been incredibly encouraging and supportive in this one. 💚

Song Inspo: “Come in From the Night” by Chicago

Posted on Patreon: 3/28/2025

Word Count: 6.8K

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, angst, secrets and lies of omission, hints of Russell’s shady past, 2x02 events, and a twist…

⌖ Series Masterlist

Part 1: One Step Ahead of the Past

You paused in the middle of the grocery store aisle when you heard the thump. Yet another item dropped into the shopping cart.

You turned your head from the display of buy-one-get-one coffee brands and rose a brow at your boyfriend, trying not to smile.

“Uh, no. I don’t think so,” you said, grabbing the box of Zebra Cakes out of the cart.

“Aw, come on,” Russell implored.

“Babe, Dory and I call these cancer cakes. And you know what, for a guy who somehow keeps in like, Super Soldier-level shape, you’ve got a mega sweet tooth for all things junk,” you teased, and then smiled hard when he snaked an arm around your waist to try and distract you. You knew what he was really aiming for.

“Super soldier, huh?” A smirk curved his lips. “We talkin’ Captain America or Schwarzenegger?”

You laughed and tried to wiggle out of his grip. He had you trapped against the handles of the cart. He sneakily clawed a hand for the cartoonish black and white box of treats, but you held it just out of reach.

“If we have these in the house, you know I’m gonna eat them too, and it’s all just going to go straight to my ass, stomach, and thighs,” you quipped.

Russell hummed a kiss into your neck.

“I got no issue with that.” He squeezed your hips. “Just makes you softer to tenderize.”

A hot blush lit up your face, especially when an older lady gave you two some side-eye as she passed by with her cart. You bit your lip to temper your embarrassed smile, but you still reached back to pinch Russell’s side in retaliation. He just laughed and dodged your hand, ultimately wrapping his arms tighter around your waist.

“It’s true,” he whispered lowly in your ear.

“Hmph, I’m sure,” you replied in amusement. 

Despite your better judgment, you tossed the Zebra Cakes back into the cart and kept it pushing, literally. Russell’s pleased grin had you almost rolling your eyes. Yes, he knew how to play you like a fiddle.

You grabbed a couple packages of Gevalia coffee and continued down the aisle, but you didn’t realize that your shadow had disappeared. Russell caught up to you after a little while, withdrawing a peach cobbler from behind his back. It was from the bakery section. Another goddamn dessert?! And how’d he get over there and back so fast?

“I know I might be pushing my luck, but what about this guy for tonight?” he asked. “At least it’s homemade, right?”

You chuckled. “Yeah, homemade. Right from the factory that delivered it to the grocery store.”

But you sighed and relented on that one too, waving a dismissive hand. Eh, it’s on sale. Pick your battles, I guess.

Russell took that as consent to place the cobbler carefully next to the carrots, broccoli, and asparagus. He was slightly mollified by the bag of potatoes.

“That’s a lot of rabbit food,” he remarked.

“Oh yeah, and it’s gonna go great with the steaks tonight,” you sweetly replied. You knew the only way you were going to get him to eat said broccoli was if he had a slab of meat to go with it. Again, pick your battles. Your man was many things, but health-conscious wasn’t exactly one of them. It surprised you, considering he’d spent most of his life in the military.

“Heeeeell, yeah. With the special sauce, right?” he asked hopefully.

“Yes, with the special sauce,” you smirked.

And no, that wasn’t a euphemism.

Russell smiled, that one that crinkled the crow’s feet around his eyes. His hand fell to a comfortable place on the small of your back as he fell into step with you. It was his habit whenever you two went out together—a familiar hand on your hip, your waist, or brushing your hair back to massage the back of your neck. You liked the contact; the reminder that he was with you, and that he wanted to be.

But his touch fell away after you entered the cereal aisle. You did hear a short buzz, but you didn’t notice until you were almost at the end, halfway through asking if he wanted oatmeal or Fruit Loops. When you realized you were talking to empty air, you looked over your shoulder and saw Russell stopped in the middle of the aisle, staring down at his phone with knitted brows.

His attention was wholly on the screen, where a brief message held more weight than it should.

Are you in?

Russell kept digesting the words.  

“Russ?” you called to him, breaking him out of his reverie. “What’re you doing?”

Shit. He typed out a reply, and he sent it before he could think better of it. He pocketed his phone and caught up to you in a few of his long strides, his long hair bouncing along with him. His hand slipped around your waist and found purchase on a belt loop of your jeans. 

“So with our soon-to-be three course meal, what’cha thinking on a movie? Wanna watch Terminator again?” he proposed.

You rose a brow at three courses, but you skipped ahead to pushing back on said proposal. 

“God, no. We watched all six movies last weekend!” 

“Aw, come on, get to the choppah!” Russell invoked his best Arnold impression, prodding at your waist all the while. Never mind that the line was from Predator, not Terminator.

You flinched, and a giggle bubbled up in you on reflex as you swatted at his hand. You pushed the cart onward to the checkout counter. 

“All right, just the first one though,” you replied. “Then I want to watch Bridesmaids.”

He playfully groaned. “Gonna make me sit through another chick flick, huh?”

“Oh no. It’s hilarious,” you said with a snicker. “Though maybe it is better if we watch that one after dinner. There’s a scene with food poisoning from some sketchy-ass meat and…yeah. Anyway, you’ll like it, baby. I promise.”

Russell gave you an indulgent smile, but inside, he hid a guilty twinge. 

“What was your favorite thing to eat growing up?” you asked.

Russell was helping you unpack the groceries in the kitchen in a familiar routine. He’d been living with you for almost a year now, and still, little questions like this sometimes helped you get a window into the man.

Key word being sometimes, because even now, he considered your question with more uncertainty than it should warrant.

"You mean, uh, on the compound?" he asked.

"Sure." You'd take any brief spotlight into his childhood.

“Uh…kind of hard to answer that one. We mostly ate whatever wild game we could catch,” he admitted. “A lot of rabbit. Which honestly wasn’t my favorite, but I learned to like it.”

He soon abandoned that thought to take out the peach cobbler from a grocery bag with a devilish cackle. You knew by the boyish look on his face that he’d be cutting at least two generous slices out of that one later.

“Maybe that explains why you’re such a foodie,” you wondered aloud. Because your man didn’t just like food. He was borderline obsessed with trying new spots with you, whether it was an upscale restaurant on the bougiest part of downtown, or a sketchy taco truck on the side of the freeway.

“Could be,” he acknowledged with a chuckle.

“What was it like having to hunt for your own food?” you asked. You’d studied history and ancient civilizations for both of your doctoral degrees, let alone your experience as a professor at Wyoming University, but studying hunter-gatherer communities was much different from having to learn how to survive for your next meal.

Russell set down the cobbler on the counter. He took advantage of the task of grabbing the vegetables next, handing them off to you so you could sort them the way you liked in the refrigerator.

“Wasn’t easy,” he said, “My dad was a taskmaster. And that wasn’t just about skinning rabbits and squirrels.”

You grimaced. “Squirrels too?!”

Russell nodded.

“We had these milestones…” he trailed, as the memory reappeared in his mind. “Heh. I remember being woken up and dragged out of bed in the middle of the night. Dad had me scale a cliff in almost pitch blackness. Couldn’t see the ground below me, could barely see a few inches above me. Was the day I turned thirteen years old.”

You paused what you were doing to meet his gaze. Jesus. Happy fucking Birthday, you thought, both in sarcasm and incredulous dismay.

Russell sighed and shook his head. He continued balling up empty grocery bags.

“That. That look right there,” he said, pointing at your face. “That’s why I don’t talk about this shit.”

You quickly recovered yourself and shut the fridge.

“I’m sorry, it’s just…” You turned to him and laid a hand on his forearm, sliding down to slip your hand into his. “I’ve given you the deep cuts, right? And my brother has no problem spilling all about my awkward teenage angst, and basically every embarrassing thing I’ve ever done since I was two. But with you, there’s still so much I don’t know, Russ. Not just about how you grew up, but about your life since then.”

Russell brushed his thumb over the back of your hand, but all he could really give you was a quirk of his lips.

“That’s classified,” he said, only somewhat joking.

“Look, I get that. I know there’s a lot you can’t tell me,” you said, “but give me the broad strokes, okay? Besides Doug, who have been the important people in your life? Where were you stationed? How many countries have you seen?”

Russell let out a deep breath. None of your questions had easy answers. He knew he needed to give you something, even if it was just broad strokes. But…he just couldn’t bring himself to look back anymore. There was too much tied to things he couldn’t, shouldn’t tell you. Mostly it was for your own safety, but selfishly, there were also things he didn’t want to let loose. If he did, maybe it would change the way you looked at him with those soft, loving eyes. 

“Look, maybe that’s not something we should get into tonight,” he said. 

 Your expression shifted into disappointment. You seemed to be making that face a lot lately, whenever he told you about another job out of town, whenever he didn't come home when he initially said he would, whenever he closed up on you.

But this time, you closed up on him.

“You know what, it’s been a long day. I think I’m feeling too tired to cook,” you said. You tossed the wad of empty grocery bags under the kitchen sink and passed by him on your way out of the room, and over to the bedroom.

Russell blinked in confusion. 

“Well, wait, what’re we gonna eat then?” he called after you.

“I don’t know. Make yourself a sandwich,” you said, just before he heard the door shut.

The loud thud made him sigh through his nose. He surveyed the ingredients you’d intended to cook with strewn across the kitchen counter and rubbed a hand over his bearded face. 

“Shoulda saved that conversation for after dinner,” he mused.

You and Russell were still at odds as you got ready for bed that night. After what happened in the kitchen, you cooled off for a bit. You did end up making the steaks and watching Terminator with him, but afterward, you went back to the bedroom to read by yourself, leaving him to watch old reruns of Seinfeld on TBS.

It was never really the same without you and your colorful commentary, or the way you often burrowed into his side and commandeered most of the couch. (He didn’t mind, long as he got to cop a feel every now and then.)

He could read you all too well though. He knew you were still mad at him.

He now eyed you in your silky negligée, which he thought you’d worn to bed on purpose just to torture him a little. It was the pretty purple one with lacy edges. He bought it for you while you two were on vacation in California a few months ago. 

Russell’s phone buzzing on his nightstand distracted him. He checked it before you had a chance to see what was on the screen. It was from his handler at Horizon, detailing a string of coordinates for his next gig—plus a ticket for his flight taking off in two days. Russell planned to tell you tomorrow after you cooled off a little more, though he knew it wasn’t going to be an easy conversation. 

He tried slipping into bed behind you and wrapping his arm around your waist, kissing your bare shoulder. He nosed past the thin strap of your nightgown and inhaled the pretty, floral scent of your soap…which he totally didn’t use himself.

“Nuh-uh,” you warned without even looking at him. It was a firm no on the touching, to which Russell exhaled and leaned back on his pillow, carding a hand through his hair. 

“Come on, baby. How long’re you gonna ice me out?”

“Until I actually know the man who’s in bed with me,” you snipped back testily.

“Hey, that’s not fair,” Russell said. He drew back in and kissed the side of your head, rubbing a hand down your shoulder. “You already know the important bits.”

“Oh, yeah? Like what?” you dryly replied. It was a struggle not to give into his touch, but this wasn’t the first time you two had a conversation, verging on argument about these things.  

He knew it all too well.

Still, he hesitated. Like what? How I’ve spent a long time doing what I’m told, and not a lot of asking questions. Probably not as much as I should’ve.

He shook his head. “I’m not gonna lie, I’ve seen a lot of shit that would blow your hair back. But even though my growing up was…unconventional, to say the least, it’s made me good at what I do. Most importantly though…” He pressed another gentle, lingering kiss into your neck. “This is where I want to be. You’re the one I wanna move forward with.”

He felt you take a long breath. He hoped it meant that you were hearing him, that you were softening.

“How are you going to do that when you’re away on another job?” you asked. 

Russell paused. 

You moved away from his hold and sat up in bed. He followed suit as he noted the look on your face, tired and upset. His brows furrowed, despite the prickle of guilt bubbling under his skin.

“What’re you talking about?” he said.

“Don’t even try it. I saw the coordinates pop up on your phone just now!” you snapped, and you make a sound of frustration, rubbing your face with both hands. “You promised me, Russell. You promised you’d be done with contract work months ago now. So what is it? Is it that you need more money for your brewery?”

Russell swallowed. The truth was, he’d made the target goal on his business account months ago, but he’d also found one reason or another to accept the last few jobs out of town. There was pressure from Horizon to stay on. They didn’t want to lose a valuable “contractor,” after all. But it was also his own unwillingness to give up the feeling of knowing exactly what he was doing, what he had been trained to do, and secretly, the way his work kept him on the edge. 

That flip in the stomach that forced him to make decisions in the breadth of a second? 

Well, it was a hard feeling to give up, and an even harder life.  

He rubbed a hand over his face with a tired sigh.

“Look, it’s more complicated than that,” he said. 

“You know what, I don’t think it is,” you shot back. “I think you’re a lot like Charlie, except this—this kind of work is your fix.”

The accusation stung like a hot iron poker. Russell opened his mouth to sling back a retort, even though he knew your aim was deadly when you wanted it to be.

You just turned away from him and shut off the light. 

In the morning, Russell woke to your side of the bed being cold and empty. It made him feel hollow, shitty, after the events of last night reared back up in his mind. 

He lied there between the sheets and listened. He could hear your familiar movements in the kitchen. Letting out a deep breath, he forced himself out of bed. 

After brushing his teeth and raking a hand through his messy bedhead, he cautiously approached the kitchen. Russell lingered in the doorway just outside of view. He found himself watching you putter around in your little nightgown, fuzzy slippers, and frizzy hair. Your fingers got tangled in it while your free hand grabbed the eggs from the fridge, your hip propping the door open. 

You’d made a pot of coffee and even set out his mug for him, as was your habit. Your own mug laid half-empty on the counter. His mug was somewhat special, though not just because it currently had a spoon resting inside it, ready for his sugar and cream.

You bought it for him last time you blew half your paycheck at Marshalls; a home goods store he could rarely drag you out of within an hour. That mug featured all the major condiments, including sriracha, which was what made you think of him. It matched the sweatpants you found for him, covered in cartoony fries and burgers. 

They might’ve been silly gifts, but he liked that. He liked that you thought of him in the little things that somehow added up into the big things. They reminded him that you’d given him a chance. You’d given him home cooked meals, and let him make you a few too. You’d watched virtually every popular ‘90s movie that had ever been made with him—or at least, every one you thought he’d might like. You had a list of the 2000s to tackle next. 

You were an encouraging sounding board for him, whether it was talking about what he’d serve on the menu of his future brewery, brainstorming names, or even looking up what paperwork he would need to get started. You’d also been helping him navigate his relationship with Dory, and your brother Charlie, and even Colter, whenever Russell’s still admittedly distant relationship with his brother came up.

Russell washed your car and took out the trash and washed the dishes whenever you cooked, but standing here right now, it finally clicked just how much you actually did for him. How much you cared, and put your actions behind the caring part. You’d given him a place to come home to after decades in service, and years more on the road.

Hell, you were his home. You and his sister.

But now, he realized why you were so upset. You thought he had one foot off of the firm foundation you were trying to build with him. You thought he wasn’t wanting to fully commit here, to you, and to the things he claimed he wanted. You were struggling to understand him.

So Russell entered the kitchen officially, padding in on sock-covered feet until he could slip his arms around you from behind. You stiffened in his grasp and turned to look at him over your shoulder. 

“Russ,” you warned, but he shook his head. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said. “You were right.”

You paused, allowing the fridge to close. Slowly you turned in his arms. You bit your lower lip and granted him a dubious gaze. Still, he counted it as a win when you tentatively held him back, slipping your hands over his biceps for stability. 

“About what?” you rose a brow in challenge.

“I’m gonna start shopping around for real estate here in Laramie, but first, I’m gonna start making moves on the business proposal for the brewery. Would you mind looking it over for me?” he asked. 

Your head tilted as you considered what he was saying, as well as what he wasn’t saying.

“But aren’t you…leaving?” 

“I’m not taking that job,” Russell said. “I’m calling Horizon today, tell ‘em I’m retiring. For good this time.”

It took a while, but his words seeped into your mind and settled there on the ocean floor. Tears began to sting in your eyes, but you nodded and reached up on your toes for a sweet, lingering kiss. You stroked his cheeks and slipped your fingers through his hair when you hugged him. He held you back just as tightly. 

He knew he hadn’t given you everything you asked for, but this felt like a good start.

Russell expected the call at some point, but half an hour was a new record. It was a Saturday, and he made sure you were busy in the laundry room before he took the call in your brother’s old room—AKA: Russell’s office. 

Charlie had been out of rehab for a few months now, rooming with Manny, one of his old unit buddies. Your brother agreed to leave the family house to you though, since you’d always been the stable one who could actually take care of the mortgage and the general upkeep of the house. Russell joined Charlie and his friends for beers every so often, either at Charlie’s apartment, or a new bar close to downtown. 

They traded stories and friendly fire at one another, Russell from his side of the branch in Special Ops, to Charlie and his friends in the Air Force. Dave and Manny could be especially loud-mouthed when tequila was involved, but Russell welcomed the good-natured ribbing with a few good pot shots of his own (he was still a little proud of “glorified flight attendants”).  

Now though, Russell held the phone to his ear and greeted the man on the other line.

“Hey, man. What’s up?” 

“What’s up?” Adam intoned. “‘What’s up’ is that you’re leaving us high and dry, Russ. What’s that about?” 

“Look, you know this was never a permanent gig for me,” Russell replied, speaking quietly just in case you were close by. “It’s high time I took a break, settled down, you know?”

Adam snorted. “You don’t have a civilian fucking bone in your body, Russell.”

“Well, that’s nice. I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

“Look, you’re the best man I ever worked with. The best CO I ever had. You pulled my ass outta the fire more times than I’d care to admit,” Adam said, “but you remember that last tour?”

Russell sobered. “You know I do.”

“And you remember what I had to do to get us out of that mess. Out of Nicaragua.”

Not like you’d ever let me forget it, Russell thought. Though it was nothing he didn’t see behind his eyes when he went to sleep.

“But when I got this gig, and they asked me who I’d recruit, you’re the first guy I thought of,” Adam said. “Well, you and Dougie. He fucking quit on me too.” 

Russell was happy for Doug. He and his wife just had their first baby a few months ago. One chunky little boy. 

“Look,” Russell said. “I’m grateful for…everything, you know that. But this is just something I gotta do. I’ve got other responsibilities now.”

“Yeah. How is your girl, huh? Been wanting to grab a beer with you, maybe get to finally meet her.”

Russell’s lips twitched. He didn’t talk about you as a rule, not to anyone in Horizon. Aside from Doug, Adam was the only one on the payroll who knew Russell’s real name, let alone about you. This was supposed to be a secure line though. 

“She’s waiting on me, Adam. Can’t keep doin’ that to her,” Russell replied. 

After a while, Adam sighed. 

“All right, Russ. I hear ya. I’m fucked, but I hear ya.”

“You’ll be fine,” Russell smirked. “You’ll find someone young and fresh off the meat market.”

Adam scoffed. “Right. These kids. Half of ‘em anxiety ridden pussies or juvie fucking flunkies. Can’t hack even half the shit we went through in basic, let alone eight months in Baghdad.”

That led into familiar territory. Russell shot the shit with his old friend for a few more minutes before he finally let Adam go. The phone hung from Russell’s hand after, and he expelled a sigh. He felt a twinge of regret, like he was letting go of hell of a lot more. 

After he left home and enlisted, it didn’t just become his life. It became who he was. Both his body and his mind were shaped by the structure of the chain of command, the mission, the follow-through. Muscle-memory.

Putting that aside had been harder than he imagined. After all, what the hell was he, if not a soldier?

Russell wrestled with that question longer than he cared to admit. It even had him getting up from his desk to consult a glass of bourbon he kept on the bookshelf. 

…It’s for the best, he reasoned. 

Even now, Russell didn’t get to see his little sister as often as he liked. Their work kept them moving in different directions, her busy teaching schedule not often gelling well with his more unpredictable one. But today, a Tuesday, he was taking her to lunch between classes.

She stopped short in the doorway of her office.

“Oh! Damn, I forgot…”

She meant to invite you too, but when she took her cell phone out to call you and see if you were busy, Russell laid a hand on her shoulder.

“It’s okay, she already knows I’m here,” he said. “But you and I are long overdue for some brother-sister time.”

Dory hesitated, but at his grin, she smiled back brightly and put her phone away. “Okay, then. Where do you want to go?”

He took her to a nearby café you told him about. It was one you and Dory frequented at least once a week, either for coffee and pastries, or for a nice protein bowl.

“Why is everything a damn bowl nowadays? They’re all just trying to be Chipotle,” Russell groused, but he ate his bowl of wild rice, steak, and arugula salad with just as much gusto as a carton of Chinese fried rice. He polished it off with a beer and tried to stifle his belch.

Dory rose a brow, but after a beat, she couldn’t hold in a laugh.

“Well, doesn’t seem to bother you that much,” she remarked. Her amusement slid into a teasing smirk. “Matter of fact, looks like you've been eating well since you started shacking up with my best friend.” 

Russell grinned around the lip of his beer. "What're you tryin' to say, D? You fat-shaming me right now?"

"Aw, I wouldn't go that far," she laughed. "You just look like you're settling in to this civillian thing."

Russell smirked. He couldn't argue with her. According to you, he was in super soldier shape. Still, he knew you were being a little too generous. He had softened around the pouch a little since he’d stopped moving around from motel to motel, no time to get comfortable, as he was now. His hard work was also looking different these days—sitting at his desk or on the couch with his laptop. He wasn't a complete sloth though; he still worked out on the regular.

“Gotta admit, she keeps me well-fed,” he said. Though there was no mistaking the glint in his eye, or the waggling of his brows. Dory snorted and shook her head. 

“Please, I don’t wanna hear about any of that. It’s bad enough I had to endure the beginning stages when you two couldn’t be in a room together without eye-fucking each other. Or sneaking off into a public restroom at our work Christmas party—to actually fuck each other.”

Russell spluttered a laugh into his beer, making a slosh of amber liquid run down his shirt. Dory smirked and handed him an extra napkin. He coughed and blotted out most of the stain himself, but gave her an accusatory look through his amusement. 

“You guys seem to be doing well though,” Dory said, her eyes softening along with her smile. “She told me that you finally quit Horizon.”

He rose a brow and set down the empty beer. “Finally?”

“Well, sorry, but she’s not the only one who worries about you, you know?” Dory grabbed her brother’s hand. “It’s been good to have you around this past year, getting to know you again. It feels like having a bit of home back.”

Russell smiled ruefully, squeezing her hand.

“Thought you didn’t like to think about all that.”

“It wasn’t all bad,” she admitted. Her head tilted in thought. “I remember, you used to sing to me whenever I couldn’t fall asleep.”

His mouth twitched, his eyes softening.

“Couldn’t blame you. That place made some weird-ass sounds at night,” he replied, though he sighed deeply through his nose. “You were just a kid.”

“So were you, Russ,” Dory reminded him. 

He held her gaze for as long as he could stand. Eventually, he lowered his eyes. He released her hand and went back to polishing off the flourless chocolate cake she’d ordered for dessert. 

“That night…you really recognized the man Dad was talking to?” Dory asked after a while.

Russell was a little surprised she was bringing that up, but he nodded slowly. 

“I did, but hell. That was twenty years ago.”

She bit her lip. “I still can’t believe Colter thought you…”

“That’s in the past too,” Russell said, his tone even more dismissive.

Hmm. Protesting a little too much, Dory thought.

“Did you ever tell her?” she asked.

They both knew who she meant. You.

“She knows the main bits, but you’re asking if I told her how our brother thought I killed Dad?” Russell scoffed. “No. Didn’t think that little footnote would go over well.”

Dory stared back at him with concern in her blue eyes. She didn’t like keeping things from you, even if it wasn’t her secret to tell. Unfortunately, her family had a lot of secrets.  

“It’s not worth getting into, D,” Russell said. “That, or any of it…though I don’t know. I don’t think Colter’s ready to let it go. He believes me now, but he wants to know who got to Dad, and why. He’s tenacious, I’ll give him that.”

Unlike Colter, it seemed, Russell had an image of his father that had lasted in his mind. It wasn’t a good one. 

Paranoid son of a bitch. 

Russell couldn’t really blame Colter though. He was young when they were taken to the compound. He probably didn’t remember his friends, the house, the way they lived before. 

Russell had been ten years old. He remembered being on the baseball team doing well as a pitcher, and having to lie to his coach and quit the team. Russell remembered saying goodbye to his best friend, Randy, who he never saw again. Russell remembered having to lock up his tears and help his mom take care of his younger siblings, and make sure they were settling into a musty old cabin in the middle of the woods. 

“I’ve tried looking into it before,” he admitted.

Dory’s brows raised. “When?” 

He waved a dismissive hand. “A long time ago, when I had government access to some things. Got a whole lot of nadda.”

“No good is going to come of it, and I told Colter the same thing,” Dory said, shaking her head. “Whatever happened, it’s better if we all just move on.”

She continued eating. After a beat of hesitation, Russell followed suit.  

A couple of weeks later, Russell felt like he’d made good progress. He narrowed down his search to three different spots in downtown that were up for leasing, though one of them was a bit too close to Howley’s for your comfort, which meant he really had two options. Both were walkable, but one had more parking availability, while the other was a better price for the amount of interior square footage. It was a lot to consider.

You’d given him the number of a good commercial realtor you knew, thanks to your boss, Dr. Goldstein. Looked like that stuffed suit was good for something, other than piling his work onto your plate so he could get his monthly back wax. 

You were still at work on a Thursday when Russell’s phone rang. He quirked a brow at the caller ID, but a grin tugged at his lips when he answered. 

“Well hey there, Ms. Greene.”

“Russell, where are you right now?”

“Chillin’ at home. Working through some stuff on my new business venture. Though if the next question’s ‘What am I wearing,’ I gotta remind you that I’m happily off the market,” he teased.

“And thank God for that,” Reenie dryly remarked. “Listen, I need your help. Actually, I think Colter needs you.”  

He detected the urgency in her voice now, and he sobered. 

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“I don’t know, but I need you to find him. He’s been missing for over 24 hours.”

“Looks like I’m gonna be a little late for dinner,” Russell told you over the phone. "Uh, okay, maybe a lot late."

“What? It’s kind of hard to hear you. Do you have the top down on the Chevelle?”

“She’s a Chevelle Malibu, baby. Well, technically, Malibu for short—”

“Russell, what’s going on?”

“It’s nothing to worry about. Reenie called, and it looks like Colter might be in a hard spot. I just need to go help him out,” he replied. Really, he was fighting his worry as he pressed his foot a bit harder on the gas. The sleek Chevy flew down the highway at a speed that would make you hit his arm, if you were here. 

“Why does it sound like you’re giving me the kitty gloves version?” you asked him in suspicion. 

Russell smiled ruefully. This was why he loved you—for your mind. 

“Again, nothing to worry about. I’ll be home by the morning…probably.”

He heard your heavy sigh. 

“Okay, Russ. Just be careful, please.”

“Hey, you know me. I’m always careful.”

“Right,” you snorted. 

The curve of his lips kicked up into a grin. “I gotta let you go, but I’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah, okay…I love you.” 

His face softened a fraction. “Love you too, sweetheart.”

You hung up with your boyfriend and slipped your phone back in your purse. An undercurrent of worry churned in your stomach. You knew Russell was downplaying whatever was really going on. Reenie wouldn’t call him for help unless Colter was really in trouble, or else why wouldn’t she call the police? 

That rewardist work that Colter did, it had led him into some shady shit, according to Dory, like insidious cults, serial killers, and corrupt politicians. She talked to Colter now more than she used to, but even then, she knew he wasn’t giving her the whole story about most of his adventures. 

Must be a Shaw family trait, you thought sourly. 

With Dory on your mind, you decided to call her up and make tonight a girls’ night. You hung out at her apartment after work, splitting a bottle of wine and several orders of Mexican takeout while watching reruns of New Girl. 

“Where do you think they are right now?” Dory asked, for a moment sobering from laughing at Jess’s antics. 

You had your glass of wine poised to your lips in thought. “I don’t know, but I do know Russ wasn’t telling me the whole truth. I think Colter’s in trouble.”

Dory worried her lip. It clearly didn’t sit well with her that both of her brothers were MIA right now. You tried calling Russell earlier for a check-in, but his phone went straight to voicemail. Colter’s number didn’t even ring. It was just a dial tone, with a disembodied voice saying this number has been disconnected.

But there was nothing you two could do. Reenie had advised you to sit tight and wait for one of them to check in. 

“You know, I may not understand them sometimes, but it makes sense to me why they are the way they are,” she said. “They had it worse than me growing up, either because I was the youngest or because I was the only girl.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, though you had a feeling you knew where she was going with this. 

“I remember, Dad used to make them sleep outside sometimes. Somewhere in the middle of the damn woods, without supplies, without food,” Dory said. She actually began to tear up, her blue eyes turning pale and glassy. “I heard him and my mom arguing about it once. Finally he agreed to go out there and watch out for them—from a distance though, so they wouldn’t know he was there.”

You stared back at her in dismay. That hurt your heart so fucking deep. No wonder Russ didn’t want to open up about this shit. How can I blame him? How can a father…

You shook your head, resting a hand on her arm. 

“But why? Why did your dad do all this? Russell said he was paranoid, but…what was he running from?” you asked.

“We don’t know,” Dory admitted. After a moment, she looked over at you and held your gaze. “All that we did know, was that his death wasn’t an accident.”

That revelation shocked you. Your mouth parted, though no words escaped. 

Dory set down her wine and got up from the couch. Then, with a certain decision weighing in her eyes, she went over to her room. 

“D?” you questioned. “You’re just gonna drop a fucking bomb like that on me and walk away?!”

Not getting an answer, you rose to follow her, where you watched in bewilderment as she dug into the recesses of her closet until she found a plain white shoebox. It was just some old cardboard, frayed at the corners, but Dory hesitated to even open it. 

“What are you doing? What is that?” you asked.

“A few years back, a family friend gave this to me. Apparently it has some of my dad’s old stuff,” she said. “I’ve never wanted to go digging through it because I wanted to leave the past behind me. I think it’s been easier for me to say that, but not so easy for Colter and Russell.”

After a beat of hesitation, she handed the box over to you. 

“Would you give this to Russell when he gets back?” she asked. “He can do whatever he wants with it. Look inside, try to piece together what happened, or just burn it all. Either way, I’m done. As far as I’m concerned, my dad wasn’t really my dad after he took us to live in that place. And my mom…” She laughed humorlessly. “She was no saint either. She went along with everything my father did.”

You took the box from her with some concern. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Honestly, I don’t even like having it here. It’s just a…bad reminder.”

You rubbed a hand over her arm in comfort. "You guys never went to the police?"

Dory shook her head. "Mom didn't trust anyone, least of all the police. She probably thought it was safer for us."

"God, I'm sorry," you said. After a beat, you set down the box and pulled Dory into a hug. She rested her chin on your shoulder and squeezed her eyes tight for a second.

"It's okay," she said. "...It's in the past." 

Sure, you thought. But there were some scars that didn't fade, no matter how much you ignored them, banaged them, or tried to soothe them.

You took the box and left her apartment shortly after. She offered to let you stay the night so you wouldn’t be alone, but you declined. Russell installed a state-of-the-art security system in your house, making it feel like the safest place in the world to you. That was where you’d be able to sleep tonight, even with this mysterious old shoebox.  

The drive back was devoid of traffic this late at night, but after what happened with Eddie Mendez last year, you always felt uneasy driving alone at night. A good part of you was also still trying to digest all of this.

On one hand, you could understand Colter and Russell wanting to know what happened to their father. If Ashton was murdered, the reason could explain everything they went through growing up. 

With all of these thoughts rattling through your mind, you couldn’t even be completely relieved when you pulled into the driveway of your home. You walked into the house quickly, shut the door, and input the code to lock everything behind you.

Holding your purse on one shoulder and the box under your other arm, your first instinct was to find a good hiding place for it. You began to wonder if you should’ve accepted it from Dory at all. If her father’s death was no accident, then what was he killed for?

But…Dory had this thing in her closet for all this time without incident. Surely there was nothing diabolical about it. Ashton Shaw had been a professor too, right? It probably just held some keepsakes, a few old essays, some paperclips and 20-year-old dust bunnies…

You found a place in the house that a burglar would be unlikely to look for something valuable (again, really, what kind of burglar would want to steal a shoebox of old junk?), and you took a deep, calming breath in the middle of your living room. 

You still hadn’t been able to get in touch with Russell. All your texts had been going unanswered. You grabbed your phone and began to find Reenie in your contacts, but you paused. You were reminded of something you forgot to do when you walked in the door. 

Along with the coded door lock, there was an app on your phone where you could monitor the cameras strategically placed outside the house. However, when you checked the app, you realized that the camera feed said Unavailable. For every single camera. 

Your brows furrowed. That’s weird… 

Seconds later, the first bullet broke through your impact windows. 

AN: 🫣 Oh sorry, did I not mention there was a cliffhanger? You can rant and scream in the comments, it's totally fine. 😂

As you can see, we're in the middle of 2x02, with my own twist on some things around it. Plus some material from the books making it into this part - and more heavily implied in the next part - coming next Sunday!

Next Time:

While the phone rang, tucked between your shoulder and your ear, you were forced to set down the gun. With trembling hands, you quietly rifled through your medicine cabinet for gauze or an ace bandage. Fuck, yes! Okay. This could work. You found the big square bandages that stick on. Russell bought them the last time he came home with a couple of nasty abrasions from a job.

Still, the phone rang.

Come on, come on, come oooon!

“Hello?” The lawyer’s voice was smooth and retaining a note of exasperation.

“Reenie! Where’s Russell?” you whisper-hissed.

“I have him right here. What’s wrong?” she asked. Immediately, her tone shifted to concern. You’d never met Reenie in person, but you knew she worked with Colter and, according to Russell, was damn good at what she did. 

You didn’t give a shit about any of that right now.

“Put him on the phone, please!” 

In a few seconds of shuffling, you finally, finally heard his voice. 

“Sweetheart, what’s going on?”

A breath of relief escaped you in a rush.

“Russell,” you sobbed.

⌖ Keep Reading: PART 2

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[t6ji]

— after hours.

cw: dilf!neighbor’s dad!toji x fem!reader – mdni, fingerfucking. age gap. power play. corruption kink. filthy talk. risk of getting caught. one-sided dom/sub energy. praise + degradation. kitchen chair. he talks sm shit.

it’s past 1 a.m. when you tiptoe down the hallway, every floorboard creaks making your stomach twist. your friend is passed out upstairs, knocked out by face masks and popcorn and two glasses of her dad’s stolen wine.

you’re not tired. you can’t be. not when the image of her dad standing by the grill earlier—tank top clinging to his chest, forearms flexing, sweat glistening on his neck—is still burned into your brain.

you just need water. that’s all. but as you step into the kitchen— he’s already there.

sitting at the head of the table. legs spread. low lighting behind him. bottle of whiskey cracked open, ice clinking in his glass. and his eyes are already on you.

“figured i’d see you tonight,” he mutters, voice rough, lazy.

you freeze.

“…hi, mr. fushiguro,” you say softly.

“you call your other neighbor’s dad that, or is that just for me?” like you got one, you think but his word makes you bite your lip.

he nods to the fridge. “get your water, baby. don’t let me stop you.”

you move, slowly. he doesn’t stop watching. doesn’t even blink. the cold air kisses your bare thighs when you open the door, and you know he’s staring at the curve of your ass under your too-short sleep shorts.

you twist the cap off. drink. try to steady your breath.

and then he says it.

“you’re not wearing anything underneath.” broad statement, he tells you like it’s nothing and your spine stiffens.

you glance down. your thin tank top is clinging to your chest from the chill—nipples pressed against the fabric. fuck.

“didn’t think i’d see anyone,” you say.

“mm,” he hums. “you sure about that?”

he stands.

you barely register the heavy footsteps until he’s behind you, big hand bracing the fridge door, closing it slow. then both palms settle on your waist, rough and warm against your skin, and your breath stutters.

“i saw you starin’ at me earlier, pretty girl” he murmurs against your ear. “while you were pretendin’ to help set the table.”

you turn your head, barely—he smells like cedar and alcohol and skin.

“i wasn’t—” you try to protest weakly.

“you were.”

he presses closer.

“you’re always lookin’. always wearin’ little shorts like this. nothing under. always bare and bendin’ over in front of me.”

his hand slips beneath your shirt.

“you do it for attention, huh?”

his fingers graze the top of your panties.

“you wanted me to notice?” his sleep deprived hoarse voice makes your thigh rub tight and witch. your lips part. your heartbeat slams in your ears.

“didn’t think—”

“you didn’t think i’d do anything about it.” he answers for you. toji turns you gently, lifts you up onto the counter.

but his eyes are mean, hungry.

“that’s where you were wrong, baby” his eyes are dark and drowned in lust.

your brain is mushed and it’s hard to remember how but you end up straddling one of the kitchen chairs, warm wood against the back of your thighs, his broad palm cupped behind your neck as he kisses just beneath your ear. slow. open-mouthed. filthy.

and his other hand?

already knuckle-deep inside your panties.

two fingers. thick, rough. fucking in slow and steady. curling with every pump like he’s memorizing the shape of you. and the sounds— you could swear your friend up stairs could wake up any minutes.

“shhh,” he coos when you gasp, eyes fluttering shut.

“go ahead, sweetheart. show me how quiet you can be.”

you clutch his arm as he keeps moving, thumb brushing over your clit in lazy but calculated circles.

“fuck—mr. fushi—”

“mm-mm.” his voice is laced with irritation, making him tighten his grip. teeth grazing your jaw. “call me that again and i’ll stop.”

you blink up at him, dazed. lips glossy. eyes already a little dumb.

“what should i—?”

he presses his forehead to yours.

“call me daddy. just once. that’s all i want.” it almost felt like he was begging and you know mr. fushiguro does not beg.

you hesitate—but your pussy clenches tight, as if it's possible than it already has, on his fingers, it answers for you.

“…d-daddy.” you cringe how it turns you on, making you dampen his fingers more again.

he groans, deep and low, like you said something sacred. and his fingers fuck into you harder.

“atta girl.” he broadly licks your lips, smearing his spit on your chin as well.

you bury your face in his shoulder to muffle the moans. you can’t stop shaking—knees bouncing with every wet drag of his fingers. your shorts are shoved to the side, panties damp and pulled taut under his wrist.

“you ever been touched like this?” he asks, lips brushing your cheek.

you shake your head. whimper. “no.”

“no?” toji is quick to hide his surprise but he can’t help the pride swelling in his chest. “fuckin’ shame it is. this pussy’s way too soft not to be worshipped daily.”

his voice is so filthy. it sinks into your chest, your brain, your spine. “‘m gonna keep goin’, baby. not stoppin’ ‘til you cum on my fingers. y’hear me?”

you nod, barely breathing.

“and you’re gonna do it quietly. like a good girl, yeah? or else i’ll bend you over this chair and show you what else i can do,” he whispers into your ear. “with my hand over your fuckin’ mouth.”

that’s when your coil snaps, making you twitch. you cum heavy, almost convinced you went blind when you see white. right there in his kitchen. your hips roll against his palm as he fucks you through it, whispering how sweet and pretty and tight you are until your body’s limp in his arms.

you’re panting. overwhelmed. drenched as well.

he just chuckles and licks your taste off his fingers.

“next time,” he murmurs, lips at your temple,

“you come downstairs sooner.” he nudged your nose, pulling away from you.

t6ji | 2025 prod. — do not reuse, duplicate or plagiarize any creation under this blog. — like and reblog if you enjoyed it!

[maskedbyghost]

part 1 part 2

You don’t hear from him for two days. Not a text. Not a call. Not a single word. So you finally text him something short—coming by later to grab the rest of my stuff. You didn’t want to leave it like this, but you're not gonna be the one to chase him anymore. You gave him more chances than you should’ve, waited too long for a guy who couldn’t even tell you he wanted you to stay.

He doesn’t reply, but the front door’s unlocked when you get there.

You push it open, step inside, and the second you do, he’s there—leaning in the doorway between the kitchen and the hall, like he’s been waiting, like he knew you’d come at exactly that time. You pause, feeling weird about the way he's just standing there watching you, but you keep your eyes ahead and walk toward the bedroom.

And then the lock clicks, and you freeze.

“Did you just lock the door?”

Simon doesn’t even flinch. Just walks toward you slowly, like this is normal. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re not leaving.”

You blink at him, trying to figure out if he’s joking or if he’s actually lost it. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You’re not leaving me.”

“Simon—”

“No,” he says, firmer this time, standing in front of you now. “I’m not letting you go. I fucked up. I know I did. I should’ve said something. I should’ve grabbed you when you were walking out. Should’ve told you how much it was killing me to watch you leave. But I didn’t. And I regret it. And I’m not gonna let you pack up your shit and pretend like we don’t mean anything.”

You roll your eyes, trying not to let your voice shake. “I’m just here to get my stuff.”

“No, you’re not,” he says, following you as you walk into the bedroom and grab the bag off the floor. “You’re here because you’re hoping I’ll say something to make you stay.”

You start throwing your things into the bag without looking at him. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He walks over and calmly pulls your sweatshirt out of the bag and folds it before putting it right back in the drawer.

You stare at him. “What are you doing?”

“Putting it back.”

“Simon, I swear to god—”

He pulls out another shirt, smooths it, puts it back in the closet.

“Stop it!” you snap, trying to push past him to grab it again.

But he steps in front of you, puts his arms around you and holds you against his chest. “No. You’re not going anywhere. I can’t let you. I haven’t slept, haven’t eaten anything that wasn’t complete shit, and I’ve been sitting in this house trying to figure out how I let the one person who gave a fuck about me walk out. I know I ruined it. I know you don’t trust me anymore. But I’ll earn it back. I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll fix it. I swear.”

You struggle against him, not hard, but enough to make it clear you’re not just giving in. “Let go of me.”

He tightens his arms around you instead and presses a kiss to your cheek. Then another, and another, soft little ones, all over your face—your nose, your jaw, your forehead—mumbling between them like he’s afraid if he stops talking you’ll slip away again.

“I love you. I know I didn’t say it before but I do, and I’ve loved you for so fucking long and I didn’t know how to show it right, but I’ll learn. Just don’t go. Please. Ask anything from me, and I’ll do it. I’ll take time off, I’ll go to therapy, I’ll talk more, I’ll do the dishes without you asking. Just stay. I’ll give you everything. Just give me one more shot. Please, love. Please.”

You’re still half trapped in his arms, his voice right by your ear, and you try to stay mad, you really do. But the longer he holds you, the more ridiculous this whole scene feels, and the more you remember how badly you wanted him to fight for you, just once.

“Anything?” you ask, just to test it.

“Yeah. Anything. Just name it.”

You pull your head back a little, looking up at him. “You’ll let me get a cat?”

He blinks. “A cat?”

“You said no every time I brought it up.”

He groans a little but then lets out this small, helpless laugh and buries his face in your neck. “Fuckin’ hell. Yeah. Fine. Get a cat. Get two. I’ll buy it a bed nicer than mine, yeah?”

You try to hide your smile, but it slips through. “Even if it scratches your favorite chair?”

He looks up at you with a look of pure defeat. “Love, I’d let it scratch my face at this point. Just—don’t go, alright?”

You sigh, and it comes out more like a laugh, and he takes it as a win, because he pulls you in even tighter and doesn’t let go.

And this time, you don’t push him away.

------------------------------------------

can you forgive me now?

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6 @tachiara @marispunk @gluttonybiscuits

[mercvry-glow]

He's got eyes, but he can't see | In Another Light (1)

In Another Light masterlist - Jack Abbot x Ex!reader

warnings. age gap (jack is late 40s, reader is 27), exes to lovers, slow-burnish, jack and reader are really bad at feelings, reader is hinted to have some forms of depression and anxiety, more to come as series continues

summary. Night shift had once been your solace—a strange, electric kind of sanctuary where the world felt quieter, darker, and somehow more honest. Now, on your first official night back, everything and nothing feels the same. The hospital still hums with its familiar tension—beeping monitors, hurried footsteps, the low murmur of exhausted voices—but the comfort is gone, replaced by a dull ache that settles in your chest with every fluorescent flicker and passing gurney. You used to move through these halls like you were part of the machinery; tonight, you're a stranger in a place that once felt like home, and as the hours stretch ahead, thick with memory and unspoken resentment, you wonder if the night can ever truly be yours again—or if Jack’s shadow will always linger in its corners.

notes. AHHH it's here guys! Our official chapter one is here and ready for y'all to read! I'm pretty happy with this, so let me know what you guys think for the future of In Another Light!

wc. 2200+

It was 6:45 p.m. when you finally got the courage to step out of your car to leave the employee section of the PTMC parking garage. Sitting in your car, trying to stomach your six-shot iced oat milk vanilla latte, was easier than facing whatever the hell was going to happen tonight.

Jack’s truck was parked four cars to your left, and that already left a churning feeling in your stomach. He was here before you. You knew he would be—he always was. Routine ran in his blood like caffeine ran in yours. Still, the sight of his gray F-150 made your chest tighten like a pulled muscle.

You walked past it without looking twice, but your body noticed anyway. The crunch of your white sneakers on the concrete. The way the overhead lights buzzed just a little too loudly. 

Deep breaths in. 

Out. 

Then in again.

Mentally, you were already triaging yourself. Discomfort: chronic. Heart rate: elevated. Emotional reserves: low. 

You weren’t sure if the butterflies in your stomach were from anxiety or dread or both, but you swallowed them down with some more of your latte and pushed open the glass door.

PTMC’s entrance was quieter at this hour—day shift winding down, night shift still dragging their feet. You scanned your badge at the side entrance, the little green light blinking you in with an almost welcome.

The elevator ride down to the first floor felt like purgatory. Too short to fully breathe, too long to avoid thinking. The lounges were dim, a few night shifters already tucked in their corners, half-dressed in layers, sipping burnt coffee from the provided mismatched mugs.

You tossed your bag into your usual locker, the motion automatic. Your hands moved without you—pulling on your issued quarter-zip over your black scrubs, clipping on your badge, repositioning your pen light.

Parker leaned back against the wall next to your locker, having put her own stuff away, “Wow. Look who’s back.”

You gave her a dry look. “Miss me that much?”

“Like a hole in the head,” she grinned. “But you’re prettier.”

“Flatter me some more and I might actually stay.”

“Don’t tempt me.” She popped a piece of gum into her mouth and glanced at her watch. “We’re already one down. Tony called out too. So you’re jumping right in, and Abbot’s making Shen take triage.”

Of course he was.

You turned toward the clock on the wall. 6:59 p.m.

One more minute of quiet before it officially began.

You took a breath, steady and sharp, and told yourself: You’ve done this before. You can do it again. You do it every day.

Even if the ghosts of your past were waiting behind every curtain and trauma room door.

The board hadn’t changed much since yesterday.

You approached the nurse’s station slowly, tucking your hands into your jacket pockets as if that could somehow brace you against the rest of the night.

Little comforts, right?

Robby stood behind one of the desks, one hand balancing a coffee cup, the other flipping through a chart like it would suddenly change information. He looked like he hadn’t slept. Which probably meant he hadn’t.

“You’re early,” he said, not looking up.

“Hard to be late when you’re actively dreading it,” you replied, leaning a hip against the counter.

That got a tired huff out of him. “Still on that oat milk battery acid?”

“Still drinking it. Which says more about me than I’d like.”

He finally glanced up, brown eyes scanning you. There wasn’t judgment there—just something like quiet concern wrapped in too much familiarity.

“I want you with Shen tonight. Bay two is your guys when we get hit. Ellis and Abbot are taking one if multiple roll in.” He tapped the Ipad. “We’ve got two holdovers from earlier—MVA and a dumbass who fell off a roof trying to do some TikTok thing.”

You raised a brow. “Humanity’s finest.”

“I’ll walk you through them. Come on.”

You followed Michael around the desk and into the curtained bays. He talked through the cases, voice low and even. You nodded, asked a few important questions, scribbled notes on your pad like you weren’t here sometime yesterday. 

It should’ve been fine. It almost felt fine.

Until you glanced up—out of habit really—and saw him.

Jack.

He stood down the hall by north-six, his posture all sharp lines and quiet command, chart in hand, talking to someone you didn’t recognize. Gray quarter-zip pushed up to his elbows, scrub pants tucked into his usual work boots. Like nothing had changed.

Like a year ago hadn’t happened.

The sound around you dulled, just for a second. Your breath caught in your throat, lodged somewhere between memory and muscle. He didn’t see you—not yet—but you couldn’t tear your eyes away. 

It was like seeing a ghost. 

Only worse. 

Ghosts didn’t get to keep existing without you. 

“You good, kid?” Robby’s voice pulled you back, grounding and aware of who you were staring at.

You blinked, tore your gaze away. “Yeah. Yeah, just tired.”

His eyes narrowed just a bit. “You sure?”

You nodded once. “I’ll live.”

Robby didn’t press you. He never did when it really counted.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s check on TikTok guy before he tries parkour off the bed.”

You followed him, one foot in front of the other.

But your pulse still beat loud in your ears.

And down the hall, Jack was still there.

Still himself. Still okay without you.

Jack leaned against the counter with a pen between his fingers, chart open but untouched. He wasn’t really reading it—hadn’t been for the last three minutes, not since he saw you walk in.

Across the floor, you were already helping an older woman with her oxygen cannula, crouched just enough to meet her tired eyes. Ellis stood beside you, chart in hand, but it was clear you were leading the interaction. Calm. Steady. Kind in a way that never felt performative.

“She’s good, all settled for the night.” Robby said, walking up beside his fellow attending.

Jack didn’t look at him. “Yeah.”

Robby took a sip of his coffee, eyes never leaving you. “Go easy on her tonight,”

That made Jack glance sideways, jaw tight. “You planning to lecture me?”

“Nope,” Robby said, popping the “p” casually. “Just reminding you of who she is,”

Jack exhaled through his nose, short and humorless. “Not your business.”

“Unfortunately,” Robby said, tapping his badge against his chest, “everyone’s business becomes mine eventually.”

Jack said nothing.

Robby watched you laugh at something Parker muttered, hand briefly brushing the patient’s arm in reassurance before you stood to check the monitor beside the bed. You looked lighter on your feet now—different than a year ago—but there was still something careful in the way you carried yourself. Like you were always bracing for an unknown impact.

“Don’t know how ready she is for this,” Robby said, softer this time. “But she didn’t miss a beat.”

Jack’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “She’s good at compartmentalizing.”

Robby turned to look at him fully. “No. She just has no choice.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the kind that settles between men who know there’s so much more to the conversation but choose, for now, to let it lie.

You were walking back toward the station now, tapping notes into the tablet cradled in your arm, focused and steady. The same soft ponytail. The same familiar way you chewed the inside of your cheek when you were thinking.

The same you—and yet entirely changed.

Robby nudged Jack with his elbow. “Don’t be weird tonight, alright?”

Jack didn’t answer.

Robby smirked. “I’m serious. Don’t screw up my best third year again,”

Then he pushed off the counter, dropped his empty coffee cup into the trash, and started down the hall. “Text me if the ER catches fire,” he called over his shoulder. “Otherwise, I’m pretending I’ve earned a full night’s sleep.”

Jack stayed where he was.

And when you passed him a moment later—eyes straight ahead, posture composed, not even a flicker of acknowledgement—he felt the space between you like an open gaping wound.

A quiet, barley-hidden one.

But it bled all the same.

The first few hours of your shift passed in a blur of motion—nothing dramatic, just the usual chaos that brewed under fluorescent lights and the buzz of cardiac monitors.

John had been decent company as always. Never quiet, but sharp. Efficient and funny was his personal motto. You handled the procedural tasks while he managed some of the floor, the two of you slipping into a rhythm that felt vaguely comforting.

Just like riding a bike.

By the time 9 p.m. rolled around, the ER had cooled just enough to breathe.

You stood at the nurses’ station once again, flipping through an empty triage packet when Shen handed you a fresh set of vitals.

“Room four’s post-fall. Nothing major—glucose crash and a bruised ego.”

You gave a tired smile. “Copy that.”

“Want me to take it?”

“Nah, I’ll knock it out.” You glanced at the clock again. “Might refill my water first though.”

He just nodded and wandered off, already charting something else. You made your way to the break room, tugging on your badge as you continued on your short adventure. The soft click of the latch gave way to the familiar quiet—a rare, sacred kind of silence in a place like this.

Inside the breakroom, the hum of the old refrigerator and the ticking wall clock were the only sounds.

You leaned against the counter for a second, letting your shoulders drop. The muscles in your neck ached from standing too stiffly. Your back protested in all the usual places. You grabbed your bottle, placing it under the watercooler tab for a few seconds, before taking a drink without looking up.

The door opened.

You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. Something in your body went still—recognition without welcome. You focused on the water tumbler in your hand.

Jack stepped inside like he’d done it a thousand times, because he had, he worked here too for christ's sake. His steps paused briefly when he saw you, but he didn’t speak. Just moved to the counter next to you and pulled open the top drawer where the extra coffee pods were always stashed.

You watched the bottle twist around in your fingers. “You’re still drinking the hazelnut ones?”

His hand stilled on the drawer handle. “Yeah.”

You didn’t say anything else. Neither did he.

The silence between you was thick but not hostile—just full. Like everything neither of you said since your last encounter had gathered into the empty air around you.

Jack moved slowly, methodically—cup under the Keurig, pod locked in, button pressed. The smell of cheap coffee started to rise.

“You look tired,” he said finally, voice low and even.

You let out a quiet breath. “You still open with that line?”

“Only when it’s true.”

You glanced at him then—just for a second. His hair was a little shorter than you remembered. He hadn’t grown back the stubble he used to keep, jaw freshly shaven like he was trying to keep everything clean and simple.

“You gonna be okay tonight?” you asked.

He nodded. “Yeah, you’re here,” you raised an eyebrow, “Plus John and Parker, even if we’re down a few people you three can hold down the fort.”

You hummed an affirmative. “Robby seem to think we’re the dream team.”

That earned the smallest twitch of a smirk. “He’s getting delusional in his old age.”

You didn’t dare tell him he was getting old too.

Jack took his cup and leaned back against the counter, a few feet from where you stood. The room felt smaller now, like the walls had pushed everything a step closer.

Neither of you looked directly at the other.

“You doing okay?” he asked quietly, like it was an afterthought. Like he already knew the answer.

You took another drink of your water. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Jack didn’t push.

He just stood there for a moment longer, sipping his coffee like it wasn’t burning his tongue. And then, with a soft nod and no goodbye, he pushed off the counter and walked out.

The door clicked shut behind him.

And you were left with the silence again.

Alone, just like when he left you the first time. 

[smutmind]

The Summer Guest pt. 2

---

here's your part 2 guys! Part 1 here

The week passed like a fever dream—every shared glance sharp, every touch accidental but felt. You both acted like nothing had happened. But silence doesn't erase heat.

She packed quietly. You avoided the guest room. Your wife stayed oblivious, too busy with store schedules and staff drama to notice the glances you didn’t risk.

The morning she left, your wife handed you car keys and kissed your cheek. "Drop her at the airport? And don’t let her flirt her way into a missed flight."

Then, to Sana: "Aren’t you cold in that dress? It’s an airplane, not a beach."

Sana smiled, all teeth and something unspoken. She wore white. No sleeves. No bra. Hem high enough to make walking an event.

"I’ll be fine," she said, brushing past you, suitcase wheels humming behind her.

The drive was agony. You kept your eyes ahead. She didn’t.

"You really think ignoring me makes it go away?" she asked, voice soft but loaded.

You didn’t answer.

She crossed her legs slow, letting the hem slide up. "You haven’t looked at me since I stepped out of the house. Don’t like the dress?"

You gripped the wheel. "It's fine."

"My nipples say otherwise."

You exhaled. "Sana. Don’t."

"You said that last time. Then you fucked me like I was the only thing keeping you alive."

She leaned closer. "You keep pretending. But I know the truth. You haven’t stopped thinking about it. About me."

Her hand landed on your thigh. Light. Intentional. Your body betrayed you. She smiled wider.

"Still nothing to say? Maybe I should give you something to talk about."

You shifted. Her fingers followed. You were already hard.

"You're taking me to the airport, but we both know what you really want."

You stared hard at the road.

"That night? It wasn’t the end. You wanted more. You still do."

"You have a flight," you muttered.

"That's the thing," she said. "I lied. It's not at 9am. It's at 7 tonight."

You looked over. Eyes locked.

"You what?"

She didn’t blink. "We have time. Enough to stop pretending."

Your hand flicked the signal. Turned off the highway. Gravel kicked up under the tires. Trees swallowed the car.

She looked around, then smiled. "This place… we used to come here. I was eight, maybe nine. You and my sister would sit on that bench and make out when no one was watching."

You parked. Shut the engine off.

She turned, breath catching, dress sliding just enough to bare the top of her thigh.

"I never thought I'd fuck here."

The car sat idling, quiet except for the ticking engine and your breath.

Sana unbuckled her seatbelt and twisted in the passenger seat, the white dress riding higher as she leaned over the console. Her eyes held yours for one beat—mischievous, burning—before they dropped to your lap.

"This shouldn’t happen," you muttered.

"And yet," she whispered, fingers grazing your zipper, "you’re already hard."

She dragged the zipper down slow, deliberate. Her hand reached in, warm and sure, pulling you free. Your cock twitched in her grip.

She licked her lips, soft and filthy. Then bent low.

Her tongue flicked the tip, teasing the sensitive slit. She drew lazy circles over the head, just her tongue, no pressure, no rush. Then she kissed it—a single, reverent press of her mouth.

You groaned, head thumping back against the seat.

"You like being teased?" she whispered.

"Sana."

She giggled, breath hot on your skin. Her hand wrapped around your shaft, stroking slow as she opened her mouth again. This time, she took you deeper.

Her lips slid down, inch by inch, until you felt the back of her throat tighten. She gagged softly, pulled back, saliva coating your cock. She sucked the head as she stroked the base, twisting her wrist on the upstroke. Her other hand rested on your thigh, grounding her.

She bobbed her head in a slow rhythm, letting her tongue glide beneath the shaft, each stroke smoother than the last. She moaned around you, the vibration shooting straight through your core.

You looked down. Her eyes were closed. Her cheeks flushed. Her lashes fluttered every time she sank down. Her hand squeezed just tight enough to drive you mad.

"Fuck," you breathed.

She popped off just enough to swirl her tongue around the head, then sucked hard before diving back down. Her saliva dripped over your balls. Her hand cupped them gently, fingers massaging as she kept the rhythm steady.

She pulled off again, breathless, a thin strand of spit connecting her lips to your cock.

"Taste good," she whispered, then took you back in, deeper this time.

Your fingers tangled in her hair. Your hips lifted, chasing her heat. She didn't resist. She moaned again, louder.

You were close. Every muscle tightening. Your cock throbbed in her mouth.

She looked up. Eyes gleaming.

"You gonna cum for me?" she asked, lips wet, stroking you with both hands now.

"I—"

She giggled, glanced at her watch. "You have plenty of time. Don’t rush."

"Sana, shut up," you growled, eyes dark. "Just make me cum."

Her smile curved wicked. "Yes, sir."

She went back down, fast and focused. No more teasing. Her mouth moved like silk and hunger, sucking with purpose, taking you deep until your cock pulsed at the edge.

She stroked as she sucked, hand and lips in perfect sync. Her spit coated you. She moaned, over and over, like she was getting off on your taste.

"Oh fuck—"

Your hips jerked. Your cock thickened in her mouth.

You warned her with a breathless gasp. She moaned louder and kept going.

You came hard, groaning, spilling deep down her throat. She swallowed you down with soft gulps, never breaking eye contact.

When she finally pulled off, she licked her lips slowly, then wiped a bit of wetness from her chin with the back of her hand.

She leaned back in the passenger seat, eyes wild, dress rumpled. Then she glanced at the cramped interior.

"Adjust the driver's seat," she said.

You blinked. "What?"

"I want to ride you."

You let out a breath, head hitting the headrest. "Give me a second to recover."

"No," she said, already shifting. Her hands slid up her thighs and under the hem. She tugged the dress down in one smooth motion, exposing her breasts. No bra. Just skin, soft and flushed, nipples stiff from the AC and heat.

She crawled over the console. Straddled your lap.

"You can start sucking these," she whispered, taking your hands and guiding them to her breasts. "Maybe it'll help."

She ground her bare cunt slowly against your soft cock, the heat of her slickness already smearing over you.

You groaned as her nipple brushed your lips. You didn’t mean to open your mouth. But you did. And sucked.

She gasped.

Her hips kept rocking. Slow, insistent. Her wetness gliding along your shaft, coaxing it back to life.

You felt the stir first—a second wind rising under her weight. She felt it too.

Her breath caught. Her smile widened. She pressed your head harder into her chest.

"There he is," she whispered, grinding lower. "You’re such a bad fucking man."

You groaned around her nipple. She cried out.

"Hard again for your wife’s baby sister? That cock doesn’t lie."

She rocked harder, your length swelling fast under her heat.

"Sinful," she moaned. "Filthy. So fucking naughty. And you love it."

You bit gently. She screamed.

"You love how wrong this is. How tight I am. How wet I get just for you."

She reached down, guided your now-thick cock between her folds.

"I’m gonna ride you like I own you. Because today? I fucking do."

She reached down and took your cock in her hand, lining it up with her entrance. The head slid against her folds, slick and swollen. She held your eyes, then sank down.

You groaned. Her heat wrapped around you, tight and perfect, swallowing you inch by inch until she was fully seated.

"Fuck," she gasped, breath catching. "You fill me up so good. Better than I remembered."

She started to move, hips rolling slow and deep. The car creaked faintly beneath you. Her thighs flexed around your hips, riding you with control, with hunger.

One hand braced against your chest. The other stretched forward, planting firmly against the fogged windshield. Her back arched, tits bouncing just inches from your mouth.

"God," she moaned, grinding down harder. "Your wife never rides you like this, does she?"

You shook your head. Couldn't even speak.

"She doesn’t talk like this. Doesn’t fuck like this. Doesn’t tell you how big you feel inside."

Your hands gripped her hips. Her pussy clamped around you like velvet.

"Touch me," she begged, voice shaking. "Suck my nipples. I need it."

You leaned forward, lips catching her right nipple. She gasped, fingers curling on the glass.

"Yes—fuck—just like that," she panted. "Make me feel it."

You sucked harder, tongue flicking fast. Her hips stuttered, grinding with purpose now, riding harder.

"You’re so deep," she cried. "So thick—fucking me so full."

Your cock throbbed. You groaned into her chest.

She looked down, sweat beading on her temple. "You gonna cum already?"

"Can’t hold it," you gasped.

She stopped.

Her pussy clenched. Her body froze.

"No," she whispered, grinning. "Not yet."

She leaned in close, kissed your cheek. "Naughty boys don’t get to cum until I say."

Then she rolled her hips again—slow, deep, deliberate torture.

She climbed off your lap suddenly, sweat shining down her spine. She opened the car door without a word and stepped out barefoot onto the gravel.

Through the windshield, you saw her. Saw the white dress fall. One motion. No hesitation. Her bare skin caught the sunlight like a dare. No bra. No panties. Just Sana, completely naked in the woods.

She turned, hair wild, nipples stiff, thighs slick. Her voice floated through the open door.

"I used to dream about this," she said. "Getting fucked in the forest. On the hood of a car. Rough. Fast. Like someone couldn’t wait."

She leaned back against the hood, palms flat. "I just didn’t know it would be my brother-in-law who'd make it come true."

That broke you.

You were out of the car in seconds. Shirt half-off. Pants open. Your cock hard and heavy, still glistening from her mouth.

You grabbed her hips, turned her roughly. Bent her over the hood, her tits pressing into warm metal.

"You want it rough? You fucking get it."

You thrust in deep. She screamed.

"Oh fuck—yes!"

You pulled back and slammed into her again. Hard. Her ass bounced. Her fingers scrabbled for grip on the metal.

"You like that?"

"Yes! God, yes!"

Another thrust. Deeper.

"Say it. Say who's fucking you."

"You are! My sister's husband!"

Your hands bruised her hips as you pounded into her. Her tits slid on the hood with every slam.

"So fucking wrong," you growled.

"That's why it's perfect," she cried. "You're not supposed to want me—but your cock says otherwise."

You drove in harder. Her moans broke into gasps.

"You love how wet I am for you?"

"You're soaked," you snarled. "You're fucking dripping."

"That’s because it’s you! You make me like this!"

You leaned over her back, hand in her hair, pulling her face up.

"You thinking of her while I fuck you like this?"

"No," she moaned. "Only you. Only this."

You hammered into her, thighs slapping. Her ass reddening with every strike.

"You wanna cum, baby?"

"So bad," she whimpered.

You reached down, rubbed her clit. Fast. Hard.

"Then take it."

She came with a scream, legs shaking, her pussy clamping down so tight it nearly pulled you with her.

You held on. Gritted your teeth.

"Where do I cum?"

She didn’t answer. Just pushed her ass back harder.

You spilled inside her with a growl, every drop buried deep. She moaned as your warmth filled her, grinding through it.

Minutes passed.

Back in the car, sweat drying, silence stretching, she reached into her bag. Pulled out a pair of white panties.

Pressed them into your hand.

"For remembrance," she whispered.

You didn’t speak.

She just smiled.

The road back to the airport felt shorter.

Sana leaned back in the passenger seat, dress wrinkled, her thighs still bare. You could smell her on your skin. On your fingers. The windows were cracked, but it didn’t help.

You stopped at a Korean diner tucked between a laundromat and a pharmacy. No one said anything. You just pulled in. She smiled before you even parked.

Inside, she ordered like a ritual. Bulgogi. Kimchi stew. Rice with too much sesame oil. You sat across from her, the table too small, the air too thick.

She ate with her fingers. Picked up a slice of meat, dipped it, moaned softly.

You swallowed hard.

"Don’t do that," you muttered.

"Do what?"

"Be cute. Be... this."

She tilted her head. Picked up another piece. Chewed slowly.

"This has always been my favorite," she said. "I used to beg Mom to take us here. Even when I moved away, I came back for it."

You didn’t answer.

She wiped her fingers on a napkin, eyes on yours.

"You know why? Because some things... even if they’re bad for you, even if they’re messy or hard to find... they’re worth coming back for."

Another bite. Another soft sound.

"And I always know exactly where to find this place."

You stared at her. Heat, guilt, and something darker swirling behind your ribs.

She licked a smear of sauce from her thumb, slow. Intentional.

You looked away first.

[reilemon]

Beneath The Abyss - pt. 2

⚠ MINORS DNI (18+ ONLY) ⚠ ♡︎ part 1

♡︎ synopsis: Though it's only been a few days, you miss Rafayel too much. So you decide to go visit him, the full moon illuminating your path.

♡︎ pairing: merman!Rafayel x fem!reader

♡︎ tags: almost no plot, fluff, smut, just a tiny bit of merman heat i guess, multiple orgasms

♡︎ word count: 5.9k

♡︎ a/n: well, here's the sequel. maybe this summer i'll write some more for merman!Rafayel.

♡︎ Thank you to my dearest friend and my beta reader ♡︎@its-de♡︎ for helping.

divider by @/anitalenia

The air is warm and heavy, still carrying a trace of the rain from the past few days. Streetlamps cast their golden glow, their light turning streets of cobblestones into scattered amber. A soft hum of cicadas fills the quiet, mingling with the voices of people who are passing by, and still sitting in cafes.

You walk side by side with Thomas, carrying a small paper bag with dessert, a token of the dinner you’ve just shared—a simple meal in a quiet restaurant, filled with laughter and memories of childhood.

“I’m glad you could make time tonight,” Thomas says, his voice warm and genuine. “It’s been ages since I’ve had a night like this.”

“You’re the one who always says he’s too busy to visit.” you tease, nudging him lightly with your elbow.

He chuckles. “True. And I’m here more for work than leisure.” he admits, glancing down the street. “On top of the exhibition preparation, I somehow need to find time to visit the beach house.”

“Oh right.” You glance at him. “Your grandmother…”

He nods. “It’s a beautiful place, but I haven’t had the time to do much with it.”

“Do you need help?” you offer instinctively. “I could—”

He gives you a faint smile. “I’ll let you know when I make some room in my schedule.” His gaze shifts back to the street ahead, his fingers brushing thoughtfully over his chin. “Maybe one day I’ll turn it into a proper getaway spot.”

His idea stirs something in you—a thought, half-formed and fleeting. You tuck it away for now. “Sounds like a good idea to me.”

Thomas hums in agreement. “I think so. I don’t know why my grandmother held on to it all these years, even after she stopped going. There must be something special about it, you know?”

You nod, wondering the same thing.

Slowly you reach a familiar turn, and you glance up instinctively. Above, the night sky is adorned with glittering stars and a bright full moon. For a moment, its beauty takes your breath away—but then a memory seeps in.

Rafayel had mentioned this week would bring a full moon, his tone serious. “Don’t come,” he had said, his hand brushing your arm tenderly. “I - ... Full moon… strong.” But that night had felt so far away then, the days stretching endlessly. Now, you’ve endured three nights of relentless thunderstorms since that intimate night by the cove. Three long nights without seeing him. The ache of missing him pricks in your chest, and you make your decision.

“Thomas,” you say, glancing at him. “I’ll be fine from here.”

“Are you sure?” Thomas’s brow furrows slightly with concern. “It’s late.”

You nod with a reassuring smile.

He lets out a sigh of resignation. “Alright. But promise to text me when you get home.”

“I promise.” you say.

Thomas watches you for a moment longer. “Goodnight, then.” he says finally, stepping closer, his arms pulling you into a familiar, warm hug.

“Goodnight.” you reply, stepping back and watching as he continues down the street. When he disappears around the corner, you take a deep breath and, with a determined turn, you leave the main road behind. The air grows cooler as your feet take you down the hidden path toward the sea, each step quickening your heart.

₊‧.°.⋆🫧•˚₊‧⋆.

The cove is illuminated under the full moon’s silver glow. The air smells fresh, tinged with salt and the faint remnants of rain, and as you step onto the sand, you brace yourself for chaos. You expect the aftermath of the storms to greet you—branches tangled with seaweed, leaves and litter scattered haphazardly. But instead, the sight makes you pause. The debris has been moved, branches and leaves piled to the side, leaving the shore surprisingly pristine.

Your heart stirs as you glance around. Was it him?

You take a few more steps, scanning the water, the shadows, and the rocks along the shore. Your purse slips from your shoulder, and you place it carefully on the sand along with the bag of dessert, but your eyes are fixed elsewhere. You squint at the surface of the sea, searching for a hint of movement, for the unmistakable glimmer of dusky purple hair catching the moonlight. Minutes pass, and your excitement begins to fade into disappointment. Maybe he isn’t here after all. You sigh, reaching for your belongings with reluctance. You glance one last time toward the horizon, feeling the ache of the past few nights without him.

But then—movement. A subtle shimmer far in the distance, not the moon’s light on the water but something else - two glowing specks, faint but unmistakable. Your breath catches, and your heart leaps. Those aren’t reflections—they’re eyes. His eyes.

A smile pulls at your lips, and you straighten instinctively, the heaviness in your chest fading away. You take a step closer to the edge of the water, unable to keep from whispering his name softly into the night, the sweet sound of your voice carried by the gentle breeze. Those glowing specks blink once, twice, and then, they begin to move closer.

He closes the distance so quickly, it steals your breath. Though you know Rafayel is a faster swimmer than any human, you’re still taken aback by the sheer speed with which he moves. In mere seconds, the water ripples against your legs, and before you can fully process it, he’s sitting by the shore. You sink to your knees in front of him - no words are exchanged. His arms are around you almost before you’ve settled, pulling you into a tight embrace. You bury your face against his shoulder, breathing in the scent of the sea that clings to him.

You’re the first to pull back, but only just enough to lift your face to his. Without hesitation, you lean in, brushing your lips against his in a kiss that’s gentle at first but deepens as his eagerness matches yours. His hands linger on your back, firm yet tender, drawing you closer even as your lips meet again and again.

When you finally pull back, your breath mingles with his, and you truly meet his gaze. The sight makes you pause. His eyes are sparkling blue and pink sapphires — brighter than you’ve seen them before. For a moment, you think it must be the reflection of the moon tricking your eyes, shining his already unique features with an otherworldly light. His hands linger at your waist, his touch soothing you even as his mesmerizing gaze makes your heart race.

Then his hand trails up and brushes your cheek, leaving wet trail on your skin. “I tell – I told you, to not come.” His voice is soft, but there’s a note of discontent in it.

You hesitate for a moment. The truth—that you missed him so much it ached, even after just a few days—sits on the tip of your tongue, but saying it feels almost too vulnerable. So you put on a teasing smile. “Well… you came too.”

He searches your eyes for a moment, before he exhales and a chuckle leaves his lips. “I know… you will come.” he says, his voice laced with that familiar teasing warmth.

Your cheeks flush, and you drop your gaze for a second before lifting it again. “What’s the big deal, anyway? Look at the moon.” You nod towards the sky. “Wouldn’t it be a pity not to gaze at it together?”

Though you pointed at the moon, your eyes catch the moonlight reflected on the iridescent scales of his tail, on the ethereal features of his face. Tonight he seems to be glowing brighter. His skin feels warmer beneath your touch, a subtle heat radiating through the arm still wrapped around you. Your curiosity stirs, but before you can ask, he leans in. His breath tickles the side of your neck, and then you feel him take a deep inhale as he takes in your scent.

He pauses, his head tilting slightly. “Smell… different.” he murmurs.

His closeness sends a shiver down your spine. “Different?” you ask.

He doesn’t respond immediately, his fingers tightening slightly at your waist. His nose brushes lightly against your shoulder, then slides along the curve of your neck, before nuzzling his neck against yours, scales and gills grazing your skin.

“Better now.” he murmurs, his voice low. His cheek presses against your neck for a moment longer before he finally pulls back, his eyes meeting yours.

You laugh softly, his nuzzling leaving a warm, lingering sensation on your neck, and a little confusion on the reason behind the gesture. Then your eyes land on the bag you brought, and an idea strikes you.

“I brought something for myself,” you say, reaching for the bag beside you. “But maybe you’d like to try it?”

Rafayel tilts his head, his gaze following your movements. “Try?” he echoes.

You pull out the takeout box, opening it to reveal the neatly arranged fruit dessert. The scent of ripe grapes, sweet peaches and sugar fills the air. “It’s mostly fruit,” you explain. “I know you probably don’t eat human food, but this is light. Maybe just one bite?”

He studies the dessert with an unreadable expression, his gaze flickering between it and your face. “Safe?” he asks.

You nod. “No harm in trying, right?” Your tone is gentle, almost coaxing, as you scoop a small portion with the wooden fork, holding it out toward him.

For a moment, he hesitates, his eyes narrowing slightly, but then, slowly, he leans forward and takes the bite.

You watch him closely, waiting for his reaction, as he processes the unfamiliar texture and taste. His brows lift slightly, and you can’t help but laugh at the faint look of surprise on his face.

“Sweet.” He pauses, considering, before he nods towards the dessert, “More… please?” he asks with a hint of eagerness that makes you smile.

You scoop another small bite, holding it toward him again. “Only if you say it’s good this time,” you say with a teasing smile.

He blinks, considering, before a giving you a playful smile. “Good.” he says simply, leaning forward for another taste. You chuckle softly, watching him savor the unfamiliar flavor.

“This is the first time we’ve eaten together.” you realize out loud, the thought slipping out as you lower the fork. The two of you exist in such different worlds—what seems small and every day for you, feels significant here, under the moon’s glow, with him. But the thought doesn’t linger, not with the way he’s looking at you now—like you’re the only thing anchoring him to this moment, to this world.

As you feed him the last bite of the fruit dessert, grateful that he can stomach it, you start talking about your past few days. You tell him how the storms rattled your windows at night, about the way the streets smelled fresh after the rain finally stopped. Then, with an absentminded smile, you mention how Thomas had been in town, how he invited you to dinner, how you spent the evening catching up over warm food and old stories.

Rafayel doesn’t say anything – but his jaw tightens, his lips parting slightly as if to speak, but no words come. You don’t notice. Or, rather, you assume his silence is just his usual way of listening. You continue talking, oblivious to the way his tail flicks against the water just a little harder than before, or how he glances toward the sea for a fleeting second, his expression unreadable.

The gentle rhythm of the waves lulls you into the moment, their sound blending with Rafayel’s soft breaths as he watches you. But suddenly, a wave rolls in further than expected, sweeping over the shore and drenching the bottom half of your dress. You gasp, startled at the chill.

“Oh no…” you mutter, standing up and bunching up the soaked fabric. Normally, you’d shrug it off—every night you’d have come prepared, a swimsuit beneath your dress ready for the sea. But tonight, you hadn’t planned to come here. The realization that your underwear is wet as well makes your cheeks flush.

Rafayel tilts his head, watching your movements with that familiar curiosity, “Cold?” he asks, his brows furrowing slightly as his gaze flickers to your dress. His concern is genuine, but his observation only makes your cheeks burn hotter.

“It’s fine,” you say quickly. “I just wasn’t… prepared for this tonight.”

You tug at the hem of your dress again, the wet fabric sticking stubbornly to your thighs. Rafayel watches you closely, his bright eyes tracking every movement.

“Wet dress bad?” he asks.

You glance at him, scrambling your brain on how to explain the sensation he has probably never felt before. “Not bad,” you say, still fidgeting with the clinging fabric. “Just uncomfortable.”

Rafayel moves closer to you, his eyes taking in the wet dress clinging to your figure, the fabric outlining the curves of your body. His brows furrows slightly, and then, with a simplicity that catches you completely off guard, he says, “Take it off.”

You blink at him, torn between laughter and disbelief. Then the realization washes over you - you’ve never been completely bare in front of Rafayel. Even the night you were most vulnerable, you still had your dress on.

Rafayel shifts closer, his eyes never leaving yours as he reaches out, his fingers grazing the hem of your dress. He doesn’t speak, but the silent encouragement is clear in his gentle yet insistent tug. You exhale a shaky breath, your hands trembling slightly as you reach for the zipper at your side. The fabric slides down your body, pooling briefly at your feet before you place it onto the dry sand.

Rafayel’s eyes soak in the sight of you in just your underwear, taking in every dip and curve of your figure. “Beautiful.” he murmurs. His hands reach out, slowly sliding over your calves, stopping just below your knees, the touch sending goosebumps up your legs. Then his lips meet your skin, placing feather-light kisses along your knees and up toward your thighs. His fingers glide over your hips, until they reach the lace edge of your damp underwear. He pauses, his eyes meeting yours again, as if searching for permission.

You nod, heart racing in your chest under his unwavering attention. He hooks his fingers under the lace and slides them down slowly, the fabric clinging slightly to your damp skin before pooling at your ankles. You step out of them, the cool night air brushing against your newly bare skin.

When you glance down at him, the sight catches you off guard. His face is flushed, a bright pink brushing across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. He looks at you like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again, and in some ways, he is. The sight between your thighs is one he discovered only a few nights ago, yet it feels like a lifetime to him, one he’s missed painfully in the days apart.

His gaze lifts to meet yours again, and the pure longing in his expression makes you tremble. Slowly, he takes your hand and guides you down, leading you to straddle him, his tail curling slightly beneath you to support you both.

“Beautiful.” he murmurs again, the word barely audible. His hands settle on your hips, holding you there.

A gasp catches in your throat as your bare skin presses against his scales. The sensation is entirely new—cool, smooth, almost impossibly slick against the heat pooling between your thighs. You feel the distinct ridge of his sheath beneath you, the faint bulge growing against your most sensitive parts. Before you can process the new sensations, he leans in, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. His hands trail upward, gliding over your sides, while your fingers clutch his shoulders at first, steadying yourself against the strength of his grip. But soon, they drift upward, tangling in the damp, wavy strands of his hair, and you find yourself pulling him closer, needing more of him.

Your hips begin to move instinctively, rolling against him slowly. The slick scales rub against your sensitive folds, the ridge of his sheath pressing in a way that sends jolts of pleasure up your spine. A soft moan escapes you, muffled against his mouth, and the sound seems to spur him on. Rafayel’s hands move again, sliding up to your shoulders and then to the thin straps of your bra. He tugs them down until they slip off your shoulder. His lips part briefly as he pulls back, his glowing eyes fixed on the fabric still covering your chest. His fingers toy with it, and then he tries to pull it up, but the clasp holds firm.

You realize what’s happening immediately, a soft smile curling on your lips. He doesn’t understand how it works. It’s endearing, the way he fumbles slightly, his expression focused yet confused.

“Here.” you murmur softly, reaching behind you. With ease you unhook your bra, and slip it off, tossing it beside your dress on the sand.

Rafayel freezes for a moment, his eyes drinking in the sight of your bare chest. His lips part slightly, as if he’s about to speak but has forgotten the words. His fingers skim along the line of your collarbone before trailing downward. Rafayel’s glowing eyes lock onto yours, his pupils dilated with arousal, watching you as his hand moves to cup your breast. His thumb brushes over your nipple, the touch light and hesitant at first.

A soft moan escapes your lips, and you arch into his touch. “Like this.” you whisper. You take his hand, pressing it slightly firmer against your skin, showing him the right pressure. His lips part, and he nods faintly, his hand following your lead. Then, his head dips, his lips brushing against the soft skin around your nipple. The kisses are almost cautions at first, but they grow bolder as he gains confidence. His tongue flicks out, wet and warm, tracing delicate circles before his lips wrap around the sensitive bud.

You gasp softly as you feel it—the firm, heated length of him slipping free from its sheath. It presses against your folds, gliding against your sensitive skin.  Your hips roll against him, earning a muffled groan from Rafayel. It’s warm and firm, sliding with ease against your slickness as you grind against him, each movement drawing quiet, breathy sounds from your lips.

Rafayel’s lips remain relentless, his mouth moving from one breast to the other, sucking, licking, and nipping at the sensitive peaks while his hands knead and tease. Each movement of his lips and fingers draws soft gasps from you, your body trembling as the pleasure builds rapidly.

The sensation of the tip catching your clit with each grind of your hips sends jolts of ecstasy through you, your moans mixing with his, his tail flicking restlessly behind you as his own need grows.

“I—I’m -” You can barely form the words, your breath hitching as your orgasm rips through you. His hands steady your hips, guiding your movements to prolong the bliss coursing through you, his eyes watching you fall apart. The sensation of your climax against his cock pushes him to the edge. A moan escapes his lips as he latches onto your mouth in a hungry kiss, drinking in your whines, his chest heaving against yours. His body tenses beneath you, his tail curling slightly as his release spills between your bellies. For a moment, both of you are caught in a haze of your shared release, your breaths mingling as the sound of soothing waves fills the silence.

As your breathing slows, you begin to stir. You expect him to soften and your mind shifts to cleaning up, checking on your dress, and resuming the lighthearted conversation you had earlier. But he is still hard, still insistent between your folds. A faint shiver runs through you as Rafayel’s grip on your hips tightens.

“More.” he murmurs against your lips.

Before you can process his request, his hands move your hips, lifting you slightly, aligning the tip with your slick entrance. He moves slowly, his glowing eyes watching your face, and with a nod you encourage him to continue. As he begins to lower you, his body trembles beneath yours, a low groan slipping from his lips as your warmth begins to envelop him. The stretch is slow at first, as he wants to give you time to adjust to his size, but then his control falters—his hips buck involuntarily, thrusting his length deeper into you.

A gasp escapes your lips, and his hand cups your cheek as he whispers a small sorry with a shaky breath. You can feel the restraint in his voice, the tremor of his hand and in his heavy-lidded eyes, which only makes you crave more of him. You lower yourself fully, your clit pressing against his pelvis as he fills you completely.  Rafayel’s eyes flutter closed, his head tipping back slightly, exposing the smooth line of his throat. The sound he makes is guttural, raw, the kind of noise that sends heat coursing through your veins.

You press your palms against his chest for balance as you start to move. Rafayel’s hypnotizing gaze locks onto yours again, his hands griping your hips as he guides you, his hips moving to meet yours. The rhythm between you builds quickly, the slick friction of his member against your walls drawing breathy moans from your lips.

Then, just as you feel another wave of pleasure approaching, Rafayel stills.

The sudden stop catches you off guard, your hips pausing as you look down at him. He tilts his head slightly, frowning as if he’s straining to hear something just beyond your perception.

“Rafayel?” you whisper.

He doesn’t answer immediately, his focus locked on something in the distance, while his arms move to wrap around your waist, holding you firmly in place.

“People.” he murmurs finally.

You glance over his shoulder, your heart racing, though you can’t hear anything beyond the soft crash of the waves. “Are you sure?” you ask, your voice barely above whisper.

He nods, his expression more alert. His tail shifts again, and in one fluid motion, he flips you on top of your dress, his body covering yours completely. His arms and tail curl protectively around you, shielding you from sight even though it’s him who is truly at risk. His body remains still, tense above yours, yet the sensation of him buried so deeply inside you is impossible to ignore.

Your heart races beneath him, a strange mix of confusion and arousal coursing through you. You part your lips to whisper his name, to ask what’s happening, but before you can do so, his hand gently covers your mouth. “Sorry.” he whispers. His gaze doesn’t leave the horizon, his head tilting slightly as if straining to catch a sound only he can hear.

Then, slowly, his hips move. It’s subtle at first, but then his length slips out and sinks in further with every roll which has you gasping against his hand. His breath catches, a soft groan rumbling in his throat as his hips find a steady rhythm. Even as his attention remains on the distant sound, his body betrays him. Your muffled moans spill against his palm, your back arching to meet his thrusts.

After a few more strokes, Rafayel exhales sharply, his hand slipping away from your mouth, and you only have a second to breathe in before his lips crash against yours. His hand grabs your cheeks as his teeth graze and nip your lips, before his tongue slips between them, tangling with yours. His smooth pelvis smacks against your clit as he picks up the pace, sending electric jolts of pleasure through you.

Just as you begin to lose yourself in the rhythm of Rafayel’s body moving against yours, he stills again. His eyes narrow slightly, focusing somewhere above you.

“What is it?” you whisper, wondering if he heard people in the distance again.

Before he can answer, your phone starts ringing, the sound jarring against the intimacy of the moment. You glance toward the bag where the screen is faintly lighting the inside. “It’s probably Thomas,” you mutter, brushing it off. “I’ll call him back later.” You shift slightly, but Rafayel’s hand tightens on your waist, holding you in place.

“Thomas.” he repeats, his gaze now on you. Then, after a moment, he nods toward the bag. “Answer.” he murmurs, his voice low and firm, though his gaze is far from neutral.

You blink, your body still buzzing. “Really? It’s not important—”

“Go,” he says softly now. “Answer.”

He slips out of you as he speaks, the sudden emptiness almost making you whine. His hands leave your waist just long enough for you to roll onto your front, reaching toward the bag and fishing out the phone. The screen flashes Thomas’ name, and with a resigned sigh, you accept the call.

“Hey, Thomas.” you say, doing your best to keep your voice steady.

Rafayel doesn’t wait though. The moment you’re distracted his hands begin their gentle exploration of your hips and thighs, his fingers tracing over your skin with maddening leisure. You press your face against your arm, trying to steady your breathing.

“Just wanted to check,” Thomas says, his voice warm and friendly, completely unaware of the situation you’re in. “You didn’t message me like you promised. Are you home safe?”

“Y-yeah,” you stammer, your voice wavering as Rafayel shifts slightly behind you. His hands slide towards the curve of your buttocks, kneading and cupping the soft flesh, his touch lingering as though committing the sensation to memory. “I’m fine. Just… uh, got distracted.”

Thomas chuckles softly, his tone light. “Glad to hear it. Actually, I was wondering—my schedule just changed, and I’ve got some free time tomorrow morning. I thought it might be a good chance to visit the beach house. Do you still want to come with me?”

Rafayel leans forward, his lips brushing over the base of your spine, the light kiss sending shivers through you. Then he settles between your legs, aligning himself with your entrance, the tip pressing teasingly against you before he pushes back inside in one fluid motion. You squeeze your eyes shut, struggling to focus on Thomas’ words as Rafayel begins to move.

“I - I’m not sure,” you manage, your voice catching as Rafayel’s thrusts grow more greedy. “I’ll have to check.”

“That’s fine,” Thomas replies. “The place is pretty secluded, though, and I’m not too familiar with the area. But I’m sure you’ll know how to get us there.”

Rafayel’s hips snap forward suddenly, his cock grazing all the right spots inside of you. Your lips part in a soft gasp, but you quickly bite it back, hoping the sound doesn’t carry through the phone. His hands grip your waist firmly, guiding you to meet his rhythm. The wet slap of his hips against your butt grows louder, and you can only pray Thomas can’t hear it over the call.

“I—uh—probably.” you stammer. Your fingers clutch at the phone desperately, while you bite the back of your free hand. Rafayel leans forward, his breath warm against your back.

“Is everything okay?” Thomas asks, concern clear in his voice. “You sound distracted.”

“I’m fine!” you blurt out, your voice higher than intended. Rafayel chuckles softly against your ear, the sound low and teasing, before his hips roll forward again, the force of his movements pulling another muffled moan from your lips.

“I’ll text you later!” you hang up before he can respond, the phone slipping from your hand as a soft moan escapes your lips.

“Everything okay?” Rafayel repeats Thomas’ question, his voice laced with amusement. The faint smirk on his lips doesn’t escape you as you look over your shoulder, his eyes glinting with self-satisfaction as he watches your flushed face.

“You’re sneaky.” you say, your voice half-accusing. You know it’s impossible for you to be annoyed at him.

Rafayel tilts his head, his expression feigning innocence. “Sneaky?” he echoes. “Don’t understand.”

You roll your eyes, but the small laugh that escapes you betrays your exasperation. “Oh, I think you do,” you reply, your voice softening.

Rafayel’s hands trail upward, brushing over your waist as his body leans closer, his weight pressing against your back. His lips hover near your ear, his breath warm as he murmurs, “You feel… good?”

There’s a flicker of something vulnerable in his tone, as though he’s searching for reassurance.

You nod quickly, the words tumbling from your lips without hesitation. “Yes. So good, Rafayel.”

The smile that spreads across his lips is subtle but genuine. He leans further over you, his chest pressing against your back as his hand slips lower, his fingers seeking out the bundle of nerves he’s learned to coax so well. Your breath hitches as he begins to circle your clit, your hips instinctively pushing back against him. He presses more insistently, finding a rhythm that draws sweet moans from your lips.

“Good?” he asks again, his movements unwavering as his fingers draw you closer to the edge.

“Yes,” you gasp, your hand gripping his arm that rests next to you. “You feel so good inside me, Rafayel. Don't stop.” you manage between shaky breaths, the praise slipping out without thought. The words seem to spur him on, his fingers quickening just slightly, enough to push you over the edge.

The orgasm hits you in a rush, your body shaking beneath his as you cry out, muffling the sound against his bicep. Rafayel murmurs something soothing in your ear, his hand slowing but not stopping as he guides you through the aftershocks, letting you feel every last pulse of pleasure.

He waits for you to catch your breath before he moves, his hands slipping under you to lift your body with ease and turn you onto your back. Rafayel hovers above you, his elbows supporting his weight on either side of you, his chest pressed lightly against yours, his warmth enveloping you as his gaze locks onto yours.

For a moment, the world seems to narrow to just the two of you—the glow of his eyes, the warmth of his breath, the weight of his body. His hand moves to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin as his lips part.

“I missed you,” he murmurs. His hips shift slightly, his length filling you again. “Always… want to be close. Always.”

His words send a shiver through you, the vulnerability in them tugging at your heart. You reach up, your hands sliding into his curls, pulling him closer until your foreheads touch. “I missed you too,” you whisper. “So much.”

Rafayel’s lips find yours again. The kiss is slow, tender, relishing in the quiet moment you have together. His hips move in rhythm with the kiss, each thrust slow and deep, as though he’s savoring every second, every inch of you.

As your lips part, the intensity of his gaze never wavers, his eyes searching yours as his movements grow more urgent, what little restraint he had quickly vanishing . His cock throbs inside you, the sensation intensifying as his hips drive deeper, the wet slide of his thrusts accompanied by the soft, breathy sounds spilling from his lips.

“Rafayel.” you whisper against his lips.

At the sound of his name, his body shudders, his rhythm faltering for a moment before his hips snap forward again, harder this time. “Close,” he rasps, his voice breaking. “So… close.”

You hold onto him tighter, your arms wrapping around his back, while your legs lock around his waist, pulling him flush against you.

And then, with a low, strangled moan, he buries himself deep inside you, his release spilling into you in hot, pulsing waves. His entire body tenses, his arms trembling as he holds himself above you, his forehead resting against yours.

Rafayel’s lips brush against your temple as the tremors in his body begin to subside. His arms tighten around you, pulling you impossibly close until you feel every flex of his muscles, every erratic beat of his heart. You close your eyes, letting yourself melt into his touch, his warmth, his presence—completely enveloped.

The moment his breathing evens, he lowers himself beside you. His arm rests on your waist, pulling you close, his body curving slightly to shield yours as though the world outside your bubble still holds threats. You rest your head against his shoulder, your fingers trailing lazily over the smooth scales of his tail. After a while, you glance up at him. His eyes have softened, the primal need subsided, but the faint blush on his cheeks remains.

“Are you okay?” you murmur, your voice soft.

He nods slowly. “Good… now,” he says. His fingers trail lightly down your arm, as though reassuring himself that you’re still there, still with him.

You smile, your fingers tracing idle patterns over his chest. But the memory of his earlier warning lingers. “You know,” you say, your tone turning playful, “I think I’ve figured out why you told me to stay away tonight.”

His eyes widen slightly, and the faint blush on his cheeks deepens. “Why?” he asks cautiously.

“Well,” you begin, propping yourself up on your elbow. “You’ve been so… sensitive tonight. Fidgety. Like you couldn’t sit still. And, I mean…” Your lips curl into a teasing smile. “I think you’ve been very affected by the moon.”

Rafayel’s cheeks flush a deeper shade, and he averts his gaze, his lips pressing into a pout. “Not… fidgety.” he mutters, his voice defensive but lacking conviction.

You laugh softly, leaning in to nuzzle his neck. “Oh, you definitely were. You didn’t want me to see you like this, huh?”

His arms tighten around you, pulling you closer. “You… tease.” he grumbles.

“Maybe a little,” you admit, kissing his jaw. “But only because it’s so obvious now. You’re adorable when you blush, you know.”

He lets out an almost exasperated sigh. Then, his lips curve into a faint smirk, and he tilts his head to meet your gaze. “Tease… dangerous.”

You laugh softly, tilting your head to look at him. “Dangerous? How so?”

His eyes narrow playfully, “I can… do this all night.” He leans in closer, brushing his nose against your cheek as he adds, “Cutie.”

The word catches you off guard, heat blooming in your face. “C-cutie?” you stammer, meeting his gaze.

He tilts his head, savoring your reaction. “Yes,” he says simply, his smirk widening. “You… blush more. I like it.”

You bury your face in his chest, your laugh muffled against his skin. “You’re impossible.” you murmur, though the warmth spreading through your chest betrays your words.

“Cutie.” he repeats, teasing lilt fading into affection. His fingers trace lazy circles along your back as he presses a kiss to your temple.

The world beyond this moment doesn’t matter—not the sea stretching endlessly behind him, nor the land you call home. Your hearts are bound by something neither of you fully understands, something that defies logic and fate. Maybe the future is uncertain. Maybe there will always be questions without answers, problems without solutions. But here, in his arms, wrapped in his warmth, everything seems possible.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

@sapphic-daze @effervescent-unicorn @damatically @m1gota @hanaluxx @girl-who-lives-in-delusion @totallytaurus4 @poisonf0rest @grabby-smitten

[moonlitstoriess]

Bound in Silence- Rhysand x fem!Reader part 1

Part 2 here

Y/n, Rhysand’s true mate, discovers their bond while under Amarantha’s rule. As they grow closer in captivity, Rhys remains unaware of their connection. When Feyre enters his life, y/n watches in silence as Rhysand falls for her, never revealing the truth of their bond, leading to a heartbreaking end.

Warnings: mentions of SA, abuse, character death, little fluff and too much angst

The first week under Amarantha’s rule was a descent into madness. What had once been kingdoms of power and grace now lay in shambles, High Lords stripped of their freedom, their courts brought to ruin.

Y/n, a lesser member of the Dawn Court, had survived the initial massacre, slipping through the cracks of chaos. She had always lived on the fringes, unnoticed among the more powerful, her quiet presence often overlooked. The beauty of the Dawn Court, with its pale skies and soft mornings, felt like a distant dream now. The dungeons were cold, oppressive—any trace of light long extinguished.

Word of the High Lords’ fates had spread quickly through the prisoners. Rhysand, the infamous High Lord of the Night Court, was said to be one of Amarantha’s most prized captives. His reputation as a cruel, cunning male echoed even in the darkest corners of their cell blocks. Y/n hadn’t expected to meet him, let alone stand face-to-face with the infamous High Lord during her silent wandering through the dim corridors.

Their first encounter was brief, in the murky gloom of a narrow passage. He was alone, his posture rigid, and his normally sharp features were bruised and weary, yet he still held that air of cold authority.

Y/n hadn’t expected him to stop as their paths crossed. But Rhysand’s steps faltered, his gaze locking onto hers. His violet eyes, piercing despite the fatigue, lingered on her face a moment longer than necessary.

“Dawn Court,” he said, his voice low and smooth, though roughened by days of captivity. It wasn’t a question—just an observation.

Y/n hesitated, her heartbeat loud in her chest. “Yes,” she replied softly, meeting his gaze, though her own voice was steadier than she felt.

For a long moment, Rhysand simply stared at her, his expression unreadable. There was no reason for him to notice her, no reason for him to care. She was just another prisoner, a face among many. And yet, something flickered in his eyes—something that made her breath catch, though she couldn’t name it.

They said nothing more, both of them knowing there was no safety in words here. But in that shared silence, a connection was forged—one neither of them could explain, and one that would only grow stronger in the long days ahead.

The second time they met was when y/n was in an injured state. Silently crying while trying to stop the gash on her shoulder blade from bleeding as she quickly made her way through the halls. Past the ugly laughters of Amarantha’s creatures, her loyal servants.

She didn’t know where she was looking or where she was heading as she entered a small washroom. But it was when she lifted her head and saw him, sitting down in the corner, all buttons of his tunic opened to display a toned chest with claw marks all over him, face devoid of any emotion, eyes staring but not truly seeing her.

They just stared like that at one another for long enough before the searing pain in y/n’s shoulder made her hiss and remove her bloody hand from the wound.

She was too busy with disinfecting her wound that y/n didn’t even feel Rhysand get up and come towards her, hint of worry slowly blossoming in his chest as he leaned down next to her sitting form.

“Naga?”

Slightly startled, y/n paused what she was doing and turned to look at his still haunted-looking face.

She shook her head. “Attor.”

He gave her a small nod before raising his hand towards the wet cloth she was gripping.

“May I? I do not believe that you will be able to reach and clean that wound properly.”

Y/n hesitated for a moment, clearly wondering if this was the cruel Rhysand everyone seemed to talk about.

He saw her hesitation and gave her the tiniest of smiles before going back to his indifferent expression once more.

“Don’t worry. I won’t bite you.”

Despite the pain, y/n smiled slightly as she handed him the rag. To say she was surprised with how gentle he was, would be an understatement. They said no words, despite the fact that y/n had questions of her own.

Why was he in such a state? Why did he have all these marks on him? Was he with Amarantha? It seems like he doesn’t get enough sleep either. There are dark bags under his eyes.

But she decided against speaking any of them out, still hesitant with her actions. Not to mention the eerie comfort their little moment provided for her. Y/n was sure that this would never happen again.

She was wrong; this happened again.

This time however, under the worst possible circumstances. In Amaranthas bed.

In the past weeks that they were all here, y/n knew that Amarantha would toy with attractive females and males. But she never thought she would one day be a victim to that cruel woman’s sinister desires.

Her greatest nightmare came true.

She did not even do anything out of the ordinary, always keeping to the corners, preferring to stay away from anyone’s gaze. But alas, it appears that y/n was not as invisible as she thought for it was during her moment locked away in the calm quietness of a small dusty bedroom, that she got dragged away by Amaranthas guards towards her bedchamber.

And you could only imagine the shock on her face when she saw Rhysand, half naked with only a towel wrapped around his waist, staring horrified at her while Amarantha, clad in her sheer robe, dismissed the guards and slowly came towards y/n.

Lifting her chin up with two fingers, the queen snickered as she said, “My my, you are even prettier up close, little mouse.”

Y/n could only gulp as she let the queen inspect her as if she was some sort of an animal. Y/n could feel Rhysands unwavering gaze on her as she stared at the ceiling, willing her tears to stay back.

Suddenly, she felt Amarantha's grip tighten as she was forced to look at the woman before her. The queen's gaze thinned as she inched closer to y/n.

"I suppose you are well aware why you are in here then, no need to waste time on explanations. Am I right, Rhys?"

That is when y/n's gaze slightly drifted towards the male standing next to the bed, his face a mask indifference, a relaxed smirk overtaking his features but his hollow eyes needed no explanation.

"Of course, it is a privilege for her to join us."

Amarantha smirked before dragging her towards the bed, marking the start of y/n's nightmares.

That night, she endured too much, did things she never wished to do, all to keep her head on her shoulders. And for some reason, y/n felt as if she was not the only one who suppressed her disgust and cries deep within herself. Rhysand may be a good actor but his stiffness did not fool her.

The fourth and most important time that they met was in a small, forgotten chamber tucked deep within the mountain--dusty, barely used. Y/n found herself there, seeking refuge from the chaos that constantly swirled under Amarantha’s rule. She didn’t expect anyone else to find the room, and yet, there he was again.

Rhysand stood near the entrance, as though he had only just stepped inside. They froze upon seeing one another. For a moment, neither moved, neither spoke. The silence felt almost too heavy to break.

She turned her back to him, focusing on her trembling hands. She didn’t want to meet his gaze, not after what they’d been forced to endure together under Amarantha’s cruelty. The air between them was thick with the unspoken horrors, yet there was an odd pull, a silent understanding that neither acknowledged.

“I thought I’d be alone,” she muttered, not quite sure why she felt the need to say anything.

“So did I,” came his quiet reply. His voice lacked the arrogant lilt she often heard when he spoke to others. There was something raw about him now, stripped of pretense.

A beat passed before she stood, avoiding his gaze as she brushed off the dust from her skirt. She intended to leave, to disappear before this fragile quiet shattered. But as she took a step, her body faltered, pain from her old injury flaring up again. She hissed through her teeth, clutching her shoulder.

Rhysand moved then, quicker than she expected, stepping closer without hesitation. “You’re hurt again.” It wasn’t a question, more an observation, but there was no pity in his voice.

“I’m fine,” she whispered, stepping back. Her pride wouldn’t let her show weakness in front of him.

He watched her for a long moment, eyes narrowing, not with judgment, but with something closer to understanding. He reached out slowly, carefully, as if giving her the chance to move away. When she didn’t, he gestured to the bench behind her. “Sit. I’ll help.”

She hesitated but gave in. She couldn’t bandage the wound herself—not again. Sitting down, she stiffened as he moved to her side, his presence too close, too intimate for comfort. His hands were steady as he inspected the gash. She tried to hide her discomfort as he worked, gently cleaning the wound with a damp cloth. The touch was too careful for someone rumored to be Amarantha’s most favored, the cold High Lord with a cruel reputation.

Neither of them spoke for a while. The silence was comfortable, though, more than it had ever been before. When Rhysand finally did speak, his voice was barely above a murmur. “We haven’t been properly introduced.” He didn’t ask for her name—simply left the sentence hanging, an invitation she could take or leave.

She glanced at him, a flicker of surprise crossing her face. “Y/n,” she said quietly, watching him closely.

“Y/n,” he repeated, as though testing the sound of it. He gave her the faintest hint of a smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it was the closest she had seen to something genuine.

For the first time, she allowed herself to look at him, really look at him, beyond the mask he wore so well. She saw the exhaustion in his eyes, the weight he carried. The cruelty he endured, just like her.

“You don’t act like them,” she found herself whispering before she could stop herself. “Like the others.”

He paused, his hands still on her bandage. “Neither do you.”

It wasn’t a comfort, not exactly. But it was something, a crack in the armor they both wore.

Y/n remained still as Rhysand finished tending to her wound, his touch light and careful, the silence stretching between them. She couldn’t help but glance at him again—his face too calm, too composed for someone who had just been through hell. The weight of what had happened in Amarantha’s chamber hung heavy in the air between them, unspoken yet impossible to ignore.

As he tied off the bandage, she couldn’t stop herself from asking, her voice barely above a whisper, “Do you… endure that every day?”

Her words lingered, and she saw it—the brief flicker of something in his eyes. Pain, perhaps. But just as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone, replaced by the same detached mask he always wore. Rhysand straightened, his expression carefully neutral as he moved away, putting space between them.

“It’s nothing,” he said, his voice smooth, almost too smooth. “Amarantha has her ways of amusing herself.”

Y/n stared at him, not buying his attempt to brush it off. She had seen the claw marks, the bruises, the hollowness in his eyes. She had been there—seen the humiliation, the cruelty, the powerlessness they both shared. How could he call it ‘nothing’?

“It’s not nothing,” she said quietly, her voice trembling despite her best efforts to stay composed. “What she does… what we endure… it’s—”

“I know,” he interrupted, his voice a little sharper than before. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I know.”

She blinked at him, unsure of what to say, unsure of how to reach him through the walls he had built around himself. There was so much she wanted to ask, so much she wanted to say, but the weight of it all seemed too much, too heavy to put into words.

Y/n’s eyes flickered over his face, searching for something beneath the mask of indifference he wore so easily. His sharp retort had silenced her, but only for a moment. The silence felt too heavy, too suffocating, after what they had both gone through.

She took a deep breath, wincing slightly at the pain from her wound. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, though she wasn’t sure what she was apologizing for—maybe for prying, maybe for the awful reality they were trapped in, or maybe for the fact that she didn’t know how to help him, how to help either of them.

Rhysand’s gaze shifted, finally landing back on her. His expression softened ever so slightly, the hard edges dulling for just a moment. “Don’t be,” he said quietly, almost as if he regretted snapping at her earlier.

They sat in silence for a few more moments, both of them staring into the distance, lost in their own thoughts. Y/n thought of the nightmarish hours she’d spent under Amarantha’s cruel hands, of the helplessness that had consumed her. She glanced at him, wondering how he endured it—if he truly had to endure it every day.

“Does she—” she hesitated, her voice catching in her throat. “Does she make you go through that every day?”

Rhysand’s jaw clenched slightly, his eyes hardening once more. “What does it matter?” he said, his voice a touch colder than before. “We all suffer under her. It’s just… the way things are.”

Y/n frowned, the weight of his words pressing down on her chest. “It matters,” she insisted, her voice firmer this time. “You shouldn’t have to—none of us should.”

Rhysand didn’t respond for a moment. Instead, he looked away, his fingers tracing idle patterns along the stone wall behind him. His silence told her more than his words could. He was used to it, accustomed to the horrors that Amarantha inflicted.

She swallowed, her heart heavy. “I—I don’t know how you do it,” she admitted softly, her voice barely audible. “I don’t think I can survive this… not like this.”

Rhysand’s gaze returned to her, softer this time, almost contemplative. “You will,” he said quietly, his tone lacking its earlier sharpness. “You’ll survive because you have to.”

There was something about the way he said it—a quiet strength, a stubborn determination that made her believe him, even when everything around them felt hopeless.

Y/n didn’t respond. She simply nodded, grateful for the small comfort his words offered, even if they both knew there were no real solutions to their nightmare.

For a long moment, they stayed like that—two people trapped in hell, offering each other a sliver of solace in the aftermath of horrors too cruel to fully comprehend. Neither of them said anything more, but there was an unspoken understanding between them. It wasn’t love, it wasn’t affection. It was survival.

And, for now, that was enough.

After that moment, something significant shifted between them. Slowly, their random encounters turned into frequent secret meetups each planned with a sense of urgency and longing. They began to seek each other out, carving out spaces in the darkness where they could share their thoughts, fears, and dreams, knowing that, in this hellish place, they were the only ones who truly understood each other.

Y/n discovered that she felt safe with him in a way she hadn’t expected. In the quiet corners of the mountain, they would talk for hours, sharing fragments of their lives, their laughter echoing softly against the stone walls. Rhysand learned about her past life, about her love for creating things, about her resilience, how she had survived Amarantha’s cruelty by retreating into herself, clinging to the memories of a life before the darkness. In turn, she learned about his burdens—the weight of his responsibilities as the High Lord, the pain of leaving his people and his family behind, possibly to never see them again. They were both trapped, but in each other, they found a flicker of hope.

They often sat close, their shoulders brushing, sharing the warmth that lingered between them. There were moments when words felt insufficient, and they would simply sit in comfortable silence, allowing their thoughts to intertwine without the need for spoken language. Each small interaction deepened their bond, and soon they were exchanging not just stories, but pieces of themselves.

One evening, while hiding in their usual alcove, Y/n noticed the weariness in Rhysand’s eyes. She hesitated before speaking, her heart racing. “Do you ever wish you could escape?” she asked quietly, not expecting an answer.

Rhysand turned to her, his expression contemplative. “Every day,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I know it’s not that simple.”

Y/n nodded, understanding the truth behind his words. “It’s exhausting, isn’t it? Pretending to be fine when inside, you feel like you’re breaking.”

He looked at her, surprise flashing across his features. “You feel it too?”

“More than I care to admit,” she replied, her eyes meeting his. “Sometimes I wonder if it will ever end. If I’ll ever be free of this.”

Rhysand sighed, leaning back against the wall. “I think about that a lot. But then I remember the people who are counting on me. If I give up, what happens to them?”

She could see the heaviness of his thoughts weighing him down. “You’re strong, Rhysand,” she said softly. “Stronger than any of us realize.”

He chuckled, but it was devoid of true mirth. “Strength doesn’t mean I don’t feel pain.”

“Then we can feel it together,” she offered, a small smile playing on her lips. “I’d rather share the burden than carry it alone.”

He met her gaze, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. “I think I’d like that.”

From that day on, they became each other’s refuge. They shared not only their burdens but also their dreams, hopes, and fears. Rhysand learned about the small things that made Y/n smile, the way her eyes sparkled when she spoke of the stars, the gentle way she held herself, as if trying to protect the light within her from being extinguished.

Y/n discovered Rhysand’s love for stories, how he could lose himself in the tales of distant lands and daring adventures. They created their own world within the confines of the mountain, where laughter could exist amid the pain, where dreams could be whispered even in the darkest of nights.

With each passing day, they grew closer, their friendship blossoming into something beautiful amidst the horror surrounding them. There was an unspoken promise that they would be there for each other, no matter what. And in that, they found the strength to keep going, to endure the trials that awaited them, together.

Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months and months turned into years as they kept enduring the horrors under Amarantha’s reign, no one strong enough to defeat her. The passage of time blurred in the darkness, a relentless cycle of survival. Each day brought new cruelties, new horrors that left Y/n and Rhysand feeling more and more hollow inside. Yet, through it all, they clung to the solace they found in each other.

Their secret meetings had become a lifeline. Whenever they could steal a moment away from the prying eyes of Amarantha’s spies, they would retreat into the shadowed corners of the mountain, seeking each other’s presence. Their conversations had grown more comfortable over time, the once hesitant exchanges now flowing with ease. Y/n learned more about Rhysand’s burdens, about the sacrifices he made each day to keep his people alive, even at the cost of his own soul.

In return, Rhysand slowly unraveled the mystery of Y/n. She was no longer the quiet, invisible courtier he had first met in the halls. Her resilience and strength had revealed themselves with each passing day, though she remained ever-watchful, always cautious. The horrors she had endured were scars, both physical and emotional, yet she never let them break her. And Rhysand admired her for it, though he kept his thoughts carefully hidden behind his usual smirks and playful retorts.

They didn’t talk much about what happened in Amarantha’s bed that night. It was an unspoken thing, something that lingered between them, always there, but never addressed directly. It didn’t need to be. They both knew the depths of the hell they were living in, and acknowledging that shared nightmare in words would only make it worse.

Still, there were times when Y/n would look at Rhysand, her gaze searching, wondering how he bore the weight of Amarantha’s twisted games day after day. She saw the toll it took on him, even if he never spoke of it.There were days when he would return from Amarantha’s bedchamber with new scars, fresh wounds both seen and unseen, and Y/n could do nothing but offer her quiet companionship, hoping that in some small way, her presence was enough.

On one such occasion, after another brutal encounter with the queen, Y/n found Rhysand sitting alone in the dark, his usual mask of indifference slipping for just a moment. She hesitated before sitting beside him, the silence between them heavy with unspoken words.

“Why does she do this to you?” she asked quietly, her voice barely audible.

Rhysand didn’t look at her, his gaze fixed on some distant point. “Does it matter?”

“It does to me,” she said, her heart aching for him in a way she hadn’t expected.

For a long time, he didn’t respond, and Y/n wondered if she had overstepped. But then, in the quietest of voices, he said, “Because I am her greatest weapon that needs to be kept under control.”

The weight of his admission hung in the air, and Y/n felt a pang of sorrow deep in her chest. She reached out, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, though she knew her words could do nothing to ease his pain.

Rhysand shook his head, brushing off her concern with a forced smile. “Don’t be. It’s the price we pay to survive.”

But Y/n could see through the facade. She knew him well enough by now to recognize the cracks in his armor, the moments when the strain of it all became too much. In those moments, she stayed close, offering her quiet support without pushing him to speak. She had come to understand that Rhysand didn’t need words—he needed the comfort of knowing he wasn’t alone.

As time passed, their bond deepened, a quiet understanding settling between them. They no longer had to speak to know what the other was feeling. A glance, a touch, the smallest of gestures—these were enough to convey the unspoken trust that had grown between them. Together, they weathered the endless torment of Amarantha’s rule, finding strength in their shared moments, no matter how brief.

But as the years dragged on, a sense of hopelessness began to creep in. Amarantha’s power seemed insurmountable, her cruelty unmatched. The courts remained shattered, the High Lords too broken to mount any sort of rebellion. The mountain felt like a prison, and escape seemed impossible.

Then, whispers of a new arrival began to spread through the court. A mortal girl, brought under the mountain to fulfill some kind of bargain with Amarantha. It seemed like just another piece of cruel entertainment for the queen, another pawn in her twisted game. But something was different this time. Rhysand’s gaze would grow distant whenever her name was mentioned, as if he knew something no one else did. Y/n noticed the subtle shift in his demeanor, the way his usual indifference was replaced with a flicker of… hope?

As Feyre’s presence in the court grew, so did the undercurrent of tension that seemed to ripple through Amarantha’s throne room. Something was happening, something none of them could quite understand. But Y/n couldn’t shake the feeling that this mortal girl—this Feyre—was important. That maybe, just maybe, the end of their nightmare was closer than any of them realized.

What y/n also realized, was that Rhysand was her mate.

It happened suddenly, during one of Amarantha’s night feasts, a regular, twisted event that Y/n had come to despise. This particular one, however, was the night before Feyre’s first trial.

Y/n stood in the corner, as usual, staying away from the crowd. She preferred to inspect rather than socialize, to keep her distance from the cruel games and manipulations happening all around her. Rhysand was on the opposite side of the grand hall, his mask of indifference and cruelty firmly in place as he entertained conversation with a few other high-fae, Amarantha’s loyal followers. He played his role perfectly, as he always did.

But then, in a fleeting moment, their eyes met.

Y/n felt it immediately—the rush of warmth, the pull so strong it almost knocked the breath from her lungs. It wasn’t just the connection they had built over the years or the understanding they shared. No, this was deeper. A primal force that surged within her, a tether she had never felt before, snapping into place.

Rhysand was her mate.

The realization hit her like a blow, sharp and undeniable. Her breath caught in her throat, and her body froze as the bond thrummed between them. She had heard of the mating bond before, of course, but to feel it, to know that it was him…

Her heart both soared and sank. She couldn’t deny it, couldn’t push it away, but looking at him—his cold mask in place, his focus elsewhere—made her chest tighten with an ache she didn’t know how to suppress.

Rhysand didn’t seem to feel it, didn’t react in any way that might indicate he knew. His gaze lingered on her for a brief second before turning back to the high-fae beside him, the moment passing without acknowledgment.

Y/n stood frozen, the world around her muted as the bond settled within her, painfully unreciprocated.

As Feyre passed her first trial, everything began to shift.

At first, Y/n tried to dismiss it as coincidence—Rhysand had his own burdens, after all, his own games to play. But soon, the cracks in their fragile friendship became too large to ignore. Where before, he would seek her out, find quiet moments in the hidden corners of the mountain to sit with her, to speak about everything and nothing—those moments became fewer and farther between.

The subtle change came in waves. Rhysand started missing their meetups. First, it was only one night, then two, then an entire week would pass without a word. Y/n waited in their usual spots, always hoping he would walk through the door, but instead, she was met with silence. The longer the absence stretched, the deeper the ache in her chest grew.

But the worst came during Amarantha’s nightly feasts. Poor Feyre, clearly not jn a right state of mind, was paraded around the hall, her limbs loose and her eyes unfocused, as Rhysand dragged her onto the floor to dance. Y/n could barely stomach it.

Night after night, she watched as his focus shifted to Feyre—the human girl who was just trying to survive, just like them all. Yet it was in those dances, in the way his eyes lingered on Feyre’s face, even behind the mask of cruelty he wore, that Y/n felt her heart begin to shatter.

She tried to tell herself it was all part of the act, a necessary facade to keep Amarantha’s eyes off him, to protect the bigger plan. But each night, as she watched them dance, watched Feyre’s body against his, her hope withered.

The bond that had once filled her with warmth and joy now twisted inside her, a cruel reminder of what he couldn’t possibly know. Of what she could never tell him. Rhysand had no idea that she was his mate. How could he, when his attention had shifted so completely to Feyre?

And Y/n—heartbroken, invisible—could do nothing but endure it, watching as the only person who had ever understood her slipped further and further away.

The nights dragged on, the darkness under the mountain becoming suffocating as Feyre moved through her trials. Each one more harrowing than the last, each step pushing her closer to death. And with each passing trial, Rhysand's attention shifted further away from Y/n.

Y/n had never felt more alone. Every night, she stood in the shadows, watching as Rhysand danced with Feyre, his hand on her waist, his voice soft in her ear. It had started as part of the game, part of his endless manipulation of Amarantha’s court, but Y/n could see it—he was changing. His mask, once a weapon, now felt more like a shield protecting him from the truth. And the truth was devastating: Rhysand no longer came to her. He no longer sought her out in the quiet corners of the mountain.

The bond between them, once so unmistakable, now felt like a heavy chain around her neck, pulling her deeper into despair with every passing day.

When Feyre passed her final trial and was killed by Amarantha, Y/n’s world collapsed. She had watched it all unfold—the moment the human girl fell, her chest stilling, her life snuffed out in an instant. And Rhysand—he was the first one to cry out her name. His voice, filled with anguish and desperation, echoed through the hall, and Y/n’s heart shattered into a million pieces.

He rushed to Feyre's side, his face twisted in agony, and without hesitation, he was the first to give a sliver of his power to bring her back. His hands trembled as he leaned over her, tears brimming in his eyes. His voice cracked when he whispered her name again, as though she was the only one who mattered, the only one who had ever mattered.

Y/n stood there, frozen, her own pain drowned out by the overwhelming scene before her. Rhysand hadn't even glanced her way, hadn't acknowledged her presence. It was as if she no longer existed.

And when Amarantha finally fell, when Feyre was brought back to life as an immortal by the combined powers of the High Lords, Y/n felt as though the final thread of her connection to Rhysand had been severed.

Afterward, in the aftermath of Amarantha's death and Feyre's new immortality, Y/n tried—she truly tried to speak with him, to make him see her again, to understand what had been between them before all of this. She sought him out in the quiet halls, waited for him in the places they used to meet, hoping, praying that he would remember.

Finally, on the last night, before they all left this 50 years of hell behind, she found him standing alone on a balcony overlooking the endless expanse of darkness. She approached him, her heart in her throat.

“Rhys,” she called softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

He turned, but there was no warmth in his gaze. His eyes, once full of shared understanding and adoration, were distant, hollow.

“I’ve been trying to talk to you,” she began, her words faltering as she took in the emptiness on his face.

Rhysand looked away, his jaw clenched. “I’ve been… distracted.”

“With Feyre,” she finished, her voice breaking despite her best efforts to remain composed.

There was a long, heavy silence before he spoke again, his voice so quiet she almost didn’t hear him. “I think… I think Feyre is my mate.”

Y/n felt the world tilt beneath her feet, the words hitting her like a dagger to the chest. She opened her mouth to speak, to tell him the truth, to scream that she was his mate—but the words wouldn’t come.

Rhysand didn’t notice her silence, didn’t notice the way her hands trembled. He kept talking, his voice growing softer, more introspective. “I’m falling for her, Y/n. I didn’t expect it, but... I can’t stop it.”

Y/n’s heart shattered all over again, the bond between them twisting into something unbearable. She had lost him.

The dawn was cold, a pale light creeping over the horizon, casting the mountain in a dim, unforgiving glow. Y/n stood alone in the shadows, her heart heavy with the weight of the last fifty years, the torture they had endured, the nightmares that would never fully leave them. But now, with Amarantha dead, it was all over. The chains were gone. The horrors were fading into the past, and everyone was finally going home.

Everyone except her.

She had known it was coming—the end of it all. She had prepared herself for the fact that Rhysand might leave, that Feyre might take him from her entirely. But no amount of preparation had lessened the crushing weight in her chest as she watched from the shadows. She hadn’t slept. She hadn’t even wanted to. The last few days had blurred together in a haze of pain, confusion, and heartbreak.

And now, standing in the pale light of dawn, she saw them.

Rhysand and Feyre.

They were on the balcony above, just as the sun began to rise, casting a soft glow over the both of them. Feyre, still recovering, stood close to him, her face soft with something Y/n couldn’t bear to name. Rhysand was beside her, his posture relaxed, a faint smile playing on his lips as he looked out over the horizon. His arm brushed against Feyre’s, the contact so light, so natural, as if it had always been that way.

Y/n’s throat tightened, her heart splintering with every passing second. He hadn’t come to say goodbye. Not a word. Not a glance.

Just silence.

She had spent fifty years enduring alongside him, had suffered the same horrors, shared quiet moments of solace when everything else was falling apart. She had been there when no one else had, and yet, as the dawn broke over the mountains, Rhysand was leaving—without a single word to her. Without a goodbye.

Her fingers gripped the stone railing as she forced herself to breathe, to stay steady, even as she felt herself crumbling from the inside out.

He didn’t know. He didn’t know that she was his mate, that they were bound by something deeper, something that should have been unbreakable. And he never would. Because in his heart, in his mind, there was only Feyre now.

As she watched him smile at the mortal-turned-immortal girl, Y/n felt the devastating finality of it all settle in her bones. She wasn’t just losing him—she had lost him. Completely. And there was nothing she could do to bring him back.

The bond between them, the one she had hoped he would feel someday, was nothing but a silent scream in her chest now. Unheard, unnoticed, unacknowledged.

A single tear slipped down her cheek, and she quickly wiped it away, not wanting to let herself break. Not here. Not now. Not when it was already too late.

She took one last look at them—at the male who had once been her solace, her anchor in the storm, and at the woman who had unknowingly taken him from her.

With a shaky breath, Y/n turned away, unable to bear the sight any longer. Each step she took felt heavier, like the weight of the entire world was pressing down on her. The corridors were eerily quiet now that Amarantha’s reign had ended, and the mountain had become a place of ghostly memories.

Rhysand would leave. He would go back to Velaris, to his Court of Dreams, to the freedom they had all been denied for so long. And he would do it without a second thought for her. Feyre had captured his attention, his heart, and Y/n was nothing but a shadow now, left behind in the wake of a love she would never know.

She found herself walking to the same small, hidden room they had once met in—the one where they had shared their darkest fears and moments of fragile comfort. But those days were gone. Everything was different now.

Sitting on the bed, Y/n let the silence engulf her. The ache in her chest was unbearable, but she welcomed it. It was better than the numbness she feared would consume her next. She had thought, somehow, that once Amarantha was gone, things might get better. That they could both move forward, together, maybe find peace in each other’s presence. But that had been foolish.

The truth was undeniable now—she was alone.

The mating bond, the one she had felt so fiercely, was not enough. Rhysand had made his choice, whether he knew it or not. Feyre was his future, his heart, his everything.

And Y/n? She would be forgotten.

The bitter taste of rejection burned in her throat as she closed her eyes, trying to will away the memories, the stolen glances, the nights spent in shared pain. Everything she had held onto was slipping away, dissolving like smoke.

For the first time in years, she let herself cry. She cried for the love she never had, for the bond that would never be fulfilled, for the pieces of her heart that would never be whole again. She cried for the girl she had been before all this, before Amarantha, before Rhysand, before the endless cycle of hope and despair had shattered her into something unrecognizable.

By the time the sun had fully risen, her tears had dried, leaving only a hollow ache in their place.

Rhysand would leave, Feyre at his side, and Y/n would remain behind, her presence a forgotten whisper in the chaos of everything else.

She rose from the bed, her movements slow, mechanical. There was nothing left for her here. The mountain, the memories, the unspoken bond—it was all gone. She had to leave, too. But not with him. Never with him.

As she walked out of the room, out of the mountain, her heart broke all over again. This was her ending—quiet, unseen, devastating.

Rhysand had left without a goodbye, but perhaps that was the greatest goodbye of all. A final, unspoken severing of whatever connection they had once shared.

Y/n wandered through the wilderness, aimlessly walking with no direction or purpose. The vast world around her felt empty—silent. She had no family to return to, no place where she belonged. Every step she took was heavy, each one pulling her deeper into the pit of despair she could no longer escape.

For years, she’d clung to the hope that she mattered to someone—that perhaps in Rhysand, she had found solace, a connection that could keep her afloat through the darkness. But now, after everything, it was clear. She had never mattered—not to him, not to anyone.

The night before, she’d watched him with Feyre, saw the way his eyes had softened, how he had stayed by her side, even after the final battle had ended. He had fought for Feyre, bled for her, mourned for her as if she were the only thing that mattered in the world. And Y/n… she had been invisible, a forgotten shadow in the corner, her existence as meaningless as it had always been.

She had seen him and Feyre on the balcony that dawn, the soft glow of morning casting a light around them as Rhysand whispered something only Feyre could hear. Y/n had watched as Rhysand came closer to Feyre, giving her a devastatingly charming smile that shattered her heart beyond repair.

Y/n continued walking, the cold wind biting at her skin, but she felt none of it. The ache inside her, the hollow feeling in her chest, drowned out everything else. She had no reason to go on, no reason to fight anymore. She had fought for years, survived the unthinkable, only to come out of it more broken than before.

There was nothing left for her. No purpose. No place. No one.

Her steps slowed as she reached a cliffside, the jagged rocks below barely visible in the early morning light. The sea roared beneath her, its angry waves crashing against the stones. She stood at the edge, staring into the abyss, the overwhelming emptiness pulling her in.

The bond she had thought was hers belonged to someone else now. Rhysand had chosen Feyre, had found his mate in her. Y/n was nothing more than a fleeting moment—a forgotten soul in a sea of others.

And now, she was ready to let go.

With one last breath, Y/n closed her eyes, stepping forward into the void, letting the wind carry her into the nothingness where she had always belonged.

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[astrologydray]

Part of fortune in the degrees

Part of Fortune in the degrees is like the hidden spice mix in your astrological fortune. The degree can flavor your Part of Fortune with deeper nuance, karmic energy, and even timing.

0° – The Origin Point

Fresh start energy! Your joy comes from pioneering something totally new. You’re here to plant seeds that grow into empires. This is “first on the scene” vibes—trailblazer status.

1° – The Initiator

Action = alignment. You’re someone who taps into fortune when you just begin. Taking the first step (even if you’re not ready) opens the door for magic.

2° – The Sensual Stabilizer

Joy comes from grounded pleasures. Your fortune is tied to patience, beauty, and appreciating the realness of life. Think soft power and quiet luxury.

3° – The Curious Connector

Success shows up when you’re thinking, talking, moving, or exchanging ideas. Your mind is a magnet, and your network = gold.

4° – The Soul Rooter

Your fortune is buried deep—in emotions, memories, ancestry, or the past. When you feel safe and emotionally full, life blesses you.

5° – The Performer

You’re meant to shine. Creative self-expression, fun, or dramatic flair are your keys to joy. When you’re playing or performing, everything clicks.

6° – The Healer Hustler

Service brings success. Whether you’re organizing chaos, helping others, or mastering routines, this degree thrives in the little details that build big blessings.

7° – The Lover

Love, aesthetics, and harmony bring fortune. This is a “soft life” degree—where grace, diplomacy, and connection unlock golden paths.

8° – The Alchemist

Deep transformations = fortune. You’re here to transmute pain into power. This is intense but magnetic—your glow-up is probably legendary.

9° – The Seeker

Adventure calls! Joy comes from travel, study, or expanding your worldview. If you’re bored, you’re blocking blessings. Keep moving.

10° – The Architect

Success comes from structure. You build it, brick by brick. You’re playing the long game—and winning. This degree is all about legacy.

11° – The Visionary

You’re ahead of your time. Your ideas are wild in the best way, and when you trust your weird, you win. Your fortune lies in the future you’re helping build.

12° – The Dreamer

Mystical, intuitive, and creatively charged—this degree feels its way to fortune. If it feels right in your soul, the universe will handle the rest.

13° – The Rebel

Unpredictable magic. You don’t follow the rules—you invent them. Fortune strikes when you embrace chaos and follow your electric instincts.

14° – The Messenger

You’re the cosmic translator. Whether it’s through writing, speaking, or vibes, your voice brings value. Say the thing that needs to be said.

15° – The Magnetic Middle

This is peak attraction energy. You draw in fortune by simply being. Balance, charm, and centered confidence = unstoppable glow.

16° – The Analyst

Your mind is your superpower. You thrive on patterns, logic, and discernment. Fortune favors your sharp eye and strategic brain.

17° – The Soul Climber

You’re here to rise—and you will. This degree blends ambition with intuition. When you align your path with your purpose, blessings rain in.

18° – The Intense Transformer

Like 8°, but with more fire. This degree is intense, karmic, and power-packed. Your fortune may come through radical change—or rising from the ashes.

19° – The Channel

You’re tuned in. This degree has psychic undertones and creative genius. Dreams, visions, or gut instincts often lead you to your blessings.

20° – The Master Builder

You’re here to create something real. This degree carries serious manifestation power. With time, effort, and vision—you will make it happen.

21° – The Muse

Creative, charming, and maybe a little flirty—this degree lives for inspiration and play. Fortune shows up when you’re vibing, not forcing.

22° – The Wise One

This is a “master number” degree—loaded with karmic depth. You’ve been here before, and your fortune often comes from helping or guiding others.

23° – The Charmer

You have it. This degree brings social grace, storytelling power, and a magnetic vibe. You’re luckiest when you’re being authentically YOU.

24° – The Grounded Mystic

Spiritual + practical = unstoppable. You’re in tune with both realms, and your fortune comes when you integrate them. This is “divine timing” energy.

25° – The Phoenix

Massive transformation potential. This degree can feel intense at times, but it leads to deep healing and empowerment. You’re the comeback king/queen.

26° – The Dream Doer

You can manifest the ethereal. Ideas, visions, or creative bursts? You make them real. The dream becomes the empire with this degree.

27° – The Revolutionary

Break the mold. Your fortune lies in doing things your way—even if no one gets it at first. Trailblazer energy with a bold twist.

28° – The Old Soul

You’ve done the work in lifetimes past, and now you’re here to refine and complete. Success comes when you trust your deep wisdom and wrap up cycles with grace.

29° – The Anointed One (Anaretic Degree)

You’re here to master this energy—and fast. High highs, intense tests, but major rewards. This is “last level of the game” energy—go big or go cosmic.

[13tinysocks]

My Dead Girlfriend

He lied about being a superhero. You lied about not having freaky ass mind powers. You broke up- bitterly. End of story. No shot Invincible and some superpowered grunt for Machine Head would ever work out in any reality. Except. When he comes in droves, hoards of himself, brokenhearted and wanting, wrecking cities for a chance to get one last glance at you. 

[Invincible Varients x Reader] [current overall word count: 215k]

[6.7K, part one of ?] [2] [Ao3] [Chapter Index]         Took a lot of liberties with this. Wanted the variants to be more distinct. Please excuse formatting issues, tumblr is actually ass. Header art is mine. Buckle up, I write like a bad girl with a hope for better days.         TW: Canon typical violence, toxic relationships, abuse, unhealthy BDSM dynamics, major character deaths, what the flip is wrong with everybody here.

       1 * Buck Fifty

Where I think that we’re all gonna die, Just to get fucked in some parallel life, While a strange martian fungus sprouts, From our sexier parts. Canoeing on Mars - Go Hang Music

        Semantics are a funny thing, really.          You say, “Go jump off a bridge,” most people do just that. Jump.          Here’s the not so fun part, some people, they go, “Well, what bridge?” And it’s a back and forth, you pushing, them pulling until you find that magic sweet spot in their logic and they finally jump.          So because you were chatting with this asshole for the better part of ten minutes, people run to you asking questions. “Did you know him? Is he okay?” Clearly, he wasn’t. The guy’s brains were dashed on a rock, blood following the runoff stream, too shallow to break the fall.  Your attention slides off the body. To the couple that pulled over the second he went over the ledge. Early thirties. Medium-ugly man, pretty girl with her hand on her swollen belly. Engagement rings glinting under the spring sun.             “Get back in your car.” Power rolls off your tongue. Thick, heavy, and sour. “And drive away.”         Concern leeches out of their eyes. Glazing over the moment the words meet their ears. The woman gets in first, shutting the passenger and sliding a seatbelt over herself. The man steps around the car, into steady traffic flowing carefully away from their car. He’s nearly clipped by the side mirror of a sedan that blares it’s horn. Swerving away, scraping the opposite side of the bridge’s barrier.         He gets into the car. Unblinking as car after car rams into the sedan. A pileup in the making but he looks nowhere but straight ahead. The couple’s car, a buggy, pulls off the narrow shoulder. Catching a pickup in the side, sending it careening into the sedan’s front. You watch the sedan driver pop like a pimple and the buggy drive off.

        You look back down, to the target, the only one supposed to get hurt here. He’s dead alright. Job’s done. Collateral doesn’t matter, not here anyway. Pileups happen all the time for no good reason at all.         Still, you tug up your hood and make your way down the side catwalk of the bridge. Going the opposite direction of the pileup. Smoke thick in your nose.          Air displaces, a woosh overhead. You’re at the bridge’s end, at the corner of Park and Main when the spandex clad cavalry arrives. You know that pink glow anywhere. Atom Eve sprung into action. Resetting metal, fixing tires. You make yourself watch her, not the blue-black blur that’s scooping civilians out of cars to safety.          You catch a look at him anyway. Still at last, because the job was done that quick. Your gut tightens, brows press together, a sour lemon frown on your lips. He’s smiling at her as they talk about money. The city of New York a brand spanking new client of Invincible Co.          Payday for them. You too. So stop being such a dill, and get a move on.         You turn before Mark can see your face. He wouldn’t think of you as the culprit. A long ago thing of the past, pre-powers. Good, it’s better if you’re not on his shit list. The best if he had no idea you were still rolling with Machine Head.          He’d seen you in his superhero skin at Machine Head’s side. God, how that ended.          No longer seventeen. No longer needing desperate money for college. No longer innocent or wanted.          When they start asking questions to bystanders, you’re already halfway down Main. You walk fast, you’re late. Twenty minutes out from the tower on foot without a car when the meeting was in five fucking minutes. Wasn’t your fault the guy had to be persuaded to kill himself.         

Machine Head wouldn’t see it that way.          You caught somebody by the arm. Alone, in nice enough clothes. They turn, lip curling, about to yank their arm away. “Give me your wallet.” You say low. 

        Fear doesn't breach their eyes. They simply pluck the leather bound thing from their jeans, detach it from a chain, and hand the whole thing over. You hold a thumb out until a taxi pulls up.          You didn’t have to pay. With powers like these, you could’ve done anything. You could be living large. Countless pretty things on your arm, willing to do anything at your say so. But you’re here. In debt. A criminal. Because you don’t know where to go or what else to do or what else you’re good for. They’d find you anyway, you could tell them to go and forget you existed but somehow, through mental gymnastics, you told yourself they’d come back. Kill you for trying to leave.         You pay the taxi fair out of courtesy because you once worked a shitty customer service job. You’re a killer, not evil. Consider it a good deed for the day.         You run through the double glass doors. Careful not the leave prints on the glass. Machine Head was very particular. An evil megalomaniac, but particular.          You know you’re late by the time you push open the Italian maple doors. He’s standing, ramrod straight, back to you, machine eyes (cameras you supposed?) scanning the city. His city. For a time it wasn’t. He was usurped, locked in the same jail house as you. You thought that your difference in sex would keep him away from you. But no, you were still working for him in the slammer to keep your back shank-free. He got out, took The Order by the throat, and now you were out too and-         “Fifty-three seconds. You made me wait fifty-three seconds. Do you know how much money I could’ve been making in those fifty-three seconds, (Y/n)?” He turned to you. Suit crisp. Metal shining.         You feel drastically under dressed in your sweats and hoodie. Lightly stained from cheap takeout. But you wouldn’t change it, it was practically the uniform of the average New York streetwalker. Not noticed. Perfect for the casual assassin, burglar, and occasional drug mule.          You don’t apologize. Don’t explain. Because that’s more time wasted, more money piled onto your dept. “Granger is dead.”         “Yeah, of old age.”         You swallow back the anger. After five years of cat scratches like that, you’re more than used to keeping your feelings in check. “My next assignment, sir?” 

        His circuitry clicked. “Nothing. Maybe I’ll give you something next time if you aren’t so inconsiderate with my time.” You turn for the door. No argument there. “Oh and, (Y/n)?” You stop, hand on the polished knob. “Be here twelve tomorrow. Sharp. Or I’m adding another month.” His threat is real, but hollow. Another month under his thumb means nothing when you’re too useful to ever let go.         Shallowly, you nod and slip out the door.      ***         Another two hundred. A month after the last raise in rent. You could kill her. Tell her to jump off the complex roof while doing a hand spring.          “Miss Neighbor?” A voice behind you makes you look down, down, down.          She’s a tiny thing. A sprout though she’s supposed to be eleven. “Caligula got out again.” Her arms piston forward, presenting the fluffy thing. Eyes slited and soft belly exposed.          You sigh, taking him into your arms where he melts and purrs. “Thanks Cecelia.” You say, foot kicking open your ajar door. Caligula figured out how to turn the knob last year. Ever since you’d been vigilant about double locking the door but some days you were in a hurry and too stressed to worry. Like today. “I owe you one.” Your hand slipped into your hoodie, pulling out the last remaining dollars and coins stolen from the stranger. You spot a fifty in the wad that her eager hands wrap around. You hold on a little too long before letting go.          There’d be more pockets to pick tomorrow. You could make rent with a few extra hours. Though, man, you didn’t want to. You were tired enough as it was.         Her eyes glittered as she thumbed through the cash, the little capitalist. She slipped a single dollar and two quarters into one hand. The rest of the fat stack in the other. Ah, reward money for giving her money. Child’s logic.         She holds out the wad to you. “Thanks Neighbor lady, but I just need a buck fifty for the vending machine down the hall. Gonna get me a Reese's Pieces.”          She yelled a thanks more heartfelt than yours and toddled down the hall, knees awkwardly bowed. You watch her turn the corner. Slack jawed. For a change, somebody let you keep something. Something good happened, even after you made a stupid decision.

        You push inside the studio and push away all thoughts of killing Cecelia’s greedy bitch mother. Who would find Caligula if she had to move to her aunt’s? Plus, if you got rid of her mom another, greedier landlord would probably replace her.          There wasn’t a point.          Early dinner was phoned in because you were so frazzled after this afternoon you’d forgot to grocery shop. Pizza. You waited, splayed on the couch, Caligula purring away on your knee. A Youtube stream pulled up on your junk laptop because you didn’t bother with a TV. News was a good thing to keep an eye on when you were a criminal.          A knock at the door. You rise. The pizza boy looks about the age of minimum wage. Still, you tell him, “Give me your wallet and the pizza.” Before shutting, and locking, the door in his face, no tip. Good deed already done for the day.         Another knock should come. Him demanding payment and his wallet. Instead, footsteps recede. He’s already forgotten. He’ll remember vaguely later, making a regular delivery. Losing his wallet, maybe in his car on while packing pizzas. He’ll panic, pause his debit card that you’ll never touch out for fear of being tracked. Working for Machine Head meant cash only.         You’re back on the couch, indulging. Caligula licking grease off your fingers. You skip from one news stream to the next. Looking for yourself. You weren’t the costume and flashy mask type of supervillian. If you considered yourself super at all. No inhuman strength or speed or shape shifting. Just, talking and making people listen.         You were lucky. Only caught the once. It was the second time Mark saw you rolling with Machine Head, a month after your cataclysmic teenage breakup. A year in the slammer, slap on the wrist. Machine Head paid your way out of papers and records.          It was three months later, after a particular fuck up, Machine Head revealed to you that Mark came to the prison the day you were supposed to be released. You’d been let out a day early. At the time you thought they just wanted you out because of overcrowding. But Machine Head knew Mark would come. Would try and persuade you to his side of things. Maybe make up and be sweethearts again. By then, through prison and three months of being an official card in Machine Hand’s deck— you’d crossed lines Mark wouldn’t forgive. You couldn’t go running back, saying you saw his side now. Because you didn’t.          Imagining what Mark would say if he saw you again, if he knew you stayed with Machine Head, it was enough to make you cry right in the middle of Machine Head’s office. He didn’t even have to rub your nose in the shame when you’d do it yourself. You were so angry. At Mark for putting you in jail, playing you right into Machine Head’s hands. At Machine Head for never letting you out from under his thumb. At everything, all of the time.

        Working for Machine Head wasn’t all bad. Got his endless supply of grunts to teach you a thing or two about tact and not getting caught. Things like not abusing the pizza boy every day. You saved it for once every few months. Never the same boy twice. Any repeats would be begrudgingly paid.         Another slice finds it’s way between your fingers. You’re mid-groan as your attention catches on the latest stream. Not ten minutes ago you were bored out of your gourd. Now, “A devastating attack has left Seattle’s space needle— gone.” The camera panned up, up, not that far up because the iconic slab of concrete was fucking leveled.          Your brows raise but you make no move. Not your circus, not your monkeys.          The camera raises further. “And it seems the destruction was at the hands of—“ The stream cuts, going blue on your computer scream. You scoff, lean forward and beat the corner as flashes of blue and yellow mock you. Finally, it clears, and you see somebody. Decked in white. Hovering hundreds of feet about the needle.          The pizza turns sour in your stomach but you lean forward, elbows on knees. Unable to see a face but so familiar with the shape of that body. For every time you saw it, on the news or overhead, your stomach went sour. “What the fuck is he doing without his mask on?” You squint. Just seeing the dot of tanned skin that was his head, no details beyond.         Caligula yowled, crossing over your laptop keys to get at your fingers. The stream changes. “—le are evacuating Universal Studios Hollywood in droves. Authorities are unsure what’s caused the majority of the studio to collapse.” A crash off screen. The camera pans. Smoke rises from the skyline. Wind carrying it down to pollute the central valley. There’s that shape, that body again. Silhouette dark in the smoke, with something else, something you hadn’t seen. A new low. A fucking cape?         Caligula takes another step. The stream changes. “This just in, Big Ben is gone.” An anchor takes up the screen, pale and balding forehead shining with sweat.         “Sorry, Keith, uhm, what do you mean gone?”          “I mean it’s gone, Jared. Cut— Cut to the footage!” The stream flickers. There’s the London sky. Gray and dreary. Clouds overshadowed by pillars of smoke. Chunks of rubble litter the street. Cars with their horns still blaring, engines burning crushed beneath. People squashed like grapes. 

        There he is again. But. No. Not really. This shape in the sky, this man had the same makeup but wider, thicker. You lean closer to the screen, sure you’re seeing things and not his old super suit.          Your phone vibrates in your pocket. The news is forgotten, half eaten pizza slice thrown to the pen box where Caligula pounces to lick pooled oils off the cheese.         You don’t have to look to know it’s work. Nobody calls you for anything but work and you only work for Machine Head.         “Boss is feeling generous.” Isotope’s voice grits through the speaker. “Get back here on the double.”         Seeing what you mistook for your ex on so many streams has soured your mood. Spiked your daring. “You can’t just teleport me?”          He scoffs. “You’ve got legs don’cha? Use ‘em.” Machine Head’s voice spiked the other end of the line. Isotope sighs. “Don’t move.”         You wipe your hands off on your pants before he’s in your apartment. Appearing through a haze of radioactive green light. You don’t even get to stand before his hand is on your shoulder and you’re zapped into Machine Head’s sprawling high rise.         You stumble but straighten. Isotope leaving your side to stand at attention by Machine Head. Who was currently heaving over his desk.         Papers, pens, and pretty mugs dashed to the floor.          It’d only been a few minutes. Did Granger survive? Did somebody see you? Report you?  Is Machine Head going to have you killed, right here, right now?         Power coils in your throat. Words ready to shoot like bullets to protect yourself.          “Tell me, Dregs.” The word spits off his electric voice box like sparks. Your stomach cinches. In this room, on the street, in the normal world, you were (Y/n). On jobs with fellow grunts you didn’t trust, in Machine Head’s scant paper trail, you were Dregs. He reserved calling the insult of a ‘villain name’ for when he was particularly unhappy with you. The name wasn’t your doing. It was a nasty nickname that stuck when Machine Head, near dead, overheard Invincible, breaking up with you in the shattered remains of his office all those years ago.         “You— you’ve been— you’re—“ His lip quivered under his mask.          “I did this for us.” You’d said. “I needed money to go to college with you. It’s just a one time thing!”

“They tried to kill me. He hired you to help kill me.” His voice had changed then, matured a fraction. Gone was the boyfriend that called you dude. Here was the man, mask held in his hand, identity shocking you to your core.          “I didn’t know it was you!”         “So you were fine with killing somebody?”         “I thought it was all talk!” You’d pled with him. In the middle of this very room, now reconstructed and shiny.          “Well it wasn’t!”          “I saved you.” You’d protested. “Without even knowing it was you— I saved you!” Because you had thought it was talk. You thought it was an easy paid security guard gig and you weren’t ready to kill someone for money. How times would change.         “You— How long have you been working with these—“ He gestured to the room at large. The dead. The dying. The bloody. He wasn’t looking great himself, but you spared him most of the pain with your words. A few suggestions here and there could save lives. You could’ve been a hero. His face sucks in then the word comes flying out, “Dregs of society— these fucking—“         And it stuck.         Hearing it always made you want to hit something. Though your punches weren’t particularly affective. You could tell Machine Head to jump out his shiny bay window but you don’t because there’s always a bigger thumb.         “Why-“ You’re back to the present, “the,” staring down your shitty bosses back, “fuck,” thinking about killing him, “is,” again, “your ex boyfriend tearing apart my city!?”         “What?” Now that, was not what you were expecting.          “You heard me!” His voice synthesizer spiked, turning the words into a melody. “Use your eyes!”         You look past his heaving form. So focused on the idea of being murdered you neglected the city scape. Sky scrapers were sliced in half. Twisted metal supports reaching for the sky. Smoke billowing, fire brewing. You heard it now, the screaming from below.          A black streak cuts the horizon. Blasts straight through the empire state building. The top half of the building groans, hitting nearby buildings as it comes down, shaking the city. People fall out the windows, go splat on the ground. Others are crushed under fresh rubble.         Standing up in the air was unmistakably Mark. Wearing his Invincible skin, the new blue and black one that made you angry with how good it looked on him. But he wasn’t wearing his mask, which was unlike himself. He also had a mohawk, which was also unlike himself.

        “Jesus.” You say. Thinking of clones or illusions or shape shifters. Villain of the week type of bullshit.         “Is that you trying to fix things? Stop him!” Machine Head’s hands go to his head, gripping metal like hair. “Now!”         That’s how you ended up here. Standing on the roof of Machine Head’s high rise. Jerry-rigged megaphone in hand. No ordinary Walmart megaphone would do in a situation like this. Had to be a ‘roided up version of the original. Double speakers on the sides with complicated volume amplifiers in its guts.          You’d been here before. Ontop a building, shouting into a megaphone. There was almost nothing ridiculous you hadn’t done to get someone to hear you. To do what someone wanted you to do. Usually it was ontop of a bank, shouting at police to leave, to forget about the robbery, to forget your face.         This was new enough that your palms were slick with sweat around the plastic handle. Mark sliced through more buildings with his body. They went down like soft butter. His laugh cracking and wrong as people burst open on the streets.          The cavalry had arrived. Nobody low-levels on the city’s payroll. Mark cut through them easier than the buildings. Not Mark, you tell yourself. Mark didn’t kill. You did. Mark wasn’t bad. You were. That’s why things didn’t work out.         You breathe in. Anger surging. Whoever or whatever this loser was— was going down, hard.          “Hey!” The megaphone twisted your voice from one to multitudes. From a shout to a building shaking scream.          Not Mark paused midair. Holding a half dead hero against him. Fists beating his cheat while their guts spilled out their midriff. He was half a mile away, a spec, but you still felt his eyes on you. Hard and boiling a dot through your skull.         “You! Yeah, you!” Getting their attention was always the worst part. If he didn’t think you were talking to him, your power would fall flatter than a popped balloon. One of the many drawbacks that’d nearly gotten you killed time and time again.         The hero dropped. Still falling. You didn’t see him coming, human eyes too weak to see faster than light. He’d be on you before the hero hit the ground.         “Stop!”          The air cracks. You stumble back. Eardrums crackling. One good thing about having powers? The littlest, stupidest things are enhanced. Not your hearing, no, but your ability to not go deaf. You literally can’t. Sure, you could’ve had a naturally amplified voice, super speed, healing, but nope! You get— anti-deaf powers, if you could call it that, as a cherry on top.

        Not Mark is suspended midair, a flower preserved in resin. Fist reeled back ready to punch a hole through your head. A grin that’s more of a snarl on his lips. Black piercings shining in the light of nearby fires. Brow, bridge, cheek, lip, like lizard spikes. Mohawk flattened against his head. Blood on his teeth, on his knuckles.         Close up, he is Mark. A clone or deft shape shifter, but so close to your Mark it throws you off balance. Worse is the no mask part. Your ex-boyfriend stares at you will his full naked face. Eyes brown but darker, more sunken than you remember. With bags beneath, like being evil is so fucking exhausting.         Shape shifter for sure, and a bad one.         He blinks. Still in air. Eyes sharp on your features as you lower the megaphone. Something about those eyes scare the shit out of you. You expect glazed complacency. You except no expression at all. But he’s looking at you with so much emotion, too much to be really under your control.         There’s no time for machinations. You knew aliens or other powered individuals could give you trouble. But nobody was able to fully resist, not yet.         So you say, “Kill yourself.”          Just as he says, “It’s you.”         You’re both surprised.          You double down. Power leaden on your tongue. “Break your own neck, now.”         His arms move like an animatronic. One hand poised on his sharp jaw, the other poised on his shoulder for purchase. There’s no snap, death groan, and falling five stories. He is staring at you like you’re actually precious to him. Like he misses you. Like he didn’t dump you then throw you in jail a month later. Like he didn’t see other people, like Atom Eve and him weren’t going steady.         It pisses you off. Power roils in your throat. You growl this time, “Rip out your throat.��         His hands fall to his sides. You’d met resistance before but a rephrase, a second or third command always did it. He wasn’t dead and that was a very, very bad thing.         “You made it.” He says. Soft but voice gruff. “To New York.”

        “Die!” You command. Though your power didn’t work on vague words like die. “Die, right now!” His feet touched down on the ledge. You step back. “Stop breathing.”         At those words he sobers. A smile, sharp toothed and easy and so un-Mark-like stretches his face. “Guess we want each other dead in every reality.” The words are an inside joke that make him laugh. “I almost respect the forwardness.”         "Break your legs.” You spit, taking another step back. Megaphone falling to the floor. “Break your arms."         “I think-“ He follows you in slow, languid strides. “You shouldn’t talk to your emperor and boyfriend like that.” Your words like bullets on kevlar armor, on viltrumite skin. They make him pause momentarily, shudder, then he breaks right though your hold and keeps coming.         Boyfriend? Boyfriend!?         You couldn’t have a boyfriend working for Machine Head. You’d seen what he threatened Titan with. You couldn’t have Mark, of all fucking people, as a boyfriend because of what he did. So you couldn’t let yourself have a boyfriend because you were so scared you’d get the same fucking reaction. And if things got to be too much you’d tell them forget, find someone else.         You see red.         “Eat your heart and shit it out.”         “Jeez, did I really fuck up this bad here?” He chuckles, and it sounds like Mark. Your Mark.         “Now!” The power forces out of you in waves. His step wobbles but he just keeps coming.         “You really must want me dead! What’d I do, take over your planet? You know a man’s got needs, baby. No biggie.”         The door to the stairs bursts open. Machine Head heaves with the effort of racing up the flights. Isotope behind him, less winded.         “Dregs!” Machine Head hisses. “Fuckin’ kill him already!”         “Dregs?” Not Mark tests the name on his tongue. “Is your name here fucking Dregs? Do- oh shit-“ His eyes alight, “Now I geddit. You’ve got powers in this universe!” He says like it wasn’t obvious. “That’s like your hero name, right? Oh (Y/n), baby, that’s so stupid it’s cute.”         “Fly into the sun.” Power rips out you, sizzling through the air.          He actually hovers off the roof. You wait for him to blast off and become a solar flare.          His muscles tense and untense. “So that’s what that is. Shit, I thought it was just like, true love and stuff.” And he was going to kill you. “Man, that feels… weird. Do it again.”

        “Kill him!” Machine Head insists behind you.         “Kill yourself.” You can feel a migraine on it’s way, pounding in your temples. Powers are like a muscle. They can only do so much before giving. “Do it. Die.”         Not Mark shivers, letting out a delighted laugh. “Man, you could’ve really gotten me if I wasn’t full apeshit mode. But…” He hovers closer, leering, “You didn’t, so I guess it’s my turn now.”         “Isotope, take me to Seattle!” You speak before you think. Before his hand can clasp your throat. Isotope is next to you in a millisecond. Then you’re gone. Machine Head’s raging protests gone from your ears.         The streets of Seattle are wet with blood and rain. Isotope stands beside you, in a haze he’ll come out of any minute. Coming here of all places was a horrible idea but you hadn’t thought. The city came off your tongue, fresh on the mind.          “Help.” A voice croaks. A broken hand paws at your feet. Orange and gloved, once a defender, now an arm peaking out rubble. “Help me.”         You stare at it because what the fuck?          The air whips. You look overhead. He’s a hundred feet up, maybe more. Looking right back down at you. He’s more imposing than he was on your laptop screen. Broader of shoulder, uniform crisp white except where it wasn’t. Where glistening sinew chunks clung to his chest.         He stares you down like shit under his shoe. You wait for sudden death that never comes. Whoever this was. Mark, Not Mark, some hot guy, he wasn’t hurting you though he clearly just killed a metric fuckton of people; and you didn’t know why and honestly? It scared the shit out of you.         The hand finds your ankle. “Help. Help.”         Not Mark comes down then like an anchor. Arms crossed, legs tight. Crushing the rubble beneath his feet. Making the hand go limp, blood framing around it.         You knew at a distance and were even more sure now. It was Mark but wrong, again. Face too symmetrical, too sharp. Your Mark had little imperfections, a crooked nose from his Omni-Man induced beat down, ache scars on his hairline. This version was trophy husband material, mocking you in it’s image for what could’ve been.         He’s taller. Why is he taller? 

        Not Mark number two’s eyes are cold, rock brown slates that slide to Isotope. The shift in his muscles are subtle but you know violence is coming.         You weren’t staying to watch it happen. “Take me to Hollywood.” And it was done.         You were in a outdoor walkway by studio six. Isotope on your arm, stupor elongated.          The decision again proved to be bad, made from a sick need to check, to run. Studio six was burning and you could smell the bodies.          “Take me to the road.” You command. A flash, and you’re there. Outside the heart of Hollywood, watching Universal crash and burn. The rest of the city was no better. You knew Hollywood was worse in person but you never imagined it a gray flattened husk.          This couldn’t be real. You were dreaming, going to wake any second.         A shadow passed overhead. You look up, nothing but smoke and sun.          From behind, “Need some help, friend?”         You turn. He’s back in black (and yellow), grinning with his mask on. Cape billowing stupidly in the breeze. A scar indented to his face from chin to lip. A sliver of lip gone, exposing half a tooth before the scar meandered up, under his mask.         “Oh shit.” A laugh rips out of him. “(Y/n), you old so and so. What are you doing in my neck of the woods?”         Like the others he’s splattered with the lives of others. Reveling, practically glowing in it.          “Tell me who you are.” You say, holding tight to Isotope in case he sobers and decides to zap away. No way you were being stranded with this… thing.         His body goes ridged at the command. You think he’ll resist like the other, then it comes pouring out. “Mark Grayson.” He says. “But not the one you know.”         Your head pounds. He’s not lying, people can’t lie when you’re prying information out of them. “More than that. Details.”         “I’m here to destroy everything I see. I’ve been…”  He shakes his head, body loosening. You feel your control snap away like a cut cord. His lips seal then pull back in a wicked grin. “Oh, you’ve got different tricks here. Tell me, have I taken hold of this useless planet yet? Do you see me as someone to rise up against? Have you given up yet? Have you saved your own life by sucking my—“         "Tokyo.” 

        You’re somewhere you’ve only dreamed of going and it’s destroyed. You thought, since you hadn’t seen it on the news it’d be a safe bet. You could figure things out, come up with a game plan, but no. You couldn’t think with your head pounding and nose starting to bleed, power waning with overuse on too many overpowered targets. The muscle was straining. You weren’t used to this much. To resistance. To using         Isotope, strong in his own right, like a puppet. It was exhausting.          Isotope was wobbling on his feet. He could teleport over and over but being under your control so long as well? Wasn’t good for him.          Clearly, the apocalypse was nigh so you couldn’t give a shit about anybody but yourself.          You snapped back to reality standing over a pair of women, curled on the ground in fetal position.         “Tell me what happened.” You say.         The blonde one doesn’t unfurl but speaks, accented and injured, “He destroyed everything.”         “Who?”         Her arm unfurls, shaking finger pointing up. You look up, expecting. The sky is clear. The woman’s arm re-latches to her brain dead best friend.          “I wasn’t expecting you here.” The voice is a river smoothed stone. Dark and solid— as a rock can be.          You already know who it is before you can look. A sight you were starting to get a little more than tired of. Though you didn’t expect a red and white suit splattered with blood.  He’s thicker, like the others, hair taller and spiked with gel.          He steps forward, over the dead girl and her whimpering friend. The sounds catch his attention, the next step he takes crushes the living girls head. Brains dying his white boot pink. “It’s unfortunate you had to see this, but it’s better you did. We’re on the same page now.”         “What the fuck does that mean?” Your power comes out weak, involuntary. You hadn’t meant to strain yourself but there you go, fucking up again.         “I want you to understand that what I’m doing is necessary. I don’t understand why you fought me before. So… unneeded. You’d know you’d never beat me but you…” His brows press together through his mask. His lip twitches, “I’ve said too much.” And your hold falls away.  Out comes his hand, fabric originally white but now red. “Come with me.”          “Sydney.”

        You stood across the water from the flaming opera house. A scream of frustration comes out as a cough, blood and mucous splat onto the cracked sidewalk. Your balance tips and wavers but you cling to Isotope who is barley upright himself.          You really needed to stop going for capital cities.          This one you see. Black and blue above the hundred foot tall fire. Watching it burn quiet as the night which it now was, across the world from your starting point.          The mask completely covers his face, but knowing how today is going. It’s Mark, again.          He disappears. You open your mouth, power rising up your throat. Air breaks. You’re thrown off your feet. He’s before you. Feet off the ground, staring you down though blue lenses. Same stupid spandex this time with a thick tool belt strapped round his waist and left thigh. A harness strapped to his chest, surely hiding things that could tear though your soft human flesh. Slight armor padding hiding his muscles.         He hovers over the broken fence separating you from the water. Your panicked eyes reflected back at you through polarized blue goggles.         You scramble to Isotope, splayed on the ground, bleeding from the back of his head. “Take me home.” His eyes lolled back into his head. You shake him, looking frantically behind you, to the unmoving phantom then back to him. “Hey! Wake up!” You watch the shape of a man. Terrified he’d come closer when you weren’t looking but there he stayed. Watching. Isotope’s eyes flutter. “Dregs.” He groans. “I… I can’t…” Sweat shines on his brow.         You slap him hard across the face. Palm stinging. “I don’t give a shit! Take me home!”         His pale narrow fingers wrap around your wrist. Green light grows slowly around you both. Not instant as if it would be if he weren’t fucked up.         “Faster!”         A sound from behind. You turn, finding something whipping toward you. You flinch, expecting a punch but instead find some cuff clapping onto your ankle. Thick and dark, matte finished. You don’t think of clawing at it as you’re teleported away.         Yet you take one last look. He is still. Waiting.         Your hovel of an apartment is like a church. You throw yourself to the unvacuumed floor, reverent. Caligula doesn’t come to love on you. When you peel up from the ground, Isotope is gaining his bearings. Eyes hazy with distaste as he zaps away, without you. 

        Leaving you alone in your tilted apartment. Everything was a little off skew. When you stood you stumbled back, partly from exhaust, partly from the floor literally not being at the right angle. It was then the building decided to creek. Letting you know of it’s incoming collapse.         

Most of New York City had been ripped apart, so with your luck, why not your apartment?         You’re out the door. Racing down flight after flight, two steps at a time. Beams whine in the walls. Pipes crack, spilling water from the ceiling into the lobby.          You’re barley out when the building goes down. You run down the sidewalk, between crashed and burning cars. Hopping over bodies, bodies, bodies. When the world stops shaking, you look at the damage. Creeping closer, finally remembering your cat.  The creeping gives way to frantic running. Tripping back over the bodies, screaming, “Caligula!” At the mountain of what used to be your home.          You throw yourself to the most manageable bit of rubble. Throwing stone size pieces tossed away in hopes you’d reveal your cat. You didn’t have much besides the clothes on your back and this goddamn power of yours— but Caligula kept you going. Kept you hoping. Because if he could come up in life, going from a neglected stray to spoiled in a twenty-something year olds apartment. You could do the same thing.          “Ca-“          “Cecelia?” You look up. Climbed to the apex of the disaster was your greedy landlord. Tossing concrete more frantically than you were. You climb up, carefully avoiding exposed leaking pipes. She had the right idea. Higher up meant maybe a better chance of survival. You search together, but separate. Calling different names. Kicking down different chunks. Waiting for heroes to come but after what you saw earlier— you doubted it.         “Rrrrow?” You know that sound anywhere. Your head snaps. Watching the gray go from rock to a fuzzy back.          “Oh God, Caligula!” You skid down to him and he jumps up to you. Meowing. Dust in his fur but otherwise okay. He’d gotten out again. This time all the way to the outside. He was okay. He was okay and you were so happy you cried into him.         “Cecelia! Ce— Cecelia?” You shouldn’t have looked. Watched the landlord crack her back as she moved the largest piece of debris she had yet. Just to fall beside the severed arm of her little girl. Fingers curled around a buck fifty. 

        She threw herself on the arm. Dirty fingers clawing at the window ledge that covered the rest of her little girl’s body. Opening her nails up on broken glass. Screaming a scream so horrible you’d never forget— and you killed people for a living.         A dent split open the back of her head, a waterfall of blood you hadn’t noticed before. The dent exposed her hind brain, though she didn’t seem to care, still screaming for her dead baby girl.          You weighed the options. Leave. Help. Have a better chance of finding help for yourself. Put the bitch down like you’d dreamed. Survive. Chance being found by the monster that did this.          You chose both. Not getting any close to her but turning. Power weak, watery but you didn’t need much. Not for the average person, distracted and distressed. “Lay down. Sleep.”         She did just that. You climbed down from the rubble. Careful with Caligula in your arms. Retracing your steps away from the building. When you look back, she wasn’t breathing.         ***         “Where is she?” THUNK!          Machine Head didn’t so much as feel pain. More so, felt his circuitry being shifted inside him. Any more of this and he’d stop working. Repairs on a piece as intricate as himself didn’t come cheap.         “Probably in fucking Seattle, asshole!” He said for the fifth time. He’d explained, best a robo man could while his ass was being beat by his grunt’s now blood thirsty (or would it be oil thirsty?) ex boyfriend. “He can teleport and she took ‘im!”          “Seattle’s gone idiot!” THUNK! Another punch dented the side of his head. Devastating for Machine Head, but nothing close to the skyscraper shattering power he’d seen before. The motherfucker was beating the circuits out of him but still holding back. Something was sparking and smoking within him. His camera eyes were starting to static.          “What—“         “Boss!” Zip, zap, Cadillac.          He was out of one man’s arms, into another. But not anywhere near far enough away from the little freak.          Isotope managed to get his boss away, about thirty feet. Holding him up just barley, eyes still frosty with the mind fog that Dregs cunt had inflicted on him. He tried splitting reality again, just to fizzle out and land them right back in the same spot.         Said little freak’s gaze slid to Isotope. Voice more dangerous than before. “She was just with you.” It was more of a question, a demand. Isotope was about to pass out but that didn’t leave him stupid. “At her place.” He breathed.          The freak stepped forward. “Where?”

[brights-place]

[TWST] TWST x Birthday! Reader Part 1. (here) Part 2. Warnings: Fluff, cursing,Angst end A/N: IT'S MY BIRTHDAY YIPPEEEEE I'm spending the day by sobbing on the inside and probably playing video games Update: I’m actually scuba diving with fishes I’m happy and I got to see a moray eel… eat… I was scared

ANYWAYS HAPPY BIRTHDAYS TO THOSE WHO ARE BORN ON THE 4/4 YALL ARE LEGENDS

Summary: It's MC is birthday and they get surprised by some students who wish them a happy birthday

A smile tugged at your lips as you glanced down at Grim, watching the grey feline dart between your legs, his fluffy tail swishing impatiently.

“Hurry up already!” he whined, nudging your calf with his head as if that would make you move faster. Soft laughter escaped your lips as you followed his frantic pace. “Okay, okay, I’m coming,” you chuckled, matching his enthusiasm.

Grim practically herded you past the old, creaky fence of Ramshackle Dorm, his tiny paws tapping against the worn wooden porch as he scurried ahead. You fumbled with your keys, listening absentmindedly to his rambling while humming in acknowledgment. Twisting the doorknob, you stepped inside only to pause.

The room was eerily dark, shadows stretching across the lounge like silent observers. Your brows furrowed in confusion, eyes darting around. Something was off. The entrance was… cleaner? The usual scattered books and dust bunnies were nowhere to be seen.

Grim, however, strutted right into the center of the lounge, his tiny paws lifting in excitement. The moment your foot crossed the threshold.

A loud boom was heard causing you to cover your ears grabbing a bat from the side before blinking with wide eyes when seeing a shower of confetti rained down like cherry blossoms caught in the wind.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!”

The room exploded with cheers as the lights flickered on, bathing the transformed Ramshackle lounge in a golden glow. Your eyes widened in sheer wonder. The once dilapidated space had been completely reimagined. Golden lanterns floated gently in the air, casting a warm, magical shimmer. Elegant banners draped across the ceiling, twinkling under the glow of an enchanted chandelier. The rich aroma of freshly baked pastries and cakes filled the air, mingling with the scent of tea and just the faintest trace of magic.

Your heart swelled. Overwhelmed in the best possible way, you took in the sight of all your friends gathered together, faces bright with excitement.

“You knooow, [Nickname], you should really be thanking us for keeping this a surprise,” Ace drawled, slinging an arm around your shoulders with his usual mischievous smirk. “I mean, it was so hard keeping our mouths shut, especially with Deuce almost spilling the beans like a hundred times.”

Your gaze shifted, catching sight of Deuce as he sputtered beside you. You let out a snort at his flustered expression “H-Hey! That’s not true!” Deuce stammered, his face flushing bright red. “I only almost slipped once!” “You almost slipped six times,” Riddle interjected, arms crossed, giving Deuce a pointed look.

Deuce shrank under his gaze, muttering something under his breath. Riddle exhaled, shaking his head before turning to you, his firm expression softening. “Regardless, I expect everyone to behave today… especially you, Ace.” His sharp gaze flicked back to the redhead.

Ace groaned but didn’t argue. “This is your special day,” Riddle continued, offering a small, neatly wrapped box. His usual strict demeanor was replaced with a rare, gentle smile. “Happy birthday, [Name].” Trey and Cater approached next, both grinning warmly.

“Ah, [Name], I made some special treats for you,” Trey said, nodding toward the buffet table overflowing with a variety of sweets. Cater beamed, handing you a rectangular box. “And I got you the best gift, Prefect. No need to thank me!” He winked playfully.

You laughed, thanking them both before tucking the gifts under your arm. From across the room, Leona lounged lazily on the couch, one arm draped over the backrest. “Tch. Don’t expect me to get all sentimental, Herbivore,” he drawled, glancing at you briefly. His usual smirk softened just the slightest bit. “But… hope it’s a decent one.”

Nearby, Ruggie cackled, stuffing a pastry into his mouth. “Shishishi, thanks for the free food, [Name]!” Jack stepped forward, tail wagging slightly as he held out a small potted cactus. “Happy birthday,” he muttered, his ears twitching faintly.

You carefully took the plant from his hands, grinning at the unexpected but thoughtful gift. “Thank you, Jack,” you said sincerely. Before you could react, arms suddenly wrapped around you from behind, pulling you into a tight squeeze.

“Ehhh~? You look all teary-eyed, [Name],” Floyd whined, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Did we really surprise ya that much?” His grip tightened just enough to make you squirm. “Floyd,” Jade’s smooth voice cut in as he effortlessly pried his twin off you. “If you suffocate them, they won’t be able to enjoy the party.”

Jade handed you a beautifully wrapped gift with a polite smile. “Happy birthday. I do hope you find our present to your liking.” Azul adjusted his glasses from the side, smirking. “And if you ever wish to extend the celebration, I’d be happy to offer a discount for a future birthday package at the Monstro Lounge… as a special offer, of course.”

You chuckled, shaking your head as you thanked them. Your gaze suddenly locked onto a familiar shade of gleaming ruby red.

Kalim practically bounced over, grabbing your hands with an excited grin. “Were you surprised?! Were you?! We worked so hard on this! Jamil helped a lot, but I picked out all the decorations! Banquets and parties are my thing! Oh, and we even made food from different places we’re from! Jamil made some from scalding sand and—” His words tumbled out at lightning speed, his enthusiasm practically radiating off him.

Beside him, Jamil sighed but didn’t interrupt, his expression softer than usual. “Happy birthday, Prefect,” he murmured. A light dusting of pink coated your cheeks as you thanked them.

Before you could respond further, a gentle tug at your hand led you away. Turning, you found yourself in front of Vil, Rook, and Epel.

“You should feel honored,” Vil said smoothly, eyeing you with a critical yet satisfied expression. “Not only did I ensure that this party was up to proper standards, but I also made sure you looked flawless for the occasion.” He motioned toward the elegant outfit he had gifted you, refined and stunning undoubtedly Vil’s doing.

Rook grinned. “Ah, Trickster! May this celebration shine as brightly as you!” Epel leaned in, whispering, “I’m just happy there’s barbecue steaks.” A short laugh escaped you as you thanked them.

As you moved through the crowd, you spotted Idia half-hidden behind a pillar, hoodie up, muttering to himself. “Ugh… too many normies in one place… but I guess… happy birthday, or whatever,” he mumbled, cheeks tinged pink.

Ortho, however, beamed brightly, hovering beside him. “Big bro got this for you!” he said excitedly, handing you a figurine box of your favorite character. “I hope you have the best birthday ever, [Name]!”

Your heart warmed as you smiled at them. “Thank you, Ortho. And thank you, Idia.” Idia let out a quiet squeak but hesitantly waved back.

Finally, at the far end of the room, standing just slightly apart from the others, was Malleus. His glowing emerald eyes held a quiet fondness as he approached, a small yet elegantly wrapped box in his hands.

“I have witnessed many celebrations, but this one is special,” he murmured, his voice gentle. “Because it is yours. I hope this day is as radiant as you are, Child of Man.”

The night carried on with laughter, music, and endless fun. Cake was cut, Trey’s masterpiece, of course. Gifts were exchanged, each one chosen with care. Every moment felt surreal, a reminder of how much warmth surrounded you in this strange yet wonderful world.

As the group gathered for a photo, you couldn't help but glance at the locket around your neck, fingers brushing over its familiar surface.

Yes.

This was a birthday you would never forget... and one that made your heart clench.

You stood in front of your mirror, clad in your pajamas, bathed in the dim glow of Ramshackle’s old lanterns. The party was over. The laughter had faded. The warmth of your friends, the joy of the celebration. it all felt like a dream now, distant and fleeting.

Grim lay sprawled across your bed, snoring softly, his tiny body rising and falling with each peaceful breath. He twitched in his sleep, a bit of drool pooling on the sheets as he mumbled about food. It was almost funny. Almost.

But while he dreamt of endless feasts, you stood there, staring at your own reflection, trapped in a different kind of dream.

A nightmare.

Your fingers curled into weak fists at your sides. You swallowed, trying to shake the hollowness gnawing at your chest, but it was relentless. You were older now. Another year had passed. A special day meant to be spent with family, but instead, you were here in a world of magic, a world that was never meant to be yours.

Your dull, empty eyes met themselves in the glass. The mirror.

The same mirror where Mickey had once appeared, his presence a strange comfort, a lingering connection to something beyond this realm. But now?

Nothing.

The mirror had been silent. No answer. No way home. Crowley being useless and unable to help at all you couldn't help but grit your teeth.

Your breath hitched as something twisted violently inside you, a feeling so raw and overwhelming that it made your skin prickle. You tried to steady yourself, but the weight of it all the overblots, the endless battles, the uncertainty of ever returning home came crashing down like a tidal wave.

Your hands shot up, gripping at your hair as a broken breath escaped your lips. You had been strong for so long. You had smiled, you had laughed, you had reassured your friends, but in the end, who was there to reassure you?

Your chest tightened painfully. It was too much.

Your vision blurred, your throat constricting as a shuddering gasp left you. You felt yourself shaking, trembling as your knees weakened beneath you. The air felt thinner, suffocating.

Your hand reached for the locket around your neck, gripping it so tightly that your knuckles turned white. The familiar weight of it against your palm should have been comforting, but instead, it only deepened the ache in your heart.

What if you never saw them again?

What if this was all you had left?

The mirror before you trembled. A tiny fracture splintered across the glass, a jagged crack splitting through your reflection, and just like that, something inside you broke, too.

Drip Drip Drip...

[ateliersss]

TOP GUN #2

…is part of The Bookshelf.

⇨ This is a collection of my favorite fanfics/oneshots on Tumblr I love to re-read once in a while. None of those works belong to me! Feel free to use it as well.

⇨ My own works are here

Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Left at the Altar Summary: When you get left at the altar, a familiar face swoops in to save the day.

Can't Let You Go Summary: When you and Jake broke up, it hurt both of you more than you could handle. Now, after three months of barely seeing or speaking to one another, Jake walks in on the surprise of seeing you in a wedding dress, and it brings past memories and ruined dreams to the surface.

Wanting It All Summary: Hangman ends up in the hospital from a very similar Phoenix/Bob/birds situation, and you suddenly regret keeping a big secret from him.  

Drunken Words, Sober Thoughts Summary: You and Jake had a history of flirting and occasionally kissing if too much time was spent at the bar, but it never went any further than that. One night, after showing up at your house and passing out on your couch, Jake wakes up the next morning only to learn he had drunkenly confessed his feelings for you.

Less Misery, More Company Summary: Jake has feelings for you but you don’t believe it, so you play a little trick to get back at him for all of his flirtatious teasing. But that little trick fails miserably, and as the weight of your mistake settles in, you realize you owe him an explanation, one that requires you to admit some things you’ve long denied.

Scrapes and Bruises Summary: Basically, Rooster is not thrilled about your relationship with Hangman, and their issues with one another bring up some fears of your own.

Good in Bed Summary: Jake has made it crystal clear to you that you're only friends with benefits, so why did he go and delete your dating apps?

Cross Summary: The four times you captured Jake Seresin’s attention and the one time he did something about it.

There's a Honey Summary: 3 times your aunt penny sees herself and maverick in your relationship with jake and 1 time she doesn’t.

So Funny Story (I'm Fucking Your Daughter) Summary: You've had a thing with Jake for a while now. The thing is, your dad doesn't know and your brother is desperate for you to tell him.

All You Had To Do Was Stay Summary: Six years ago Jake hit your life like a hurricane. In and out in a matter of weeks. You thought after you get over the disappointment of him leaving without saying a word you’d never think of him again. But then two pink lines change your life forever. Now he’s back and still has no idea that the little girl by your side is his daughter.

Revelation

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw

Three Generations Summary: Rooster is married. Maverick found out when the paperwork got filed with the Navy, but he doesn’t have a chance to ask Rooster about it until after the mission

Endings and Beginnings Part 1, Part 2 Summary: It's Maverick's retirement party but Rooster's far more concerned about you, his pregnant wife, than anything else.

Wrong Number Summary: Bradley was planning on a quiet night at home with a beer and a basketball game on TV. When he receives a text from a wrong number, he's left looking at a beautiful photo of you. Now he just needs to persuade you to ditch the guy you meant to text and focus on him instead.

Robert "Bob" Floyd

Only Love Can Hurt Like This Summary: Bob lost his fiancé in a dog fight and goes through the grieving process. Eventually he learns to move on but then everything he thought he knew was a lie, including the fact that Y/N had died on that mission.

All Fun & Games Summary: Returning to San Diego was just another assignment for you. Another step in the career path, full steam ahead, until you come to an obstacle in the road. Usually, you’d navigate around it, keep on going, but this is no normal obstacle. It might be enough to reroute you completely.

Tom "Iceman" Kazansky

Part of Three Summary: Reader is Maverick's sister, dating Iceman, and finds out she's pregnant.

Scared Summary: A fight between you and your fiancé spirals out of control.

Get Your Girl

Tom Is Finer

[knightjpg]

Brick by Brick

And like a dog who's learned a new trick Simon rings your bell the next day. Wasn't happy with how he left it, and wasn't that faucet leaking? He's got plenty of spare wood in his shed, don't you worry. What's that about the boiler making a weird noise? He'll take a look at it, might have something for the draft in the hallway too. Pay him? What are you talking about, he does stuff like this for fun. Don't sweat it, love. Just hand him that wrench.

tags: construction worker simon/neighbour reader

part 1 | part 2

Summer is the worst time of year for construction work outside. Up early before the birds are awake to try and beat the heat, arriving on site at six or earlier with bleary eyes and creaky joints from the day before. It means coming home at four or five with lots of day left to get through yet without the will or energy to do anything beside shower, eat, watch some telly, and sleep. 

The pay is good and it beats sitting in a cramped office all day, but when Simon gets home with aching knees and the thrum of a headache at the back of his skull it's hard to remember why on Earth he chose the career he's in. He's drenched in sweat, large dark patches adorning his pits and back. 

It's one of those days where very little can make him stray from his commute straight to home to collapse into his big falling-apart chair, but today it's not really up to him. A large moving truck blocks his driveway. The faded company logo against dirty white overtakes the entire view of his windshield, though Simon can see the back doors are still swung open. No one to attend to it, though. 

Simon noticed the FOR SALE! sign had gone, of course. Remembers feeling vaguely pleased, even, that the home next to his wouldn't be empty anymore, because he of all people knows exactly how quickly places can fall apart without anyone tending to it. But right now all he feels is tired, and hot, and really fucking annoyed. Just when he's clicked his belt loose to get out of the car and see if the dolt belonging to the truck is anywhere to be found, voices carry from the open front door. 

“...last. I'm afraid it's a little heavy, though, so maybe we should get the boxes out first?” 

And out steps the sweetest little thing he's ever seen. Hair tied up, tight little top, and shorts that give him ample view of your legs.  

Maybe summer's not so bad after all. 

You're talking to a bloke wearing a uniform that matches the moving truck and who looks flushed in the face from exertion. As soon as you clock Simon's car, though, you stop mid-sentence in surprise, and then quickly walk to him, brows furrowed apologetically. 

“Oh, I'm so sorry—you're trying to get past us, aren't you?” Simon gives you a nod, and you turn back to the mover. “Would you mind moving the truck up a little? I don't want it to be in the way.” 

There's precious little parking space ahead, so Simon rolls down his window and calls out to you, “Jus’ backing up a few yards s’fine.” He gestures to his driveway so you know that's where he's headed, and you flash him a smile and a thumbs-up in understanding. 

The truck is moved, Simon parks his car, and you pull another heavy-looking box from the cube. You never reach your new doorstep with it; Simon steps in and lifts it from your hands. You blink up at him, lashes fluttering sweetly with surprise. “Oh—are you sure? It's heavy...!” 

One corner of Simon's mouth tugs up. Tired as he is it weighs next to nothing, and he can't resist holding it with one arm, holding out the other. 

“Can take ‘nother if you need.” 

You laugh and assure him this is quite enough, then jog back to the truck while Simon pushes past the half-open door to his new neighbour's home. 

It's a mess, of course. Piles of boxes, scattered furniture, rolled-up carpets. Simon puts the box down in the living room, then saunters back outside to lift another from your hands. He does the same with the couch; the mover is struggling and Simon doesn't trust him not to let it fall and crash. And you're such a little thing. Just doesn't feel right, watching you rush around and struggle without stepping in. 

With Simon's help it's quick work. The mover thanks Simon before driving off, but he's not really listening. There's much more important things to pay attention to. 

You're pretty. Cheeks flushed from exertion, breathing hard, flyaway hairs from your ponytail sticking up in odd directions. Simon has to suppress the urge to smooth them away. 

"Thanks so much for the help,” you tell him earnestly. “I'm sorry we were in the way—we thought we'd have a little more time before people started coming home from work.” 

“S’alright,” Simon says. It's nearing evening, now, the sky above you glowing in pale pink and oranges hues. The little smatter of trees across from you rustles with a gust of summer wind.  

You introduce yourself and insist on giving Simon your number “in case there's ever anything you need.” Simon's more concerned about a young woman living all on her own but takes your number all the same, watching your pretty little fingers tap it in on his phone. 

“I mostly work from home, but I'm very quiet and boring,” you tell him with a smile. “You don't have to worry about noise.” 

For some reason that isn't the selling point it should be. When Simon stands inside his hallway, house empty and dark and quiet, he wishes he still lived in a shitty apartment with thin walls on the bad side of Manchester. Maybe then he'd hear your footsteps, or better yet, your voice. Instead the only thing waiting for him at home is silence. Heavy and thick, where he's ripped away from sweet sunshine and plunged underwater. 

-

Simon is halfway to falling asleep on the couch when the bell rings. He groans, drags a hand over his face, and glances up at the TV. The football match is still going. The camera pans over a cheering crowd, their cries distant and quiet. 

He mutes the thing entirely and heaves himself up to open the door. Swear to God, if this is the fucking salesman again... 

“Hi there.” 

You give Simon a little finger wave, your other hand cradling a round oven dish. When you shift on your feet the protective foil on top rustles noisily. 

You look a little more put together than you did yesterday—rested, showered, fed. Just as pretty. 

Although, speaking of fed... 

“Alright?” Simon asks, eyes on the oven pan. He's only catching a faint whiff of something, but whatever it is smells really fucking good. His stomach reminds him that the only thing in his fridge are a couple cans of beer.  

You nod and lift the dish with a shy little grin. “Yeah. Um. I wanted to say thanks again, for yesterday. And I wanted to test out my oven, so...” 

You hold the dish out for him to take. Simon's fingers brush yours, large meaty paws easily twice the size of your own. When he peels back the foil you add, “Shepherd's pie. I thought about cookies, but I wasn't sure if you'd like those.” 

The scent hits him, then, rich and hearty and buttery smooth. The dish is still a little warm. 

Fuck. When was the last time he ate something homemade? 

“No, I'll eat anything,” he says, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious. He hasn't showered yet. Must look a nightmare. Does he stink? “Thanks.” 

Your whole face lights up, and Simon's neck feels hot. He averts his eyes to avoid your gaze and pretends to inspect the pie instead. Jesus, what is he, twelve? “I'm glad. I'll leave you to it, then.” 

D’you want to come in for a drink?  

It's on the tip of his tongue, but he can't get the words out quite right and gives you a brusque nod, watching you walk back to your own home before closing his door all the way. 

He eats at his kitchen table and finishes the whole thing in one go. Chases bits of flakey crust with his finger, licks up every leftover crumb. The meat is tender and juicy and for a while after the only things he smells is golden-brown potatoes seasoned with rosemary. 

He mourns it when it's gone, of course. Has half a mind to go over right now and ask if your cooking is for hire—Simon can't remember the last time he felt satisfied. When he ate not just for the sake of fuel or convenience but because someone wanted him to have something nice, something special. Is it special? Is he special? Are you going around the neighbourhood handing out cookies and pies to just anyone? 

Simon's sigh is loud in the silence and sticks to the kitchen walls. 

The pre-made frozen meals are fine, of course. Empty plastic containers fill up the rubbish bin. They're easy and cheap and most days Simon's glad just to have something warm in his stomach.  

And yet. 

The next day Simon stands at your door at six in the evening sharp, holding the clean dish in his hands. You invite him in for a cup of tea, because unlike him you have good manners, and you sheepishly apologise for the stacks of boxes everywhere. 

“S’alright,” Simon says, carefully manoeuvring around a large pile of books. “I don't mind.” 

And he doesn't, though he does feel like a bull in a china shop. Large and much too coarse for the little tea cup you hand him while the kettle whistles on the stove. 

“I'm afraid I don't have much to go with it,” you say with a flutter of your hands. “Do you like ginger snaps? I think I've got a pack somewhere.” 

You don't wait for his answer and pry open one of the cupboards. First come the ginger snaps, then the box of Earl Grey, which you hold up to him with a triumphant smile. “Unpacked the important stuff first.” 

Simon frowns and jerks his chin to the cupboard. “S’it stuck?” 

“Oh—yeah. They all are.” You give the wood a little knock. “It'll take me some time to get to fixing everything. The house went for a good price, but only ‘cause it needs some love.” You give him a rueful smile and get up, wiping your hands on your thighs. “I'm not all that handy, so I'll have to take it bit by bit.” 

Simon rises before you finish your sentence. "Let me see.” 

“Oh, no, it's okay. It's not a big deal, really—” 

Simon crouches down, slowly, to spare his knees, and tests the hinges. The wood is rotten in certain places, the hinges old and rusted. Rather than fixing it up it should be replaced entirely. You really better had gotten this place for good money, because this will take more than a bit of elbow grease to repair. He prods at the hinges, tuts, and looks up at you. 

“Ready to fall apart, this one. You said they're all like this?” 

You nod, worry creasing your brow. “I—yes. Well, the kitchen is. The bathroom seems alright. Is it worse than I thought?” 

“Might be. You have anyone look at this?” 

You shake your head. “I'm starting to feel silly about it now, but I was going to look up how to do it myself.” 

Simon straightens. “I'll go get my kit.” 

-

It's not as bad as he feared. Two cabinets need tearing down completely, but the others are worth saving. Simon warns you the repair job will fuck the wood, but you tell him it's no problem; you'll paint over it anyway. 

You feed him tea and ginger snaps while he works, asking him several times if he wouldn't like a break, hasn't he done a lot already? You feel terrible about having him work on his day off. Didn't he say he worked construction? He must be so tired, poor man. You insist he stay for dinner. “You've been so helpful—it's the least I could do.” 

Simon takes a breather to watch you cook. Chicken, pasta, summer salad. The sun sinks lower and hits you straight on from the kitchen window, painting the edges of you a dazed red-gold. An angel's halo. 

“You big on reading, then?” 

You turn down the heat and put a lid over the pan to join him at the table. Simon's eyeing the many books strewn about on top of boxes that say “pans” and “kitchen supplies”. Le Morte D’Arthur. Histories of the Kings of Britain. Beowulf. There's even one that prompts a vague, long-forgotten memory from his school days— The Canterbury Tales.  

“I am. Always have been.” You nod to the books. “I teach at university—medieval literature. But I'm working on my own research on the side.” 

Simon lets out a low whistle. His pretty bird is a clever one. Smarter than him, that's for sure. He might be big and strong but he's got bricks for brains. 

That's what his dad always used to say, anyway—that he's stupid. Those always were his kinder moments. 

“That explains all the books y’got.” 

“There sure are a lot of them, aren't there? I swear moving really makes you realise just how much stuff you own...” You shake your head. “I'll have to get a bigger bookcase.” 

“Think it's impressive.” 

Your eyes crinkle with a smile. “Not as impressive as knowing how to fix my cabinets! I don't know how I would've managed by myself.” You hop up from your seat to check the food, then ask over your shoulder, “Is that something you do a lot for work, too? Carpentry and the like?” 

Simon shakes his head. “We do the heavy lifting. Clearing a place out, laying the foundation. Johnny—my coworker, he's mostly on machinery. Kyle does transport and plumbing. I do the heavier handiwork.” 

You hum and start plating the food while asking him more questions. Is the pay good? Is his boss fair? Are his coworkers nice? 

Price's fairly strict is what he is, Simon answers, and you laugh again. He likes that. Likes that he gets you to do that. 

He wolfs down a plate of his pasta and devours the chicken. It's fragrant, roasted with lemon and thyme, bursts between his teeth. He tells you more about Johnny, that he's a cocky bastard who likes playing with electricity way too much, but that he's also a loyal friend. That he's a hard worker—that all of them are. 

When his plate is empty and he's eyeing what's left in the pans you push them closer without saying anything, and prompt him to tell you about that time a plumbing line exploded and Kyle got soaked from tip to toe in disgusting gunk. He smelt like sewage water for weeks. 

Simon doesn't even realise how much he's talked until his throat starts feeling rougher than usual. You make it easy somehow. If he'd thought you would look down on him because of your own job he needn't have worried. You're not at all like what he imagines when he thinks of professors, none of the stuffy superiority complex he's used to weathering when people find out all he does all day is chafe his fingers on hard cement.  

Maybe you're just good at faking it, but he doubts it. The sparkle in your eyes when you listen to him so intently has to be real. 

You send him home with a warm thanks and dessert, and Simon feels something in his chest lurch when you peer up at him through your lashes in the doorway, smiling and sweet. Can't remember the last time he went out for dates. Can't remember having the time or energy for it. 

And like a dog who's learned a new trick Simon rings your bell the next day. Wasn't happy with how he left it, and wasn't that faucet leaking? He's got plenty of spare wood in his shed, don't you worry. What's that about the boiler making a weird noise? He'll take a look at it, might have something for the draft in the hallway too. 

Pay him? What are you talking about, he does stuff like this for fun. Don't sweat it, love. Just hand him that wrench. 

There are days when it's hard, of course. Simon is only human, and spending days and days on sizzling hard concrete would wring anyone dry. The project is coming along nicely, but at the height of summer there's plenty of times when even the promise of your smile isn't enough to keep him from falling asleep on his couch—often on an empty stomach. 

But during the weekends he rings your bell dutifully. Six o’clock becomes something sacred in his mind, sweet relief after praying on his knees for hours smoothing out cement. It gets to the point where he turns down Friday drinks with the guys more than once because he's got something to go home for now, his pretty little bird that's never once mentioned a boyfriend of any kind. 

“You really should let me pay you.” 

Simon gives you a look before pushing his large shoulders further into the cabinet under the bathroom sink. “Should be the one payin’ you. I know I'm doubling your grocery bill.” 

He eats more at your place than his own these days. It gives him incentive to rush through a shower, dress like something resembling a human, then wait at your doorstep to be let in. Wagging tail and everything. 

Your cheeks darken and you duck your head. “No, um... It makes me happy. To see you eat my cooking, I mean,” you confess a little shyly. “I feel like I'm the one getting everything out of this. I hope I'm not keeping you from—from spending time at home, or with your family.” 

“S’just me, love.” Simon pauses, pretends to inspect the pipes. “Less you don't want me coming ‘round anymore.” 

“No, no,” you say hastily. “No, I like—I like the company. Really.” Your voice softens. “And I'm not just saying that because I appreciate the help.” 

Simon exhales, shifts a little to accommodate the strain in his boxers, and holds his hand out for the screwdriver. 

[callsigns-haze]

-ˋˏ The week it all went south ˎˊ-

Part 2

Part 1 here

Pairing: Azriel x Rhysand's sister!reader

Azriel has the perfect life. You as his wife. Kaia as his daughter. But him and the boys are stupid enough to challenge you for a week and then his perfect life might simply...disappear

Warning: FUTURE ANGST, mentions of past lovers, mentions of sex, cursing, kissing, mentions of injured child, drinking.

Word count: 27k

The cabin was cozy, nestled in the heart of the mountains, surrounded by towering pines and a blanket of soft snow that had recently fallen. The scent of wood and fresh air filled the space as the door swung open, and the sounds of excited footsteps echoed in the large entryway.

Azriel, Cassian, and Rhysand stepped inside first, each of them carrying bags and supplies for the week ahead. Behind them came Nyx, Kaia perched on his back as he carried her effortlessly, while Cassian’s three boys, Torran, Emrus, and Calen, rushed in, their laughter and energy filling the cabin.

“Okay, okay, settle down,” Cassian said, his voice carrying a playful authority as he followed them inside. His eyes scanned the room, making sure nothing was out of place for the kids. “Nyx, put Kaia down—let her run around. Emrus, don’t touch that,” he added, reaching out to grab Emrus’s hand as he tried to explore one of the stone fireplaces.

Azriel was right behind them, his sharp eyes scanning the room for any signs of danger. His shadows moved around him like a second skin, guiding him to the far corner where he noticed a small table with some leftover supplies from the previous tenants. He set Kaia down on the floor, watching her immediately start fluttering her wings in excitement.

“Go ahead, Kaia. You can explore,” Azriel said softly, his voice filled with warmth as he crouched down next to her. Kaia, always quick to absorb everything around her, toddled off eagerly, her little wings fluttering behind her.

Rhysand and Nyx were the last to step through the door. Nyx had an amused look on his face, though there was a touch of apprehension behind his eyes as he let Kaia go to explore. His gaze met Rhysand’s for a moment, and a silent understanding passed between them. Rhysand gave a small smile before reaching down to ruffle Nyx’s hair affectionately.

“Looks like we’re all here,” Rhysand said, giving the room a sweep with his violet gaze. “It’s a good thing we got here early—plenty of time to get settled in before the chaos begins.”

Nyx chuckled, rolling his eyes as he turned to follow Kaia, who had already found a spot by the window to observe the falling snow. “This week’s going to be a mess,” he muttered, but there was a smile in his voice as he watched his little cousin.

Cassian glanced over at the group of kids, who were already finding ways to entertain themselves in the cabin. His sons were exploring the open space, trying to figure out the best spots to play. “Alright, boys,” Cassian called out. “This place might be ours for the week, but let’s remember there are rules. And that means no breaking anything.”

Emrus grinned at his father. “You can’t stop us, Dad!”

“Watch me,” Cassian teased, giving him a playful shove.

Azriel watched them interact with an affectionate smile, his shadows swirling around him in a comforting embrace. There was a comfort here, even in the midst of the chaos. For the first time in a long time, he felt at ease, his family together and safe, away from the pressures and expectations of the Night Court.

“Alright, let’s unpack and get settled,” Azriel said to the others, standing tall again. “We’ve got a week to enjoy this place. Let’s make it count.”

Kaia, having moved over to a chair in the corner, suddenly turned around and let out an excited squeal. “Dada! Dada!” she called, her voice filled with joy. “I see snow!”

Azriel smiled warmly, his heart swelling at the sound of her happiness. He moved over to her, kneeling down beside her to look out the window. “I see it too, sweetheart. We’ll go play in it later.”

Azriel stood up from the window, his eyes scanning the room as he noticed Kaia tugging at the hem of his tunic, looking up at him with her bright, eager eyes. A soft smile curved his lips as he bent down to her level, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

“Ready to see your room, Kaia?” he asked, his voice gentle but filled with affection.

She nodded enthusiastically, her little wings fluttering behind her as she grinned up at him. “I wanna sleep with you, Dada!” she exclaimed in her sweet, toddler speech, her words still a little jumbled but full of intent.

Azriel’s heart softened at the sound of her words, and he held out his hand for her to take. “Of course, sweetheart. Let’s go see where we’ll be sleeping for the week.”

Kaia’s tiny hand gripped his fingers as he led her through the cabin, past the large living area and toward the hallway. The wood floors creaked softly underfoot as they walked, the warmth of the fire crackling in the background. Azriel could hear the sounds of the kids still exploring the other rooms, but his focus was entirely on Kaia.

As they reached the door to the room they’d be staying in, Azriel pushed it open with a soft creak, revealing a cozy space with a large, comfortable bed. A fluffy comforter in shades of deep blue and silver covered the mattress, and soft light filtered through the window, casting a peaceful glow across the room.

Kaia’s eyes widened as she stepped inside, looking around the room in wonder. “So pwwetty, Dada!” she exclaimed, her wings fluttering in excitement.

Azriel chuckled softly as he watched her take in the space. “I’m glad you like it, Kaia. This will be our room for the week.”

He guided her over to the bed, helping her climb up onto it. She immediately flopped down, her small body sinking into the softness of the blankets. Azriel followed, sitting beside her, his wings brushing the fabric of the bedding as he settled in.

Kaia rolled onto her back, her little hands resting on her chest as she stared up at the ceiling. “Dada, we pway in the snow now?” she asked, her voice filled with excitement.

Azriel chuckled, brushing a hand through her hair. “Soon, sweetie. We’ll go out there and play, but first, we need to get settled and rest a bit.” He leaned down and kissed the top of her head. “You can nap here for a little while, and when you wake up, we’ll go outside together.”

Kaia’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment, her soft breathing steadying as she relaxed into the bed. Azriel sat quietly beside her, his gaze lingering on her peaceful face. This, he thought, was the calm he needed—the precious moments of stillness before the chaos of the week began. The weight of the world could wait a little longer.

Nyx burst through the door, eyes wide and his face flushed from running. His breath came in quick gasps as he skidded to a stop just inside the room. His messy hair was wild, and he had that familiar look of someone who had been running away from something—more specifically, from someone.

“Close the door, Azriel!” Nyx shouted, glancing over his shoulder. His 13-year-old face was a mix of exasperation and amusement. “They’re coming!”

Azriel barely had time to react before Nyx rushed forward and made a beeline for the bed, practically diving under the blankets next to Kaia. Kaia, who had been resting quietly, sat up with wide eyes, looking over at her cousin in surprise.

Azriel, trying not to laugh at the sight of Nyx huddled next to his daughter as if he were some secret agent on the run, quickly moved toward the door. Just as he shut it, the sound of loud, excited footsteps could be heard in the hallway, followed by the unmistakable voices of Cassian’s sons calling after Nyx.

“Nyx! Where’d you go? We’ll find you!” Torran’s voice rang out, followed by Emrus and Calen shouting in a chorus.

Azriel grinned, shaking his head. “What did you do to deserve that?” he asked Nyx, who had now curled up under the blanket next to Kaia, trying to hide as much of himself as he could.

Nyx poked his head out from beneath the covers, his eyes darting to the door. “They’re relentless,” he muttered with a smirk. “They wanted me to show them how to use the dagger I found, but they’re way too reckless. I told them I’d rather live.”

Azriel chuckled, ruffling Nyx’s hair as he sat down on the edge of the bed. “I told you they’d be trouble. But I didn’t expect you to be the one running from them.”

Kaia giggled at the sight of her older cousin hiding, her wings fluttering a little in her excitement. “Nyxie funny!” she said, her voice high-pitched with joy.

Nyx gave a half-smile in return, his cheeks still flushed from his sprint. “You’re one to talk, Kaia. I think you’re the one who’s funny.” He stuck his tongue out at her, and Kaia giggled, reaching out to tug on the corner of his sleeve.

Azriel shook his head with a quiet laugh, glancing toward the door as he heard the footsteps grow quieter. “Looks like they’ve given up for now,” he said with a chuckle. “You might be safe for a little while, Nyx.”

“Good,” Nyx replied, settling back into the blankets next to Kaia, who had now decided to snuggle close to him. “I think I’ll stay here until they forget what they were chasing me for.”

-----

The sun hung high in the Day Court sky, its warmth streaming through the open terrace where you, Feyre, and Nesta lounged comfortably. You were settled on plush chairs, a pitcher of sparkling wine and three glasses between you. The scent of citrus and sea salt drifted on the breeze, blending perfectly with the laughter that filled the space.

Feyre leaned forward, her gaze sharp with curiosity as she swirled her drink. “Alright, I can’t take it anymore. You’re going to have to tell us about Eris.”

Nesta raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a smirk as she tilted her head at you. “Don’t think we’ve forgotten, sister. You casually drop that you’ve slept with Eris, Lucien, and Tarquin, and expect us not to demand details?”

You sighed dramatically, leaning back in your chair as you looked between them. Their relentless pestering had started the moment you mentioned it yesterday, and it didn’t look like they’d let up anytime soon.

“Alright, fine,” you said, holding up your hands in mock surrender. “If you must know, Eris was my first.”

Feyre’s jaw dropped, her glass clinking against the table as she set it down quickly. “Eris?” she repeated, her voice somewhere between shock and disbelief. “The Eris Vanserra? High Lord of the Autumn Court, lord of insufferable arrogance?”

Nesta, on the other hand, let out a soft laugh, her cool demeanour masking the intrigue in her eyes. “I’m not surprised,” she said smoothly. “He has a certain… flair about him.”

You rolled your eyes at Feyre’s reaction, taking a sip of your drink before answering. “Yes, Eris. And he wasn’t as arrogant then as he is now. We were both young. He was charming, and I was… curious.”

Feyre shook her head as if trying to process the information. “I’m sorry, but you need to elaborate. How did that even happen?”

You leaned forward, resting your arms on the table, a small smile tugging at your lips as you recalled the memory. “It was centuries ago, long before the War. I was still finding my place in the Night Court, and Eris… well, he was already the future High Lord of the Autumn Court. He came to the court of nightmares with his father on some diplomatic nonsense. I was introduced as Rhysand’s sister, and Eris… he was bold.”

Nesta’s brow arched. “Bold how?”

You smirked, swirling the wine in your glass. “He cornered me at a party. Told me I was the most beautiful female he’d ever seen and asked me to dance. One thing led to another, and we ended up spending the rest of the night together.”

Feyre groaned, placing her head in her hands. “This is too much.”

Nesta chuckled, a rare, genuine sound. “Sounds like Eris knew what he wanted.”

You nodded, your smile softening. “He did. And despite what he’s become, back then, he wasn’t so bad. We parted ways amicably, and that was that.”

Feyre peeked at you from between her fingers. “And you just… never told us? Not even when we were dealing with him during the whole alliance mess?”

“Well,” you said, shrugging, “it didn’t seem relevant. And besides, you two are in your thirties. I’m over five hundred years old. You didn’t exactly ask for my full romantic history.”

Nesta scoffed, leaning back in her chair. “And yet here we are, prying it out of you.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at her response. “Alright, alright. For the record, yes, I’ve slept with more than just Azriel. Eris, Lucien, Tarquin—”

“Tarquin too?” Feyre interrupted, her voice an octave higher.

You nodded with a sly grin. “He was sweet, actually. Very attentive.”

Nesta exchanged a wide-eyed look with Feyre before turning back to you. “You’ve certainly had an interesting history.”

You raised your glass in a mock toast. “I’ve lived a long life. And every mistake, every fling, every relationship has led me to where I am now.”

Feyre shook her head, lifting her own glass. “I still can’t believe Eris.”

Nesta smirked, raising her glass as well. “To Eris, Tarquin, Lucien, and whoever else we haven’t uncovered yet.”

Feyre leaned forward in her chair, her gaze sharp with curiosity, the sunlight catching the mischievous glint in her eyes. "Alright, since we’re getting the full history… Helion. Twice, he said?"

Nesta arched a brow, her lips twitching as though she was trying not to smirk. "And he’s the truth-teller, so we know it’s true. Twice. What’s the story there?"

You groaned, leaning back against the plush cushions of the Day Court lounge. The scent of jasmine and citrus hung in the air, blending with the warmth of the midday sun. You sipped your wine slowly, stalling as Feyre and Nesta exchanged expectant glances.

"You two are relentless," you muttered, shaking your head. "Fine. Yes, Helion and I… had our moments. Twice."

Nesta tilted her head, a sly smile spreading across her face. "And what exactly sparked those moments?"

You set your glass down, resting your elbows on your knees as you smirked. "It was centuries ago—long before Rhysand being High lord so soon was even a thought in the Night Court's plans. Helion was young, charming, and absolutely insufferable. He loved to flirt, and I… well, I liked the attention."

Feyre snorted. "Sounds like him."

You chuckled. "The first time was during a diplomatic visit to the Day Court. We’d been dancing at one of their endless celebrations, and one thing led to another. He was persistent, and I was curious."

"And the second time?" Nesta asked, her tone neutral but her eyes gleaming with intrigue.

You sighed, tilting your head back as you remembered. "That was years later. I visited the Day Court to broker a trade agreement. Helion was even more insufferable by then, but gods, he knew how to get under my skin. He flirted shamelessly, practically challenged me to resist him. I didn’t."

Feyre leaned back in her chair, looking torn between amusement and disbelief. "So, twice. And neither time it became anything serious?"

You shook your head. "It was never serious. Helion and I were… friends, in a way. We enjoyed each other’s company, and that was that. No strings, no expectations."

Nesta tapped her fingers against the rim of her glass, her voice dry. "Well, at least we know why he called you the ‘loss of his life.’"

You laughed, raising your glass to her. "Helion’s dramatic. Always has been. But he’s a good male, and we’ve remained on friendly terms ever since."

Feyre narrowed her eyes playfully. "And you just forgot to mention this to us before?"

"Forgot? No," you replied with a grin. "I just didn’t think it was relevant. My past is… well, it’s my past. I’ve lived a long life, and I didn’t think you’d want to hear about all of it."

"Clearly, we do," Nesta quipped, her smirk widening.

Feyre leaned forward again, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "Alright, and who was better—Helion or Eris?"

You burst out laughing, shaking your head as you lifted your glass. "That’s a secret I’ll take to my grave."

Nesta groaned in mock frustration. "You’re impossible."

"Am I?" you teased, grinning at both of them. "Or am I just keeping some mystery alive?"

The sun shifted lazily across the sky, casting golden hues over the Day Court’s sprawling terrace as you, Feyre, and Nesta lounged in your seats, the pitcher of wine now half-empty. The laughter and teasing had yet to cease since you admitted to your history with Helion, and your sisters seemed more determined than ever to get every last detail out of you.

Feyre leaned forward, her elbows on the table, her face a mix of exasperation and amusement. "I’m just saying, I don’t know why you won’t answer. We’ve been at this for hours. You slept with Helion twice. It’s not like we’re asking you to write a ballad about it."

Nesta, sitting across from you, swirled her wine with an exaggerated air of patience. "Exactly. All we’re asking for is a comparison. Was he better than Eris? Worse? Or maybe somewhere in between?"

You groaned, throwing your head back against the plush cushions of your chair. "You two are ridiculous. Why does it even matter?"

"It matters," Feyre said firmly, pointing at you with a grin, "because you’re our sister, and you’ve been holding out on us. Centuries of experience, and you’re just now letting us in on the good parts."

Nesta smirked. "You’ve lived five hundred years longer than us. The least you can do is share some wisdom. Especially if it involves Helion and Eris. And Tarquin."

You shot her a mock glare. "I am not giving you a ranking, Nesta."

She raised an eyebrow, the corners of her lips tugging upward. "Who said anything about a ranking? Although, now that you mention it—"

"Nesta," you groaned, cutting her off as Feyre snorted into her wineglass.

Feyre set her drink down, her face alight with mischief. "You know what’s killing me? The fact that Helion said it himself. Twice. Twice means something. Was it because the first time wasn’t good enough? Or was it so good you couldn’t resist a second time?"

"Feyre," you said, your voice exasperated but tinged with laughter, "you’re impossible."

Nesta crossed her legs, her sharp gaze fixed on you. "Don’t change the subject. What I want to know is if it was Helion’s charm or his… skills that made you go back for round two."

"Gods," you muttered, covering your face with your hands as they dissolved into laughter.

"Come on," Feyre coaxed, leaning closer, her eyes bright. "We’re your sisters. You can tell us. Was it the muscles? The golden glow? Or did he just talk his way into your bed again?"

"Both of you need to stop," you said, though the smile pulling at your lips betrayed your exasperation.

Nesta’s smirk widened. "We’re not stopping until we get answers. You’ve been teasing us all day."

"And what exactly do you want me to say?" you shot back, laughing despite yourself. "That Helion is charming? Fine, he’s charming. That he’s skilled? Fine, he’s skilled. Happy now?"

Feyre and Nesta exchanged a look, then simultaneously shook their heads.

"Not even close," Feyre said.

"We want details," Nesta added.

You groaned again, reaching for your wineglass as Feyre and Nesta started tossing out theories and questions, their determination unyielding. Hours had passed, and yet they showed no signs of letting up.

You could only laugh, raising your glass in mock surrender. "You two are relentless. Absolutely relentless."

"And you love us for it," Feyre teased, her grin wicked.

Feyre, her cheeks flushed from the wine, leaned forward with an impish grin. "Alright, alright. Let’s simplify this. Who was the best? Helion, Eris, or Tarquin?"

Nesta smirked, sipping from her glass like she had all the time in the world. "Yes, let’s settle this once and for all. You have to pick one."

You groaned, leaning back in your chair and rubbing your temples. "Why do I feel like I’m being interrogated by the Inner Circle’s most dangerous duo?"

"Because you are," Feyre said cheerfully.

Nesta raised an eyebrow, her expression cool but her eyes sparkling. "And don’t think you can distract us. We’ve waited centuries to hear this gossip. We deserve answers."

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose as you tried to think of a way out of this. "I’m not ranking them. That’s final."

"Fine," Feyre said, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Then just tell us who surprised you the most."

You blinked at her, caught off guard. "Surprised me?"

Nesta tilted her head thoughtfully. "That’s actually a good question. Who was different than you expected?"

You considered this for a moment, swirling the wine in your glass. "Well… if I had to pick someone, I’d say Eris."

Feyre’s eyes widened, and Nesta leaned forward, clearly intrigued. "Why Eris?" Feyre asked.

You hesitated, then shrugged. "Because despite all his arrogance and fire, he was surprisingly gentle. He could be soft when he wanted to be, which wasn’t often, but it was enough to catch me off guard."

Nesta looked impressed. "That is surprising. I wouldn’t have guessed that about him."

Feyre rested her chin in her hand, a dreamy look on her face. "I can actually see it. He’s all rough edges on the outside, but maybe there’s something softer underneath."

"Don’t let him hear you say that," you said with a laugh. "He’d deny it until his dying breath."

"And Helion?" Nesta pressed, not letting you off the hook.

You sighed again, shaking your head with a small smile. "Helion is exactly who you think he is. Charming, confident, and very, very good at what he does."

Feyre fanned herself dramatically, laughing. "You’re not making this any easier for us, you know."

"And Tarquin?" Nesta asked, her tone even but her smirk giving her away.

Your smile softened. "Tarquin was sweet. Gentle, almost shy at times. But there was a strength to him too, a quiet confidence. He was… different."

Feyre and Nesta exchanged a look, then turned back to you with matching grins.

"Well?" Nesta said. "We still haven’t gotten a clear answer."

You threw up your hands in exasperation. "Because there isn’t one! They were all different, alright? Can we move on now? I've chose my husband, is that not enough!"

Feyre snorted, shaking her head. "Not a chance."

Nesta raised her glass, her smirk widening. "You’re stuck with us, sister. Might as well spill everything."

Helion strolled into the room with his usual air of confidence, his golden robes shimmering in the fading sunlight. His grin widened as he took in the three of you lounging with wine, clearly enjoying yourselves.

"Ah," he said, spreading his arms theatrically, "the beauties of the Night Court, still gracing my halls. What trouble have you been causing in my absence?"

Before you could say a word, Feyre and Nesta pounced.

"Helion!" Feyre exclaimed, her tone filled with mock scandal. "How did you manage to sleep with her twice?"

Nesta smirked, tilting her head as she added, "We’ve been trying to get answers out of her for hours, but she’s being terribly uncooperative. Care to enlighten us?"

Helion froze for a fraction of a second, then threw his head back and laughed, the sound rich and full. "Ah, so she’s finally told you about our little… history." His amber eyes gleamed with mischief as he looked at you. "And here I thought that was our secret."

You groaned, sinking deeper into your chair. "I’m going to kill both of you," you muttered, glaring at your sisters.

Feyre ignored you, her grin as wide as ever. "Come on, Helion. We’re dying to know. Twice? What did you do to manage that?"

Helion sauntered over, pouring himself a glass of wine as if he had all the time in the world. He took a slow sip, savouring the moment, before leaning casually against the edge of the table.

"Well," he began, his voice smooth and teasing, "I’d like to think it was my charm, my wit, and, of course, my irresistible good looks."

Nesta rolled her eyes. "Be serious."

Helion chuckled, setting his glass down. "Alright, if you must know… it was persistence. Your sister wasn’t easy to win over. The first time took weeks of courting—dancing, poetry, gifts. I had to work for it."

Feyre’s eyes widened. "Dancing and poetry? Really?"

You groaned again, covering your face. "Helion, stop."

"Why should I?" he teased, his grin widening. "This is far too much fun."

"And the second time?" Nesta pressed, clearly enjoying this far too much.

Helion shrugged, his tone casual but his eyes glinting with amusement. "The second time… well, by then, she already knew what she’d be getting. I’d say it was mutual curiosity more than anything else. A moment of weakness on both our parts."

Feyre burst out laughing, clutching her stomach. "I can’t believe this. You’re like an open book!"

Helion raised his glass in a mock toast. "A truth-teller, as they say. I have nothing to hide."

Nesta smirked, turning to you. "See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?"

You shot her a withering look. "I hate all of you."

Helion chuckled, reaching out to ruffle your hair. "Don’t be mad, my dear. It’s all in good fun."

Feyre and Nesta dissolved into laughter again, and you couldn’t help but join them, even as you plotted your revenge for the endless teasing. Helion, ever the showman, basked in the chaos he’d caused, clearly pleased with himself.

Nesta, never one to let an opportunity for drama pass, leaned forward with a glint of mischief in her eyes. "Alright, Helion, since you’re such a truth-teller, did you know she’s also slept with Eris and Tarquin?"

Helion, mid-sip of his wine, froze. He lowered the glass slowly, his golden eyes snapping to you with an expression of exaggerated betrayal. "Eris and Tarquin?" He placed a hand over his heart, his voice mock-wounded. "You wound me, my darling. I thought I was the only High Lord you graced with your affections."

Feyre and Nesta howled with laughter, and you groaned, burying your face in your hands. "Helion, don’t start."

But Helion, of course, ignored you entirely. "Eris, I can maybe understand. He has that sharp-edged allure, though I didn’t think you’d fall for his particular brand of arrogance." He tilted his head thoughtfully. "But Tarquin? I would have thought his gentle demeanour was too… tame for you."

Feyre leaned forward eagerly. "So, you didn’t know?"

Helion shook his head, his golden hair catching the sunlight. "Not a clue. This is news to me—and very entertaining news at that." He turned to you with a sly grin. "Darling, were you just collecting powerful men for your own amusement?"

"Apparently," Nesta said dryly, smirking at you.

You glared at all three of them, your cheeks heating. "You’re all impossible."

Helion laughed, clearly relishing the situation. "I feel like I should be offended, but honestly, I’m impressed. Eris, Tarquin, and me? That’s quite the trio. Did you have a checklist of traits you were trying to complete?"

Feyre nearly choked on her wine, laughing so hard tears streamed down her face. Nesta, trying to keep a straight face, asked, "Were they all… at different times, or was this some sort of power alliance you were building?"

"Gods," you groaned, sinking lower in your chair. "I’m leaving."

But Helion was grinning like a cat with cream, clearly enjoying every second of your discomfort. "Don’t leave now, darling. The best part of this story is just beginning."

Feyre leaned into Nesta, both of them giggling like conspirators. "You have to admit," Feyre said, "this might be the best thing we’ve ever learned about her."

"And the most entertaining," Helion agreed, raising his glass in a toast. "To our fiery Night Court beauty, who’s apparently been breaking hearts across Prythian for centuries."

You scowled at all of them but couldn’t suppress the small, begrudging smile tugging at your lips. "If you don’t stop, I swear I’ll tell Tarquin about the time you lost a bet to me, Helion."

That shut him up—momentarily, at least. Feyre and Nesta, however, were far from done, their teasing laughter following you long into the afternoon.

As the laughter finally began to settle, Feyre, still grinning, leaned forward with a curious glint in her eyes. "Alright, I have to know. With all these men in your past, how did you end up with Azriel in the end? What made him different?"

Before you could answer, Helion let out a booming laugh, nearly spilling his wine. He pointed at you with a playful smirk, shaking his head. "Ah, somehow, the beast won over the beauty."

You shot him a glare, but the corner of your lips betrayed the smallest twitch of a smile. "Helion, if you’re going to call him a beast, you should remember he has shadows that could very well find their way into your dreams."

"Let them," Helion said dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. "Perhaps they’ll give me insight into how the brooding warrior managed to claim the heart of Prythian’s most elusive treasure."

Nesta snorted, her arms crossed. "Honestly, I’d like to hear this too. What did he do to make you settle down after centuries of… well, you know?"

Feyre leaned in closer, her curiosity unmistakable. "It’s true. I mean, Azriel of all people? Don’t get me wrong, he’s wonderful, but he’s so quiet, so restrained. I can’t picture him chasing after you."

You sighed, swirling the wine in your glass as a fond smile crept onto your face. "That’s the thing. He didn’t chase me. Azriel isn’t the type to play games or put on a show. He just… was himself. Steady, patient, kind. I think that’s what got me. After centuries of grand gestures and fleeting flings, he was the first to make me feel like I could truly rest. Like I didn’t have to be anything other than me."

Feyre’s expression softened, a small smile tugging at her lips. "That’s… actually really beautiful."

Nesta arched a brow. "So you’re saying it was the quiet, brooding patience that won you over?"

You chuckled. "Pretty much. That, and the fact that he’s maddeningly stubborn. He saw through all my walls and didn’t let me push him away, no matter how hard I tried."

Helion sighed dramatically, raising his glass again. "Well, I suppose I’ll allow it. If anyone deserves you, it’s that shadowsinger of yours. But don’t think I’m not still jealous."

"You’ll live," you teased, rolling your eyes at him.

Feyre and Nesta exchanged a glance, both of them smiling now. Feyre’s voice was soft when she spoke. "I’m glad you found someone like him. You deserve that kind of love."

You nodded, a warmth blooming in your chest. "I do too."

Helion groaned, breaking the tender moment with a laugh. "Alright, enough of this sweetness. Where’s the scandal? The chaos? Surely Azriel wasn’t perfect all the time."

You smirked, tilting your head. "Oh, he’s far from perfect, but that’s a story for another time."

Feyre and Nesta groaned in unison, but you just laughed, taking another sip of your wine. Some stories, after all, were meant to be kept between you and Azriel.

-----

Kaia was bundled under a blanket in the middle of the large bed, her tiny wings shifting slightly as she napped. Azriel sat at the edge of the bed, his hand resting lightly on Kaia’s back as if to shield her from even the idea of the world outside. The soft rise and fall of her breathing filled the quiet room, her little face relaxed in the purest form of peace.

Nyx, sprawled in a chair by the window, watched her with a mixture of amusement and tenderness. "She sleeps like she owns the place," he murmured, his tone a little envious.

Azriel glanced at him, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. "She does. At least in her mind."

Nyx chuckled but stayed where he was, resting his chin in his hand. "You’re lucky she’s so small. If she were my age, you’d have your hands full trying to keep her from taking over the entire cabin."

Azriel’s smile widened, his gaze returning to Kaia. "She already has me wrapped around her finger. I wouldn’t even try to stop her."

They lapsed into silence, the comfortable kind that settled naturally between them. Kaia’s wings twitched slightly as she shifted in her sleep, a tiny sigh escaping her lips. Azriel adjusted the blanket around her, his movements practiced and gentle.

The door creaked open, and Rhysand’s unmistakable presence filled the room. He leaned casually against the frame, his arms crossed, an amused smirk playing on his lips. "Ah, there you are. I wondered where my son had gone."

Nyx glanced over his shoulder, his expression sheepish. "I’m not hiding. I’m… supervising."

Rhys raised a brow, clearly unconvinced. "Supervising? It looks more like lounging." His gaze shifted to Azriel, who hadn’t moved from his spot on the bed. "And you, Azriel? You’ve recruited my son into your world of quiet brooding already?"

Azriel didn’t look up, his attention still on Kaia. "I’m teaching him patience. A skill you seem to lack."

Rhys chuckled, stepping fully into the room. He looked down at Kaia, his expression softening. "She really is a little marvel, isn’t she?"

"She is," Azriel replied quietly, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face.

Nyx stood, stretching lazily. "Well, if you’ve found me, I guess I’m free to go now."

Rhys gave him a pointed look. "Not so fast. If you’re leaving, you’re taking your cousins with you. They’ve been terrorizing Cassian since you vanished."

Nyx groaned but nodded, pausing to glance at Kaia one last time. "She’s lucky she’s a baby. No one’s expecting her to deal with any of this chaos."

Azriel smirked faintly, his shadows curling protectively around his daughter. "She’ll have her time. For now, this is enough."

Nyx rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, slipping past Rhys and out the door. Rhys lingered, his gaze settling on Azriel with a mix of amusement and fondness.

"You’re in deep, aren’t you?" Rhys said softly.

Azriel finally looked up, his golden eyes unwavering. "Deeper than I ever thought possible."

Rhys smiled, clapping him lightly on the shoulder. "Good. She deserves that."

With one last glance at Kaia, Rhys left, leaving Azriel alone once more with his sleeping daughter, his expression calm and utterly content.

As Kaia slept soundly, her tiny fists curled into the blanket, Azriel leaned back against the headboard, his gaze fixed on her. The room was quiet save for the soft rustle of her wings and the occasional creak of the cabin as the wind moved outside.

His thoughts, however, weren’t fully here. You had been gone with Feyre and Nesta for hours now, no doubt enjoying yourselves in the Day Court. He trusted you completely, but his mind always wandered when you weren’t within reach, especially with Helion around.

Azriel’s shadows stirred as if sensing his unease, curling lazily around his shoulders and wrists like smoke. He glanced at them, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Go," he murmured quietly. "Check on her."

The shadows seemed to ripple in acknowledgment before slipping from him, snaking out through the room and under the door, silent as always. He watched them disappear, his mind already imagining their path as they travelled across the cabin and beyond.

He shifted his focus back to Kaia, his fingers brushing over the edge of her blanket. She stirred briefly, one of her little wings fluttering, but then she settled again, a soft hum escaping her lips.

It didn’t take long before his shadows returned, curling around him with familiar ease. They brought back glimpses of your laughter, the sound of Feyre teasing Helion, and the faint scent of the Day Court’s jasmine-laden air.

"Enjoying yourself, are you?" Azriel muttered to himself, a soft chuckle escaping him. Despite his love for you, he couldn't help the small pang of longing to have you here, even in the midst of his joy at knowing you were having fun.

Kaia shifted again, and Azriel leaned forward, adjusting her blanket before sitting back, his expression softening as his shadows whispered their findings to him. At least you were happy and safe, and for now, that was enough.

The peaceful quiet of the room was shattered as the door suddenly swung open with a loud creak, followed by Cassian’s booming voice.

"Az, have you seen where—"

Before he could finish, Kaia stirred, her little nose scrunching as she let out a soft whine. Azriel shot Cassian a glare sharp enough to cut steel, his shadows coiling tighter around him in warning.

"Cassian," Azriel hissed, his voice low and dangerous.

Cassian froze mid-step, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water as he realized what he had done. "Oh, shit," he muttered, raising his hands in mock surrender.

Kaia’s whine turned into a soft, drowsy cry as her eyes fluttered open, her tiny wings twitching beneath the blanket. "Dada," she murmured groggily, her voice thick with sleep.

Azriel immediately leaned forward, his hand stroking her back soothingly. "It’s okay, Kaia," he murmured, his voice soft and calming. "Dada’s here."

Kaia blinked up at him, her big hazel eyes—so much like his—glistening with half-formed tears. She reached out a small hand, her fingers clumsily clutching at his tunic. "Too loud," she mumbled, her toddler speech slurring slightly.

Azriel shot another pointed glare at Cassian, who was still frozen in the doorway. "You woke her up," Azriel said, his tone clipped.

Cassian had the decency to look sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck. "I didn’t realize she was napping," he admitted, his voice quieter now. "Sorry, Kaia."

Kaia, however, wasn’t so easily placated. She turned her head toward Cassian, her little brows furrowed. "Cassy bad," she declared, her tiny voice firm despite the sleepiness clinging to it.

Cassian blinked, then burst out laughing. "Oh, come on, kid. Don’t sell me out like that!"

Azriel gently scooped Kaia into his arms, her small wings drooping as she nestled against his chest. "You brought this on yourself," he muttered, his tone dry.

Kaia, already calming in her father’s arms, shot Cassian one last pout before burying her face in Azriel’s tunic. "No loud," she mumbled, her voice muffled.

Cassian held up his hands again in surrender. "Alright, alright, I get it. I’m the villain here."

Azriel sighed, rocking Kaia gently as she started to settle. "What do you need, Cassian?"

"Nothing that can’t wait," Cassian replied, stepping back toward the door with a sheepish grin. "I’ll let you get back to it. And, uh, sorry again, Kaia."

Kaia didn’t bother to respond, already drifting back into a doze against Azriel’s shoulder. Cassian gave a final wave before slipping out, closing the door much more quietly this time.

Azriel sighed, his shadows wrapping around him and Kaia protectively. "Troublemaker," he muttered, though whether he meant Cassian or his daughter, even he wasn’t sure.

Kaia shifted against Azriel’s chest, her little wings twitching under the blanket he had draped around her. She let out a soft, frustrated sigh, her tiny fists curling into his tunic as she blinked her wide hazel eyes up at him.

"Dada," she whispered, her voice barely louder than a breath, "no sweepy."

Azriel brushed a hand gently over her soft, dark curls, his expression softening. "You need to rest, Kaia," he murmured, rocking her slightly. "You’ve had a big day already."

She shook her head, her curls bouncing with the motion. "No sweepy," she insisted, her voice gaining a bit more strength. Her little hand tugged at his tunic, her pout forming as she looked up at him. "Cassy loud. Kaia wake."

Azriel sighed, his shadows curling lazily around them as if to create a cocoon of calm. "I know, love," he said softly. "But you’ll be tired later if you don’t sleep now."

Kaia wrinkled her nose, clearly unconvinced. "No sweep. Play?"

He smiled faintly, brushing a finger down her nose. "It’s not time to play, Kaia."

She huffed, her little wings fluttering in agitation as she shifted in his arms. "Kaia no tired," she declared, her tone bordering on stubborn.

Azriel chuckled under his breath, standing up from the bed with her in his arms. "Alright, let’s see if we can make you sleepy again."

He began pacing the room slowly, his movements deliberate and soothing. He hummed a low, calming tune, the same one he’d used to lull her to sleep since she was a newborn. Kaia rested her head against his shoulder, her eyes half-closing as the melody washed over her, but her little fingers still fidgeted with the edge of his tunic.

"Dada," she whispered after a moment, her voice softer now, "sing more?"

Azriel smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Of course, my star," he said, his voice gentle.

As he continued humming, Kaia’s breathing began to even out again, though her wings twitched every so often. Even as her eyelids grew heavier, she didn’t quite let herself drift off, as if determined to fight sleep as long as she could.

Azriel kept at it, patient as ever, holding her close and rocking her gently. Eventually, her small hand stilled, and her soft breaths fell into rhythm. He glanced down to see her eyes finally closed, her little body fully relaxed against his.

"Stubborn, just like your mother," he murmured with a fond smile, brushing another kiss to her forehead before settling her back onto the bed.

Azriel watched Kaia for a moment longer, ensuring she was completely settled. Her little wings lay still now, tucked neatly beneath the blanket, and her tiny hand rested loosely by her face. Her soft breaths filled the room, the kind of sound that brought a rare peace to Azriel’s ever-guarded heart.

Satisfied she was finally asleep, he leaned down and pressed a light kiss to her forehead, his shadows curling protectively around her as if to ensure no sound or disturbance would wake her this time. He straightened slowly, his steps deliberate and silent as he moved toward the door.

Azriel opened it just wide enough to slip through, closing it with a quiet click behind him. His sharp senses immediately attuned to the sounds of the cabin: faint laughter and the unmistakable hum of conversation coming from the main room where Cassian and Rhysand were.

He moved down the hallway with his usual grace, his boots making almost no sound on the wooden floor. His shadows lingered at the edges of the hall, stretching ahead of him as though scouting the way.

As he approached the room, Cassian’s boisterous laughter echoed, followed by Rhysand’s smoother, amused tone.

"You do realize that was entirely your fault," Rhys was saying, his voice carrying a hint of teasing.

Cassian’s retort was immediate. "How was I supposed to know she was napping? Az didn’t put up a sign."

Azriel stepped into the room, his expression calm but his gaze sharp. "You didn’t need a sign, Cassian. It’s common sense."

Cassian turned, his grin wide despite the reprimand. "Ah, the shadow master returns. Did you get your little princess back to sleep?"

Azriel moved to stand near the fireplace, his shadows flickering faintly in the firelight. "She’s asleep now. Don’t wake her again, or I’ll ensure you regret it."

Rhysand chuckled, leaning back in his chair with a knowing smirk. "Kaia has you wrapped tighter around her finger than I thought possible, brother."

Azriel shrugged, unbothered. "She’s two. What’s your excuse for Nyx?"

Rhys’s smirk widened, and Cassian let out a bark of laughter. "Touché," Cassian said, raising his glass in a mock toast.

Azriel sighed, folding his arms as he leaned against the wall. "What’s the status of the rest of the cabin? Any other disasters I need to know about?"

Cassian waved a hand dismissively. "The boys are fine—for now. Nyx is keeping them occupied."

"For how long?" Azriel asked dryly, his golden gaze shifting between them.

Rhysand grinned. "Long enough for us to enjoy the silence. Or what’s left of it, considering Cassian’s volume."

Cassian scoffed, throwing a cushion at Rhys, who dodged it with a laugh. Azriel shook his head, the faintest hint of amusement flickering in his expression as he watched his brothers.

"Let’s just hope this calm lasts," he muttered, though deep down, he knew better.

The sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the hall before Calen burst into the room, his face flushed with frustration. His dark hair was tousled, and his little wings fluttered in agitation as he stomped in, crossing his arms tightly over his chest.

"Uncle Az! Uncle Rhys! Dad!" he exclaimed, his voice carrying the unmistakable tone of a boy who had reached his limit.

Cassian immediately straightened, his grin widening as he turned toward his youngest. "What’s wrong, champ? You look like you’ve just fought a battle and lost."

Calen shot his father a glare, his small jaw set in defiance. "Torran and Emrus won’t stop bossing me around, and Nyx keeps telling me I’m too little to play the game!"

Rhysand raised an eyebrow, lounging back in his chair with a smirk. "What game is this, exactly?"

"Some stupid hide-and-seek game, but they keep making rules that don’t make sense!" Calen huffed, his wings flaring slightly as he planted his feet firmly on the ground. "And they won’t let me hide where I want!"

Azriel’s lips twitched as he exchanged a glance with Cassian. "Sounds like they’re trying to stack the odds in their favour," he said evenly, his shadows curling lazily around his shoulders.

Cassian laughed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "Ah, Calen, you’ve got to be cleverer than that. Outsmart them! You’re the youngest—that’s your secret weapon. They’ll never see it coming."

Calen frowned, clearly unimpressed by the advice. "But they don’t listen to me," he muttered, his lower lip jutting out in a pout.

Rhysand tapped a finger against his chin, his violet eyes twinkling with amusement. "You know, Calen, if you want to win, maybe you should team up with someone else. Divide and conquer."

Calen tilted his head, his young mind clearly working through the suggestion. "Like Kaia?"

Azriel, who had been watching quietly, arched an eyebrow. "Kaia is napping, Calen. And she’s not exactly old enough to strategize."

"But she’s sneaky," Calen insisted, his eyes lighting up with the beginnings of a plan. "She’s little, and she can hide really good!"

Cassian let out a hearty laugh, clapping a hand on his son’s shoulder. "Now that’s thinking like a true warrior! But maybe let Kaia sleep a bit longer before you recruit her to your cause."

Calen sighed dramatically, his wings drooping slightly. "Fine," he grumbled, though his mind was clearly still turning over ideas.

Azriel crouched down to Calen’s level, his golden eyes steady and calm. "You’ll figure it out, Calen. And if you really need help, come find me. I’m sure we can even the playing field."

The boy perked up at that, a small grin tugging at his lips. "Thanks, Uncle Az."

"Anytime," Azriel replied, straightening again as Calen turned and marched back toward the hall, clearly ready to face his brothers and cousin once more.

As the door closed behind him, Cassian chuckled, shaking his head. "That one’s going to give them hell when he gets older."

Azriel simply shook his head, a faint smile lingering on his lips as his shadows whispered faintly around him. "Let’s just hope he doesn’t wake Kaia in the process."

The sound of measured footsteps approached the room, and moments later, Nyx leaned casually against the doorway, his expression a mix of amusement and mild panic. His dark hair was slightly mussed, and his eyes—the same striking shade as his mother’s—sparkled with mischief and just a hint of guilt.

"Uh, heads up," Nyx announced, crossing his arms and glancing between his father, Cassian, and Azriel. "There’s a broken vase on the second floor."

Rhysand’s brow lifted, his smirk fading as he sat up straighter. "A broken vase? Which vase, Nyx?"

Nyx hesitated, scratching the back of his neck. "You know, the one mom really likes. The blue one with the gold pattern."

Cassian groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "You’ve got to be kidding me. That thing is practically an antique!"

Azriel’s gaze sharpened, his arms crossing over his chest. "How did it happen?"

Nyx shrugged, the picture of nonchalance, though the way he avoided direct eye contact betrayed his nerves. "Well, Torran and Emrus were throwing a ball, and Calen tried to catch it, but he tripped, and... smash."

Rhysand pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a slow breath. "And where were you in all this?"

"Supervising," Nyx replied quickly, though his sly grin faltered when his father gave him a pointed look.

"Supervising," Rhys repeated dryly. "And did it occur to you to stop them before they destroyed something your mother treasures?"

Nyx raised his hands defensively. "Hey, I tried! But you know how they are—they don’t listen to me half the time. Besides," he added with a smirk, "it’s kind of funny when you think about it."

Cassian let out a short laugh, but it quickly turned into a cough when Azriel shot him a warning glare.

"You do realize," Azriel said in his calm, deadly tone, "that not only is Feyre going to be furious, but Y/N will probably be even worse. You know how she feels about people not respecting the house."

Nyx grimaced, his playful demeanor faltering entirely. "Yeah, I figured. That’s why I’m warning you. I thought you might want to... I don’t know, soften the blow or something."

Rhysand leaned back in his chair, a weary sigh escaping him. "Nyx, you’re going to help clean it up, and then you’re going to explain to your mother and Y/N what happened. Understood?"

Nyx groaned, his shoulders slumping. "Do I have to? Can’t you just—"

"Understood?" Rhysand repeated, his tone firm.

"Yes, sir," Nyx mumbled, dragging his feet as he turned to leave. But just as he reached the doorway, he glanced back over his shoulder.

"Good luck with Mom and Aunt Y/N," he added with a sly grin. "I’m sure they’ll both be... understanding."

And with that, he disappeared down the hall, leaving the three men in heavy silence.

Cassian was the first to break it, shaking his head with a rueful laugh. "This is why I always say we should have fewer breakable things in the house. Kids and antiques don’t mix."

"Maybe," Azriel muttered, his jaw tightening slightly, "but I doubt that’s going to help us right now."

Rhysand chuckled darkly, his violet eyes narrowing in amusement. "If Y/N and Feyre walk in before we figure out a plan, we’re doomed."

The trio made their way up to the second floor, their footsteps echoing faintly through the quiet hall. As they rounded the corner toward the room where the vase had once sat, the sight of shards scattered across the floor greeted them.

Cassian winced, crouching down to survey the damage. "Well, that’s... something," he muttered, examining the pieces of the vase. But his voice faltered as his gaze swept over the floor and landed on Emrus, who was crouched nearby, his hand pressed tightly against his side.

Azriel was the first to react, his expression hardening as he moved quickly toward the boy. "Emrus?"

The young boy flinched but didn't immediately pull his hand away. Blood trickled between his fingers, dark against the pale skin of his hand, and when he lifted his eyes to meet Azriel's, they were wide with fear.

"It... it’s not bad," Emrus stammered, though his voice wavered with pain. "I just... I didn’t mean to—"

Azriel gently pried Emrus’s hand away from his side, and a sharp intake of breath escaped him as he saw the small shard of ceramic lodged in Emrus’s palm. The cut was deep enough that the piece had embedded itself into the wound.

"How did this happen?" Azriel asked, his voice low and controlled, though there was a clear edge of concern.

Emrus swallowed hard. "I—uh—I was trying to pick up the pieces, and I didn’t see it. It... just happened."

Cassian crouched next to him, examining the cut with a frown. "This isn’t something you can just ignore, kid. We need to get that out and clean it."

Azriel nodded, his expression shifting to one of determination as he carefully reached for the piece of ceramic embedded in Emrus’s hand. "This might hurt," he warned, his voice softening to reassure the boy.

Emrus winced as Azriel gently tugged at the shard, and the pain caused his body to stiffen, but he didn’t cry out. Azriel, with his expert hands, slowly removed the piece and then pressed his palm over the wound to staunch the bleeding.

Cassian immediately stood, his voice low but urgent. "I’ll get some supplies. We need to clean it properly."

Azriel remained crouched next to Emrus, his shadows swirling around them protectively. "Stay calm, Emrus," Azriel murmured, his eyes never leaving the boy’s face. "You’re going to be fine."

Emrus nodded weakly, his face pale but determined. "I’m sorry about the vase, Uncle Az. I didn’t mean to break it."

Azriel’s gaze softened, his voice gentle. "I know you didn’t. Just focus on breathing. You’ll be alright."

Cassian returned a moment later with a small first-aid kit, and Azriel quickly got to work, cleaning the wound and applying a bandage. Once he finished, he met Emrus’s eyes. "All done."

Emrus flexed his fingers experimentally, then gave Azriel a tentative smile. "It doesn’t hurt anymore."

"Good," Azriel said, offering him a small nod. He looked up at Cassian, who was watching from a few feet away. "Make sure he doesn’t try to go back to playing until that heals, alright?"

Cassian waved a hand dismissively, though there was no hiding the worry in his eyes. "Of course, of course. I’ll make sure he takes it easy for the rest of the day."

Azriel stood up, glancing once more at the broken vase before looking back at Emrus. "Are you alright to sit for a while?"

Emrus nodded again, holding up his now-bandaged hand. "Yeah. I’ll stay here."

Azriel nodded, his eyes flicking back toward the door as he stepped away, glancing at Cassian. "Let’s clean up the mess before the others get up here. They won’t be pleased."

Cassian grinned, clapping Azriel on the back. "Oh, I’m sure they’ll understand. At least once we show them the bleeding hand, they’ll feel sorry for you."

Azriel smirked. "I think they’ll just be mad that we didn’t prevent it in the first place."

"True," Cassian replied with a chuckle. "Alright, let’s get to it."

As they bent down to start cleaning the shards, Azriel’s mind wandered briefly to the children—so full of energy, always finding ways to get into trouble. But despite it all, he knew he would do anything to protect them. Even if it meant dealing with broken vases and wounds along the way.

-----

The three of you were sprawled across an opulent chaise in one of the Day Court’s sunlit sitting rooms, golden light pouring in through the high windows. The wine bottles scattered across the table were almost empty, and the haze of tipsiness made everything funnier, everything lighter. Nesta and Feyre were giggling uncontrollably, their cheeks flushed a deep pink.

“You know,” Feyre slurred, swirling the last of her wine in her glass, “I have to say... I was worried when I first got with Rhys. I mean, he talks such a big game—”

You cut her off with a loud groan, throwing a pillow at her. “Don’t. Stop. No!” You held up a hand as if warding off some invisible evil. “Feyre, that’s my brother. My brother. I don’t want to hear anything about him in bed!”

Nesta burst out laughing, nearly spilling her drink. “Oh, come on, Y/N. You can’t tell me you’ve never wondered—”

“No!” you shrieked, grabbing another pillow to chuck at her this time. “Absolutely not! I’m disgusted you’d even suggest it. I’d rather rip out my own wings again than hear about Rhysand’s—” You shuddered dramatically, cutting yourself off.

Feyre, in tears from laughing so hard, managed to gasp out, “Fine, fine! I won’t bring him up again. But just so you know... amazing. Amazing.”

Nesta let out a cackle as you groaned loudly, grabbing the wine bottle and drinking straight from it to erase the mental image.

“Alright,” Nesta said after catching her breath, leaning back smugly. “Since Feyre can’t talk about Rhys anymore, let’s talk about Cassian.”

You snorted. “This should be good.”

Nesta smirked, twirling a strand of her dark hair around her finger. “Oh, he’s exactly what you’d expect. Loud, commanding, cocky. He thinks he’s the best at everything—and honestly? He’s not wrong.”

Feyre and you burst into laughter, but Nesta wasn’t done. She raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a devilish grin. “But there’s this one thing he does with his wings—”

“No, no, no!” Feyre groaned, covering her ears with her hands. “I don’t need to hear about my brother-in-law like that!”

You, meanwhile, were doubled over, tears streaming down your face as you laughed. “Nesta, you’re going to kill her!”

Nesta raised her glass in triumph, her grin widening. “I’m just saying, he’s got stamina. And creativity. What more could I ask for?”

Feyre looked like she might pass out from mortification, and you took the opportunity to change the subject—or so you thought.

“Alright, Y/N,” Nesta said, turning her sharp gaze on you. “Your turn. Spill. What’s Azriel like?”

You froze mid-sip, choking slightly as you set the glass down. “Oh, no. I’m not doing this. No way.”

Feyre and Nesta both leaned in closer, their eyes glittering with mischievous glee. “Come on,” Feyre urged, her voice lilting with the wine. “We told you about ours. Fair’s fair.”

Nesta smirked. “Don’t be shy. We all know Azriel’s got... talents.”

You flushed, shaking your head furiously. “Nope. Not happening. I’m not feeding your curiosity again.”

“Please,” Feyre said, drawing the word out into a whine. “We’re your sisters! We deserve to know!”

You sighed, giving them a half-hearted glare. “Fine. I’ll say this: Azriel is... thorough.”

They both burst out laughing, and you quickly held up a finger. “That’s all you’re getting. Thorough. Nothing else.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “You’re no fun. I was hoping for something juicy.”

“Yeah, well,” you shot back, smirking, “I’ve got to preserve some mystery. Unlike you two, apparently.”

Nesta narrowed her eyes, her competitive streak kicking in as she leaned closer, her voice low and conspiratorial. "You’re holding out on us, Y/N. ‘Thorough’ doesn’t cut it. You’ve got to give us something."

Feyre nodded in agreement, her cheeks flushed with wine and mischief. "Exactly. You can’t just leave us hanging. Spill, sister."

You groaned, rubbing your temples. "You two are relentless, you know that?"

Nesta smirked, crossing her arms. "And you’re stubborn. But we’ve got all day and another bottle of wine. So talk."

Feyre chimed in, waving the almost-empty bottle in your direction. "We’ll even pour you another glass if it helps."

You narrowed your eyes at her. "Bribery? Really?"

"Whatever it takes," Feyre said, her grin widening.

With a dramatic sigh, you threw your hands up in defeat. "Fine! Fine. But if Rhysand or Cassian ever hear about this, I’m blaming both of you."

Nesta’s smirk widened as she refilled her glass. "They won’t hear it from us. Promise."

You took a long sip of wine, stalling for time. Finally, you set the glass down and crossed your arms. "Alright. Azriel... is quiet. Not in a boring way, but in this... intense, focused way. He pays attention to everything. He notices the little things—like the way my breath hitches when he touches certain places or the exact moment to slow down or speed up. He’s—"

Feyre’s eyes widened, and she nearly choked on her wine. "Oh, Mother. Keep going."

Nesta raised an eyebrow, her smirk practically predatory. "I knew it. All that control he has? Bet it all comes undone in the bedroom."

You bit your lip, trying to suppress a smile. "Sometimes. But even when it does, it’s still... deliberate. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing, and he’s enjoying every second of it."

Feyre fanned herself dramatically, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "No wonder you look so smug all the time."

Nesta laughed, leaning back in her chair. "I always figured he’d be good, but damn, Y/N. You hit the jackpot."

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t suppress the small, satisfied grin on your face. "Happy now?"

"Ecstatic," Feyre said, raising her glass in a mock toast.

Nesta clinked her glass against Feyre’s, her smirk firmly in place. "We’re definitely bringing this up next time the guys think they’re the superior ones."

You groaned, already regretting giving them anything to work with. "You two are impossible."

Feyre grinned, her cheeks still flushed with laughter and wine. "And you’re married to a Shadowsinger. Who knew you were the wildest one of all of us?"

Nesta snorted, leaning in closer with a wicked gleam in her eyes. "Alright, next question: How does he use his shadows—"

"NO!" you shouted, cutting her off as you reached for the wine bottle and poured yourself another glass. "This conversation is over. Forever."

But the laughter that followed made you realize you’d walked right into their trap—and you were never going to live it down.

-----

The cabin was finally quiet, the day’s chaos simmering down to a peaceful hum. The fire crackled softly in the stone hearth, casting a warm, golden glow over the living room. All five kids—Nyx, Torran, Emrus, Calen, and little Kaia—were snuggled up on the massive couch, each dressed in their pyjamas. For the first time all day, they were calm, their boundless energy having finally run its course.

Nyx, ever the eldest and self-proclaimed “responsible one,” sat on one end of the couch, his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. He was pretending to read a book, though his eyelids were drooping. Next to him, Torran and Emrus were leaning against each other, their earlier squabbles forgotten as they shared a blanket. Calen was curled up near Emrus’s side, clutching a small stuffed dragon he insisted was his lucky charm.

Kaia, the tiniest of them all, was tucked securely between Nyx and a pile of pillows, her wings fluttering slightly as she fought to stay awake. Her chubby hands clutched her favourite soft toy, a well-loved plush bat Azriel had given her. She yawned, her big hazel eyes—so much like her father’s—blinking slowly as the warmth of the fire and the coziness of the moment lulled her.

Azriel stood quietly by the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest as he took in the rare sight. His shadows swirled lazily around him, their usual restlessness mirroring his relief that, at last, the house was still. Rhysand was seated in one of the armchairs, a cup of tea in hand, his head leaning back against the chair as he watched the children with a faint, contented smile. Cassian, sprawled in another chair, was grinning like a proud father, even as his eyes drooped with exhaustion.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen them this still,” Cassian muttered, his voice low so as not to disturb the moment.

Rhysand chuckled softly, shaking his head. “It’s a miracle. Someone write this down.”

Azriel allowed himself a small smile, his gaze lingering on Kaia as she yawned again, her wings twitching before she snuggled deeper into the pillows. “Kaia’s usually asleep long before this,” he murmured, his voice gentle.

Cassian grinned. “She’s a fighter, that one. Just like her dad.”

Azriel huffed a quiet laugh, stepping further into the room to drape another blanket over the children. Kaia’s tiny hand reached out instinctively to clutch the edge of the blanket, pulling it close to her chin.

“You think they’ll actually stay down this time?” Rhysand asked, raising an eyebrow.

Azriel glanced at the sleeping children, his expression softening. “They’re done for the night. Even Kaia can’t fight sleep forever.”

Cassian let out a contented sigh, resting his head back. “Peace at last. Let’s not jinx it.”

Nyx stretched his arms over his head, his book slipping onto his lap as he yawned. He glanced at the younger boys, Torran and Emrus, who were beginning to nod off under their shared blanket. With the air of someone much older than his thirteen years, Nyx stood and tapped Torran’s shoulder.

“Alright, time for bed,” he said softly, though his tone left little room for argument.

Torran groaned, pulling the blanket tighter around him. “But it’s warm here...”

Nyx rolled his eyes but smiled. “You’ll be warm in bed too. Come on, before Uncle Cassian carries you like a baby.”

Emrus chuckled sleepily, nudging his brother. “He will, you know.”

That got Torran moving, albeit slowly. He stretched and stumbled off the couch, dragging Emrus with him. Together, the three boys shuffled toward their room, their footsteps soft against the wooden floor.

Cassian, watching from his chair, smirked as he stood. “That’s my boys. Go on, Nyx, make sure they brush their teeth.”

Nyx waved him off, already leading the way. “I know, I know. Night, Uncle Cassian. Night, Uncle Az.”

“Goodnight,” Azriel said quietly, his gaze still on Kaia, who was now fully asleep on the couch.

Cassian turned his attention to Calen, who was still clutching his stuffed dragon and blinking groggily. “Alright, little warrior, time for you too.”

Calen pouted but held up his arms for Cassian to lift him. “Carry me?” he mumbled sleepily.

Cassian’s grin softened as he scooped the six-year-old into his arms, dragon and all. “Of course, buddy. Let’s get you to bed.”

Calen rested his head against Cassian’s shoulder, his eyes already drooping shut as they headed toward the boys’ room. Cassian glanced back at Azriel before disappearing down the hallway.

“You’ve got it good with just one,” he teased lightly.

Azriel’s lips twitched in a faint smile as he adjusted the blanket over Kaia one last time. “For now.”

The house grew quieter as the boys settled into their room, leaving only the crackle of the fire and Kaia’s soft breathing in the living room. Peace, for now, reigned in the cabin.

Rhysand leaned back in his chair, swirling the remnants of his tea in his cup as he watched Azriel fuss over Kaia. A sly smile spread across his face as he crossed one leg over the other, his posture relaxed but his tone laced with mischief.

“You know, Az,” Rhys began casually, his voice low to avoid waking Kaia. “I never thought I’d live to see the day when the great Shadowsinger—silent, brooding, and deadly—would be tucking a toddler in on a couch like a doting father.”

Azriel shot him a sideways glance, his expression unreadable. “What’s your point, Rhys?”

Rhys’s grin widened. “Oh, no point. It’s just amusing to see how utterly whipped you are by someone who weighs less than a loaf of bread and calls you ‘Da-da’ with half her words missing.”

Azriel huffed a soft laugh, shaking his head as he adjusted the blanket over Kaia once more. “She’s two. What’s your excuse for Nyx still calling you ‘Rhysie’?”

Rhys feigned offense, placing a hand over his chest. “That’s different. Nyx calls me that out of love and respect.”

“Or to annoy you,” Azriel countered smoothly.

Rhys chuckled, conceding the point. “Fair enough. But seriously, look at you. The mighty Shadowsinger reduced to a pile of mush every time she looks at you with those big eyes.”

Azriel finally sat back, his arms resting on his knees as he glanced down at Kaia’s sleeping form. The faintest smile tugged at his lips. “Can you blame me?”

Rhys tilted his head, studying his brother-in-law with a rare softness in his gaze. “No, I really can’t. She’s got you wrapped around her little finger, and honestly, it’s a sight to behold. Who would’ve thought Azriel’s greatest weakness would be a pint-sized Illyrian with wings?”

Azriel’s shadows curled lazily around him, their movements mirroring his contentment. “She’s not my weakness, Rhys,” he said quietly, his voice firm. “She’s my strength.”

Rhys’s teasing smile faltered for a moment, replaced by something deeper. He gave a small nod, his voice quieter now. “You’re a good father, Az. Kaia’s lucky to have you.”

Azriel looked back at him, his expression softening in gratitude. “Thanks, Rhys.”

But, true to form, Rhys couldn’t let the moment stay too serious for long. He leaned forward, the mischief returning to his eyes. “Still, if she starts bossing you around like Y/N bossed me, I reserve the right to laugh.”

Azriel smirked, leaning back in his chair. “She already does, Rhys. But don’t worry—I’ll make sure to remind her that her ‘Rhysie’ uncle is always available for tea parties.”

Rhys groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “Why do I get the feeling that’s going to come back to haunt me?”

Azriel’s smirk widened as he leaned back, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Because it will.”

Cassian returned to the living room, his heavy footsteps signalling his arrival. In his hand was a folded piece of parchment sealed with the mark of a messenger. His expression, though not overtly grim, carried a weight that made both Rhysand and Azriel glance up immediately.

“Looks like we’ve got a situation,” Cassian said, holding up the letter. He handed it to Rhys, who broke the seal and quickly scanned the contents, his brows knitting together.

“What’s wrong?” Azriel asked, his posture straightening, shadows stirring slightly around him.

Rhys sighed as he folded the letter back up. “There’s trouble at one of the camps—an argument that’s spiralled out of control between a couple of the commanders. It’s threatening to disrupt training for the younglings, and the emissary is asking for our intervention before it escalates further.”

Cassian crossed his arms. “I would go, but I can’t leave Torran, Emrus, and Calen here without one of us. They’ve finally calmed down, and I don’t trust them not to burn this cabin to the ground if I’m gone.”

Rhys nodded, rubbing his temple as he considered the situation. Then his gaze shifted to Azriel. “Az, do you think you can handle this? I’d go myself, but I promised Feyre I’d keep an eye on Nyx this week, and you’re... well, you’re better suited for delicate diplomacy when it comes to these camps.”

Azriel hesitated, glancing over at the couch where Kaia was still curled up, sleeping peacefully. His brow furrowed as he weighed the request. “It depends on how long I’ll be gone. I don’t want her to feel unsettled without me here.”

Rhys leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “She’ll be fine, Az. We’ve got this. You know we’ll take good care of her—Kaia adores Cassian and me.”

Cassian grinned, thumbing toward himself. “She adores me more than you, Rhys. Don’t lie to the man.”

Azriel shot him a dry look before turning back to Rhys. “How bad is the situation? Will this just be a quick visit, or am I looking at days of negotiation?”

“According to the letter, it shouldn’t take more than a day or two to resolve,” Rhys said reassuringly. “You’d fly out tomorrow morning, handle the situation, and be back before Kaia even has time to miss you too much.”

Azriel still looked reluctant, his fingers tapping lightly against his thigh. His shadows curled protectively around him, their movement reflecting his unease.

“Az,” Cassian said, his voice softer now. “We’ll take care of her like she’s our own. You know that. And if anything happens—anything at all—you’ll be the first to know.”

Rhys nodded in agreement. “She’s in good hands, brother. Go sort out the camp mess and come back to her. She’ll be fine.”

Azriel exhaled deeply, his gaze softening as he looked at Kaia once more. After a long pause, he gave a small nod. “Alright. I’ll go. But if anything happens, I expect to know immediately.”

“Of course,” Rhys said, clapping a hand on Azriel’s shoulder. “Now, get some rest tonight. You’ll need it if you’re flying out first thing tomorrow.”

Azriel’s gaze lingered on Kaia as she slept peacefully on the couch, her tiny form curled into the blanket. He could feel the weight of his decision to leave, the protective instinct that surged through him, but he knew the task ahead was necessary. He stood slowly, intending to lift Kaia and carry her to her room for the night, his heart heavy with the thought of being away from her.

Just as he stepped forward, Rhysand’s voice broke the silence.

“Az,” Rhys said, his tone soft but firm. “Leave her. We’ll take care of her while you get some rest. You need to be at your best tomorrow.”

Cassian, who had been quietly observing from the doorway, added with a reassuring grin, “We’ve got this, Shadowsinger. Go sleep. Kaia’s in good hands with us.”

Azriel paused, his gaze flicking between his brothers. He opened his mouth to argue, but the fatigue he’d been pushing aside all day hit him like a wave. His shoulders slumped slightly as he realized they were right. He hadn’t slept much, and the journey tomorrow would require all of his focus.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice tinged with doubt. His gaze drifted back to Kaia, still wrapped in the warmth of the blanket, completely unaware of the growing distance between them.

Rhys stepped forward, giving his brother a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “We’re sure, Azriel. You can’t be at your best if you’re exhausted. Let us take over for tonight. You’ll be back before you know it.”

Cassian’s grin widened. “Besides, I’m pretty sure Kaia’s getting more comfortable with me than you these days.”

Azriel’s brow furrowed, and he turned his gaze back to his daughter. She was resting soundly, her breathing even and calm. It wasn’t easy to leave, but he knew the safety of the camp depended on him.

Finally, he gave a small nod, stepping back reluctantly. “Alright. But if she wakes up…”

“We’ll handle it, Az,” Rhys said firmly. “Go rest. You’ll be back before you even miss a beat.”

Azriel hesitated for a moment longer before turning toward the stairs. As he made his way to his room, he cast one last glance over his shoulder, his shadows curling protectively around him even though he trusted his brothers completely.

“I’ll be back before she knows I’m gone,” he murmured to himself, his heart heavy but determined.

Once Azriel disappeared up the stairs, Rhysand and Cassian exchanged a glance. The room was quiet now, save for the soft sound of Kaia’s breathing and the occasional crackle from the hearth. Cassian leaned back in his chair, stretching his long legs out and folding his arms behind his head, a thoughtful expression settling over his face.

“You know,” Cassian began, his voice low to avoid disturbing Kaia, “I never thought I’d see Azriel like this. Completely head over heels for that little one. It’s... different.”

Rhys chuckled softly, leaning against the edge of the table. “Different is an understatement. Did you see the way he was looking at her just now? Like she’s the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.”

Cassian smirked, shaking his head. “I don’t blame him. She’s adorable. And she’s got his eyes—those big, soulful eyes that just make you want to give her the world.” He paused, his tone turning teasing. “Not to mention, she’s got him wrapped around her little finger. Did you notice how he didn’t even argue when she demanded two bedtime stories last night?”

Rhys raised a brow, his lips curving into a mischievous smile. “Az? Not arguing? That’s a first. Kaia might be the only person who can command him without a single word of protest.”

Cassian laughed quietly, his broad shoulders shaking. “Honestly, it’s a little terrifying how much power she has over him. But it’s good for him, you know? Az needed something—or someone—to break through that wall of his. Kaia did that without even trying.”

Rhys nodded, his expression softening as he glanced at the sleeping toddler. “She’s brought out a side of him we never thought we’d see. A side even Y/N couldn’t fully reach. Don’t get me wrong, she’s his world, but Kaia... she’s something else entirely.”

Cassian leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Do you think he worries too much about her, though? I mean, the way he hesitated about going to the camp tomorrow—it’s like he can’t bear to be apart from her, even for a day.”

Rhys sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Of course he worries. She’s his daughter, and she’s so small, so fragile compared to what we’ve dealt with with the boys. But that’s just Azriel. He’s always been the protector, the one who carries the weight of the world on his shoulders. Kaia’s just added to that weight.”

Cassian nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, but she’s also lightened it in a way. You can see it in his eyes—he’s happier now. More at peace. Even with everything going on, he’s... softer.”

Rhys smirked. “Softer, yes. But don’t tell him that. He might actually throw you out the window this time.”

Cassian chuckled, leaning back again. “Noted. Still, it’s good to see him like this. And if he’s trusting us with her tonight, it means he knows we’ll take care of her.” He tilted his head toward Kaia, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “She might be tiny, but she’s already got the Shadowsinger’s stubborn streak.”

Rhys laughed, shaking his head. “Oh, she’s definitely her father’s daughter. We’re in for it when she grows up, that’s for sure.”

They both fell silent for a moment, their gazes drifting to Kaia. Despite their teasing and banter, there was an unspoken understanding between them. Azriel’s devotion to his daughter was something they both respected deeply, and they’d do whatever it took to protect her in his absence.

Cassian broke the silence with a smirk. “So, what are the odds she’s awake in five minutes, asking for a snack?”

Rhys chuckled, glancing at the clock. “Oh, I’d say pretty high. Better get ready—Az will never let us hear the end of it if we mess this up.”

Cassian grinned. “Bring it on. I’ve faced worse than a grumpy toddler. I think.”

Rhysand let out a low, amused chuckle, his shoulders shaking as he leaned back against the table. His violet eyes gleamed with mischief as he looked over at Cassian, who was now trying—and failing—to untangle one of his sons’ cloaks from the back of a chair.

“Cass, you can barely keep your three in line,” Rhys teased, his grin widening. “And you think you’ll be fine with Kaia added to the mix? Let’s be honest, she’s smarter than all three of your boys combined—and probably smarter than you too.”

Cassian groaned, finally yanking the cloak free, only to find it ripped slightly at the seam. He held it up with a sheepish grin. “First of all, this was already torn. And second, I’ll have you know I’m an excellent multitasker. Handling three boys and one tiny shadowling is a piece of cake.”

Rhys raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. “Right. The same multitasking that led to Torran and Emrus turning the entire second floor into a battlefield last week? Or was it the time Calen painted your leathers because you ‘weren’t paying attention’?”

Cassian waved him off, though his cheeks tinted slightly. “Minor hiccups. Kids are kids, Rhys. They’re supposed to make a mess. Besides, Kaia’s an angel compared to my boys. How hard can it be?”

Rhys snorted, shaking his head in disbelief. “An angel? Did you miss the part where she stole Azriel’s daggers last month and tried to hide them under the couch because she thought they were ‘shiny’? She’s not just an angel—she’s a sneaky little shadowling with more cunning than all of us combined.”

Cassian shrugged, unfazed. “She’s two, Rhys. How much trouble can she really cause?”

Rhys threw his head back and laughed, the sound rich and echoing through the room. “Oh, Cass. Famous last words. Let’s just hope she doesn’t team up with Calen. I’m not sure the cabin—or you—would survive.”

Cassian smirked, tossing the ripped cloak onto the nearest chair. “If that happens, I’ll blame you. You’re the one who convinced Az to leave her with us, after all.”

Rhys grinned, his eyes sparkling with humor. “You’re on your own, brother. Just don’t come crying to me when Kaia outsmarts you and the boys band together to take over the cabin.”

Cassian chuckled, shaking his head as he glanced toward Kaia, still sleeping soundly. “She’ll be fine. I’ve got this.”

Rhys gave him a knowing look, his grin never faltering. “If by ‘got this’ you mean you’re about to be completely outmatched by a toddler, then yes, Cassian. You’ve definitely ‘got this.’”

Kaia stirred under the blanket, her tiny body shifting as she blinked her sleepy eyes open. Her dark lashes fluttered, and for a moment, she stayed still, her little face scrunching as if debating whether to wake fully. Then, with a soft yawn that revealed her tiny teeth, she wriggled out of the blanket, her dishevelled curls sticking up in every direction.

“Dada?” she murmured groggily, her voice soft and still thick with sleep.

Cassian and Rhys exchanged a glance, both freezing like guilty children caught in the act. Rhys crouched down to her level, a warm smile spreading across his face.

“Hey, little shadowling,” Rhys greeted her softly. “Your dad went to get some rest. You’re stuck with us for now.”

Kaia blinked up at him, her tiny face thoughtful as if processing his words. Then she rubbed her eyes with her fists and let out another yawn.

“No Dada?” she asked, her tone slightly indignant now.

Cassian stepped forward with a grin, crouching beside Rhys. “Don’t worry, Kaia. We’re here to take care of you. You’ve got me, Uncle Cassy, and Uncle Rhysie. What more could you need?”

Kaia tilted her head, her sharp, Azriel-like eyes narrowing in clear suspicion. “Dada betta,” she mumbled, clutching the blanket to her chest as if it offered some sort of protection from these two uncles.

Rhys chuckled, his shoulders shaking as he glanced at Cassian. “Well, she’s not wrong.”

Kaia’s gaze flicked between them before she reached her tiny hands out toward Rhys, her bottom lip jutting out in a slight pout. “Up, Rhysie,” she demanded, her toddler voice firm despite her small size.

Rhys, unable to resist her, scooped her up into his arms, settling her on his hip. “Alright, shadowling. What’s the plan? Are we going to sit quietly, or are you going to join your cousins in their chaos sleeps?”

Kaia laid her head on his shoulder, her eyes half-lidded with sleepiness. “No chaos. No loud,” she murmured, her voice muffled against his shirt.

Cassian laughed loudly at that, earning a sharp look from Kaia. “Too loud!” she scolded, her tiny hand patting Rhys’s shoulder as if to emphasize her point.

“See?” Rhys teased, smirking at Cassian. “She’s already taking charge. I told you she’s the smartest one here.”

Kaia hummed sleepily, snuggling closer to Rhys. “Dada come back?” she asked quietly, her small hand fisting his shirt.

Rhys rubbed her back soothingly. “He’ll be back soon, Kaia. But for now, you’re stuck with us.”

Kaia didn’t respond, but the way her eyes drifted closed again suggested she wasn’t too upset about the arrangement—for now.

Rhys smiled softly as he looked down at Kaia, who was now dozing lightly on his shoulder, her tiny fingers still clutching his shirt. He brushed a stray curl from her forehead, his expression unusually tender.

“You know,” he said quietly, careful not to wake her, “I’ve always kind of wanted a daughter. There’s just something about them. They’re...different. Softer, maybe. Or maybe it’s because they can wrap you around their little fingers in a heartbeat.”

Cassian snorted, leaning back in his chair. “Don’t let Feyre hear you say that. She’ll be dragging you to the Healer’s to reverse what she made you do.”

Rhys chuckled, glancing over at him with a smirk. “As if. Feyre would murder me before she let me suggest another kid. She barely handled Nyx as a toddler.”

Cassian barked out a laugh, shaking his head. “Nesta wouldn’t even entertain the idea. The second Calen started running, she told me I was done. And not just done—snipped. She practically dragged me to the Healer’s herself.”

Rhys’s laughter deepened, his shoulders shaking. “At least Feyre pretended it was my idea. Said something about how ‘three Illyrian warriors in the house is enough for one lifetime.’”

Cassian shook his head, grinning. “Cowards. They couldn’t handle another one of us.”

Rhys grinned, his eyes flicking down to Kaia, who stirred slightly but remained asleep. “Not sure I blame them. One Nyx is plenty of trouble. But...I don’t know. Something about having a daughter feels different.”

Cassian raised an eyebrow, his grin teasing. “Starting to sound like you’re jealous of Azriel.”

Rhys smirked, but there was a warmth to it. “Maybe I am. Kaia’s going to be trouble when she grows up, though. She’s got that look in her eye—sharp and calculating, just like her dad. And with Az’s temper? She’ll be unstoppable.”

Cassian grinned, leaning back and folding his arms behind his head. “Good thing she’s got us around to spoil her. If Az isn’t careful, I might just claim her as my fourth.”

Rhys chuckled, shaking his head. “Good luck convincing Nesta to let you bring her home. Kaia’s got enough sass to go around—she might just turn your whole house upside down.”

Cassian leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his grin mischievous as he gestured toward Kaia, still nestled against Rhys’s shoulder. "You think Az and Y/N are going to have another one?"

Rhys raised an eyebrow, adjusting Kaia slightly to keep her comfortable. "You mean after this little shadowling? They might need a breather first. She’s only two."

Cassian smirked. "Sure, but you know how Az is. He’s obsessed with that kid. If Y/N even hinted at wanting another, he’d be on board in a heartbeat."

Rhys chuckled, shaking his head. "True, but have you met my sister? She’s not exactly the most patient when it comes to sleepless nights. I think Kaia already takes up enough of her energy."

Cassian leaned back in his chair, his grin widening. "Yeah, but she’s got that soft spot for Az. All he’d have to do is give her one of those brooding, puppy-dog looks, and she’d be done for."

Rhys laughed, a deep, rich sound. "You’re probably right. Azriel could convince her of anything with that quiet persistence of his. And let’s be honest, Kaia’s adorable enough to make anyone consider giving her a sibling."

Cassian tilted his head, considering. "If they do have another, what do you think? Another girl or a boy this time?"

Rhys tapped his fingers on the armrest, his expression thoughtful. "Knowing Az, it wouldn’t matter. He’d adore them either way. Though...a little boy with Y/N’s temper? That would be entertaining to watch."

Cassian barked out a laugh. "Can you imagine? A mini-Azriel running around but with Y/N’s attitude? The kid would have the entire Night Court wrapped around their finger before they could even talk."

Rhys smirked, a glint of humor in his eyes. "Or Kaia would just boss them around like she already does with everyone else. Either way, they’d have their hands full."

Cassian stretched, his wings flexing behind him as he grinned. "I say we place bets. If they have another, how long before the new kid starts causing trouble? Kaia set the bar high—stealing Az’s daggers before her second birthday."

Rhys shook his head, laughing. "I’m not betting on my sister’s family planning. But if they do have another, I’m sure it’ll be chaos—and hilarious to watch from a safe distance."

Kaia stirred against Rhys’s shoulder, her tiny fists rubbing at her eyes as she let out a sleepy little whine. Her dark lashes fluttered open, and she blinked blearily at the room. For a moment, it seemed like she might settle back down, but then she wiggled, her small hands tugging at Rhys’s shirt.

“Rhysie,” she murmured, her voice soft but insistent.

Rhys glanced down at her, his expression fond. “What’s wrong, little shadowling? You’re supposed to be sleeping.”

Kaia shook her head, her curls bouncing slightly. “No sweep. Wanna go ‘side,” she said, her toddler speech firm despite her grogginess.

Cassian snorted from across the room, trying to hide his laugh behind his hand. “She wants to go outside? At this hour? She’s got Az’s stubbornness, all right.”

Kaia turned her sharp gaze on Cassian, her little brow furrowing. “Not Cassy. Talkin’ to Rhysie,” she declared, her tone almost scolding.

Rhys bit back a laugh as he shifted her in his arms. “Outside? It’s night-time, Kaia. There’s snow everywhere. It’s cold.”

Kaia nodded enthusiastically, her little hands patting his chest. “Snow! Wanna pway in snow!”

Cassian leaned forward, his grin wide. “She’s persistent. What do you say, Rhys? Midnight snowball fight?”

Rhys shook his head, though there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. “I’m not letting her freeze out there. Azriel would kill me.”

Kaia’s lip wobbled at his refusal, her big, teary eyes locking onto Rhys’s face. “Pwease, Rhysie? Wanna pway,” she said, her voice trembling just enough to tug at his heart.

Cassian leaned back with a laugh. “Good luck saying no to that. She’s got you wrapped around her little finger.”

Rhys sighed dramatically, pretending to be defeated. “Kaia, it’s cold and dark. But how about this? If you go back to sleep now, I’ll take you out to play first thing in the morning. Deal?”

Kaia considered this, her little face scrunching in thought. “Pwomise?”

Rhys nodded, holding up a hand. “I promise. First thing in the morning, snowball fights and snow angels.”

Kaia finally seemed satisfied, snuggling back against his shoulder. “Okay...but Rhysie better not forget.”

Cassian shook his head, chuckling softly. “She’s got you, brother. Good luck living up to that promise.”

Rhys smirked, patting Kaia’s back as she drifted off again. “Just wait until morning. We’ll see who wins the snowball fight.”

Kaia shifted in Rhys’s arms, her little body restless as she tried to find a comfortable spot. She let out a soft sigh, her dark lashes fluttering as she attempted to settle.

But after a few moments, she squirmed again, her tiny fists rubbing at her eyes. “Can’t sweep,” she mumbled, her voice quiet but full of frustration.

Rhys looked down at her, his brows raising in amusement. “Can’t sleep, huh?”

Kaia shook her head, her curls brushing against his chest. “No sweep. Eyes no close,” she explained, her toddler logic making perfect sense to her.

Cassian chuckled from across the room, folding his arms as he leaned against the wall. “She’s too stubborn, just like her dad. She’s going to wear you out, Rhys.”

Kaia shot him a glare, her little nose scrunching. “No stubborn. Wanna pway!”

Rhys smirked, adjusting her in his arms. “You know, Kaia, it’s very late. Even the snow is sleeping.”

Kaia’s eyes widened, and she tilted her head at him. “Snow sweep?”

Cassian nearly choked on his laughter, turning away to compose himself.

Rhys nodded solemnly, fighting back his own grin. “Oh, yes. Snowflakes need rest too. They work hard falling all day.”

Kaia seemed to ponder this for a moment, her tiny fingers fidgeting with the fabric of his shirt. “But...but I no tire,” she finally said, her voice a little quieter now, as if trying to convince herself.

Rhys pressed a kiss to her curls, his tone soothing. “How about we try, just for a little bit? Close your eyes, and if you’re still not sleepy after a while, we’ll think of something else. Deal?”

Kaia hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. “Deal...but no sweep yet.”

Rhys cradled her a little closer, gently rocking her in his arms. “We’ll see, little shadowling. We’ll see.”

Cassian leaned back in his chair, grinning. “I’m betting she lasts five more minutes before she’s out again.”

Kaia’s eyes narrowed at him, her little voice firm. “No sweep!”

Both males laughed softly as Kaia huffed, snuggling closer to Rhys but still determined to stay awake.

Rhys sighed, bouncing Kaia lightly as she continued to fidget. “All right, little shadowling, since you can’t sleep with me, let’s see if Cassian’s big, loud arms can tire you out.”

Kaia blinked up at him, her dark eyes narrowing. “No Cassy,” she protested, her tiny hands clutching at his shirt.

Cassian, sitting sprawled in a chair nearby, grinned and opened his arms dramatically. “Come on, Kaia. Uncle Cassy’s warm and cozy. I promise not to be too loud.”

Kaia turned her head to glare at him. “You too noisy. No want Cassy!”

Rhys chuckled, shaking his head. “Too noisy, huh? Well, maybe you’ll make him quiet down for once.”

Ignoring her protests, he carefully shifted her over to Cassian. Kaia squirmed, her wings fluttering weakly as she pouted. “Rhysieee,” she whined, reaching back for him as Cassian scooped her up with ease.

Cassian held her snugly against his chest, feigning offense. “Hey, I’m fun! You just don’t know it yet.”

Kaia huffed, crossing her little arms and burying her face against his shoulder. “No Cassy. Want Rhysie.”

Rhys smirked, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. “You’ve got her wrapped around your finger, Cass. Let’s see if you can keep her entertained.”

Cassian grinned down at the stubborn toddler. “All right, Kaia, how about this? If you stay with me for five minutes and still want Rhys, I’ll hand you right back. Deal?”

Kaia peeked up at him suspiciously, her brow furrowed. “Pwomise?”

Cassian held up his hand solemnly. “I promise. But I’m pretty sure I can win you over before then.”

Kaia didn’t look convinced, but she let out a resigned sigh, settling against him begrudgingly. “Okay...no loud,” she warned, poking his chest with her tiny finger.

Rhys laughed softly, shaking his head. “Good luck, Cassian. She’s tougher to win over than the Illyrians at camp.”

Cassian smirked as he began rocking her gently. “Oh, please. I’ve got this. By the end of the night, she’ll be asking for Cassy instead of Rhysie.”

Kaia made a disbelieving noise, muffled against his shirt, and both males chuckled, the sound filling the room as she began to relax slightly in Cassian’s arms.

As Kaia settled reluctantly against Cassian’s broad chest, her little fingers fidgeted against his shirt. She let out a soft huff, still pouting about being handed over.

Cassian, ever the charmer, gave her a grin. “What’s the matter, Kaia? I’m way comfier than Rhysie. Don’t you think?”

Kaia looked up at him, her dark brows knitting together in toddler indignation. “No.”

Cassian laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Tough crowd. All right, what can Uncle Cassy do to make you smile?”

Instead of answering, Kaia raised her small hand and grabbed a lock of his dark hair, giving it a gentle tug.

“Hey!” Cassian exclaimed, his grin widening as he leaned back slightly. “What’s that for, little shadow?”

Kaia’s lips twitched, as if she was trying not to smile. “Hair funny,” she mumbled, giving it another playful tug.

Rhys, watching from his spot against the wall, smirked. “Looks like she’s testing your patience, Cass. Maybe she thinks you need a new hairstyle.”

Cassian glanced at Rhys, feigning offense. “Oh, please. My hair is flawless, thank you very much.”

Kaia, clearly unimpressed, tugged again, this time letting out a tiny giggle. “No. Funny.”

Cassian chuckled, reaching up to gently take her hand. “All right, little troublemaker. Let’s keep the hair-pulling to a minimum, huh? Uncle Cassy’s hair isn’t as strong as daddy’s.”

Kaia tilted her head, considering this, before giving a final, cheeky tug. “Cassy hair no strong!”

Both males burst into laughter at her declaration, and even Kaia let out a small giggle, finally relaxing in Cassian’s arms.

As Kaia snuggled deeper into Cassian’s arms, her little body began to stiffen, her face scrunching in a way that suggested something was bothering her. Her small fingers, which had been fidgeting with his shirt, slowed to a halt, and she let out a soft whimper.

Cassian paused, looking down at her with a raised brow. “What’s wrong now, little shadow?”

Kaia’s lip trembled slightly, her eyes filling with an unspoken sadness. “Want mama,” she murmured, her voice barely a whisper, but it was clear as day to Cassian.

Cassian’s heart softened, and he gently ran a hand over her dark curls. “You miss her already, huh?” he asked, his voice gentle, though his teasing nature faded as he saw the way her little face crumpled.

Kaia nodded, the whimper turning into a small sob. “Mama...” she repeated, sniffling.

Rhys, still leaning against the wall, watched the scene with an understanding look. He stepped forward, his tone quiet as he addressed Kaia’s distress. “She’s not far, little shadow,” he said softly. “She’s probably just taking a break with Aunt Feyre and Nesta. We’ll bring her to you in just a week.”

But Kaia’s tears continued to spill, her small voice rising in sadness. “Want mama now...”

Cassian exchanged a look with Rhys, and though he was used to being the loud and boisterous one, he softened as he held Kaia closer. “You’ll see her soon, I promise,” he said, his voice calm and soothing. “She’ll be right back here, snuggling you, okay?”

Kaia hiccupped, her tiny body still trembling in his arms. “Want mama,” she repeated, more urgently this time, her little face pressing against his chest in an attempt to calm herself.

Rhys sighed quietly, shaking his head with a small smile. “She’s just like Azriel—stubborn to the core. You better get used to it, Cass. It’s gonna be a long night.”

Cassian shot Rhys a mock glare, but there was a softness in his eyes as he rocked Kaia gently. “Yeah, I’ve got this. Go get Azriel, will you?”

Rhys nodded and disappeared from the room, leaving Cassian with Kaia as she continued to whimper softly, still missing her mother.

Rhys carefully stepped into Azriel’s room, the shadows creeping along the walls as they adjusted to the dim light. Azriel was sprawled out in bed, a faint snore escaping from his lips as he slept, his wings tucked neatly around him. Rhys hesitated for a moment, then, with a wry smile, he knelt down beside the bed and shook Azriel's shoulder gently.

“Az, wake up,” Rhys said quietly, but firmly.

Azriel let out a gruff sound, his eyes flickering open and narrowing as he adjusted to the light. He blinked a few times, clearly not yet fully awake. “What’s going on?” he murmured, rubbing at his face with one hand as he yawned.

Rhys chuckled softly, folding his arms across his chest. “Kaia’s upset. She’s asking for you.”

Azriel’s expression softened instantly at the mention of his daughter. He sat up quickly, his tiredness forgotten. “Is she okay?” he asked, his voice thick with concern.

“She’s missing her mom. I think she needs you.” Rhys stood and gave him a small, knowing smile. “Come on, I’ll take you to her.”

Azriel nodded, running a hand through his messy hair as he rose from the bed. He was still in his sleep clothes—dark pants and a loose shirt—moving with a sense of urgency as he followed Rhys out of the room. His wings shifted restlessly behind him as if they too could feel his concern for Kaia.

They made their way down the hallway, the soft sound of their footsteps echoing in the quiet cabin. As they entered the living room, the soft whimpering from Kaia could be heard faintly.

Cassian was still holding her, but Kaia’s distress hadn’t settled. She was curled up against his chest, her face buried in his shoulder, and every few seconds, another whimper would escape her. Her small body was trembling slightly, the sadness evident in her posture.

Azriel’s heart clenched as he saw his daughter’s misery. He hurried over to Cassian, in front of him. “Kaia,” he said softly, brushing a few strands of her dark hair from her face.

At the sound of her father’s voice, Kaia’s eyes fluttered open, and her little face twisted with frustration. She reached out with one small hand, her voice shaking. “Dada…” she whimpered, her arms reaching toward him.

Azriel’s chest tightened as he gathered her into his arms, her tiny body pressing against his as he held her close. “I’m here, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “It’s okay, you’re okay.”

Kaia sniffled, still not fully comforted, but her sobs began to subside as she snuggled against her father. She shifted in his arms, her tiny hands clutching his shirt tightly. “Want mama,” she said, her voice soft and broken.

Azriel closed his eyes for a moment, his heart aching for his daughter. He held her tightly, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head. “I know, baby,” he whispered. “But mama’s resting right now. You’re safe with me, I promise.”

Rhys and Cassian exchanged a quiet glance, knowing how much Azriel’s presence would help calm Kaia. Rhys stepped back, crossing his arms with a smirk. “She’ll be asleep in no time now,” he said.

Cassian nodded, though his usual mischievous grin was gone. “You’re the only one who can calm her when she’s like this.”

Azriel didn’t say anything at first, his full attention on Kaia as she snuggled closer to him. He gently rocked her, murmuring reassurances as she finally relaxed in his arms. He glanced up at his friends, his voice quiet but steady. “Thanks, both of you. I owe you one.”

Rhys chuckled softly. “No need for that. Just make sure she doesn’t give us any more trouble tonight.”

Azriel smiled faintly, his attention back on Kaia as her breathing slowly evened out. “I’ll try my best,” he said quietly, knowing full well that with his daughter in his arms, everything would be fine.

As Kaia’s breathing evened out in Azriel’s arms, Cassian and Rhys exchanged a glance. There was something so natural about the way Azriel cared for his daughter, the quiet tenderness that softened his usual stoic demeanour. It was a side of him they rarely saw, and it prompted Cassian to speak.

“You’re a damn good father, you know that?” Cassian said, his voice low so as not to wake Kaia.

Azriel glanced up from where he was rocking his daughter, his shadows curling faintly around her like a protective cocoon. “I’m just doing what she needs,” he replied quietly.

Rhys leaned against the doorframe, a thoughtful look on his face. “Have you ever thought about having another?” he asked casually, though there was genuine curiosity in his tone.

Azriel’s hands stilled for a moment as he adjusted Kaia’s blanket. He looked down at his sleeping daughter, his expression unreadable. “I’ve thought about it,” he admitted after a moment, his voice soft. “But… it’s not that simple.”

Cassian frowned slightly, leaning forward. “What do you mean? You and Y/N are incredible parents. I can’t imagine anyone better to handle another little shadow like her.”

Azriel let out a quiet sigh, his wings shifting restlessly behind him. “Kaia’s birth wasn’t easy,” he began, his voice tight. “She came three months early. Y/N was… in bad shape. The healers weren’t sure if either of them would make it.”

Cassian and Rhys exchanged a grim look, the memory of those tense weeks flashing through their minds. Azriel had been a shadow of himself during that time—distraught, restless, and consumed by worry.

“I’ve never been so scared,” Azriel continued, his gaze distant as he gently stroked Kaia’s hair. “Holding her for the first time… it was the best and the worst moment of my life. I was terrified of losing her. Of losing Y/N.”

Rhys stepped closer, his tone softer now. “We remember,” he said. “You were in hell during those weeks. But look at her now, Az. She’s strong, just like her mother.”

Azriel smiled faintly, his fingers still brushing over Kaia’s curls. “I know. She’s my everything. But I don’t know if I could put Y/N through that again. The risk…” He trailed off, his jaw tightening.

Cassian placed a hand on Azriel’s shoulder, his voice steady. “It’s your decision, Az. No one can tell you what’s right for your family. But I can tell you this—whatever you and Y/N decide, you’ve got us. Always.”

Azriel nodded, his gaze softening as he looked back down at Kaia. “Thank you. I just… I want to give her everything. And I know Y/N would love another child. She’s mentioned it before.”

Rhys smiled knowingly. “She has. I’ve heard her tell Feyre how much she’d love to give Kaia a little brother or sister. But you’re right to consider the risks. It’s a decision you both need to make together.”

Azriel’s voice dropped to a whisper, as if speaking his thoughts aloud for the first time. “Sometimes, I wonder if we’re meant to have just Kaia. She’s more than enough.” He paused, his lips quirking into a faint smile. “But then I think about what it would be like to hold another baby. To see Kaia as an older sister.”

Cassian grinned. “You’d kill it, Az. You’ve already proven that.”

Azriel’s smile grew as he looked down at Kaia, her tiny form peaceful in his arms. “Maybe,” he said softly. “Maybe one day. But for now, she’s everything I need.”

Rhys and Cassian nodded, their respect for their brother deepened by his unwavering devotion to his family. They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the soft crackle of the fire the only sound, as Azriel held Kaia close, his love for her evident in every gentle movement.

-----

The bright sun filtered through the luxurious curtains of your room in the Day Court, casting golden streaks across the bed where you, Feyre, and Nesta lay tangled in a mess of pillows, blankets, and regret. The faint hum of distant birds outside did little to soothe the pounding in your head. You groaned as the sound of the door creaking open sent a sharp pulse through your temples.

“Good afternoon, ladies,” Helion’s smooth, amused voice filled the room. “Or should I say, good evening? It’s already past two in the afternoon.”

A collective groan rose from the bed as Feyre buried her head under a pillow, Nesta flopped onto her stomach with a muffled curse, and you blinked blearily at Helion, who stood at the door with a smug grin and an air of smug satisfaction.

“Helion,” you croaked, your voice scratchy from the night before. “Why are you so loud?”

“Loud?” Helion placed a hand over his chest as if wounded. “I’m being positively gentle for a man who had to endure your drunken antics last night.”

Nesta peeked out from under her arm, her hair a disheveled halo around her head. “What antics?” she grumbled.

“Oh, you don’t remember?” Helion leaned casually against the doorframe, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “Let’s see… there was dancing on the tables, a rather heated debate about who had the best wingspan in Prythian—”

“Stop,” Feyre mumbled, her voice muffled by the pillow.

“And, of course,” Helion continued, ignoring her, “the grand declaration from you, Y/N, that you could outdrink me any day of the week.”

You winced, rubbing your temples as fragmented memories of the previous night began to resurface. “Did I win?”

Helion chuckled. “Let’s just say the three of you are lucky you’re still alive after the amount of wine you consumed.”

Nesta groaned, reaching blindly for the glass of water on the nightstand. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”

“Of course I am,” Helion said, stepping fully into the room and crossing his arms. “It’s not every day I get to see the great Night Court ladies reduced to this state.”

“Why are you even here?” Feyre muttered, finally sitting up and squinting at him.

“To wake you,” Helion replied with a theatrical flourish. “You’ve slept the entire day away, and there’s an entire court waiting to be graced by your hungover presence.”

You flopped back onto the pillows, groaning. “I don’t think I can move.”

“Nor should you,” Helion said, his grin softening into something almost kind. “You had your fun, and now you’ll suffer for it. But, if it’s any consolation, I’ll have food sent up to help with the hangover. Consider it my charity for the day.”

Nesta muttered a quiet thanks as Feyre reached over to squeeze your hand. “We’re never drinking that much again,” she said firmly.

“You say that now,” Helion said with a smirk, already heading for the door. “But give it a week.”

As the door closed behind him, the three of you exchanged weary looks before collapsing back onto the bed, the promise of food and a quiet afternoon the only solace for your throbbing heads.

You groaned as you rubbed your temples, the pounding in your head relentless. “I miss being in my hundreds,” you muttered, your voice hoarse. “I could drink like this and wake up feeling fine. What happened to that?”

Feyre snorted, even though she winced at the sound of her own laugh. She was propped up against a mountain of pillows, her hair sticking up in every direction. “I don’t know if that’s age or just poor choices. And I hate that I can’t remember which.”

Nesta rolled over onto her back, staring at the ornate ceiling of the room. “What exactly did we even do last night? Helion mentioned dancing on tables, but I don’t remember that.”

“Neither do I,” Feyre admitted, frowning. “Though I do have a vague memory of someone challenging someone else to a drinking contest.”

“That sounds like me,” you groaned, burying your face in a pillow. “Why do I always do this? Every time I think, ‘Oh, I can keep up with Helion,’ and every time, I end up half-dead the next day.”

Nesta laughed softly, but it turned into a hiss of pain as she clutched her forehead. “Do you think he was exaggerating? Dancing on tables feels a bit dramatic.”

Feyre grimaced. “Honestly? Knowing us, probably not.”

You sat up slowly, squinting as the light streaming through the window hit you directly in the face. “What do we even do from here? How do we recover from whatever disaster last night was?”

Feyre shrugged weakly, resting her head on her hand. “Step one: figure out what we drank. Step two: never drink it again. Step three: try to piece together the chaos.”

Nesta sighed, pulling the blankets up to her chin. “I’m not sure I want to know. If Helion’s smirk was any indication, we embarrassed ourselves.”

“Embarrassing myself in front of Helion isn’t even my biggest concern,” you muttered. “What if we made promises? Or said something incriminating? I don’t remember anything after, what, the third bottle of wine?”

Feyre groaned, flopping back onto the pillows. “I don’t remember anything past sitting in that sunroom. Did we even make it back to our rooms on our own?”

“Barely,” Nesta replied, shielding her eyes with her hand. “I vaguely remember Helion carrying someone. Was it you, Feyre?”

Feyre made a face. “Don’t remind me. I think he was laughing the whole time.”

You shook your head slowly, trying to push through the fog in your brain. “We need answers. But first, we need food. And maybe another century of sleep.”

Nesta smirked faintly, even through her hangover. “Agreed. But let’s make a pact: if Helion ever offers us another bottle of wine, we refuse.”

“Deal,” Feyre and you said in unison, though all three of you knew it was a promise unlikely to be kept.

You flopped back against the plush pillows, pulling a blanket over your face to block out the daylight streaming through the curtains. “Do you think they’re still alive?” you mumbled, your voice muffled by the fabric.

Nesta let out a low chuckle, though it was tinged with exhaustion. She adjusted her position, settling deeper into the bed. “Depends. How long do you think it took for the chaos to start?”

“Five minutes,” Feyre guessed, her eyes already fluttering closed again. “Nyx probably started something with Cassian’s boys, and Kaia probably got into something she shouldn’t.”

You groaned softly, turning your head to the side. “Poor Az. He was probably up all night. Kaia doesn’t sleep well when everyone is not home.”

Nesta hummed in agreement. “If anyone can handle it, it’s him. Though Rhys and Cassian… I’m not so sure. The three of them together with the kids is a recipe for disaster.”

“Disaster,” Feyre murmured sleepily. “It’s probably already happening. But honestly? Not our problem right now.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, though the sound came out weak and tired. “They’ve got it covered. Probably. Maybe. Hopefully.”

“Even if they don’t,” Nesta added, her voice already fading, “we earned this.”

The three of you sank deeper into the comfort of the bed, the soft hum of the Day Court’s tranquillity lulling you back to sleep. Whatever chaos might have been unfolding back at the Velaris could wait. For now, the thought of dealing with anything beyond your pounding heads was impossible.

-----

The next morning at the cabin, a thin blanket of snow coated the ground, shimmering in the sunlight. The boys had already left for camp, their excited chatter and stomping boots long gone, leaving a peaceful quiet in their wake. Outside, Rhys and Cassian stood with Azriel near the edge of the clearing, their breath visible in the crisp air as they discussed his upcoming trip to the Illyrian camp.

Kaia played nearby, bundled up in a tiny fur-lined coat, her small wings peeking out from the back. Her boots crunched in the snow as she toddled around, scooping up handfuls of powder and tossing them into the air with delighted giggles.

Azriel kept glancing toward her, his shadows hovering protectively nearby. His jaw was tight, his eyes flickering with hesitation. “I don’t like leaving her,” he said, his voice low.

“She’s going to be fine,” Rhys reassured him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “We’ve got this. She adores us.”

Cassian grinned. “She’s got me to entertain her. What more could she need?”

Azriel shot him a flat look. “If she so much as cries, you’ll regret it.”

Rhys chuckled, shaking his head. “You worry too much. Go handle the camp situation, and we’ll make sure Kaia is happy and safe. Promise.”

Azriel let out a reluctant sigh, his gaze drifting back to Kaia. She had plopped down in the snow, her tiny hands patting together an uneven mound that was supposed to be a snowman. As if sensing her father’s attention, she looked up, her bright hazel eyes—so much like his—lighting up.

“Dada!” she squealed, scrambling to her feet. Her wings flared slightly as she ran toward him, stumbling a little in the snow but determined to reach him.

Azriel crouched down just in time to catch her as she barreled into him, her tiny arms wrapping tightly around his neck. “What is it, love?” he asked softly, holding her close.

“No go, Dada!” she said, her voice muffled against his coat. “Stay wif me.”

Azriel’s heart clenched as he pulled back to look at her. “I’ll be back soon, Kaia. Uncle Rhys and Uncle Cassian will take care of you while I’m gone.”

Kaia’s lower lip stuck out in a pout. “No like it,” she mumbled, her little hands clutching his shoulders.

Rhys stepped closer, crouching down beside them. “Kaia, sweetheart, we’re going to have so much fun. You’ll see.”

Kaia turned her head to glare at him, her pout deepening. “No fun wif you. Too bossy.”

Cassian barked a laugh, earning a glare from Azriel. “She’s got you figured out already, Rhys.”

Azriel kissed the top of Kaia’s head, his lips lingering against her soft hair. “I’ll miss you too, my star,” he murmured. “But I’ll be back before you know it.”

Kaia sniffled, her small hands framing his face as she leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Miss you, Dada.”

He hugged her tightly one last time before standing, reluctantly placing her back on the ground. Kaia tugged on his coat, her hazel eyes wide with emotion. “Dada, hug ‘gain?”

Azriel smiled softly and knelt again, wrapping her in his arms for one more hug. “Always, Kaia,” he whispered.

Rhys finally stepped in, scooping Kaia up into his arms to distract her. “Come on, little star. Let’s go make some hot chocolate while Dada gets ready.”

Kaia clung to Rhys, watching over his shoulder as Azriel straightened and adjusted his coat. Her small hand waved frantically. “Bye, Dada! Wove you!”

“Love you too, Kaia,” Azriel called back, his voice steady despite the ache in his chest.

As he turned to leave, his shadows trailed after him, but his thoughts lingered on the tiny, determined girl who had stolen his heart.

As Azriel disappeared into the tree line, Kaia’s hazel eyes stayed glued to where he had been, her little face pouting in concentration. She wriggled in Rhysand’s arms, tugging at his collar.

“Uncle Rhysie,” she said, her toddler voice firm, “go lake now?”

Rhys glanced at Cassian, eyebrows raised. “The lake? Kaia, it’s cold out here. Don’t you want to go inside for some hot chocolate?”

Kaia shook her head vehemently, her curls bouncing around her face. “No choc’late. Lake!” She stretched her arms out dramatically, pointing toward the path that led to the frozen lake just beyond the cabin. “Pwease, Uncle Rhysie!”

Cassian chuckled as he leaned against the cabin’s railing, arms crossed. “She’s got her mind made up. You’re not winning this one.”

Kaia turned her big eyes on him. “Uncle Cassy, pwease? Wanna see da water.”

Cassian laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. “You mean the ice, kiddo. That lake’s frozen solid.”

Kaia tilted her head, her lips pursing in thought. “Ice pretty!”

Rhysand sighed dramatically, bouncing her slightly in his arms. “Fine. But we’re just looking, Kaia. No running, no touching the ice, and absolutely no going out on it. Got it?”

“Got it!” she chirped, her wings fluttering with excitement.

Cassian shook his head, amused. “You’re going to regret giving in, Rhys.”

Rhys shot him a playful glare. “If you’re so sure, you’re welcome to come supervise.”

Kaia clapped her hands, thrilled. “Uncle Cassy come too!”

Cassian groaned but grabbed his coat. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s go before you sweet-talk us into something even worse.”

Kaia giggled, wiggling out of Rhysand’s hold as soon as they reached the snow-covered path. She toddled ahead, her tiny boots crunching in the snow, her wings flaring for balance as she followed the trail to the lake.

Rhys jogged to keep up with her, shaking his head with a smile. “Kaia, you’ve got us wrapped around your little finger.”

She looked back at him, grinning cheekily. “Like Dada!”

Cassian laughed loudly, following behind them. “She’s not wrong!”

The three of them soon reached the lake, its surface gleaming with a layer of frost and ice. Kaia’s eyes widened in awe as she clapped her hands together. “So pwetty!”

Rhys and Cassian stood nearby, watching her as she crouched to inspect the snow around the edge, her little fingers brushing against it.

“She’s too much like Azriel,” Cassian muttered, smirking.

Rhys nodded, his expression soft. “She’s going to be a force to reckon with one day.”

Kaia looked up at them with a beaming smile, completely unaware of the pride and affection shining in their eyes.

Kaia’s hazel eyes lit up as a small brown rabbit darted across the snowy clearing near the edge of the lake. She gasped, her wings fluttering with excitement. “Bunny! Bunny!” she squealed, pointing at the little creature as it paused to twitch its nose.

Rhys chuckled, crossing his arms as he watched her. “Looks like she found a friend.”

Kaia crouched low, mimicking the rabbit’s position. Then, with a delighted giggle, she began hopping up and down in the snow, her boots barely leaving the ground. “Hop, hop, hop! Wike bunny!”

Cassian leaned against a nearby tree, laughing as Kaia’s curls bounced with each jump. “She’s got the hopping down, but she’s a little noisier than that rabbit.”

“Bunny hop!” Kaia shouted, flapping her tiny wings as she hopped again. Her balance wavered, and she landed on her bottom in the snow, but she quickly scrambled back up, undeterred. “Hop ‘gain!”

Rhys rubbed a hand over his face, trying to hide his grin. “You’re going to tire yourself out before lunch, Kaia.”

Kaia spun around to face him, shaking her head so vigorously her curls flopped side to side. “No tire! Hop more!” She crouched again, springing up with an exaggerated bounce. “Hop, hop, hop!”

The rabbit twitched its ears and scurried further away, disappearing into the trees. Kaia stopped, staring after it. “Bunny gone…” She pouted, her big hazel eyes turning to Rhys and Cassian.

Rhys crouched down, holding out his arms. “Come here, Kaia. The bunny went home, but you’re still our little hopper.”

Kaia toddled over to him, giggling as he scooped her up. She pressed her cold little nose to his cheek. “Rhysie hop too?”

Cassian snorted. “Oh, I’d pay good money to see that.”

Rhys raised an eyebrow at him, then looked back at Kaia. “How about Uncle Cassian hops instead?”

Kaia’s face lit up as she turned to Cassian, clapping her hands. “Uncle Cassy hop! Pwease!”

Cassian groaned, shaking his head. “You two are troublemakers.” But he pushed off the tree and gave a dramatic hop in place, earning a squeal of delight from Kaia.

“‘Gain! ‘Gain!” she cheered, bouncing in Rhys’s arms.

Cassian sighed, hopping a few more times before throwing his hands up. “That’s all you’re getting, little miss.”

Kaia giggled, leaning against Rhys’s shoulder with a content sigh. “Bunny hops fun…” she murmured, her energy finally waning as the excitement wore off.

Kaia squirmed in Rhysand’s arms, her wings flapping slightly as she pushed against his chest. “Down, Rhysie! Down!” she demanded, her tiny voice insistent.

Rhys tilted his head, giving her a mock-serious look. “You’re going to run off as soon as I put you down, aren’t you?”

Kaia giggled mischievously, avoiding his gaze. “Noooo…” she dragged out, not sounding convincing at all.

Cassian smirked, crossing his arms. “She’s got that look. You know the one Azriel has when he’s about to disappear into the shadows?”

Rhys sighed, setting her down gently on the snowy ground. “Alright, go ahead. But stay close, Kaia.”

As soon as her boots touched the snow, Kaia took off in a full toddler sprint, her little legs pumping furiously and her wings flapping for extra speed. She let out a triumphant squeal, her curls bouncing wildly as she bolted toward the edge of the clearing.

“Kaia!” Rhys called after her, already starting to jog.

Cassian burst into laughter, watching her waddle-run like her life depended on it. “She’s quick for someone so tiny!”

“Quick and reckless,” Rhys muttered, though his tone was full of amusement.

Kaia didn’t respond, too focused on her self-declared adventure. She ran in zigzags, her little boots crunching the snow as she tried to follow the faint tracks left by the rabbit from earlier.

Rhys finally caught up, scooping her up mid-run. She let out an indignant squeak, wriggling like a fish out of water. “No! Wanna run, Rhysie!”

Cassian joined them, laughing as he ruffled her curls. “That wasn’t running, Kaia. That was flying with your feet!”

Kaia pouted, folding her arms as Rhys settled her back against his chest. “Wanna fly…”

Cassian chuckled. “You’ll fly plenty when you’re older. For now, let’s stick to running in safe places, alright?”

Kaia sighed dramatically, her little shoulders slumping. “Okay… but next time, I win.”

Rhys exchanged a look with Cassian, both stifling their laughter at her determination.

Kaia began to wiggle in Rhysand’s arms, her tiny wings twitching as she pushed against his chest with her small hands. “Rhysie…” she whined softly, her voice carrying the unmistakable tone of a toddler who had been confined for too long.

Rhys adjusted his hold, pressing her back to him more securely. “Kaia, I know what you’re trying to do, and it’s not happening,” he said, his voice calm but firm.

Kaia squirmed harder, her little feet kicking lightly against his sides. “Nooo! Down, pwease!” she pleaded, her hazel eyes glinting with frustration. She twisted, trying to look up at him with her best pout, her bottom lip sticking out dramatically.

Rhys sighed, shaking his head. “That look might work on Azriel, but not on me, little one.”

Cassian, walking a few steps ahead, turned around with a grin. “You’re fighting a losing battle, Rhys. She’s persistent—Azriel’s kid through and through.”

Kaia’s wings flapped again, and she leaned as far as she could to one side, trying to force Rhys’s grip to loosen. “No fair! Wanna down!” she declared, wriggling like a fish.

Rhys adjusted her again, tightening his hold slightly so she couldn’t slip away. “Kaia,” he said patiently, “the last time I let you down, you sprinted off like a wild rabbit. Do you think I’m going to fall for that again?”

Kaia’s brows furrowed as she huffed, blowing a small puff of air through her lips. “Pwease…” she tried again, softening her voice. When Rhys didn’t budge, she flopped her head dramatically against his chest. “Rhysie mean…” she mumbled, her voice muffled by his shirt.

Cassian laughed outright, shaking his head. “She’s got you pegged. Rhys, you’re officially ‘mean.’”

Rhys raised an eyebrow at Cassian, smirking. “I can live with being mean if it means she’s safe. Nice try, though, Kaia.”

Kaia let out a long, exaggerated sigh, her little hands gripping Rhys’s shirt tightly. “Fine,” she muttered, though she squirmed once more for good measure before finally going limp in his arms, clearly realizing she wasn’t going to win this round.

Rhys kissed the top of her curly head, his amusement evident. “That’s what I thought,” he murmured.

Kaia grumbled softly under her breath, her head resting against him as she gave in to the temporary defeat, though the glint in her eyes promised she wasn’t done trying.

As the crisp winter breeze started to pick up, Cassian pulled his coat tighter around himself and glanced at Rhys, who was still holding a now-quiet but visibly restless Kaia. The snowflakes had begun to swirl in the air, carried by the increasingly sharp gusts of wind.

Rhys shifted Kaia in his arms, noticing how her small wings trembled slightly in the cold despite her thick coat and scarf. “The wind’s picking up,” he said, his tone laced with concern. “It’s probably time to head back. I don’t want her wings getting stiff or chilled.”

Cassian nodded in agreement, brushing snow off his shoulders. “Yeah, the cold up here isn’t great for her. Little Illyrians aren’t built for this until they’re older.” He glanced at Kaia, who was now nibbling on her mitten-covered fingers. “She’s a tough one, though. Already lasted longer than I expected.”

Rhys looked down at Kaia, her curly hair peeking out from beneath her hat. “What do you think, Kaia? Ready to go back to the warm cabin?”

Kaia scrunched up her nose and shook her head. “Nooo! Wanna pway!” she declared, her voice muffled slightly by her mittened hands.

Cassian chuckled, crouching slightly to her eye level. “Kiddo, as fun as it is out here, that wind’s going to get too strong for your wings. We’ll come back out tomorrow, okay?”

Kaia’s pout deepened, and she turned her head to bury her face against Rhys’s chest. “No wind! Stay!” she mumbled stubbornly.

Rhys sighed, his expression softening. “I know you don’t want to leave, but we have to think about keeping you safe, little one. I promise we’ll come back out when it’s warmer.”

Kaia peeked up at him, her hazel eyes filled with a mix of defiance and understanding. “Pwomise?”

“Promise,” Rhys replied firmly, brushing a stray curl from her face.

Cassian straightened up and stretched. “Alright, let’s get moving before the storm decides to really hit. I’m not looking forward to carrying a cranky Calen back from the camp if it comes to that.”

Kaia let out a small, resigned sigh, her wings drooping slightly as she gave in. “Okay…” she said softly, snuggling closer into Rhys for warmth.

As they turned to head back to the cabin, the wind picked up again, blowing snow around their boots. Rhys held Kaia securely, shielding her as much as possible from the chill. Cassian walked ahead, breaking the path through the snow, his laughter occasionally ringing out as he teased Rhys about his “clingy sidekick.”

By the time they reached the cabin, Kaia’s earlier stubbornness had melted into quiet contentment, her small body relaxed against Rhys. Once inside, the warmth of the fire greeted them, and Rhys carefully set Kaia down, helping her out of her snow-dusted coat.

“There we go,” Rhys said gently, crouching down to her level. “Safe and warm. What do you say we find something cozy to do inside?”

Kaia nodded, her earlier disappointment forgotten as she toddled toward the couch, where her favourite stuffed animal awaited. “Pway inside!” she declared, her wings giving a small, happy flutter.

Cassian grinned from the fireplace where he was stoking the flames. “There’s my brave little snow angel. Welcome back to the warmth, Kaia.”

She beamed at him, seemingly ready for her next adventure, even if it was indoors.

Kaia grabbed her favorite stuffed animal—a plush dragon with soft wings and a mischievous grin stitched onto its face—and clutched it tightly to her chest. Her small fingers gripped it as if it were her most prized possession.

Without warning, she bolted from the living room, her wings giving a tiny flutter as she launched herself into a toddler sprint. Her curls bounced with every step, and her laughter echoed through the cabin as her bare feet padded rapidly on the wooden floors.

“Kaia!” Rhys called after her, his voice laced with a mix of exasperation and amusement. “Where are you going?”

Cassian turned from the fireplace, watching her dart out of sight. “Oh, no. She’s on the move again.”

Rhys pushed himself up from the couch, shaking his head. “She’s too fast for her own good. Did you see which room she went to?”

Cassian shrugged, a grin spreading across his face. “No clue. She’s like a tiny shadow, just like her dad.”

Rhys sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We can’t let her run loose in here. She’ll end up climbing something she shouldn’t.”

The two of them quickly started checking the rooms, opening doors and peeking inside. “Kaia?” Rhys called, his tone more playful now. “Where’d you go, little one? You can’t hide forever.”

Cassian poked his head into a small bedroom, scanning for the toddler. “Not here. I swear, she’s got Az’s stealth gene.”

A giggle echoed faintly from somewhere down the hall, followed by the soft thump of her tiny feet as she scampered further away.

“There!” Rhys pointed toward the end of the hallway. “She’s heading that way. Go left, I’ll go right.”

They split up, searching the cabin for the runaway toddler. Cassian checked the kitchen, glancing under the table and even in the pantry. Rhys peeked into another bedroom, opening the closet just in case she’d decided it was the perfect hiding spot.

Finally, they heard a faint creak from one of the rooms upstairs. Rhys looked at Cassian and raised an eyebrow. “Did she make it up there?”

“Apparently,” Cassian replied, already heading for the stairs. “We’re dealing with a master escape artist, clearly.”

As they climbed the stairs, they could hear her little voice singing softly to herself. When they reached the top, they found her sitting in the middle of a guest room, completely content as she played with her dragon toy.

“There you are,” Rhys said, his voice a mix of relief and amusement. “Do you have any idea how much trouble you’re causing, little miss?”

Kaia looked up at them with wide, innocent eyes, clutching her toy tightly. “No twouble,” she said with a small smile, her voice sweet and certain. “Kaia pway!”

Cassian laughed, shaking his head as he leaned against the doorframe. “You’re lucky you’re cute, kid. Otherwise, you’d be in so much trouble.”

Kaia just giggled and went back to playing, clearly not concerned about her brief escape.

As Kaia stood up, her wings flared out slightly, her tiny feet eager to run again. The moment she started moving, Cassian rushed toward her, eager to catch her before she made another escape.

"Gotcha!" he said with a grin, reaching out to scoop her up. But in his haste, he didn’t quite grab her the way he intended. His hands landed too roughly around her waist, one brushing too close to her delicate wings.

Kaia let out a sharp gasp, her body tensing as pain shot through her. A tiny squeak of distress slipped past her lips, followed by a wail of pain as her wings flared involuntarily, stretching in response to the discomfort. The pressure around her wings made her feel trapped, causing her to cry out.

“Ah, Kaia—!” Cassian immediately froze, his face going pale as he realized what he’d done. He had been too quick, too careless. He quickly set her down gently, his hands trembling slightly as he checked her face for signs of further injury.

“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry,” Cassian murmured, kneeling beside her as Kaia hiccupped between sobs, clutching her wings protectively. The pain was sharp but not enough to have caused any lasting harm, but it was enough to make her feel vulnerable and scared.

Kaia's little hands rubbed at the base of her wings where the pain had flared. She whimpered softly, her tears making her cheeks glisten. “It huwt...” she sniffled, her voice trembling.

Cassian’s heart dropped, and he looked over at Rhys, who had been standing nearby, watching in horror as the situation unfolded. Rhys stepped forward immediately, his expression full of concern.

“Kaia, sweet girl,” Rhys said softly, his voice soothing. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Cassian didn’t mean to hurt you, did he?”

Kaia looked up at him with big, tear-filled eyes, still rubbing her wings. “Huwts, Rhysie... wanna see mama...”

The sight of her in so much pain tugged at both of their hearts. Rhys quickly picked her up, cradling her carefully, his arms supporting her without touching her wings. He gently kissed her forehead. “Shh, it’s okay. We’re not going to let anything happen to you.”

Cassian stepped back, his face filled with guilt. “I didn’t mean to, I swear. I just wanted to stop her from running.”

“I know,” Rhys said, his tone gentle but firm. “Just... be more careful next time. Her wings are still delicate, Cass. Especially when she’s running around like that.”

Kaia nuzzled into Rhys’s shoulder, her crying slowly tapering off as she felt the comfort of being held. She looked at Cassian, a small frown on her face. “Kaia fwu... hurt...”

Cassian’s heart sank. “I’m really sorry, little one. Please forgive me.” His voice was soft, remorseful.

Rhys sighed, gently rocking her as he rubbed her back. “Let’s get you settled, little one. We’ll take care of those wings.”

Kaia nodded, her little hands still clutching Rhys’s shirt as she hiccupped softly. “Wings... hurt...” she mumbled again, sounding exhausted.

Cassian stood in the doorway, watching them carefully, promising to be gentler next time. He felt an overwhelming sense of responsibility to protect her, and in that moment, the weight of it hit him harder than ever.

Rhys watched as Cassian stood in the doorway, his shoulders slumped, his expression pained. It was clear that the moment Kaia had cried out in pain had hit him harder than he'd expected. Cassian, usually full of energy and wit, now seemed small and weighed down by the guilt of his actions.

Rhys sighed, moving slowly towards him as he continued to hold Kaia gently. “Cassian,” he began softly, his voice more calm than usual. “It was an accident.”

Cassian didn’t meet his eyes at first, instead running a hand through his hair, his gaze still lingering on Kaia. He was chewing at his lip, clearly replaying the moment in his mind. “I didn’t mean to hurt her, Rhys. You know that, right? I just... I didn’t think.”

Rhys stepped closer, now standing beside him, watching as Kaia snuggled further into his arms. She had already started to settle, though the trace of her tears was still visible on her little face.

“I know you didn’t,” Rhys said gently, his voice carrying a quiet authority, as if trying to ease the weight Cassian was carrying. “But you have to remember, her wings... they’re not like ours. They’re delicate, Cass. We all need to be careful when we’re handling her, especially with how young and fragile she is.”

Cassian swallowed hard, nodding slowly, his eyes still on Kaia. “I know... I just... I just wanted to stop her from running off again. She’s so fast, and I didn’t think.” He paused, his voice quieter now. “I really hurt her, Rhys. Look at her.”

Rhys glanced down at Kaia, who had fallen mostly silent now, resting against him, her little fingers still clinging to his shirt. The pain had faded, though she still seemed a bit shaken, her wings tucked close to her body for comfort.

“She’ll be okay, Cass,” Rhys reassured him. “You didn’t do it on purpose. It was an honest mistake. I did it way more than once with Y/N.” He paused for a moment, thinking. “And don’t forget, you’re not alone in this. We’ll all make sure she’s taken care of. You don’t need to carry that guilt.”

Cassian finally met his eyes, his shoulders still heavy, but the tension in his face easing slightly. “I just... I don’t want to be the one who hurts her, Rhys. She’s just a little thing.”

Rhys smiled softly, understanding the weight of his words. “None of us want that. And we won’t let that happen. But you can’t beat yourself up over every little thing. Kaia knows you didn’t mean to hurt her.” He paused, giving Cassian a small, reassuring pat on the shoulder. “We’re family, Cassian. We all look out for each other, especially for the little ones.”

Cassian nodded, his breath coming out in a slow exhale as he glanced down at Kaia once more. Rhys could see the relief start to seep in, even if only a little.

“She’s strong, Cass,” Rhys said with a slight chuckle. “And so are you. Just... be a little more careful next time, yeah?”

Cassian managed a weak smile, though his eyes still held that hint of guilt. “I will.”

As Rhys cradled Kaia, her big, teary eyes locked onto Cassian, who was still standing near the doorway, guilt written all over his face. Her tiny hands gripped at Rhys’s shirt for a moment before she reached one out toward Cassian, her lip trembling.

“C-Cassy?” she said softly, her toddler voice wobbly from leftover sniffles.

Cassian’s head snapped up, his hazel eyes wide with surprise. “Kaia?” he asked gently, his voice breaking slightly.

She squirmed in Rhys’s arms, her little wings giving a faint twitch as she leaned toward Cassian. “Not mad?” she asked, her words barely a whisper, as though she feared the answer.

Cassian’s heart twisted painfully. He immediately stepped closer, holding his hands out toward her. “Oh, sweetheart, no,” he said quickly, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m not mad at you. Never. I promise.”

Rhys, sensing the moment, carefully handed her over to Cassian. Kaia settled into his arms, her little fingers clutching at his shirt as she rested her head against his chest. “Cassy not mad,” she repeated softly, her voice muffled against him.

Cassian wrapped his arms around her securely, his hand instinctively going to her small back to avoid her wings. “No, Kaia. I’m not mad,” he said firmly, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her dark hair. “I could never be mad at you. You’re my favourite little troublemaker.”

Kaia pulled back slightly, her wide, tearful eyes searching his face. “Pwomise?”

“I promise,” Cassian said, his voice full of warmth. “You don’t ever have to worry about that, okay?”

She seemed to consider this for a moment, her tiny brows furrowing in a way that was so Azriel-like it made both Rhys and Cassian chuckle softly. Finally, she gave a small nod and snuggled back against his chest, her little wings twitching slightly as she calmed.

Rhys watched the scene unfold with a soft smile, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Looks like someone forgives you, Cass,” he teased lightly, though his tone held nothing but affection.

Cassian let out a relieved laugh, holding Kaia a little closer. “Thank the Mother for that,” he muttered, his hand gently brushing over her back.

Kaia, now more relaxed, let out a tiny yawn, her small hand patting Cassian’s chest as if reassuring him in return. “Cassy good,” she murmured sleepily, already starting to drift off.

Cassian’s chest tightened, his guilt easing as he held her close. “Yeah, Kaia,” he whispered. “You’re pretty good too.”

-----

The midday sun warmed the ornate balcony of the Day Court palace, casting soft golden light over the intricately carved table where you, Nesta, and Feyre sat. Plates of vibrant dishes—exotic fruits, fresh-baked bread, and delicately spiced meats—were spread out between gleaming goblets of water and pale wine.

Feyre leaned back in her chair, her golden-brown hair catching the sunlight as she sliced into a piece of honey-glazed pastry. “I don’t think I’ve ever eaten so much in one sitting,” she admitted, her voice tinged with laughter. “Helion’s chefs are showing off.”

Nesta, sitting to her right, raised an eyebrow as she delicately sipped from her wineglass. Her steel-blue eyes scanned the table, unimpressed. “They certainly know how to lay out a feast,” she remarked dryly, spearing a slice of fruit with her fork. “But I wouldn’t call it showing off until they bring dessert.”

You smirked, stretching your arms over the back of your chair. “I don’t know, Nesta. I think it’s already better than anything we’ve had in Velaris,” you teased, popping a tart berry into your mouth.

Feyre gasped in mock offense. “Traitor,” she accused, pointing her fork at you.

You shrugged, grinning. “I’m just saying, when was the last time someone in Velaris served us peaches soaked in starlight syrup?” You gestured to the glittering dish at the centre of the table, its contents shimmering faintly.

Nesta chuckled, finally breaking a smile. “Fair point.”

The three of you fell into comfortable conversation, the light breeze carrying the faint scent of lavender and citrus from the gardens below. Feyre told a story about Nyx’s latest attempt to climb a tree, which had resulted in both him and the poor tree landing in a fountain. Nesta shared an amusing account of her struggles getting Calen, Torran, and Emrus to sit still during a family dinner.

“You know,” you said between bites of bread dipped in herbed oil, “this is the first time in months I’ve eaten a meal without having to cut it into tiny pieces for Kaia.”

Feyre laughed. “I remember those days,” she said, her expression softening. “It’s nice to have a moment for yourself, isn’t it?”

Nesta’s lips twitched into a rare, genuine smile. “If by ‘moment’ you mean a full day without anyone yelling or crying, then yes, it’s very nice.” She reached for another slice of bread, her tone lighter than usual.

As the meal went on, the conversation drifted to lighter topics—plans for the afternoon, teasing guesses about what chaos the men and children might be causing back at the cabin. Feyre tilted her head toward the sun, closing her eyes for a moment. “We should do this more often,” she said softly.

You and Nesta exchanged a glance, both nodding. “Agreed,” you said, raising your glass in a small toast.

“Next time,” Nesta added, a hint of mischief in her voice, “we’re going to make them pack us lunch before we leave.”

The three of you laughed, the sound mingling with the warm breeze as you leaned back in your chairs, savouring the rare peace and the perfect company.

Nesta was the first to break the silence, tilting her chair back slightly as she gazed out over the sprawling gardens below. “Do you think they’ve burned Velaris down yet?” she asked dryly, though her lips twitched in amusement.

Feyre snorted, shaking her head. “If they have, Nyx is probably the one who lit the match. That boy has a knack for trouble.”

You chuckled, swirling the last of your wine in your glass. “Kaia probably helped. She’s in that ‘curious about everything’ phase right now. If there’s a disaster, she’s either in the middle of it or watching with fascination.”

Nesta arched an eyebrow. “Doesn’t that sound familiar?” She shot a pointed look at Feyre, who rolled her eyes with a smile.

“Oh, don’t start,” Feyre said, tossing a grape at her sister, which Nesta effortlessly caught. “Besides, I distinctly remember you setting Father’s study on fire when you were ten.”

“That was an accident,” Nesta replied coolly, though the faintest hint of pink crept up her neck. “I was trying to read by candlelight.”

You laughed, the sound ringing out over the balcony. “Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.”

A soft knock on the doorframe interrupted the conversation, and you all turned to see Helion leaning against the doorway, his ever-present grin firmly in place. “Ladies,” he greeted, sweeping into the room with the grace of a predator. “Still lounging about, I see.”

“Helion,” you said, sitting up straighter but not bothering to hide your smirk. “Here to check if we’ve completely drained your wine reserves?”

He placed a hand dramatically over his heart. “Perish the thought. Though I must say, it’s almost three in the afternoon, and you’re still in your nightclothes.” He tsked playfully. “I expected more from such esteemed warriors.”

Nesta glared at him, though it lacked her usual bite. “I’ve had three children. Let me have my moment.”

Feyre nodded in agreement, raising her glass. “Seconded.”

Helion laughed, the sound warm and rich. “Far be it from me to argue with such formidable women.” He pulled out a chair, sitting with the ease of someone completely at home. “Though I must admit, I’m curious—what exactly did you three get up to last night? The palace staff have been whispering about it all morning.”

The three of you exchanged glances, trying to piece together the hazy memories of the previous night. Feyre groaned, pressing a hand to her temple. “I think we were… gossiping? And then someone brought out another bottle of wine, and after that…”

Nesta shook her head. “Don’t ask me. The last thing I remember is laughing so hard I fell out of my chair.”

You sighed dramatically, leaning back in your chair. “Whatever happened, I’m sure it was nothing Helion hasn’t seen before.”

Helion’s grin widened. “True, though I must say, it’s a shame I wasn’t invited. It sounds like it was quite the spectacle.”

“Next time, Helion,” you promised, raising your glass. “Next time.”

-----

Cassian crouched down in front of Kaia, holding out her little boots as she stomped her tiny feet on the floor, giggling. “Okay, little troublemaker,” he said, his voice unusually gentle. “One foot in, then the other. Let’s get you bundled up before you drag us all into the snow again.”

Kaia, her brown eyes sparkling like Azriel’s, lifted her foot and immediately pulled it back, wiggling her toes with a mischievous grin. “Nooooo! Tickles!” she squeaked, collapsing into giggles.

Rhys chuckled from where he stood by the door, holding Kaia’s tiny, fur-lined coat. “Cass, you’ve been outsmarted by a two-year-old. Again.”

“Don’t start, Rhys,” Cassian grumbled, finally managing to slip Kaia’s foot into the boot. “You’re not exactly winning any points, standing over there like a statue.”

Kaia’s laughter softened as she noticed Cassian’s focus on her. She reached out with her small hands, patting his face lightly. “Cassy not mad?” she asked in her soft toddler voice, her brow furrowing.

Cassian paused, his expression melting as he met her gaze. “No, sweetheart, I’m not mad. Never at you.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, his voice low. “I’m sorry I hurt you earlier, okay? I’ll be more careful.”

Kaia tilted her head, studying him intently before giving him a big, toothy grin. “Cassy funny!” she declared, breaking into another fit of giggles as she patted his cheek again.

Rhys snorted, walking over with her coat. “At least she forgives you.” He crouched down, draping the coat around her tiny shoulders and fastening the buttons. Kaia squirmed a little but eventually settled, her eyes darting between the two men. “There we go,” Rhys said, standing and brushing his hands off. “One very bundled-up little girl.”

Cassian stood, scooping her up into his arms before she could make a break for the door. “And where do you think you’re taking us this time, hmm?”

Kaia pointed a tiny finger toward the door. “Snow! Big snow! Wanna find bunnies!”

Rhys raised an eyebrow. “Bunnies? I thought we were making snow angels.”

Kaia shook her head so hard her little curls bounced. “Bunnies first, then ‘angels. Then—” She paused, her toddler mind clearly working overtime. “Then cookies!”

Cassian laughed, adjusting her on his hip as he grabbed her scarf. “You’ve got your priorities straight, kid. Let’s go before you change your mind.”

As they stepped toward the door, Kaia leaned toward Rhys, reaching for him with her little arms. “Rhysie, carry!” she demanded.

Rhys raised his hands in mock surrender. “All right, all right. You’re the boss.” He took her from Cassian, settling her against his chest. She immediately grabbed at the edge of his scarf, tugging it playfully.

Cassian shook his head, pulling his own coat on. “She’s got us wrapped around her little finger.”

“Completely,” Rhys agreed, smiling down at Kaia as she babbled excitedly about the snow. “But honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

As they trudged through the snow toward the base of the hill, Rhys adjusted his grip on Kaia, who was leaning forward with wide eyes, staring at the glittering blanket of white that stretched in every direction. Cassian followed close behind, his boots crunching through the icy crust, while they chatted about the boys’ training schedules.

Just as they were about to begin the climb, a figure appeared in the distance, running toward them with urgency. Rhys narrowed his eyes and held up a hand to pause their ascent. Cassian stepped forward slightly, his posture straightening, while Kaia, oblivious to the shift in mood, reached up and tugged on Rhys’s collar.

“Rhysie,” she said in her sing-song toddler voice, poking at his jawline with her little fingers. “Down! Wanna walk!”

Rhys glanced down at her, hesitating for a moment. “All right, but don’t wander too far, Kaia,” he warned, crouching to set her gently on the ground. “Stay where we can see you.”

Kaia nodded earnestly, her curls bouncing, and immediately began toddling through the snow. She hummed to herself as she went, her tiny boots leaving uneven prints in the powder as she stomped in circles.

The messenger reached them then, panting heavily. He was dressed in standard Illyrian gear, his wings visibly trembling from the strain of his journey. “My lord,” the man said, addressing Rhysand with a quick bow. “There’s trouble at the nearest camp—an argument has broken out over land disputes, and tempers are flaring dangerously. They’re requesting immediate intervention.”

Rhys frowned deeply, exchanging a look with Cassian. “How bad is it?”

“Bad enough that there’s been a physical altercation,” the messenger admitted, his expression tight. “We fear it may escalate further if someone of authority doesn’t step in.”

Cassian let out a low sigh, his breath misting in the cold air. “Sounds like we’ll need to head out sooner than planned.”

Rhys nodded grimly. “Agreed. Azriel’s already at another camp, so it’s on us.”

As the two began discussing the logistics of leaving the cabin to address the issue, Kaia wandered further from them, her tiny hands outstretched as she admired the way the snowflakes melted on her palms. She crouched near a patch of untouched snow, giggling softly to herself as she poked at the white expanse.

Neither Rhys nor Cassian noticed her subtle movements. Their focus remained on the messenger and their impromptu planning. Cassian suggested a strategy, while Rhys debated whether or not to inform Azriel of the situation immediately.

Kaia, meanwhile, had spotted a small cluster of icicles hanging low from a nearby tree branch. With the stubborn determination of a toddler, she began toddling toward it, her steps uneven but deliberate. The cold breeze tugged at her scarf, but she paid it no mind, too enthralled by her frosty discovery.

It wasn’t until the messenger left and Rhys turned back to continue their walk that he noticed Kaia wasn’t where he had last seen her. “Kaia?” he called, his voice calm but sharp enough to draw Cassian’s attention.

Cassian turned, his brows furrowing as he scanned the area. “Where’d she go?”

Rhys’s heart sank as he realized they had been so caught up in the conversation that they’d let her slip from their sight. “Kaia!” he called again, louder this time, his tone more urgent as his eyes darted around the snowy landscape.

Rhysand’s voice cut sharply through the crisp winter air. “Kaia! Come back here, sweetheart!” His violet eyes scanned the snow-covered ground, seeking the trail of her tiny boot prints.

Cassian immediately joined in, his deep voice echoing across the empty expanse. “Kaia! Where are you, little one?!” His tone was firm but edged with worry.

They both moved quickly, their heads swiveling as they searched for any sign of her. Cassian crouched briefly, studying the snow for fresh tracks, but the crisscrossing prints from earlier in the day made it hard to distinguish hers.

“She couldn’t have gone far,” Rhys muttered, though his tone betrayed his growing concern.

“She’s quick for her size,” Cassian replied, his brows knitting together. His hands flexed at his sides, and he cursed under his breath. “We shouldn’t have let her wander.”

“Kaia!” Rhys called again, his voice carrying more urgency now. The calm façade he usually maintained was slipping.

The biting wind whipped past them as they moved further from the hill, scanning between the trees and behind snowdrifts. Rhys’s shadows began darting out instinctively, swirling and stretching in every direction to assist in the search.

“Kaia, come on, baby!” Cassian called, his tone softening despite the edge of panic. “Where are you?”

A faint rustling noise reached their ears, and Rhys’s head snapped toward it, but it was only the wind shaking a low-hanging branch. His jaw clenched.

“She’s too small to be out here alone,” Cassian muttered, his eyes narrowing as he moved toward a line of bushes. “We need to find her now, Rhys.”

“I know,” Rhys snapped, his calm veneer cracking entirely. He lifted his hand, sending his shadows farther into the surrounding forest. “Kaia! Answer me, sweetheart!”

The silence that followed was deafening, save for the crunch of their boots and the occasional gust of wind.

Cassian straightened, his chest rising and falling heavily. “She wouldn’t just wander into the trees, would she?”

“She’s curious, Cass,” Rhys replied tersely. “If she saw something interesting, she might have.”

The thought made his stomach churn. Rhys lifted his chin and released another shout. “Kaia! Come back to us!”

The echoes of their voices faded into the vast, snowy landscape, and for the first time, a genuine pang of fear struck Rhys’s chest. They couldn’t lose her—not here, not now.

-----

Kaia’s tiny boots crunched softly against the snow as she followed the hopping bunny deeper into the woods. Her wide hazel eyes, so much like her father’s, sparkled with excitement. She giggled, toddling after the small creature, her chubby hands outstretched as if she could grab it.

“Bun-bun!” she squealed, her toddler speech barely forming the words. “Wait! No hop—stay!”

The bunny stopped briefly, its nose twitching as it turned to look at her, then bounded further into the trees. Kaia puffed out a little breath of frustration, her wings fluttering slightly as she continued her pursuit.

“Kaia get you!” she declared determinedly, stumbling slightly over a hidden root before regaining her balance. The cold nipped at her cheeks, turning them a rosy pink, but she didn’t seem to notice.

The trees began to close in around her, their branches forming a canopy that blocked some of the afternoon light. Kaia didn’t mind; she was too focused on her game.

The bunny paused again, just ahead, and Kaia crouched as if mimicking the creature. “Hi, bun-bun!” she whispered, her voice carrying a mix of excitement and awe.

When it hopped away again, she gasped, jumping to her feet. “Nooo! Come back! Pwease!”

She stumbled after it, her tiny wings flaring with the effort of trying to catch up. The ground was uneven, and though she tripped here and there, Kaia was relentless.

A cold breeze blew through the forest, ruffling her dark curls, but she was too enthralled by the bunny to notice the growing distance between her and the hill where her uncles were.

As the bunny disappeared behind a larger snowdrift, Kaia slowed, her little legs tiring. She looked around for it, turning in circles.

“Bun-bun?” she called softly, her voice trembling slightly. The forest suddenly seemed bigger, quieter. The playful giggles she had carried moments ago were gone.

She shivered, her small hands wrapping around herself. “Kaia find you…” she mumbled, her voice unsure now.

But the bunny was nowhere to be seen. The woods were silent, except for the faint whistle of the wind, and Kaia’s tiny face scrunched in confusion. For the first time, she realized she couldn’t see her uncles anymore.

“Uncle Cassy?” she called, turning toward where she thought the hill had been. “Rhysie?”

When no answer came, her lower lip trembled. She clutched the little stuffed animal she’d carried with her, holding it close to her chest.

“Dada?” she tried, her small voice barely above a whisper. The towering trees around her felt suddenly much larger, and the cold began to seep in through her thick coat.

Kaia sniffled, her brave pursuit of the bunny forgotten. “Kaia… cold…” she whispered, tears beginning to well in her big, hazel eyes.

Kaia wiped her little face with the back of her mitten, sniffling as she shuffled through the snow. Her tiny boots sank with each step, but she was determined to keep moving. In her toddler mind, staying still wasn’t an option.

She clutched her stuffed toy tighter, the familiar softness bringing a small sense of comfort. “Bun-bun?” she murmured again, her voice quivering. “Kaia find… Kaia not scared…”

Her small wings fluttered uselessly against her back, a reflex whenever she felt nervous. The forest seemed darker now, the trees casting long shadows that danced in the fading light....

And sadly for Kaia a forest is not a safe place for a child whose father has many enemies.....

Part 3

[cvntykiss]

jjk men forget your birthday. part 2.

context.: established relationship, non-curse au, all adult characters (even yn), jjk x you pairings, fem presenting!reader, they forget your birthday and blow you off.

characters.: s. gojo, s. geto, k. nanami, t. fushiguro, r. sukuna

tags.: angst, A LITTLE comfort, a little shit hitting the fan and a LITTLE suggestive.

READER HAS A BACKBONE!!!! there are TEXTUAL parts in this too!!!

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

reading your husband's message, you quietly slip into the bathroom and locked the door. you had already been crying a little about how everyone had wished you a happy birthday except the one person you wanted most to say something - your husband nanami kento.

heart thudding against your chest, you pick up the toilet plunger and dial kento. the noises from beneath continued.

it rung twice before going to voicemail.

"seriously?" you mutter in disbelief as you rung him again, blood rushing to your face as you pursed you lips to stop yourself from crying. "does he want me to die?"

the previous feeling of being undesired and unloved combined with the adrenaline made you stifle a sob behind your hand. a moment later a knock resounded on the en-suite bathroom door. the one you were currently in.

"GO AWAY," you yelled, panicked. "I HAVE A GUN." you didn't, and you didn't think a toilet plunger would deal enough damage but this wasn't the time for logistics.

you rung kento again only to hear the intruder's phone ringing.

"darling," you heard the familiar deep and warm voice of your husband from beyond the door. "it's me."

"kento?" your voice came out choked as a sob slipped past your tongue.

hurriedly throwing open the bathroom door, you flung yourself on your husband.

"oof," he caught you in his arms. "hey, don't cry. i didn't mean to alarm you. i was hoping you would've fell asleep."

"you- you ASSHOLE," yelling at him, your hold only got tigther, the plunger still awkwardly in your hands, against kento's back. your body racked with sobs - now mixed with panic and relief, and some anger.

"honey i'm sorry- can you let of the plunger?" he gently pried it from your arms while still holding you.

"we're going to be late for our flight, my love."

you pull away to look at him with tears brimming your eyes. "flight?" you choked out.

his forehead creased immdieately after seeing you in distress. "we have a flight in 3 hours." he says while wiping your eyes.

"wha-" before you could say anything he suddenly pulls you into a princess carry and ushers you into your walk-in closet.

he sets you on your feet and pulls out a large bag he had somehow hid in the closet without you noticing. "put this on for me darling." he handed you a tissue and the bag.

"what is this for?" you said, voice still meek from all the crying you;d done, confused, and still hurt as you pull out a gorgeous dress that you'd been contemplating for far too long to buy or not because of how expensive it was.

"you didn't," you look up at kento, mouth slightly open in surprise. "how did you-"

he leans down and presses a lasting kiss on your forehead while holding your face. "happy birthday, my love." his hands still on your face, he pulls away to look at you. "get dressed and meet me downstairs, will you?"

"you remembered?" against your will, tears start to well rapdily in your eyes again and a lump forms in your throat.

kento stepped ahead once more and placed his lips on yours and pulled you closer by the small of your back.

"remember our first date? you said you wanted to once experience an angsty birthday, much like you'd seek on the internet to get in a good cry." he looks at you. "it was killing me trying to pretend i didn't remember my wife's birthday but i plan to make up for it and i plan to do it nicely."

he tapped your butt affectionaly and left the walk-in. "see you downstairs in 10, darling."

you quickly washed your face and put on the gorgeous dress that your amazing husband had gotten for you. tears long gone, you were smiled coyly as you dabbed on a bit of makeup and teased your hair.

stepping out of your room, the whole house was enguled in darkness except for the numerous candles scattered across the floor and on the stairs. you walked on a bed of white rose petals.

at the foot of the stairs, your husband had changed into a crisp white suit that complimented your dress perfectly.

your breath hitched as you saw his gorgeous face lit up by the soft glare of the candles. the room smelt like vanilla, you noitced.

he held out his hand as you reached him. you placed your hands on his and soft jazz started playing from the living room. whipping your head towards the dimly lit living room which had been transformed into a makeshift dance floor and a live band playing soft and sultry jazz.

eyes widened in surprise for the second time this night, you looked back at your husband who was staring at you with a lovesick smile on his face, enchanted by your beauty.

"can i have the honor of your first dance, m'love?" he pulls your hands towards his lips, pressing a kiss there while maintaining eye contact. heart thudding in your chest out of the sheer excitement of it all, you nodded your head yes.

he waltzed you around the dance floor gracefully as the band played song after song.

"happy birthday, my love," he looked down at you, swaying with the rhytmn. "you make my days so bright that without you everything seems dull and lifeless. i cannot believe how lucky i am that i get to call you my wife, mrs. nanami."

you reached on your tippy toes and pressed a kiss on his lips as his hold on you tightened.

he pulls away after a moment, still swaying. "we're going to see the northern lights tonight, darling."

your eyes widen and unwittingly starts to well up again. "the what?!"

he chuckled at your reaction as he nodded, "your bucket list. the northen lights, aurora borealis, specifically."

"holy shit," you breathed out in amazement. "like, right now?"

"right now," he confirmed.

"what about your work?"

"don't need that job if all it's gonna do is keep me away from my gorgeous wife." he smiled at you. "the taxi is waiting with our luggage."

he held out his hand, "shall we?"

you thanked the stars that night as you lay in sweden with your husband, watching aurora borealis, a mess of tangled limbs and littered bruises over both of your bodies.

taglist.: @aquamarine001 @serendididy @acourtofexiles @yourname-exee @shokosbunny @totallygyomeiswife @thebumqueen @boop9 @midnightry

[subbmissivesuccubus]

Training (Part 1)

I've been really getting into Love and Deep space lately (Sylus, Caleb and Xavier are my faves) and I had stumbled on an erotic audio where someone was training their throat by using a dildo and then my brain worked it's magic from there to spawn this mini-series idea hehe. Hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer : Lads boys X Female reader; Poly relationship; Established relationship; Smut <3 throat training; Oral (Reader receiving); Hot men babying reader <3

~~~~~

"Good girl, there we go. Just breath and take it...take it..."

TapTapTap

Sylus loosened his grip on the back of your head, smirking as you pulled away, tears in your eyes as you started to cough. His long fingers scratched your scalp, relaxing you and making your body tingle in response. You whimpered, wiping away the drool from your mouth, your jaw feeling a bit sore already and you barely started.

"Deep breaths, kitten. You did so well that time." Sylus purred, "You want to try again?"

You gulped before nodding, regaining your balance on your knees again. You placed your hands on the wall, eyebrows furrowed as you glared at the object stuck to said wall- the object you needed to conquer.

A 7 inch dildo.

"Open wide, kitty." Sylus said, standing behind you once more, the warmth of his legs on either side of you making you purr. You sat on the floor, legs folded underneath you, wearing nothing but a camisole and some comfy shorts. His hands gently went down to your jaw, his thumb caressing your cheek as you opened your mouth wide before moving forward. You groaned as you took the dildo back into your mouth, your tongue lying flat underneath it as you slowly took inch after inch, Sylus's hands gently pushing you along as well.

"Slowly...that's it. You've gotten so much better, sweetie. Think you can deep throat it?"

You didn't respond, simple squeezing your eyes shut tightly as you felt the silicone toy touch the back of your throat. Breathing through your nose and trying to remember all the...tips your boyfriends had given you, you opened up your throat and got the dildo to slide in. Your nails dug into the wall as you fought your natural instinct to gag, taking inch after inch but unfortunately-

TapTapTap

You slapped on the wall, signaling Sylus to let go of your hair as you pulled off of the dildo, coughing wildly as drool seeped past your lips.

"So close." Sylus said, patting your head from above you, "You only had one inch to go. You wanna try again?"

You took a breath, collecting yourself as you wiped the mess off of your face, "Yeah, just...give me a sec."

"Take all the time you need."

You almost started to moan as Sylus rubbed your scalp, his nails gently massaging your head making you shiver. You were brought out of the moment as you heard a pair of footsteps coming closer towards you.

"How's the training going?" Caleb asked, looking down at you and smiling, hands in his pockets.

"Good." Sylus said, giving your head a final pat before pulling away, "She's definitely improving. If you compare her to how she was when we first started this, she's miles ahead. She almost deep throated the whole thing."

"Mind if I take over?" Caleb asked.

"Be my guest."

You tried not to whine as Sylus stepped away from you but your disappointment was short lived as Caleb took his place. You craned your neck to look up at him, the man giggling as you made eye contact. Sylus stood to the side, leaning on the wall as he crossed his arms over his chest, watching.

"I think you can get that whole dildo down your throat, pipsqueak." Caleb said, bringing a hand down to pinch your cheek, "So I'm gonna be a bit rough on you and make you take it. Is that okay?"

You wrapped your hand around Caleb's right leg, squeezing his calf as you leaned into him, snuggling your face against his soft thigh. Your man giggled at the ticklish feeling, his fingers clenching and unclenching close to your face which you have since learnt was the sign of him fighting his cute aggression- the man fighting his desire to just grab you and squeeeeze tightly.

"Okay." you said, pulling away from him before straightening your back, "I'm ready."

"Let's take it all this time."

With a nod, you got back into position, palms against the wall before you opened your mouth wide and took in the toy. Inch by inch slid into your mouth, making sure to keep your tongue flat. You had gotten fairly used to this part, the real problem coming when the tip of the dildo started to slide down the back of your throat.

As soon as you felt your first gag, you gasped as Caleb suddenly increased the pressure and continued to push you forward. But it didn't feel like it was his hands and when you looked up, you saw that the man had in fact placed both hands against the wall too- almost like he was balancing which meant:

The fucker was pushing your head forward with his knee!

"Take it. Take it. Come on. You can do it." Caleb growled, kneeing the back of your head while firmly pushing you forward. Unlike Sylus using his hands, you felt zero give against Caleb and had no choice but to go along. You continued to gag, eyes watering as the dildo slid down your throat more and more, until finally- finally- you felt the cold sensation of the wall against your lips.

You did it! You finally did it! You took down the whole dildo!!

"Good girl! There we go~" Caleb cheered as he took his leg away, allowing you to pull off of the fake cock. You heaved and gasped, taking in air and coughing, your lungs aching from the many attempts so far. You looked up and glared at Caleb, the man simply snorting as he pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket. He squatted down beside you, immediately starting to clean up your drool with his hanky.

"Don't look at me like that." he whined fakely, his free hand holding your head still from behind as he wiped up your mouth, "You did it, didn't you?"

"That she did." Sylus said proudly, his hand shamelessly wrapping around the saliva covered toy before pulling it off of the wall from where it was suctioned on, "Let's stop here and I'll clean this up. I'd like to use it again later."

You jumped at the 'later' statement, knowing full well what that meant.

"Alright, come here." Caleb said as Sylus walked away, the man looping his arm around your back and under your knees before he picked you up in a princess carry, carrying you like you weighed nothing to him. With a kiss to your head, he started to walk towards the others lounging at the couch. Oh yeah. You were in the living room of your apartment, your boyfriends having come over. How could you forget.

Xavier smiled from one end of the couch, his arms reaching out for you. Caleb gently dropped you down onto the white haired mans lap, Xavier wrapping his arms around you as he kissed your temple.

"Good job, honey." he cooed, nuzzling against your hair, "We were watching. You did so well!"

"Yeah," Raphael chimed in, scooting closer to Xavier on the couch so he could gently grab at your feet, immediately giving it a massage, "Remember at the beginning when you could barely take half of it? Look at you now."

"She's definitely getting better. Soon, you'll be ready to suck us off~" Caleb purred, ruffling your hair before he sat down on a separate love seat.

You huffed, preening under all the attention, "I still think this whole...training thing is dumb." you said, voice hoarse.

"Clearly it wasn't since it took you almost two weeks to even handle the toy." the fifth- and final- voice called out and you turned your head to see Zayne walking towards the group, a glass of water in hand. He bent down once he was close enough, gripping your chin gently before pulling at it. You opened your mouth obediently, Zayne's eyes scanning for a few seconds before nodding and letting go.

"Looks like you didn't hurt your throat this time. Good. Now drink up."

He pressed the glass of water against your lips but you pulled away with a pout.

"I can drink it by myself."

"I know." Was all Zayne said before his free hand cupped your jaw gently before once again pressing the glass to your lips. You huffed but ultimately remained silent as the Doctor tipped the glass, pouring the water into your mouth. Everyone watched as you drank the, Xavier planting sweet kisses to your temple while Zayne hummed once you finished. He wiped away a stray drop of water from your lips before walking back to the kitchen, passing by Sylus who was empty handed (for now). He smiled at you as he got behind you, bending down to loosely wrapping his arms around your shoulders before peppering your cheek with kisses. With Xavier on one side and Sylus on the other, you felt the blood rush to your face, making you feel dizzy from all the affection.

"You did so good, baby girl." Sylus purred, nibbling on your ear gently as you simply mumbled under your breath shyly, "Let's have you deep throat it a few more times before we move on, yeah?"

"Wh- but-" you whined, turning your head to look at the red eyed man, "I thought that was it! I don't need to practice anymore!"

"Do it consistently without hurting yourself," Zayne chimed in, having walked back to the living room, standing beside Sylus as he crossed his arms over his chest, "Then we can consider if you're ready to suck our cocks."

You whined, rolling your eyes in annoyance but you yelped as Raphael pinched your calf muscle. "Don't be bratty." he warned, making you pout.

"But I can handle it! I want to make you all feel good..."

"We know, pipsqueak and that's very sweet of you." Caleb said, his eyes never having left you, "But we're all bigger than that dildo. If you can't even suck the toy without crying, you're just going to get frustrated or hurt yourself when you take us."

"Besides, we don't mind waiting." Xavier said, his voice so gentle, warm breath fanning against your ear, "Your comfort matters more to us than pleasure."

"But..."

"Don't argue." Sylus demanded, making your words die in your throat, Rafayel snorted at your adorable pout, his hand traveling up your legs, his warm touch making you shiver. You pressed your thighs together, Raphael almost reaching them and your movement wasn't lost on anyone. From deepthroating the cock to being babied by them, it wasn't rocket science to figure out that you were needy.

"Aww, how silly of us." Xavier cooed, a hand coming up to your top and teasingly grabbing one of the thin straps before he started to gently pull it down one shoulder, "You've been such a good girl and we totally forgot to give you a reward."

"She does deserve something nice for following her training..." Caleb trailed off, his eyes dilating as he saw the cute flush on your face, gasping as Xavier started to kiss your exposed shoulder. But the contact was soon gone as Raphael grabbed you by the hips harshly before pulling, making you yelp as your position was changed. Your body slid down, your back now resting on Xavier's lap and your head leaning against the soft armrest, the sudden change making your top ruck up a bit and expose your tummy.

"Be gentle with her." Sylus scolded as you were suddenly slid out of his embrace.

"She can handle it." Raphael said with a roll of his eyes, "She's not made of glass."

"Thank you!" you said, "Finally, someone gets it."

"I'm always on your side, cutie." Raphael said, giving you a wink before hie smile turned more hungry, his fingers digging into the waistband of your shorts, "Now lets get these off of you, hmm? I need to taste you~"

You raised your hips with no protest, humming as Xavier started to pet your head, the man seemingly content with having you on his lap despite his usual jealous tendencies. But, as you expected, the others weren't as calm.

"Hey, you got to eat her out last time! It's my turn!" Caleb protested, shooting up from his seat before he grabbed Raphael by the back of his shirt and pulling him off of you and forcing him to stand. The artist hissed like a cat, batting away Caleb's hand.

"If anyone should do it, it's me." Sylus interjected, also standing upright, arms crossing over his chest, "I spent all that time training her today. I say I deserve a treat too."

"You already called dibs on stretching her out with the dildo." Raphael reminded, looking comically short compared to the other two but that did not deter him as he stood his ground, leaving you on the couch, needy. You looked over at the three arguing men, rolling your eyes at their theatrics.

"And?"

"And?" Raphael repeated like it was obvious, "You can't be greedy. That was the rule, remember?"

"Exactly, so I should be the one to eat her pussy this time." Caleb said but was immediately glared at by the other two.

"...Rock, Paper, Scissors." Raphael said, bringing his clenched hand up.

"I'm not playing a game over my right to eat out my girlfriend." Sylus proclaimed with a scoff.

"Fine, then you're disqualified." Raphel said with a flick of the wrist, dismissing Sylus, "Caleb?"

"You're on!"

"Now- hang on a second."

"Oh, so you're joining? Fine then. On three. Rock...Paper...Scissors!"

"Fuck- no wait- best of three!"

"Don't be a sore loser, Caleb. I thought you'd be used to losing by now."

"I'll show you who's a sore loser, crow boy."

"Ouch. I think that was more embarrassing for you than it was for me."

They competition was cut short as a shrill moan echoed through the room. Everyone's eyes snapped over to you only to find Zayne between your legs, the man dragging his tongue greedily from your dripping hole up to your cute clit, your shorts and panties discarded on the floor.

"Hey!" They all protested over each other, but Zayne simply shot them an icy cold glare, giving your clit a kiss before pulling away to say:

"Next time, focus more on her than each other."

Xavier couldn't help but snort, having changed positions so he was now leaning against the armrest of the couch with you sitting comfortably between his spread legs, your back in contact with his front. The position gave him a lot more freedom, especially when it came to pulling your top up so he could grope at your pretty tits~

The other three cursed under their breath but soon calmed down, their attention diverted at the pretty sight of you practically naked on the couch, being devoured by your lovers. Your face was flushed, eyebrows furrowed as your reached a hand down to thread it through Zayne's black locks, gripping onto it tightly as he ate you out.

You tossed your head back against Xavier's shoulder, your man kissing your neck as your body trembled from the pleasure. Zayne was a tease- not because he wanted to torture you- but simply because he liked to take his time. He took slow, deliberate licks of your pussy, his eyes glazed over like he was enjoying a delicious treat. His fingers dug into the flesh of your thighs and he made sure to keep your legs spread for him, his hot, wet tongue running up and down your slit, glasses getting a bit fogged up from the heat emanating from you. He groaned, drinking you down as he sealed his lips over your cunt and started to kiss her, lips and tongue working in tandem to make out with your pussy.

You mewled as the slobbering sound of Zayne devouring your kitty echoed through the air, your hips bucking into his mouth. You could barely focus though as Xavier ran his fingers teasingly over your nipples, his index finger drawing slow circles over your hard bud. Unlike Zayne who took things slow as he enjoyed it, Xavier took things slow to wind you up and make you cry-

A sadistic side to him that you never expected to exist.

"You're so cute, you know that?" he asked as he flicked a nipple, smiling at the way you whimpered, "My sweet honey~"

"She really is adorable like this." Raphael agreed, taking a seat beside you on the large couch that you specifically bought to accommodate multiple people, "I just want to paint your blushing face on a huge canvas, cutie."

"I'd definitely buy that." Syulus purred, standing beside Xavier as his hand gently cupped your face, "And hang it up in my bedroom so I can wake up to your slutty expression every day."

You were about to protest- say anything at all but Sylus quickly silenced you as he bent down and kissed you. You gasped against his lips, Sylus kissing you so sweetly it made your heart feel warm and your pussy gush around Zayne's face. He slipped his tongue into your mouth easily, thumb caressing your cheek even as he aggressively made out with you.

You jumped as you felt a warmth on your nipple, the familiar sensation of a bud being enveloped by something hot and wet. You didn't even need to look to know that Raphael was suckling on a nipple, the feeling of his mouth on your sensitive bud far too familiar at this point. You felt his groan against you, suckling on you like he was trying to milk you. His lips clamped around the fat of your breast, his teeth threatening to bite down as he sucked, each gulp making your toes curl. You barely processed the hardness pressing against your bare ass, Xavier letting out little grunts behind you as you unknowingly ground against him as you wiggled around from the various sensations.

You took a deep breath as Sylus eventually pulled away, a string of saliva breaking apart between your lips only for the man to gently shove two fingers inside your mouth. You looked up at him, eyes teary from the over stimulation but you were only met with dark eyes and an even darker smile, Sylus clearly loving this look on you. You sucked on his fingers obediently, his long digits gripping your tongue and exploring your mouth like it was a casual activity and the nonchalant attitude only made your pussy gush even more.

"How does she taste?" Caleb asked, having walked to the back of the couch, leaning over with his arms crossed and resting on the back as he greedily took in the sight of Zayne devouring your pussy.

"Mmph. Divine." was all the doctor said before he dove back in, making your shriek around Sylus's fingers as Zayne gently stuck his own finger inside you. It slid in easily thanks to how wet you were but you whined as it wasn't enough. You needed more. More. More!

"Let me play with her clit, come on." Caleb said and much to his enjoyment, Zayne seemed to comply. Their agreed upon rule of 'don't be greedy' was in full effect as Zayne pulled away but not before giving your pussy a deep kiss. You were grateful that your view was blocked by Sylus as you knew Zaynes face must be wet with your juices and it would be too embarrassing to see that.

Sylus bent down and kissed you again, not giving you a second to breathe which was just according to plan. Xavier grunted behind you as you body jolted from the feeling of someones rough finger swiping at your poor, sensitive clit, accidentally grinding more on Xavier's clothed erection. Caleb hummed happily as he simply reached a hand down to casually roll your clit around while Zayne slid another finger inside of you. Raphael increased the force of his suckling, the man still nursing on the same nipple while your other breast was in Xavier's hand, being pinched and pulled at mercilessly.

This was too much and yet not enough at the same time- it was killing you.

"Mmph- gonna- hah- gurk!" you gagged as Sylus pulled away just to shove his middle and ring finger back into your mouth, this time really pushing it deep and making you gag. He laughed in your face, loving that shade of red on you as he started to gently thrust his fingers in and out of your mouth in the same pace Zayne was doing to your pussy.

"She's close, boys." Sylus said, knowing what you wanted to say but everyone could tell even without you trying to announce it. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as Zayne curled his fingers inside you, digging around for that spongy spot that they all just loved to bully. Caleb licked his lips as he moved his fingers faster, starting to rub your clit vigorously, droplets of your slick flying all over the place and making a mess.

Zayne bit his lower lip as he found your g-spot with ease, the matching cry you let out from the impact almost making him cum in his pants. He hissed at the borderline painful erection in his pants- all the other men sporting the same bulge. Was it difficult to not whip their cocks out and use your body the way you clearly wanted them to? Yes. Absolutely. Probably the hardest (no pun intended) challenge they've ever faced in their lives.

But you were an inexperienced little thing. Their sweet, adorably baby doll and they knew that if they jumped into acts of passion where you had to deal with five men at once, they might hurt you or you might push yourself and your body to the extreme. And so they were training you until one day, one glorious day, you can comfortably handle them.

But having you whimpering, whining and so eager for them always made them second guess their decision.

"Cum for us, pipsqueak." Caleb said, hand almost a blur with his fast he was swiping over your clit repeatedly, "you've earned it."

"Such a good girl. Our good girl." Xavier panted behind you, taking a gentle nibble of your ear as his hands traced down your curved before settling at your hips, gripping down on you tightly as he started to ground his own hips against you more incessantly, "Fuck- I think i'm going to cum too..."

"So easily? Don't tell me you're a two pump chump, Xavier." Raphel teased, finally pulling away from your nipple. Your poor boob was suckled raw, your bud peeking out swollen and covered with his saliva.

"You've been touching yourself while you sucked on her tits. You're probably going to cum before I do." Xavier snapped back and you couldn't help but snicker as Raphael froze, hand on his crotch from where he was groping himself, a look in his eyes like he was caught trying to steal a cookie from the jar.

"...Shut up." the artist bit back before he sealed his lips around your nipple again. Sylus laughed at their mini argument, deciding that he'd rather everyone enjoy your moans as he gently pulled his spit covered fingers out of your mouth. You looked up at him, a sight you were getting fairly familiar with and your eyes travelled lower, down to his erection practically fighting against the front of his pants.

"Down girl." Sylus teased as you stared at his hardness, bringing a handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe at his hand, "Focus on your own body."

"...I-It looked at me first." you quipped, unable to hold back your own huff of amusement at Sylus's laughter. But your huff quickly turned into a gasp as your body started to rush towards its peak. Zayne's finger's inside you- Caleb vigorously stimulating your clit- Raphael sucking on your breasts- Xavier humping you from behind- Sylus looking down at you like you were a treat he's waiting to devour-

"Cumming- ah- ah-- fuck- cumming!" You squealed, body trembling as you were pushed over the edge. You pleasure crashed into you violently, your legs shaking and thighs automatically pressing together but Caleb and Zayne worked in tandem to hold your knees apart.

"Don't fight it, pipsqueak~ Ride it out, baby."

"You deserve it, love. Such a good girl."

Your cunt squirted around their fingers, everyone cooing at you as you climaxed. Back arching, Raphel continued to mouth at your tit, only pulling back a bit so he could see your pleasure filled expression.

You sobbed as Xavier tightened his hold around you, tempering down your wiggling as he gasped behind you, his own whimpers only audible to you as he moaned against your ear softly. He jerked, biting your neck and taking in deep breaths of your scent before he gradually settled down. He must have cum as well if the slight dampness you felt under your butt was any indication.

You whined as you came down from your high, body relaxing and muscles releasing their tension. You mumbled protest as Zayne and Caleb continued to grind their hands against your cunt but they took mercy on you and pulled away gently. You felt your face get warmer at the state of their fingers, their skin pruned from how wet you were- Zayne's hand practically drenched.

But that didn't stop him from taking a long lick of his fingers, maintaining eye contact with you as he did.

Fuck- that made your pussy clench with desire.

If only they would shove those fat, aching cocks of their inside you but-

You almost started to purr as Sylus ran a hand through your hair before he started to pet you, fingers firm yet gentle on your scalp. His other hand was on his hip, a sassy pose that was a sharp contrast to how he was looking at you.

"Good job, sweetie. You okay?"

You nodded, your tongue feeling heavy in your mouth. But as usual, you looked around and save for Xavier and Raphael (who was doing a poor job of covering up his soiled pants) everyone was turned on and clearly desperate for something but-

"Let's get you some water." Caleb offered, straightening up before walking to the kitchen. "B-But you guys are..." you trailed off, reaching your hand out to the brunette. Caleb smiled before taking your hand in his and kissing your fingers, even nibbling on one gently, "Don't worry about us. We'll take care of it."

"But-"

"No buts." Zayne said sternly, "We need to get you cleaned up. After all of your 'training' today, I say you've earned a break."

You pouted but Sylus pinched your cheek, "The more you practice, the faster we'll be able to take things to the next stage, sweetheart. Just be patient."

"...Okay."

Xavier sighed behind you, chin propped up on your shoulder, "...I need a shower."

"Same here." Raphael said, sounding bashful as he snuggled between your tits, "How about we shower together, cutie?"

"You talking to me?" Xavier asked and Raphel clicked his tongue in irritation, making you giggle.

"A bath does sound good." you agreed, knowing full well your bathroom was big enough to accommodate everyone if need be.

"Then the three of you wash up," Sylus said as Caleb walked back with the glass of water (and just like Zayne, he insisted on feeding it to you himself) "And once you're finished- if you're up for it, of course- we can try our...other training."

Everyone jumped at that, looking at you expectedly. You gulped down the last of the water, Caleb tickling you under the chin before you nodded:

"Sounds like a plan."

~~~~~

[cheolieji]

Dearest Author, I do hope this missive finds thee in most splendid spirits. Might I, your humble subject, entreat Your Highness for the honour of requesting a most exquisite fanfiction?

14th member reader who's the same age as vernon & has a huge, MASSIVE crush on him since green room days and anger to hide it well until carats started noticing the way she looks at him and make vids on it

"Do u like me?" "For 12 years now, thanks for finally noticing :)"

I should be forever in thy debt. With the deepest gratitude and reverence, I remain—your devoted admirer

Penned in secrecy and sealed with affection,

— A Devoted Soul in Waiting 🕊

secret glances pt 1 - chwe hansol

wc: 1,370

warning: none

Idol au

guide for requesting on my page [17] check out the (pink highlighted) texts for my yes and no's

updatee: PART 2 & 3 (SG pt 2 || SG pt3)

A/N : This is a fuckin poem anon, you're insane lmao ily

lmk If you guys want a part two👀

You remember the first time you saw him, really saw him.

It wasn’t during practice or one of those chaotic group evaluations where everyone was too nervous to breathe. It wasn’t even during a recording session. It was in the green room, of all places. Somewhere in between the exhaustion of rehearsals and the sharp nerves of being on camera. You were sitting on the floor, stretching your legs, trying to ground yourself before stepping into the chaos again. Vernon was across the room, headphones on, bobbing his head to a beat only he could hear.

Something about him caught your attention. Maybe it was the calm in his expression, or the way he looked like the noise around him didn’t touch him at all. You didn’t know what to make of it at the time. You just knew that something in your chest shifted a little.

Back then, it was easy to brush it off. You were both still trainees, too young and too focused on debut to even think about feelings. You trained, you practiced, you worked hard every single day to prove yourself. You were just another kid with a dream and shaky confidence, trying to keep up with thirteen other boys. Fourteen, including yourself.

But still. Something about Vernon lingered.

You’ve always been good at hiding things.

Your nerves before a big stage. The exhaustion from hours of dance practice. The way your voice sometimes shakes during interviews when you talk about your journey with seventeen. But nothing, not even your best poker face, can hide the way you look at Vernon.

And now Carats know.

It started small. A few clips here and there from variety shows, behind-the-scenes, fan signs. One in particular from your rookie days when everything still felt surreal. You were sitting next to Vernon on one of those cramped green room couches, your legs barely touching, the camera zooming in at the exact moment you turned to look at him. Not just any look. The look.

Eyes soft. Smile unintentional. That one second became a screenshot, a meme, a freeze-frame moment in dozens of fan edits. Slowed down. Zoomed in. Captioned with sparkly fonts and phrases like, "She looked at him like he was the whole universe."

You told yourself it was just a bad camera angle. Or maybe you were zoning out. Maybe you were looking past him. But deep down, you knew the truth. You had been staring. Because you always stared. When he wasn’t looking, when he was laughing, when he was fidgeting with his rings. Always.

Vernon is your age, but sometimes it feels like he’s a step ahead. He’s always been calm, thoughtful, just a little strange in a way that makes you want to understand him more. You remember being sixteen and standing outside the practice room, listening to his verse in Adore U, and feeling your chest ache for reasons you couldn’t explain. Not nerves. Not fear. Just him.

You figured it would pass. Crushes do. Especially when you’re working as closely as you all do, constantly surrounded by each other. You told yourself it would fade. But it didn’t. If anything, it deepened.

Now it’s second nature. Laughing at his jokes like you would with anyone else. Nudging him during gameshows. Keeping enough space between you during dance formations. Pretending like your heart doesn’t race whenever he stands a little too close.

But sometimes you slip up. Your eyes wander. You forget the camera is still rolling.

And Carats? They notice everything.

One fan tweet reads, “Y/N LOOKS AT VERNON LIKE HE INVENTED LOVE.” Another post shows a slow-motion video of you smiling at him mid-interview, layered with soft piano music and the caption, “She’s so gone.”

You try to laugh it off. You like your privacy, and you’ve worked so hard to keep things professional. But the edits keep coming. TikToks. Photo comparisons. Fan threads analyzing your expressions. There’s even one video titled “Y/N’s secret crush on Vernon: A Timeline,” and it’s alarmingly accurate.

You try to do better. You make sure to engage with other members more. You keep your eyes trained on your cue cards during interviews. You smile at the fans more than you look at him.

But then he laughs at something Mingyu says. The kind of laugh that starts in his chest and spills out without him trying to stop it. You glance over. Just for a moment.

But the fans see it.

Later that night, Seungcheol corners you in the dorm hallway with a knowing look.

“Do you know what’s trending?” he asks, arms crossed.

You groan and cover your face. “Please don’t tell me.”

“Oh, I will,” he says, grinning. “They made an edit of you and Vernon like it’s the trailer to a romance drama. I think someone even added fake subtitles.”

You press your forehead against the wall and mumble, “I’m never showing my face again.”

“It’s kind of cute, honestly,” Seungcheol says. “But if you’re not into him, maybe stop looking at him like he’s the last glass of water in the desert.”

You don’t reply. Because how can you? How can you explain that it’s not something you do on purpose? That something about Vernon draws your gaze like a magnet, like gravity?

So you don’t say anything.

And of course, you never tell Vernon. Why would you? Things are comfortable the way they are. You talk late at night in the studio sometimes. You trade music recommendations. You laugh at the same dumb memes. That’s enough.

Maybe he doesn’t know. Maybe he never will.

But sometimes, just sometimes, you catch him looking too.

And that alone is enough to keep you wondering.