#guide to the study of fishes

[neuropteran]

GUIDE TO THE STUDY OF FISHES || David Starr Jordan

[savefrog]

won the lottery and rolled the decently productive Language Learning hyperfixation twice in a row (With a brief break inbetween)

[feliraeth]

my favorite fish is state of oklahoma

[basil-kat]

Ur sewing patterns fuck so hard do u use patterns or just wing it

Thank you! I make my own patterns, I usually draw them digitally and then use my tablet as a lightbox to trace it onto paper :)

[girinma]

not saying this again!

SPOT have a deeper body and the eyes of an animal

CROAKER have a shallower body and a deep sadness in the eyes

[grand-theft-carbohydrates]

Ok i know it’s dumb as hell and means absolutely nothing, but one of my least favourite popular tumblr jokes is that one about a salmon getting all freaked out because we named the colour salmon after it’s flesh. It just hits my biology pet peeve so hard bc i hate it when people assign human morals and values to animals. I hate it even more if they’re INACCURATE ones. The majority of animals are opportunistic cannibals. Fish eat other fish. Toss some chum in the water and it looks like it’s in a rolling boil. A salmon would not be freaked out that we devour it’s flesh on a regular basis, because they would gladly eat each other if the opportunity presents itself. I went to a salmon farm on the south island once, and one of the gimmicks was you could catch your own fish (it was as fun as shooting fish in a barrel–or rather a large, enclosed pond, but you get the picture). You toss in a handful of feed pellets and nothing happens. Absolute silence. I dropped it right on top of a passing fish and it gave me the stink-eye. If i was prone to anthropomorphising i’d say one could almost sense their fishy disdain. Some guy gave us a piece of salmon to use as bait, and the instant that piece of flesh hit the water it was like a bomb had gone off. Every single fish in a ten meter radius converged on that single point and fought each other for the chance to devour their brethren. The hook was in the water for 3.5 seconds on average. If a salmon was cognisant enough to talk, it’s main beliefs would be DEVOUR. FEAST. FLESH. FLESH. FLESH.

Also while we’re on the topic, the life process of a salmon is so utterly alien and unthinkable to a human, the ‘being eaten’ part would rank so low on their list of Fucked Up Shit it’s not even worth talking about. you hatch in a river with no parents, no name, and no one to guide you or tell you who you are. You simply am. your mother laid up 10,000 eggs, but you are one of the 15% who hatched. You and your siblings were born to die, only a scant handful will reach maturity. When you’re big enough, an unknown force tells you GO TO THE OCEAN. You don’t know why. Hell, you don’t even know what the ocean is, but you don’t have a choice in the matter, your body has already changed so much that you can’t survive in freshwater any longer, if you don’t leave your nursery, you will die. You spend 1-7 years in the ocean, swimming the length of the continental united states of america (as far as alaska), until one day the unknown force tells you IT IS TIME and it tells you to retrace your steps (fins?) and return to the SAME STREAM YOU WERE BORN IN. you do this by smell in a way that baffles the apes studying you. Your body metamorphosizes into a SUPER SEXY version of yourself. Your entire body begins to slowly deteriorate, all energy goes to swimming and your reproductive organs. Getting eaten by a bear would be the kindest, cleanest death at this stage. You travel up rivers by swimming against the current, jumping small waterfalls, ect. If you’re one of the survivors who successfully mates, then your life ends here. You spend your last 15 days in the river you were born in, mating as much as possible if you’re male, or guarding your clutch of eggs if you're female, until your body slowly disintegrates. Maybe you find this horrific. Maybe you find this peaceful and satisfying. Getting named after a colour is low on your list of cares rn.

[superiorsturgeon]

out of curiosity, why do you like sturgeons so much?

A chance to info dump about my favorite fish…?!

I grew up in the Great Lakes area of North America, where fishing is pretty popular but everyone knows that fish populations aren’t anything like “the good old days” when people took out huge numbers of fish while messing up their spawning sites. I got pretty into fishing when I found out that I could catch bluegill in the surrounding farm ponds, and once in a while my family took me to an isolated fishing cabin for vacation, but for years I never encountered a wild fish bigger than a kilogram or two.

BUT THEN…

I found out about sturgeon! They were HUGE fish that had once lived in the rivers and lakes all around my home, and better yet, fish almost exactly like modern sturgeon had existed all the way back in the Cretaceous period alongside the dinosaurs, and they STILL EXIST TODAY!!! The fact that small numbers of these huge dinosaur fish still existed made them seem almost like a real-life lake monster/cryptid, except that we had proof of their existence!

Furthermore, there’s just nothing else like them. Sturgeon get big. Like, REALLY big. The record for the largest sturgeon was almost 11 meters/24 feet long, which is colossal for freshwater animals. They have armor plates of bone running down their sides, and at the same time they don’t have bony skeletons. They also have a crazy mouth structure, which allows them to actually pop their jaws out like a tube and suck up food. And on top of all of this, the adults are absolute tanks. I’ve seen skin nearly 8mm thick, and it’s so tough that people make leather out of it, and they occasionally lose fins or even entire gill plates and just keep on swimming! (I found out about that last one when I tried to wrestle a big female out of a river and my hand went straight into her gills. She didn’t seem that bothered by it!)

For a long time I filed sturgeon along with Alligator Gar, Giant Mekong catfish, and Yangtze paddlefish as a semi-legendary fish that may still exist, but I was never going to see except possibly in an aquarium, until I enrolled in graduate school. For those unfamiliar with grad school in the US, it typically involves both high-level classes as well as an independent research project the student designs and carries out with help from an experienced professor. When my mentor asked what kind of thing I wanted to study, I tossed out “sturgeon” as one such possibility, expecting to hear that I would probably have to limit myself to more common/accessible species.

I was blown away when she said “Actually, I think I know a guy…”

For the next several years, I got to ride along collecting wild adult sturgeon, gathering eggs, and raising the baby fish in a lab and in a hatchery. I was holding something that I had thought of as a semi-mythical lake/river monster in my own hands! I got to see a river choked with giants as big as 2 meters long, and I got to hold a 5-centimeters mottled baby whose armored scutes were still sharp and possessed the little arrowhead shape and big black pectoral fins that remind me of Mickey Mouse ears! In the video below you can even see a little heartbeat! (Don’t worry, this little guy was returned to the tank soon after to recover from his anesthesia!)

Sadly, I didn’t find anything super groundbreaking in my research, but my experience DID land me a job working in sturgeon aquaculture! If you’ve ever had caviar that wasn’t poached, it probably came from a sturgeon farm, and if you want to see a lot of big fish up close, this is a good place to do it! I probably personally handled more individual sturgeon than there are wild fish in several sturgeon species. In addition, while the wild broodstock I mentioned above might reach 2 meters and over 50kg, the sturgeon I dealt with at the farm would easily double that, and there were a LOT of them! I got to see sturgeon behavior that had never been recorded in field guides, and even a few crazy one-in-a-million mutations like the infamous “ghost” sturgeon!

I even got the opportunity to cook my own sturgeon meat (Yeah, I basically turned into the Touden siblings from Dungeon Meshi except for sturgeon instead of RPG monsters). I got pretty good at making smoked sturgeon, but the meat is also good on the grill or baked, and people have been cooking them in various ways for centuries.

My favorite part of the job was physically wrestling the big fish! Sturgeon are easier to grab than other fish with the right know-how, but a human-sized fish often has its own plans for the day and won’t always cooperate. I was pretty good at moving the adults by the time I left that job, but it was still a wild rodeo every time!

Even more exciting was how we spawned each new generation of sturgeon. In the wild, they form massive spawning runs in big rivers that in the past would be enough to tip small boats, but in a lab or farm we have to use other means. I’ll spare you the details, but I am one of a small number of people who have surgically extracted eggs from a live sturgeon and sutured them back up to swim another day.

The tldr of this essay is that sturgeon are a big, crazy-unique fish that have been around a long time, and I’ve spent a lot of my career handling and working with them. There’s just nothing like them for a fish nerd and they’re damn cool!

(Clip art not mine, I think @sturgeonposting drew or shared it!)

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

The Hoodoo Apprentice

Summary: Amelia packed her things and took a train to Clarksdale Mississippi to reunite with an old friend, Annie. Annie promised she’d teach Amelia the art of Hoodoo. After a month, Smoke and Stack return with a plan to open a Juke Joint.

Warnings: SMUT

Part Four

Marylin Jenkins climbed the short, rickety steps leading into Annie’s Apothecary. The pussy willow’s were in rare form that day, leaving white pedals everywhere, some of it even leading into Annie’s shop. The wind chimes swayed creating whimsical, meditating sounds.

Marylin removed her straw hat, smoothing down her coarse hair that she wore in four plaits. Annie and Marylin used to hang around a lot before she married her husband, Deacon, at the tender age of eighteen. Five children later and one on the way, she didn’t have time to go out and enjoy herself.

Marylin’s tawny skin glistened like she’d been slathered in fish grease. Her light brown eyes fell upon a woven basket with a label attached to it that read: FREE FANS FOR THE HEAT.

She helped herself to one, waving it all over her face. It cooled her a little, but The Delta fought hard to smother you in its oppressively humid conditions. Almost suffocating you with the thick, blazing air. Marylin helped herself to looking around, wondering what she needed to buy while she was on her way back home to her children.

Bam–Bam needed his hair cut.

Sonya scuffed her knees playing in the yard the other day.

Baby Tina was almost fresh out of milk.

Beatrice and Belle had a habit of getting into things they shouldn’t.

Marylin halted her footsteps in front of a bundle of sage. As she picked up one to buy, footsteps leading out of a closet behind her caught her ear. Marylin turned to find Annie’s helper, Ameila, exiting the walk in closet, fixing a checkered half-apron around her hourglass waistline. She wore a cotton field dress in a pastel yellow color, the ruffled straps hanging from her slender shoulders.

Behind her came a man. A man identical to Annie’s husband.

Elias ‘Stack’ Moore.

Marylin’s features were pinched with resentment. She’d heard talk about the Smoke Stack Twins returning to the Delta from the Windy City, and the thought of seeing Stack again brought back suppressed memories of how she used to be his lover until he dropped her like a bad habit.

And then she ran into Deacon’s arms after he’d confessed to her drunk over corn liquor how much he had a big ol’ crush on her. A robust, man with sable skin and a kind smile. Memories of Stack having his way with her wherever and whenever he could, even with his crew hanging around, stirred something in her. Something akin to wanting that old thing back.

Ameila smoothed down her curly hair before tightening the black bow that held all that dense hair together and down her back. She flashed Marylin a kind smile, sweat sheening the junction between her throat and collar bones. Stack occupied himself with studying a conjure jar filled with whatever Annie put together. A label on it read: ESSENCE OF BEND-OVER.

Marylin could see from the corner of her eye Stack closing the fly to his pinstriped pants, adjusting his erection, tucking it in a way where it wouldn’t be noticeable. He cut his eyes at her and did a double take, recognizing her straight away. He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, cursing under his breath. Marylin gave Ameila a practiced smile, but in the back of her mind, she was judging her. Judging because she knew exactly what Stack and her had been doing in that closet.

“How can I help ya’ today, Marylin?” Ameila inquired, a hospitable smile on her lips.

Lips that were snug around Stack’s log she was sure.

“I’ll take a bundle of sage. Annie got some more of that Sachet Powder I like?”

“Of course, right over here,” Ameila guided Marylin over to a section of the store where she could help herself, “Sure that’s all ya’ need?”

Stack perched himself on top of a wooden stool, rolling a cigarette. A black fedora with a red feather sat lazily on his head, tipped to the side, revealing a crisp fade. He had on a snug, white T-shirt and two–toned Oxford shoes on his feet in white and black.

Marylin gave Ameila a curt nod, “That’s all…where’s Annie anyway?”

“At the house. She’s preparing lunch. Asked me to look over the store.” Ameila revealed.

“Alright,” Marylin’s nosy eyes danced between the both of them, “I’ll take this and be on my way.”

The sound of Stack lighting a match hit Marylin’s ears. Ameila tallied the till.

“That’ll be two dollars.”

Marylin paid her money and accepted a brown paper bag with the things she needed. She tucked it beneath her arm before turning to leave.

“Marylin? How you be…”

Marylin paused on her pursuit. She gave Stack a tight smile. He flashed his characteristic smile, Mr. Dimples successfully pulling her in. But Marylin despised him.

“All’s well, Elias. You back for good?” Marylin asked with a condescending smile.

“I am. Gotta deal with the devil we know. How them kids?”

Marylin gave a faint shrug, “Being kids. Hope you stay on the straight path this time around, Elias.”

“I’ll take your advice…”

“Will you?” Marylin sassed.

Stack frowned, “Depends on what mood I’m in.”

Amelia busied herself with stocking empty jars in a cupboard for later use. She glanced between Marylin and Stack, noticing straight away that there was tension between them. She rolled her eyes with a sigh .

“Have a good rest of your day now,” Stack said as Marylin walked away. It held a mischievous edge to it.

Marylin glanced at him with uneasy eyes, “You do the same.”

“Tell Deacon I said quit hidin’. been a minute since he been ‘round.”

Marylin paused within the doorway, a look of disdain crossing her face.

“He’s busy being a father to his children and working the fields. Ain’t got time to be runnin’ around.”

Stack threw his hands up with faux surrender, a pout of his lips and an exaggerated lift of his brows.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t know ‘bout that.” Stack replied.

Marylin glared at him before descending the stairs. She made her way to her car, mumbling something Stack was sure to be a string of insults.

“Bitter bitch,” Stack took a hit of his cigarette, “Ain’t my fault your man got side pussy. Maybe if ya’ shit wasn’t so lose he’d stay happy.”

“Stack!”

Ameila threw a pen at him that Stack tried to dodge but it hit him in the face. He picked it up from the floor and tossed it back, watching it bounce off of Ameila’s hip.

“That was so mean.” Ameila said.

“You think I shoulda stayed in the closet?”

“Yes,” Ameila argued, “Now she gonna run and tell her friends what a hussy I am.”

“Like you care what people think, Princess.”

Ameila smiled sheepishly.

“The sooner ya’ find out how real I keep it the better.” Stack replied with a smug smile.

Ameila put the money away and let down her hair. She fluffed it out before wrapping it around in a bun. Stack watched her with attentive eyes.

Before Marylin showed up, they were getting busy in the closet. Stack had Ameila propped up on a stack of wooden crates while his dick slow stroked her. They didn’t want to make too much noise so they could listen out for customers. Stack also wanted to hear the gushy sound her pussy makes. He wanted to savor the sensation of being enveloped in her warmth. He pulled out with a groan of frustration while Ameila left him with a cream–coated dick.

“C’mon…”

Ameila followed the suggestive tilt of Stack’s head, motioning for them to get back in the closet to finish where they left off.

“What if somebody else comes in? I have to keep an eye on things, Stack.”

“Ain’t like we wouldn’t know it, Princess.”

“Stack,” Ameila rolled her eyes with a shake of her head, “What if them little girls show up?”

“You think Annie and Smoke give a fuck when they be up in here all nasty?”

Stack stood up, opened his fly, and whipped out his long dick. Ameila froze, eyes following the back and forth sway of that thick pleasure stick.

“You saying no to this? I was just starting to make it cream, baby.”

Ameila’s eyes flicked left and right.

How could she say no?

“We gotta hurry, Stack.”

Ameila ran into the closet, Stack popping her on the rump, causing her to giggle and slap his hand away. They left the closet door cracked so they could hear better.

“Back on up there…”

Stack picked Ameila up at the waist and flopped her down on the wooden crates. It was positioned in a way for her to lean back against the shelf, giving her room to bring her knees up and tilt her hips. Stack settled between her thighs, one hand keeping a leg up and the other on the base of his dick. He slapped her clit with the tip, watching the way her fat pussy lips jiggled from the impact.

Her clit seemed to grow before his eyes.

“I like you like this…I can see your pretty face and watch how I fuck you.”

Stack’s big dick slipped back into her warmth and he immediately started stroking her. One hand positioned on his lower back, Stack bent at the knee, dick curving down and down up and up.

Ameila braced herself against the shelf, tiny gasps and faint whispers of “ooo, dick so good” “got me so wet” escaping her pouty lips.

“Tryna fight the feelin’ I know ya’ ass wanted. Talkin’ ‘bout, what if them little girls show up? Like you care…”

Creek.

Stack peeked around the door, stilling his hips for a second. He thought he’d heard something. Ameila could feel Stack’s dick pulsating against her walls.

“Look who’s talking.” Amelia teased.

“Shut up and take this dick.” Stack threw back at her.

He sat deep in her to shut her up. Amelia squeezed her eyes shut and her mouth dropped open.

“Daddy…” she moaned.

“That’s right…”

Stack looked down at Ameila. He leaned forward, his full, lips that felt like a cloud pecking Ameila’s pouty lips softly. Stack started moving his hips again, the sound of the wooden crates rocking back against the shelf.

“Stack…fuck me…”

“Fuck this pussy?” Stack whispered.

“Yes…”

He hooked both arms around her legs and pumped faster. A creamy ring settled at the base of his dick each time he filled her to the brim. Ameila watched with surprise, eyes wide and shiny with unshed tears.

“Stack why you fuck me so good? You make my pussy so tingly, daddy…”

Her whiny voice and soft moans increased as Stack locked her legs in a strong hold, raising her lower half from the wooden crates. He bottomed out, bottom lip between his teeth and brows knitted together.

“Let sum other people show up, don’t give a fuck,” Stack shit–talked with a deep tremble in his voice, “I’m in my pussy, this my pussy, my shit, don’t care who comin’ in, fuck that…”

Ameila was loud and clear with her cries of pleasure. She couldn’t hold back.

“Stack, I think I’m leaking!” Ameila panicked.

Stack widened his stance. He folded Ameila, the hard wood of the crate digging into her lower back. He grabbed a hold of the shelf and fucked her hard. Like a leaky faucet, Ameila drenched Stack’s lower abs. She buried her face against his chest, squeals of pleasure muffled.

“Cum all on this big dick…all over it…” Stack ordered through clenched teeth.

They locked eyes, a frozen look of ecstasy written all over her beautiful face. Her body jerked beneath him with her release.

Stack was right behind her.

He pulled out and covered her little patch of pubic hair with cum. They fought to catch their breaths, the sweltering heat and humid wind making it hard to capture a lungful. Stack’s face dripped sweat onto Ameila’s cleavage. Moist strands of her hair lay flat against her forehead.

Ameila tapped Stack’s chest. Her thighs were burning and cramping up. Stack gently lowered her legs before taking a step back to adjust himself. His throat was bathed with sweat, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed spit. Amelia fixed her dress, taking her time getting off the wooden crates. She made her way towards the closet door, opening it fully.

“Ya’ll finish in there?”

Ameila jerked back with surprise.

Smoke was standing in the entryway of the back door to Annie’s shack. He wore a flannel buttoned shirt with the sleeves ripped off and a pair of faded coveralls with the straps hanging loose. On his feet were work boots. Ameila caught a glimpse of his mojo bag resting between his pecs through the opening of his shirt. His arms were thick and muscled, slathered in sweat. A toasty brown.

Stack peeked his head around the door with a guilty smile.

“Annie got lunch ready. Tamales.”

Smoke lit a cigarette with practiced precision, eyes hard and unwavering on Amelia, completely ignoring his little brother.

“Make sure you ain’t leave no mess in there,” Smoke pointed his cigarette towards the scandalous closet, cigarette ash falling to the floor, “Wipe ya’ cum up and get it orderly for my woman.”

Stack appeared, hands in his pockets and a dandy gait.

“Now hold on, Smoke,” He gestured with his toothpick between his fingers, “How much mess you and Annie make in there and not clean up?”

Ameila giggled behind her hand.

“Nigga do what I said.”

Smoke caught her laughing and Ameila went silent.

“Come on down to the house and help Annie set the table. Me and Stack gon’ lock up for now.”

“Yes, Smoke.”

Ameila folded her hands behind her back and swept past Smoke in the door. He didn’t move out of the way immediately. Ameila’s eyes flicked between his and Stack’s.

Her heart raced.

Smoke finally stepped to the side.

“Go on,” he tipped his head, eyes blazing.

Ameila made her way down the steps and followed the trail to the house without a backward glance.

Smoke took a hit of his cigarette. Stack tucked his T-shirt in his pants and went to grab some cleaning supplies for the mess Ameila made. Smoke walked with heavy footsteps towards the front, grabbing a brass ring with keys hanging from it to lock up.

Stack was crouched down, scrubbing the floorboards.

Smoke watched his brother closely.

“I’m a need a favor from you, little bro’.”

Stack smirked up at Smoke.

“What I gotta do now, Serg?” Stack joked.

“Take Annie, Amelia, and myself to the train station tomorrow morning. We going to Mound Bayou for a day to do some shopping for the Juke opening.”

“And you need me to stay behind to check on things?”

“That’s right. Think you can handle that while I’m gone?”

“I got it, Smoke. Just make sure you look after Princess.”

Smoke tilted his head.

“You givin’ her pet names now?”

“When she giving me good pussy I sure am.”

Smoke curled his top lip faintly before taking another drag of his cigarette.

“Yeah, well, Annie want her to come.”

“Why? So she can stick her tongue in her cooze?”

Stack cracked up at his own joke. He stood, dusting his hands off. Smoke’s silence at Stack’s disrespectful remark made him pause.

“Hold on…why you ain’t jack me up?”

Smoke simply stared at Stack.

That’s when it dawned on him.

“She did?” Stack questioned with astonishment, “Well I’ll be! That girl got sugar walls! Annie really got a taste of that?”

“Caught ‘em on the back porch that night. Annie was on her hands and knees, moving her head in it.”

“Gahleee…”

Stack chuckled. He blew air out his mouth, eyes crinkled with astonishment. He looked at Smoke with a deep smile.

“You okay wit’ your wife doin’ that?”

“As long as she happy.”

“That ain’t answer my question…”

Stack left the closet. He tapped Smoke on the chest before leaving the shack.

“I’d do anything for Annie.” Smoke finally spoke as they approached the house.

Stack turned to face him, he tipped his hat a little lower over his eyes to shield himself from the sun. Smoke squinted at him from where he stood, unable to hide away from the suns rays.

“Anything? That comes with an open mind…so you okay with her seeing other people? That don’t make you angry? As possessive as you are over that woman. Hell, you was ready to kill me for fessing up ‘bout the crush I had on her.”

“I ain’t angry, fool. You see how happy she is? I’m happy she get to smile. I left her for seven years, Stack. If that gal can keep my woman happy while I’m gone handlin’ business wit’ yo ass what I look like taking that away from her?”

Stack folded his arms, nodding his head at his brother’s response.

“I get ya’ Smoke. Annie a good woman. Ameila a good woman too.” Stack said.

“She seem good,” Smoke replied, placing a fresh cigarette behind his ear.

Stack rocked back and forth on his feet, oxfords tapping along the dirt. A slow, mischievous smile crept through his lips.

“If it was me, I’d fuck ‘em both. Get a taste of that happiness. You need it grump.”

Smoke’s eyes narrowed at Stack.

“She good…”

Stack drew closer to whisper.

“Nice and tight…a squirter…”

Smoke walked around Stack with a faint grin. Something unheard of with him. Stack was one of the few to pull it out of him.

“Let’s go get these tamales while they hot.” Smoke said.

“Don’t change the subject, Smoke!” Stack shouted after his brother.

“Then I got this one right here…”

Stack pointed to a tattoo of his military numbers on his left shoulder blade. His second tattoo was his social security number on his ankle. He lifted his foot up on the dining table, pulled his sock down, and revealed it.

Ameila stroked the tattoo on his back. Annie entered from the back door, wiping her hands on a towel hanging from her shoulder. She spotted Stack with his foot on the table and before she could rip him a new one, Smoke knocked his foot off with a hard hand.

Ameila allowed her gaze to drift over Annie.

It’s been more than three days since they’d had a taste of each other. Annie seemed to be thinking the same, because when her eyes locked with Amelia’s a look of absolute lust crossed her features.

Annie was glowing.

She wore her favorite color; green. A green maxi skirt with a matching top that hung from her shoulders. She wore a kinky fro with the tips swirled into tiny bantus. Her favorite chandelier earrings with tiny emeralds in her ears. Annie mentioned how Smoke bought her those when he got his first taste of real money.

Earlier in the shack, against Annie’s alter, their bodies pressed together heatedly, smoke from her incense billowing around them. They breathed heavily as their lips pressed together hungrily. Amelia could taste their shared breath, feel the thud of their combined heartbeat as they fumbled to take off one another’s clothes. Unfortunately, the sound of footsteps approaching broke them apart.

“…Smoke got the same tattoos,” Stack continued.

Amelia broke Annie’s gaze with reluctance. Stack’s foot beneath the table stroked her ankle. Ameila hid her face, smiling.

“Smoke, can you pick up my golds from that jeweler? I went down about a week ago and they should be ready by now.”

Smoke took a seat at the table.

“More golds? Nigga, you don’t have enough?”

“Never can have enough, Smoke. Ask Jack Johnson. That nigga got a mouthful and they permanent.”

Annie positioned herself behind Smoke. She massaged his shoulders, then she leaned forward to plant a kiss to his forehead. Stack cut his eyes away when they started tongue kissing. Smoke almost dropped his cigarette. Stack caught it, taking a hit. Ameila watched them, thighs tightly clenched in her seat.

Annie broke the kiss first before dragging her fingers over Smoke’s hair.

“I like you like this, all scruffy,” Annie whispered seductively.

“He need that shit done,” Stack said, “let me hook you up before you leave tomorrow.”

Smoke kissed his teeth, “Aight…let me up, baby…”

Annie stepped to the side with both of her hands on her hips. Stack waved for Smoke to follow him out the house.

“We be back. About a hour.” Smoke said.

“I’ll finish packing up. You got more packing to do, Ameila?” Annie asked.

Amelia stood, “I’ll double check.”

Stack and Amelia locked eyes.

“…why don’t both of ya’ll tag along? I can show you how the place lookin’ Annie. I’m closer to the train station on my end anyway. Ya’ll can sleep in Smoke room.”

Stack wrapped a hand around Amelia’s waist, leading her to her room.

“Stack!—”

“It do make sense, baby.” Smoke interrupted, “Plus…we ain’t been in my other room since I got you pregnant…remember?”

Annie melted into Smoke’s arms.

How could she forget.

Smoke delivered soft kisses to Annie’s lips, “C’mon, Annie…I need you all over that room. Break that bed in again…”

Annie inhaled deeply, eyelids shuttering.

“Aight, Smoke. We gotta make sure everything is packed up.” Annie said.

“It will be. Got us a nice room in Mound Bayou too. Double beds…”

Ameila.

“Kay…”

Smoke pecked her forehead. He let Annie go and watched her walk away towards the room before he joined her. Meanwhile, Stack sat at Amelia’s vanity while she took care of last minute tasks.

“Books…I need my blush—can’t forget my hair supplies—”

“Ya’ only staying one damn night, Ameila.” Stack fussed.

“As a woman, we gotta make sure we don’t forget anything! One pair of draws ain’t enough, Stack!”

Stack flashed Amelia a defensive look, “Who said I pack one pair of draws?”

“I’m just saying. It could be two hours, I gotta be prepared.”

Stack played around with his lighter, watching the embers grow the more he flicked his thumb against the roller. Amelia secured her luggage, snapping the leather straps in place. She slipped on her ballerina slippers in a satin beige color with a tiny bow at the top.

Stack dragged his eyes over Ameila as she walked up to him, standing between his legs and stroking his cheeks. Stack dragged his hands up and down Amelia’s ass over her dress.

“You know what I was thinking?” Stack whispered.

Ameila removed his hat, placing it on her vanity. She stroked her hands down his slicked hair.

“What’s that?” Amelia replied with a hushed tone.

“Who you feel like…outta me and Annie…eat ya’ pussy better?”

Amelia leaned back to stare at Stack with a bewildered look. He continued to stroke her backside, thick fingers kneading her cheeks like dough. Amelia was stuck.

“Why you ain’t tell me about Annie…”

Ameila stilled her hands. She locked eyes with Stack, caught off guard by those unexpected words.

“Smoke told you?” Amelia finally spoke.

“He ain’t have to. I figured it out.” Stack replied with a cunning smile littered with gold.

Amelia backed away. Stack rose from her vanity. She tried to occupy herself with making her bed, but Stack was pressed up on her nice and firm. Hot all over, Amelia’s breath hitched when Stack reached around to cup her sex. He made crude gestures with his tongue against her ear, Amelia wiggling as best as she could but she was trapped between the bed and a big dick tomcat.

“She eat it better than me?” Stack spoke with a hushed tone, full lips tickling her earlobe, “Huh?”

“You so disrespectful, Elias,” Amelia nudged him back with her elbow, “That’s Smoke’s wife! Your Sister–in–Law!”

Stack caught her arm, pinning it behind her back. Amelia winced.

“Ya’ wasn’t worried ‘bout that throwing your cat in her mouth.”

“Fuck. You.” Amelia hissed.

“We did that earlier, remember? Now, answer my question, Princess…”

“Mm–mm…”

Stack hiked her dress up from behind.

“Don’t tell me no mm–mm…”

Ameila didn’t have time to prepare for Stack shoving her forward and positioning her on all fours. He disappeared behind and wiggled his tongue all in her pussy cat with gusto. Amelia arched her back, throwing her sugar walls back on Stack’s eager tongue.

Ameila gathered the bottom of her dress in a shaky fist, giving Stack a better advantage. He slurped from her ever flowing twat with those thick fingers pinching her plump cheeks, reminding him of a glazed donut from a mixture of sweat and her sticky arousal. It was between her thighs too.

“Stack, ooo, fuck…ahhhh…”

Stack pulled his tongue from between her coochie and licked his lips.

“Who eat it better?”

“Both of ya’ll…” Ameila replied weakly.

“I eat ya’ like an ice cream cone and don’t ever get tired. Annie ain’t got shit on me…”

Stack put his whole face in it and moved his mouth in a way that had Ameila seeing stars beyond the deep, southern sky. She felt her body seize up, unable to move as her orgasm reached its plateau.

Amelia squealed, throat raw as she buried her face in the sheets. Stack reappeared, fixing her dress and chuckling when Amelia fell flat against the bed. Stack licked his lips and wiped his chin as best as he could, but it was obvious what he’d just got finished doing.

Amelia peered up at him with a death gaze. Stack blew her a kiss.

“Still think it’s both?”

Ameila sat up on her knees, pussy dripping, “Yes I do. Both of ya’ll are eaters.”

Stack smirked at her with his deep dimples.

“What?” Ameila asked.

“You an undercover freak, princess. All that doe–eyed, cute shit a cover up. Let me find out ya’ been getting down in the Big Easy.”

“Believe it or not, no.”

She flashed him a coquette smile.

“Liar.”

“I ain’t lying!”

Ameila tossed a pillow at Stack.

“No sex tonight. You wore me out,” Amelia climbed off of her bed.

Stack twisted his lips in disbelief. He grabbed Amelia’s luggage for her. She fixed herself in her mirror, turning to give Stack a quick kiss before he left the room.

Outside, Smoke and Annie were loading up Stack’s car.

“When you getting your own automobile?” Stack asked his twin.

“Gimme two weeks. This juke joint shit taking my money.” Smoke replied.

Amelia descended the stairs, inner thighs rubbing together from her cum. Annie caught up with her linking her arm with hers.

“Smoke got us a room together,” Annie whispered, “Remember that lingerie shop I told ya’ about? My friend, Frankie, owns it. She also got some other things there I plan to take a look at…”

Amelia caught Annie’s eye, a suggestive wink and a sly smirk on her face.

“What things?” Ameila asked with a soft spoken voice.

“You’ll see.”

Annie released Amelia to join Smoke in the passenger seat. Stack helped Ameila inside with a hand in his. He jogged around and hopped in. Stack pulled Amelia into him and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. He sat his fedora on his head, tipping it down a little. Amelia put on a pair of sunglasses.

Smoke took off, the rumble of the car growing fainter as they disappeared down the road.

They missed the crows call. It was the day they were set to depart Clarksdale and head to Mound Bayou by train. Smoke sat up in bed, extending a hand to snatch his gold pocket patch from a side table in his old room. He read the time, cognac eyes wide with realization.

They only had an hour to spare.

Smoke kicked the sheets off and almost tripped when his ankle got tangled. He cursed something menacing, searching for his pants, tank top, and pastel blue button down shirt. Annie awoke from the commotion, watching her husband trek back and forth with a deep scowl.

“We overslept?!”

Annie quickly got out of bed, naked, voluptuous body on display. Titties swaying, belly jiggling, and ass shaking as she quickly got dressed herself. She already had an outfit laid out to wear, a coral pink lapel dress with a deep, plunging cross over neckline. It gathers under her bust to create a flattering line into a slimming fit around her waist through the fitted waistband. She paired it with stockings and T–straps with leather soles and a well-balanced, not-too-high heel. She worked to smooth down her frizzy hair that she’d styled in a side–swept bun last night but Smoke fucked her out of her scarf.

Smoke shot his wife a look, “Throw a hat on and let’s get to gettin’, Annie!”

“I still gotta brush my teeth! Got morning breath and your dick been in my mouth all night! No wonder we overslept!” Annie argued.

“Shit,” Smoke grumbled, “Let me go wake ‘em up. Bags in the car?”

“Yes, Elijah.”

Smoke left Annie to finish up. He buttoned his cufflinks, walking with long strides towards where Stack slept. He gripped the doorknob firm, twisting it to test if it were unlocked.

“Wake ya’ll asses up we finna be late!—”

Smoke halted, heels rocking backwards.

Stack popped up out of bed, soft dick swaying as he frantically got dressed. Amelia stretched her limbs like a feline before sitting up gracefully. His eyes studied her body like he was disassembling his Glock. Unwavering and deeply focused. He’d seen her body in the evening glow, but she was presented before him so beautifully and vibrant.

Smoke had to quickly pick his lip up and remember where he was and what they should be doing.

But that body…

No wonder Stack can’t keep his dick to himself. No wonder Annie got acquainted with every inch of her. After taking his press cap off, Stack stood before his mirror, doing a quick job at buttoning his shirt. Amelia slipped out of bed, quickly shielding her nudity as she rushed to grab her outfit she’d had prepared.

Smoke cleared his throat, “Shoulda asked ya’ll to get decent,” He checked his pocket watch again, “We got forty five minutes before that train leave.”

Amelia and Smoke locked eyes. She had a sleepy look in her gaze, that wild hair all over her head. She dropped the sheet from around her body, looking away, unable to hold his intimidating gaze. Smoke dragged his eyes down her body, stopping at the junction between her thighs.

He’d never seen a groom job like that on a beaver, but it was interesting. Pussy lips clean shaved but the top was covered with hair. Neatly trimmed. Stack slipped past Amelia, giving her a quick kiss to the neck. He entered his closet to grab a hat. Amelia put on a pair of bloomers and a bra before slipping on a plum–colored tea dress with a flattering cut. Cute cap sleeves hugged her shoulders and created an elegant silhouette. Her rump swayed mouthwateringly beneath her dress, the fabric brushing over every curve.

She focused on brushing her hair and then she pulled it into an elegant French roll, opening a little hand bag to grab some hair pins.

Smoke pulled himself away as Stack walked towards the door. Annie was situated at the front, ready to go. They went to brush their teeth, and Amelia did the same. They had only thirty minutes left. Outside, they each got into the car, not a word spoken between them. Stack took off with Smoke in the passenger seat and Annie and Amelia in the back.

The train station was a bustling hub of activity, playing a vital role in transportation and community life. Locomotives whistled, people scurried with bags in hand, musicians played tunes for money, tin cans and guitar cases open for you to toss coins and bills in. Train conductors shouted for people to board, booming voices breaking through the other passengers and their conversations.

Smoke had Annie by the hand, and Stack had Amelia. Stack was ready to knock a nigga unconscious for stepping on his good shoes. They stopped the trolly with their luggage before a ‘Colored’s Only’ ticket window. Smoke presented the tickets and what the young man standing before him revealed created a wave of relief.

“Train is ten minutes late.”

Stack clapped his palms together loudly, “Well alright! See?”

Annie squeezed Smoke’s bicep to ease him. Amelia beamed. They made their way over to the ‘Negros Only’ waiting area. Amelia’s eyes drifted left and right, as if she were on edge. Annie touched her forearm gently, bringing Amelia’s attention to her.

“You okay, Lia?”

Smoke and Stack focused on her as well.

“I’m fine,” Ameila half shrugged with a soft grin, “Just not too fond of train stations. Too busy.”

Smoke pulled his eyes away to look at the trains. Stack tapped him on the chest before handing him a metal cigarette box filled with pre–rolls. Smoke accepted it, placing it within the inside pocket of his tweed suit jacket.

“Make sure the house straight. If any nigga go sniffing ‘round the truck…bump ‘em off.” Smoke spoke closely to Stack, “Make sure Sammie helping out too.”

“You ain’t gotta worry ‘bout nothin’ ! Relax, Smoke. Annie, make sure he kick his feet up for a day. Nigga don’t know how to relax.”

Smoke pointed a finger at Stack, “And you play too gahdamn much. Errythang a hoot wit’ ya’ fool ass.”

Annie and Amelia laughed at the banter between the twins.

“AAAAAALLLLLL AAAABOARRRRRDDDDDD!”

Smoke fixed his eyes on a train approaching. It was their ride to Mound Bayou. The terminal started to feel claustrophobic when everyone drew closer to board. Stack helped push the trolly, weaving through the people with skill. Annie and Amelia were hand–in–hand, dashing to the door.

Smoke and Stack gave their tickets to the train conductor and their luggage was loaded. They had to wait for the white folk to board first. As soon as the coast was clear, they got in line.

Stack grabbed a hold of Amelia’s hand. He practically swallowed her mouth with his much fuller lips. He squeezed on her ass, lifting her from the ground. Ameila swatted his arm with her hand bag a little too aggressively. Stack let her down, rubbing the spot where she struck. He shook his head at her before reaching into his pocket, coming up with some cash neatly folded and held together by a clip. He counted out some money and slipped it into her bra.

“For you to get sum’ real nice. Treat yourself, Princess.”

“Stack, I can’t take this—”

“You can and you will,” Stack glanced over her shoulder to make sure they still had some time. He got closer, speaking to her with a hushed tone, “When was the last time you been spoiled, huh? Now, go and buy a sexy little number for me to see ya’ in at the Juke. Make these hating ass birds talk.”

Ameila beamed. She pulled Stack into a tight hug with her arms over his shoulders. She kissed his cheeks before Smoke pulled her off with his arm circling her waist. Stack tipped his hat at her before watching all three of them board the train. Amelia sprinted to a window to wave goodbye with her gloved hand to Stack, blowing him a kiss.

“Show me a lil’ sum’ !” Stack mouthed.

Amelia looked both ways before hiking her dress up, revealing a garter. A pretty lace one.

“OWWWW!” Stack shouted, cupping his mouth with his hands.

Smoke gave his little brother a salute before they all made their way towards an empty compartment. Smoke led the way, scoping out the train closely and with skepticism. Always on high alert.

“Here,” He shoved open a door to a privacy compartment, “Let’s go.”

Annie and Amelia made their way inside.

Smoke pulled the shades and loaded their luggage on the racks above the seats. Annie took a seat across from Amelia, cooling herself off with one of her fans. Amelia cracked a window to get some fresh air in. Smoke removed his suit jacket and sat it next to Amelia before settling beside his wife. He sat with his legs spread and an arm draped behind Annie.

“Not a long ride, ‘bout thirty minutes with one stop.” Smoke said.

Amelia popped open a book. A fairytale about a Prince Charming finding his wife. She smirked as her eyes scanned the pages, feeling herself consumed by the imaginary kingdom before her.

Smoke snuck a flask from his breast pocket. He unscrewed the cap, taking a swig. He flexed his jaw and grit his teeth from the strong hooch. Annie motioned for it, wanting to try some.

“Slow down now,” Smoke reached for the flask, “careful wit’ that there…”

“I got it, Daddy.”

Amelia peeked up at Annie through her lashes with a smile.

“Don’t go saying that we in public.” Smoke warned.

“Like we ain’t never get busy on a train before.”

Amelia’s interest was peeked. She eyed both of them, her book not so fascinating anymore.

“Annie,” Smoke looked over at Amelia, “We got company.”

“Don’t we always?” Annie cooed, “ou konnen ou renmen li, wi?”

Ameila and Annie giggled.

“Whatchu saying, woman?” Smoke squinted between the both of them.

“I’ll be back, I need to use the restroom,” Amelia placed her book down and exited the compartment, sliding the door shut slowly with a sly grin.

“You should’ve gotten a single bed instead, Elijah.”

Smoke cut his eyes at Annie before taking another swig of his liquor. Annie played with his ear, knowing damn well that’s Smoke’s spot.

“Whatever games you planning…”

Smoke was cut short when Annie’s hand grabbed him by the dick. Smoke tipped his head back and growled.

“You been fighting the urge to give into her…we gon’ have us a good time, Daddy…”

“Fuck, woman….”

Smoke felt Annie free his heavy dick and equally heavy balls. His pipe sat in her warm palm, fingers stretched around him with a firm grip. One hand wasn’t enough, Annie two–hand stroked him. Smoke dropped his head, staring down at Annie work his dick into a stiffness that had his thighs jerking.

“What you do to her, Smoke? You touch her?” Annie whispered.

His dick jumped in her hands.

“Mhm…yes…” Annie chuckled softly, “No wonder you been acting like that…”

His fingers felt good sinking into Amelia’s pussy from the back. Ever since that rainy day, Amelia had been eager to get another chance. Whenever her and Smoke crossed paths, she’d be right there, asking if he needed anything, like a good little helper.

“Need your pipe cleaned out again, Smoke?”

“Are you hungry? Annie’s busy at the shop, I can whip you up something.”

“Smoke, can you help me? My wardrobe’s stuck.”

Bending over in front of him.

Walking in from a bath with her towel on knowing he was around.

Lighting his cigarettes.

His thick fingers glided in and out of her tight puss so good he almost fucked her right there.

But he refused to touch her again without Annie being present. Because he wanted them both. At the same fucking time. And Annie wanted it too.

Smoke’s eyes snapped down at his wife sucking his dick. She used that trick tongue to lick and those succulent lips to slurp him up good. Smoke sank his fingers around her thick bun and guided her head, his hips thrusting up to meet her mouth.

“Mmmm…I love your fuckin’ mouth…feels so fuckin’ good.”

Smoke was an absolute wreck with Annie. Big, strong, mean man a submissive to his wife’s mouth and pussy. She get to talking that Creole and throwing it back Smoke gonna bust. She suck it and look in his eyes Smoke gonna drop a load in her until he can’t.

The door slid open.

Smoke tried to pull Annie off but it was too late.

Ameila slipped in and her eyes grew wide when she spotted what Annie was doing. Smoke had a tight clench of his jaw with his lips sealed but Annie throated him and tickled his sack with her tongue. Smoke released a loud moan. Amelia took a seat across from them, her eyes shining with lust and yearning.

Smoke’s brows drew tighter, his full lips moist from biting and licking them. His eyes met Amelia’s and he watched her bring her legs up. She slid her dress past her knees and opened her thighs. Her pliant thighs shot up as she removed her bloomers. She tossed them aside and didn’t hold back giving Smoke a full frontal of her pussy.

Annie looked over at Amelia while still bobbing her head and sucking her husband off.

Annie popped her lips off Smoke’s dick, “You see that pussy, Smoke? That’s the pussy you want so bad…”

Ameila used both hands to spread herself wide.

Smoke licked his lips.

“That’s the pussy I stuck my tongue in that night…” Annie taunted with a whisper so sensual Smoke’s toes curled in his oxfords, “Show him that clit, Lia…”

Amelia pulled the hood back on her clit and Smoke grunted. Her eyes fell to his dick, tracking a dribble of pre cum.

“Smoke…your dick…it’s so big…”

Smoke’s eyes rolled shut.

Thump.

He opened his eyes and right on her knees was Amelia.

Smoke watched her tuck a strand of her hair that escaped her French roll behind her ear. Lips painted a rosey red, she bat her lashes at him while stroking his thigh with her dainty hands covered in lacy gloves. The texture of the gloves made the hairs on his legs stand on end and his dick pulsate in Annie’s jaws.

Annie popped her lips off, “Here, Lia. I know you’ve been waitin’ to have some.”

Ameila gasped faintly, “Thank you, Annie…Thank you, Smoke…”

Smoke felt Annie stroke his other thigh, giving him a reassuring smile. She dragged her other hand down his torso until it rested beneath his shirt. Smoke’s chest rose and fell, anticipating the moment Amelia’s lips were wrapped around his dick.

When she opened wide and captured his dick between her lips, Smoke brought a fist to his mouth, biting down on it hard. He didn’t want to get kicked off of the train, but fuck.

Annie cupped his balls, “She feels good, Big Daddy?”

Smoke’s calloused hands stroked Amelia’s soft hair. He fell in love with the way her strands felt. Amelia looked up into his eyes while sucking.

“So eager, couldn’t wait,” Smoke shoved her head down lower, “Get more in there…you want it so bad…suck this dick…”

Annie kissed and licked his balls while Amelia sucked to her heart’s delight.

“Fucking slut.” Smoke said through clenched teeth.

Annie joined Amelia. They took turns popping their lips off Smoke’s tip, feeding each other some dick, slapping it on their tongues. Smoke had both of them by the hair.

“Both ya’ll use your tongues and lick this stick.”

“Like this?” Annie poked her tongue out as far as it could go, showing Smoke just how good her tongue can lick.

“This how you like it, Smoke?”

Ameila twirled her tongue around his leaky tip before slithering down his shaft, painting the trail of veins with her saliva.

Annie and Amelia licked Smoke up and down like he was a popsicle on a hot Mississippi summer day. He couldn’t believe how hard he was. His shit was standing straight up, balls tight, tip ready to implode like a grenade and shower both of them in cum.

Moans and whimpers echoed around the compartment. Smoke felt hot tears prick his eyes. He felt his release creep up on him so fast he didn’t have time to prepare. His hips shot up off of the seat and his cum sprung from his slit in heavy droplets. He was sweaty and spent, watching with a weak expression as both women cleaned him up.

“Ahhh….uhnnnnnnn…”

He balled his fists and another release came.

Annie had one thigh and Amelia had the other.

“You thought you had control over her, huh? Huh, Big Smoke?” Annie taunted.

Amelia giggled between flicks of her greedy tongue.

“I’m a wear both of ya’ll asses out when we get to that hotel.” Smoke threatened.

“We know.” Annie quipped.

Mound Bayou, Mississippi, served as a haven for African Americans during the 1920s to 30s due to its status as an all-black town founded in 1887 by Isaiah T. Montgomery. It offered a space for self-help, race pride, economic opportunity, and social justice in a self-segregated community, providing a refuge from Jim Crow’s oppressive racial discrimination and segregation. Mound Bayou also boasted numerous black-owned businesses, schools, a library, and other infrastructure, making it a thriving community.

They left the train which wasn’t far from where they planned to stay. The Riverside Hotel provided lodging in the Delta for traveling musicians and like-minded folk. Blues music softly played as they entered the front lobby to check in. Smoke positioned himself at the desk, cigarette sitting between his lips. He adjusted his dick, still hard from the sucking Amelia and Annie gave him.

He had a tremor in his hands. Always had since being in the German trenches with Stack. But this time, his hands shook with anticipation. Excitement. He was about to have one hell of a stay at The Riverside Hotel. Two women sitting pretty fanning themselves off with their legs crossed were to show for it. Clearly, they had a few tricks up their sleeves. Smoke caught them whispering in the backseat on the way to the train station earlier.

“Checking in, handsome?”

A kind, elderly woman recognized him and she threw her arms out for a big hug.

“Oh! Elijah! Elijah!”

“Miss Mabel,” Smoke pulled the frail woman with silver hair into his embrace, “You lookin’ good there! Missed ya’!”

Smoke smiled faintly.

“Missed you! Welcome back to the Delta! How Stack doin’ ? Still acting like a gahdamn fool?!”

“You know it. Nigga ain’t got a serious bone in his body.”

“Is that my Annie?!”

Annie’s pearly whites were on display as she gleamed. She approached Miss Mabel, avoiding kissing her temple after what she got finished doing on the train. Amelia made her way over, giving Miss Mabel a shy wave.

“This Amelia, Annie and I guest for our stay. She from New Orleans.”

“Oooh! How are you, beautiful?”

“I’m doing great, Miss Mabel. Thanks for having me.”

“Any folk of their’s is welcome. Now,” Miss Mabel slipped on her glasses so she could look at her heavy check–in book, “Let’s see…Ah!…oh…”

Smoke arched a brow, “…Errythang alright there?”

Ameila and Annie share a look.

“It’s no fuss…Robby made a mistake…he put ya’ down for a single bed room. A king sized single bed.”

All three of them locked eyes.

“If you wait around I can see what we got left. This weekend is pretty busy with the races goin’ on.”

Miss Mabel appeared stressed. She couldn’t wait to chew Robby, her grandson, out for mixing their rooms up.

“Miss Mabel, it’s alright. We’ll take the room.”

Miss Mabel peered up at him with a sorry expression, “You sure, Smoke? Ya’ know I can get ya’ another room, baby. Just–just hold ya’ horses.”

“Honest, Mama Mabel,” Smoke pressed a hand to his chest sincerely, “We be aight. As long as we got a place to stay under your roof that’s all that matters.”

Annie nodded in agreement, “Smoke’s right. We got all we need, Miss Mabel. Don’t go worrying yourself.”

“Oh,” Miss Mabel relaxed, “Ya’ll always been some good peoples. Here’s ya’ keys,” she dropped one in Smoke’s hand and one in Annie’s, “Enjoy ya’ stay!”

“Thank you,” Smoke pulled out some cash, “This should cover the room and it’s enough in there for you.”

Miss Mabel accepted the crisp bills and pat Smoke on the hand affectionately. He gripped her hand gently, giving it a little squeeze before making his way to the steps leading up to their room. Smoke sat their luggage at the bottom, clearing the way for Amelia and Annie to go up.

“Wait, Elijah—ROBBY! GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE!”

“What I do?!”

Robby Perkins, standing at six feet, seven inches, as big as Cornbread but brawny with shiny waves slicked back. Skin the color of burnt umber, his clothes from the denim coveralls he wore to the white shirt clung to his body. He stomped out from the back with a groan.

“Big Robby.”

Robby brought a fist to his mouth with his eyes bugged out in surprise.

“OH SHIT! SMOKE!”

They dabbed each other up, Robby thrilled to see his old friend he used to run around with.

Annie and Amelia said their hello’s, Robby happy to see Annie.

“Boy, help them with their things to the room!”

“Hush up, mama,” Robby grabbed two, “Let’s head on up. Smoke! How was Chicago, man? I know it was a sight to see!”

“Amazing how the brain come up with shit. Skyscrapers and busy streets. People stacked on top of each other…make you appreciate the south more.”

“More than the big city?” Robby asked with a disbelieving laugh.

They made it to the second floor.

“Ain’t nothin’ like the soil and marsh, Robby.”

Smoke flicked out a few tens for Robby.

“‘Ppreciate ya’ Smoke! Annie, Amelia…”

“Bye bye, Robby. Don’t stress Miss Mabel out now.” Annie said.

“She stress me out!”

Smoke opened the door.

It was indeed a room with a king sized bed. They walked into the rectangular room with double doors that led out to a balcony that had a tiny, wooden stool on it. There was a rounded archway that lead to a bathroom with a clawfoot tub, a sink, and a toilet. A gramophone sat in the corner on top of a little table that held old records. It smelled clean, elbow grease and all.

Annie and Amelia tested the bed. It was comfortable.

“Should be big enough for the three of us,” Annie smoothed her hands over the duvet, “Plenty of pillows.”

“It’s cozy. I like it.” Amelia said.

Smoke took a seat at the end. He bounced a little, testing the springs.

“Sturdy…”

He turned to look at both women. They were resting against the pillows, content smiles on their faces.

“I gotta make a couple stops. Here,” Smoke gave Annie some money, “I know you don’t like it, but I want ya’ to splurge. Go get cuter.”

Annie accepted the money with a roll of her eyes and a slight smile.

“Both of ya’ll. I’ll see you a lil’ later.”

“Be safe, Smoke.” Annie said.

Smoke stood, facing his woman before opening his suit jacket, revealing his pistols.

“Always.”

Smoke dipped his head and Annie slipped him some tongue. Ameila watched, twirling a strand of her hair. Smoke broke the kiss, and then he looked at Amelia. She shuddered. He didn’t take his eyes off of her as he made his way over to her. Annie sat up and watched with a bite of her lip Smoke give Amelia tongue.

Her lips were soft, almost silken, and pillowy against his own. Smoke could feel the soft tickle of her breath beneath his nose, fingers tangling in her hair as they breathed each other in. Their tongues would appear, swiping over the other, before disappearing. Smoke slipped his tongue from her mouth and Amelia thumbed away spit from his bottom lip.

“Guess you better hurry up so we can get back to this room,” Annie told Smoke with a penetrating gaze.

“I will, baby. Here…”

Smoke sat one of his pistols against the bed.

“You can handle that. Don’t be afraid to use it.”

Smoke made sure he was decent before leaving the room.

Meanwhile, Annie and Amelia decided to take a short nap before going out shopping. They slept for a few hours, waking up to a knock on the door. Annie went to see who it was, and it was someone bringing ice and two bottles of wine.

“Thank you,” Annie accepted the tray and shut the door.

She sat the tray down, and Amelia excused herself to the bathroom. Annie changed her shoes to a more comfy pair. Amelia braided her hair and pinned it up in a halo. They double checked everything before leaving the room to hit the streets of Mound Bayou.

Hand–in–hand, they pointed out a beauty salon, a nail shop, and a restaurant with a speakeasy attached they planned to dine at for the evening. They could smell the good ol’ southern cooking as they walked by. They stopped at the nail shop first, Amelia picking a bright red while Annie chose a neutral shade; soft pink.

Out on the busy street again, Annie mentioned a spot that she planned to visit to see a friend and pick up an order. They made their way to a beautifully displayed boutique with a fancy, cursive sign that read: FRANCESCA’S

Annie held the door open for Amelia.

A sophisticated blend of rich, natural ingredients like amber, patchouli, and sandalwood, with a hint of leather. Warm, resinous, and slightly sweet, evoking a sense of indulgence and exclusivity. They were surrounded by glitz and glamour with an underlying sensuality the deeper you delved. Many garments and accessories and dresses. Lingerie you’d wear for your man or woman. It was a woman’s dream.

Romantic French jazz played, taking them on a voyage across the sea, to cobblestone streets and a view of the Eiffel Tower.

C'est moi qui suis sa petite

Son Anana, son Anana, son Anammite

Je suis vive, je suis charmante

Comme un p'tit oiseau qui chante

Il m'appelle sa p'tite bourgeoise…

Josephine Baker–La Petite Tonkinoise.

Wheels from a sliding ladder paused abruptly in front of them. A graceful woman wearing a billowing, royal blue silk dress and finger–waves in her hair appeared before them. She had the eyes of a woman who was down for a good time. A smile so bright and captivating it made you bend at her will.

“Annie! ma chérie!”

Skin like antique brass, she looked radiant. Slender, tall, and goddess–like. A woman in her early forties.

“Frankie!”

They leaned in and hugged followed by a la bise. Two kisses each.

“Comment vas-tu ? Waouh ! Magnifique!”

“All’s great, Frankie. This is Amelia.”

“Bonjour, Amélia! So happy you made it Annie. I have a dress for you! And we can find a sexy little number for your friend. Follow me, mesdames!”

Amelia and Annie walked between racks of clothing, the different textures and colors exciting them. They made it to a circular room with mirrored walls and mannequins.

Francesca launched liberating slit skirts and low necklines, popularized less restrictive corsets, and promoted alluring, pared-down lingerie in the Delta. She drew inspiration from France, London, Spain, Chicago, and New York. She was born in the French colony Guadeloupe to a wealthy, white plantation owner and a Creole mother. She lived in France until the age of eighteen and then reunited with her mother in Baton Rouge where she taught herself how to sew. She took that opportunity to learn all things fashion.

She’d been friends with Annie for years, someone she could truly confide in. She’d been there for her when Smoke left those seven years ago.

“Here, Here! I saw this beautiful, sea green silk fabric during my stay in France and immediately thought of you, Annie!”

Annie covered her mouth but her eyes said it all.

Amelia was equally as stunned.

Dazzling, demure and divine.

“This is a part of my siren collection. Isn’t she lovely, darling? It embodies the essence of sophistication and allure, ensuring you not only turn heads but also command every room you enter. You have the body, the courbes,” Frankie kisses her fingers, “tu seras une vision! Come, come! Try it on!”

Frankie ushered Annie into a changing room. She turned her attention towards Amelia.

“Let’s see what we can do for you!”

Frankie disappeared, but Amelia could hear her rummaging. Amelia noticed a back room and wondered what was behind that door.

“I’ll show you and Annie that room after this. What do you think?”

“It’s…it’s beautiful…”

The color of champagne. Seductive silk.

“Step into the limelight and embrace your most radiant self with this show-stopping piece! Cuts in the sleeves…diamente clasp…look at the slit!”

It was sexy indeed. Amelia accepted the gown, Frankie leading her to a dressing room. Amelia undressed and quickly pulled on the gown Frankie gave her. Amelia stepped out, and she gasped at her reflection.

Annie appeared and Amelia almost fainted.

“Annie…”

She wore the HELL out of that gown. The sexiest thing Amelia had ever seen her wear. Annie swayed her hips as she posed, stroking her curves and smiling from ear–to–ear.

Annie noticed Amelia and her mouth dropped open.

“Lia, my goodness…”

Amelia twirled, “You like?”

“I LOVE.” Annie said.

“Both of you look breathtaking!” Frankie said.

They didn’t want to take the dresses off, but they needed to preserve it for the opening of the Juke. They got dressed and Frankie boxed their things. She showed them some lingerie pieces, some of which Amelia couldn’t resist buying. She’d never seen anything like it. So bold and daring. She bought as many sheer pieces as she could.

After they did a bit of shopping, they sat down in the circular room, sipping from glasses of champagne. Frankie had one more thing to show them. Something she’d been experimenting with to sell.

“So, I’ve been trying to expand my brand, cater to women’s needs…I’ve done some digging and this is what I found…”

Frankie scurried over to the door to the hidden room excitedly. She motioned for Ameila and Annie to follow her. Frankie unlocked the door and when she opened it, there were shelves full of boxes they couldn’t quite make out. Frankie stepped inside first, the dim lighting casting shadows over her face. Annie studied the boxes, understanding slowly creeping up her face.

“Vibrators?” Ameila questioned with perplexity, “These are…are these for…”

“Sex toys. Hidden in plain sight! Marketed to look like something else! Isn’t that wild? These were invented in 1928. I got my hands on one in New York and fell in love! Figured I’d start selling them. We gotta have a little fun for ourselves while our men away, right?”

Frankie opened a box, pulling one of them out for a closer look, “Since women ain’t owning up to using vibrators on their vaginas or breasts, it's impossible to know how many purchased this as a beauty aid versus its...other uses. I plan to host toy parties! First of its kind! Here, in my shop!”

Frankie handed the vibrator off to Annie first. It uses electricity, which was fascinating enough. Hurray for no more hand cramps — and boasts a textured knob to provide different pleasurable sensations. It was attractive packaging with a pretty green handle. Annie past it on to Amelia, watching her stroke it with mystified eyes.

“One for the each of you. On the house, mes chéries!”

“We can pay for these, Frankie,” Annie said with a meek smile.

What would Smoke think? Would he be willing to use it on Annie?

“Annie, no! These are gifts!”

“Thank you, Frankie, I’m gonna have a lot of fun with this,” Amelia’s eyes glowed with excitement.

“Je vous en prie! Of course! Any time! Now, before you leave, Annie, I have another gift. I was away in Paris and got my hands on this Josephine Baker record! A French record! Come, come!”

They returned to the front of the store, Amelia noticed lace masks. She picked up one, a pretty lavender color, securing it over her eyes. Amelia found a mirror to see how it looked.

“I’ve been dying to get my hands on this! Thanks, Frankie….”

“I see you’ve found the masks!”

Amelia removed it, placing it back where she’d found it.

“They’re sexy, yes? Take one. You too, Annie. Give Smoke a welcome home treat.” Frankie said with a wink.

Once they were loaded, they left the store, Annie still leaving Frankie some money despite her protests. They headed back to the hotel to freshen up and relax.

Annie sat in an armchair across from the bed, removing her stockings and shoes. Amelia sat in the center of the bed, the vibrator plugged in. She turned it on, gliding the little knobs across her arm. Annie opened a bottle of wine and helped herself to some. Amelia sat up on her knees, lifted the side of her dress, and ran the vibrator along her thigh. She gasped when the sensation increased.

“This is fun…I can just imagine how it feels down there…”

Annie joined Amelia.

“Try it on me,” Annie extended her arm.

Amelia moved in closer, testing it out on Annie. Annie’s breath halted and her body shivered.

“Feels good, right?” Ameila whispered.

“Yes…you wanna?”

Amelia’s eyes trailed from Annie’s lips to the device in her hand.

“Yes…yes!”

They rushed to remove their clothes, the breeze past the open balcony doors perking their nipples. Amelia reached for the vibrator again and explored further, stroking her pert nipples with it in a circular motion. Annie helped herself to Amelia’s other nipple, flicking her tongue and wrapping her lips around it to suck.

“Let me see it,” Annie grabbed the vibrator from Amelia’s hand, “Lay back a little, Lia.”

Amelia propped herself up on her elbows and spread her legs. Annie trailed the vibrations down her stomach until she was stroking her patch of pubic hair with it.

“You open up so beautifully, Lia…I can’t wait for Smoke to finally taste you…you’re so sweet and wet…”

Amelia tugged on her nipples, breaths uneven with anticipation. She tilted her pelvis upward, trying to capture that sensation on her bundle of nerves.

“You have to be patient, Lia…”

“It feels too good I can’t,” Amelia cried.

“Patience…”

“Oh, Annie…please…”

Annie smiled, “I love it when you beg.”

Amelia pleaded and begged, hips circling to get that feeling where she wanted it. Annie outlined the shape of her fat pussy, avoiding her clit. She had the knobs of the vibrator sticky from her arousal. A slippery glide.

“Annie…my button…please!”

“You’re being such a good girl, Lia…”

Annie finally gave her what she deserved.

The minute that vibrator came in contact with her clit, Amelia was climaxing. Annie teased her so much. Teased her to the point of release the second the vibration touched her clit. Amelia threw her head back and moaned so loud it could be heard for blocks.

Annie played with her clit, focusing that vibrator right there, causing Amelia to cum again. When Annie finally gave her a chance to relax, Amelia rolled over and curled into a ball.

“You okay, Lia?” Annie asked, stroking her back.

Amelia turned onto her back, wiping tears from her eyes.

“That was amazing,” She looked up at Annie, “You have to try it.”

Annie settled onto her back. Amelia climbed onto in reverse, her pussy in Annie’s mouth while she spread her legs. Annie split Amelia’s folds open, her clit just hanging there for the taking. Annie took turns sucking and licking and probing her hole with her tongue.

Amelia used one hand to spread open Annie’s hairy pussy lips and right there was her clit.

“Put it on my button, Lia. Crank it up.” Annie begged with wet lips from Amelia’s folds.

Amelia put the vibrator on the highest setting. She did what she was told, placing it over the hood of Annie’s clit. Annie immediately writhed, causing Amelia to bounce with glee.

“SHIT!” Annie shouted.

“Got ya’ creaming already, Annie!”

Annie munched on Amelia’s pussy and kept her legs back, welcoming the intensity of the vibrations. Amelia tracked a single trail of creamy white seeping from Annie’s entrance.

Annie hummed against Amelia’s pussy, clit caught between her lips. She was immediately addicted to the way that vibrator felt. And just before she could reach climax, the door to their hotel room opened.

“The fuck?”

Smoke’s hard eyes dropped to the contraption in Amelia’s hand. He cocked his head to the side before shutting the door and locking it up. He dropped his bags off at the door and as he approached them, he removed his suit jacket, unbuttoned his cufflinks, and did the same for his shirt.

He tossed everything to the floor.

“The fuck is this?”

“SMOKE!”

Annie couldn’t hold it in. Amelia giggled, enjoying the way Annie’s breasts collided with her ass from their position. Amelia shut the vibrator off and placed it on the bed so she could climb off of Annie.

Smoke picked up the vibrator by its handle.

“It’s a vibrator. We got it from Frankie.” Annie revealed.

Smoke turned it on, studying it. Amelia and Annie shared a look before their eyes glued onto Smoke’s erection creating a bulge.

Silence.

You could never tell with Smoke, but the wheels in his head were turning.

He finally looked down at them.

“Use it again.”

He handed it to Annie and they watched him settle in a chair across from them. Smoke wasted no time undoing his pants and bringing big boy out again. He stroked himself while lighting a cigarette.

“Go on,” Smoke sat his cigarette between his lips so he could roll his nut sack, “Get to it.”

Annie turned to face Smoke with her head down and her wide backside up. Amelia helped her get the vibrator into position.

“The highest again, Lia…”

The loud rumble of the vibrator filled the room. Smoke watched beyond the fog the cigarette created, eyes zeroed in on his wife with those big cheeks spread and that pink pussy with that hair he loved all open.

“Shiiiit…”

Smoke pumped his dick into his hand with his hips. He stroked it with a backhand and a front hand, making sure to give every inch of that big dick some pleasure. Last time he played with his stick was in Chicago.

Annie’s moans were deep and guttural. That vibrator must feel real good if she making all that noise.

“I’m cumming…”

Smoke poked his bottom lip out, eyes wide and fixated on the way Annie’s pussy fit over the knobs of the vibrator. He peeked between Amelia’s legs and could see the mess she’d made before he walked in.

“Switch.” He barked out.

Smoke watched Amelia get onto her back. Annie grabbed her by the neck and pulled her in for a kiss while her other hand worked the vibrator over her button. Smoke grunted when Amelia started leaking to the bed, like a running faucet.

“You leaking all over the place…that pussy wet as motherfucka…”

Smoke could feel his pre cum coat his fingers.

They were too caught up in the taste of each other’s mouths. Smoke dragged his eyes over Annie and how her breasts hung over her belly. He took in the sight of Amelia with her legs spread wide for him to see just how gushy she is.

He needed to taste her.

Annie seemed to sense his needs.

“Come, Elijah…”

Smoke put his cigarette out. He stood slowly, making his way over to them. Annie still had a hand around Amelia’s throat.

“Get down there and taste.” Annie commanded, “Regarde comme elle a bon goût…”

Smoke was hit in the face with the smell he remembered when snooping in her room. He felt his balls tighten up like he was about to cum all over himself. Smoke groaned, running his calloused hands all over the back of Amelia’s thighs.

Amelia looked down at him with those doe eyes and a slow blink. That pouty bottom lip was between her teeth. Smoke licked a long, deliberately slow trail up her slit. Annie placed a hand on the back of his head, encouraging him to enjoy. To savor.

“That’s it…that’s it, Elijah…you see it now, don’t ya’?”

“Oui…” Ameila moaned.

Smoke’s tongue curled around Amelia’s clit in a circular motion, at a snails pace, learning the taste and feel of her.

“Wrap your lips around it, Elijah…do it slow…”

Smoke followed the command of his wife and his full lips were secure around Amelia’s clit. He sucked softly, drawing back gently, savoring and taking his time. Amelia made a mess in his beard.

“Gahdamn,” Smoke spoke with a hushed tone as he took a second to admire her pussy, “taste so fuckin’ good…”

“Smoke…yes…I’ve been waiting…I needed you…”

They locked eyes. Annie spoke Creole in Amelia’s ear. Smoke went lower, slurping up her mess. His hands on her thighs tightened. Amelia moaned angelically, watching Smoke delve deeper, becoming hungrier, more ferocious with it.

“Mhm…mmm,” He moaned with his eyes closed and his mouth unable to control the way his tongue and lips worked, “hmmm….”

“She’s gonna cum, Elijah. Keep going.” Annie urged with a faint whisper.

Loud slurping came from between her legs. He did this thing with his mouth where he sucked and licked at the same time and Amelia trapped his head with her thighs.

“Don’t stop, Elijah…”

“SMOKE!”

Amelia fell apart. She pressed her hand against his forehead and Smoke smacked it away. He opened her up far and didn’t stop until he was ready. Annie played with her titties, watching with her seductive eyes.

“Oh, shit, Smoke, pleaseeeee.”

Amelia erupted. She covered her face with her arm, practically weeping.

Smoke didn’t stop.

“Give her a break, Elijah,” Annie grabbed him by his dick, tugging him, “Elijah…”

That’s when Annie realized he was punishing her. Smoke’s intimidating biceps locked Amelia in place. She looked from Annie to Smoke, tears rolling down her cheeks. Smoke sucked on her button and didn’t let off. Amelia groaned, her entire body shaking.

She was squirting in his mouth. Annie’s jaw dropped open.

Smoke released her clit and peppered soft kisses there before popping up from between her legs. Amelia was speechless. Smoke climbed over her and kissed her lips, delving his tongue deep in her mouth.

“Taste some, baby…”

Smoke shared his tongue and Amelia’s juices with his wife.

“She’s tasty.” Annie said.

“She is…can’t wait to have more.”

Amelia sat up and watched Annie and Smoke share a sloppy kiss. Annie reached for Amelia’s hand, bringing her into the session as well. All three of their tongues collided in a lustrous tango.

The bright voiced piano with its higher sound, creating that lively, clear, and pleasant sound occupied one part of the stage, shrill to some ears. The Piano that’s bass-heavy with its dark voice and booming, rich sound was on the other side.

The horns blaring and drums thumping created a ring–a–ding sound that had people grooving. Round tables and a lengthy bar made up the speakeasy. Thugs and gangsters moved back and forth, all of them recognizing Smoke. Annie and Amelia enjoyed glasses of wine while Smoke sipped on a smoked old fashioned. They had a hearty meal and delicious pie beforehand. Amelia shook her hips in her seat while Annie snapped her fingers.

“Meant to ask what you go do earlier?!” Annie asked Smoke.

“Met up with a man about selling some liquor. He wanna buy a couple crates off me. Then I had to pick up Stack’s golds. Made a pit stop to my gun man. He hooked me up with a new pistol!”

Amelia drank the rest of her wine down.

The band kicked up and Amelia stood, popping her backside. Smoke eyed her up and down with a quirk of his brow and a smirk. Annie cheered her on.

“Let me go relieve myself,” Annie leaned over to whisper something in Smoke’s ear before she got up, “Be back!”

When she left, Amelia reached for more wine but Smoke filled her glass himself.

“Thank you, Smoke.”

She gave him a bashful smile. She didn’t understand why she felt so timid with him after he was eating her pussy out multiple times earlier. She even had his dick seated in the back of her throat.

Maybe Annie’s presence gave her more confidence. Amelia could deal with Stack’s playful archetype, but Smoke is the strong, silent type. It left her unable to hold his gaze for longer than five seconds.

“Come here…”

Smoke pat the seat beside him where Annie had occupied. Ameila scooted over. She could smell his cologne. He smelled like vanilla and bourbon.

Smoke’s eyes connected with hers.

“Annie and myself want you to relax. Now, I’m speaking to ya’ because I know how I make ya’ feel. We past all that, understand? We done tasted each other more than once. It’s best you breathe…”

Amelia exhaled. Her shoulders were bunched up and she didn’t even realize it.

“Better?” Smoke asked.

“Yes.” Amelia replied with a slow nod and a smile.

“I ain’t gotta tell ya’ again do I?”

“No, Sir.”

Smoke sat his hand on Amelia’s thigh. She was wearing a shorter dress, an all black one that cinched at the waist and flared at the hips. She wore her hair in an updo with the top swirled and the back tucked under. She took a chance and wore thigh high, black stockings with a lace trim.

His finger tips stroked her inner thigh, tickling her. He inched higher, Amelia planting her hands against the table. Her back stiffened when Smoke thumbed her clit. No underwear.

Annie returned and sat in Amelia’s seat. A waiter came over, a young girl with high energy. Annie ordered another bottle of wine and another old fashioned for her husband. Annie waited until the waiter was gone before peaking beneath the table. She reached under and secured Amelia’s knee, keeping her leg open.

“Thank ya’, wifey.” Smoke said

“Welcome, husband.” Annie replied with a smile.

Smoke sank two fingers deep. He grunted, sharing a look with Annie.

“You always this messy, Amelia?” Smoke asked.

He finger–fucked her and watched the crowd. Annie accepted the wine, helping herself to some more.

“When we get back to the hotel, Lia, Me and Smoke gonna have our way with ya’…”

Amelia’s hips angled so that Smoke could have a deeper descent. She brought a handkerchief to her mouth, stifling her moans. Despite the band’s loud performance, she could hear her pussy talking.

“I know Stack opened this pussy up, but when I get up in it, you gon’ see why they call me Smoke…”

Amelia’s walls gripped Smoke’s thick fingers.

“It’s okay, Lia,” Annie soothed, “Took me a while to get used to how big he is when we first met. Once you get past the ache, it’ll feel like heaven…told ya’ that’s what comes wit’ fucking a Moore man…”

“I can feel myself—”

“Go head and rain, baby girl…”

Amelia squirted in her seat. Her head landed on Annie’s shoulder. Annie rocked her back and forth while Smoke thumbed her clit. He eased his fingers out of her gently before fixing her dress back.

It was time to go.

Smoke waved the waiter down. He paid the bill and all three of them left the table. Smoke holding Ameila and Annie by the waist as they made it out on the street. Onlookers watched with envy, wishing they had two pretty gals on their arm. They entered The Riverside Hotel, Robby perched at the front desk. He stood from his seat when he noticed them.

Bring up some warm towels and rags, plenty of ‘em. You gon’ be here if I need a change of sheets?”

Robby couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Y–yeah, Smoke. When ya’ want the towels and rags?”

“You got a cart to leave ‘em on? Just knock.”

They climbed the stairs to the second floor. Smoke opened the door to their room. Annie entered first, grabbing the Josephine Baker record to play. Smoke started to undress.

On dit qu'au-delà des mers

Là-bas sous le ciel clair

Il existe une cité

Au séjour enchanté

Et sous les grands arbres noirs

Chaque soir

Vers elle s'en va tout mon espoir…

Annie gyrated her hips and felt herself up. Cupping her titties, feeling on her rump. Ameila kicked off her black, velvet T-straps and unbuttoned her dress, revealing only a bra and her knee high stockings. Bra off, she helped Annie undress while they danced to the music. Smoke was fully naked.

Dick poked out.

Balls heavy.

Arms flexed.

He was ready.

Annie spun Amelia around and then she let go of her hand, Amelia twirling. They giggled and smiled, tipsy from the wine. Smoke had a little buzz himself from the two old fashioned glasses he had. Amelia went over to a decorative box and opened it, revealing lace masks. She handed Annie one, and helped her secure it. Amelia tied her own on.

Whatever this was, Smoke liked it.

But he was ready to get down to business.

He picked Amelia up, one arm around her waist, her hands on his shoulders. He placed her on her back and Annie joined his side.

“Damn, look at ya’…”

Smoke juggled her tits in his hand. He used her breasts like earmuffs and rubbed his face in between. One of his hands reached between her legs, pushing two fingers up in her. Annie bucked her hips, bringing one foot up to the bed. Smoke was digging in Annie’s walls deep.

Her eyes glistened past the lace of her mask, staring into her husband’s eyes weakly. His dick bounced each time Annie nibbled on his ear. Ameila brought her knees up and stroked herself. One finger sinking in.

Smoke and Annie heard the sounds her pussy made. They pulled apart, climbing up onto the bed. Both of them went on their stomachs and with each of Amelia’s legs out of the way, Smoke and Annie started licking her pussy at the same time.

“Eat this pussy up…mmmm…”

Both of their tongues fought for dominance, gliding against each other, attacking her clit from each side. Smoke gave Annie a chance to enjoy Amelia’s clit while he tongue fucked her.

“Uh-huh, uh-huh, mhm,” was Smoke’s response to Amelia’s pleas of “don’t stop, right there, feels so good, eat me up.”

Annie was on that clit, sucking softly, delivering delicate kisses with her puckered lips. Amelia sat up on her elbows, hair in her face, chewing on her bottom lip. She didn’t know who to focus on, both of them working hard to make her cum.

“She’s close…” Annie says between licks.

Smoke simply groaned and joined Annie with his tongue while his fingers sank inside of her again. To see both of them between her legs like this overwhelmed Amelia in the best way. Smoke’s handsome face and that thick tongue. Annie’s beautiful lips and soft tongue. Amelia had both hands on the back of their heads.

“Give us what we want…”Annie commanded.

“Cum in our mouth…” Smoke said with a husky tone.

Amelia shook beneath their tongues. Smoke could feel her walls clamping down on his fingers.

Husband and wife flicked tongues. Amelia gathered some of her wetness between her legs, sampling it for herself. While she sucked on her fingers, Smoke got on his knees between her legs, aiming his dick at her pussy like a bullseye. Annie spit on his tip before sucking with a greedy mouth.

“You love sucking this dick, ain’t gotta ask you…”

Annie sure did. She hummed in agreement.

Her lips popped off his tip and she grabbed him by the balls while Smoke pointed his dick for entry. Amelia’s lower lip quivered when Smoke only put the tip in.

“Ooo—”

“Didn’t I tell you to relax, gal?”

Smoke popped Amelia on her thigh rough.

“Don’t you move again.”

Smoke started from the top. Annie helped herself to Amelia’s nipples. Smoke pushed in again, feeding her pussy cat more dick than before. Amelia moaned to the ceiling, inner thighs shaking. That curve was a different sensation. Stack’s curved down, Smoke’s curved to the side. He was hitting areas she ain’t never felt with a dick.

“Oh, my goodness,” Amelia inhaled sharply when Smoke plunged deeper, “SIR!”

“Puss, so tight, look at this shit, Annie.”

Annie peered between her legs. She could see her walls tugging on Smoke in a vice grip.

“Open her up, Smoke. She need more dick in her.” Annie said.

Smoke propped himself up and dropped dick off in her wet, tight, slit. Amelia had no where to run. Annie could hear Smoke’s balls slapping Amelia’s ass and he wasn’t even stroking fast. It was a torturous game. He would delve deep, hold, then draw back to the tip, and then deep again in one fluid motion. He wanted her to feel all of him. Amelia couldn’t see past the tears welling up in her orbs.

She was stuttering, mumbling, crying.

“Smoke, my pussy, it’s so open, I feel it–I feel it stretching m–me…”

Smoke didn’t care, he increased the pace of his hips, his groin knocking against her. The bed bounced, whoever stayed beneath them were afraid they’d come through the ceiling for certain.

The sudden sensation of plunging into the wettest vessel crept over Smoke, prickly and twisting his stomach into butterflies. She was creaming on him. And they could all hear it. He had to slow down or else his dick will slip out. Smoke folded Amelia in half and put all his weight on the back of her knees. Annie had to stop sucking on her nipples to see what all that commotion was about.

“Lia…girl…ya’ making a big mess!”

Smoke slammed into her with his toes planted.

“YES!!!!!!”

He buried himself to the hilt to feel her walls convulse with her orgasm. Annie peppered kisses all over Amelia’s face.

Smoke withdrew his hips, dick swinging and dripping, “Aight ass in the air.”

Amelia’s knees wobbled beneath her as she arched her back.

“Let me see…”

Smoke stood behind her, and Annie cleaned her up and did the same for Smoke’s dick. Annie grabbed Smoke at the base and pushed him inside.

“Ahhhhhh, shiiit,” Smoke frowned his face.

He secured Amelia by her hips and pumped her from behind. Her ass ricocheted, cheeks clapping each time Smoke entered her. A wet, slippery sound mixed with skin slapping filled the hotel room. Smoke put a hand between Annie’s legs and stroked her clit, looking her in the eyes. 

Amelia’s hands flailed, and she tried to push Smoke off but he secured her elbows with both of his hands and drilled into her.

“You ain’t goin’ no where, take this dick!”

Annie settled in front of Amelia. Smoke slowed down some so Amelia could eat on Annie’s cat while he fucked her from behind.

“All this ass…”

Smoke slapped her cheeks around.

Amelia tongued Annie’s clit. Annie kept her mouth where it belonged—full of pussy—with a fist full of her hair. Like a good little bitch.

Amelia’s hips shook out of control and she couldn’t utter a sound with her face buried between Annie’s thighs. Smoke didn’t care that she was cumming he fucked that pussy until she was squirting again.

Smoke had Amelia all over that bed. He was gonna get his no matter what.

Annie sat on his mouth, bouncing her pussy on his tongue while he gripped Amelia at the waist to keep her stationary over his dick while he thrusted up into her. Annie leaked down his chin and Smoke whacked her on the rump hard—left cheek, right cheek—until she came for him. All that big beauty glistening with sweat.

Annie climbed off and switched places with Amelia. Amelia sat on Smoke’s face reverse so she could kiss and suck on Annie’s titties while she rode Smoke’s big dick.

Smoke splayed his arms out while Annie did her thing, bouncing on it from base to tip, titties smacking against Amelia’s. They kissed deeply, Amelia smearing her pussy cat all over Smoke’s face.

“Yes, mhm, Daddy this big dick, uhhh, love this dick, Smoke, I love you, I love the way you make love to me, AHHH!”

Amelia could have cried from how beautiful Annie looked. She was right behind Annie, ready to flood Smoke’s mouth. Annie hopped off and Amelia leaned over to suck Smoke’s dick clean. Amelia jerked him while humping Smoke’s face.

“Annie, look how your husband eatin’ this pussy!”

Amelia squeezed Smoke’s dick with both hands and bowed her back, releasing into his mouth. She lifted to give Smoke some fresh air. Smoke was on his knees, Annie and Amelia arched over and sucking his dick in turn. Smoke had both of them by the hair, controlling their movements. He would tug on Annie to let go of his dick with her lips so Amelia could have a turn.

Back and forth. Back and forth.

“I’m a bust…”

He whacked them on the ass and fell back against the bed, his dick jumping and jerking with each swipe of their tongues and suction of their lips. His eyes rolled shut and then came the spasm of his hips. His abs flexed, body pushing to release a load so thick and creamy, Annie and Amelia had a hard time getting it all down. They had to let some of it drip over their breasts and down their chins.

Knock knock knock

“Warm towels and rags, Smoke!”

All three of them laughed, drunk off of sex. Smoke peeled himself from under both women, each of them practically clawing at him to stay in bed.

It was gonna be a long night.

“Ya’ll gotta give me a break…”

Smoke pulled on his pants and opened the door.

Robby tried to peek past him, but Smoke shut the door behind him further.

“Good lookin’ out, Robby…”

“Uh…need some help in there?” Robby asked, rubbing his hands together and licking his lips.

Smoke curled his top lip, mugging Robby down.

“Nah, nigga. I got this.”

Smoke shut the door in Robby’s face.

“Stingy,” Robby whispered spitefully as he walked off.

@blackisy2k @thickeeparker @theereinawrites @angelin-dis-guise @thee-germanpeach @harleycativy @slut4smokemoore09 @readingaddict1290 @blackamericanprincessy @aristasworld @avoidthings @brownsugarcoffy @ziayamikaelson @kindofaintrovert @raysogroovy @overhere94 @joysofmyworld @an-ever-evolving-wanderer @starcrossedxwriter @marley1773 @bombshellbre95 @nybearsworld @brincessbarbie @kholdkill @honggihwa @tianna-blanche @wewantsumheaad @theethighpriestess @nearsightedbaddie @charmedthoughts @beaboutthataction @girlsneedlovingfanfics @cancerianprincess @candelalanegra22 @mrsknowitallll @dashhoney25 @pinkprincessluminary @chefjessypooh @sk1121-blog1 @contentfiend @kaystacks17 @bratzlele @kirayuki22 @bxrbie1 @blackerthings @angryflowerwitch @baddiegiii @syko-jpg @inkdrippeddreams @rolemodelshit

[notsodelirious]

By the seashore

synopsis: you and Dick get curious about each other

notes: NSFW MDNI, also unrealistic sex, like super unrealistic (like last time, if you’re fucking a monster, you deserve a little elasticity) and no gender mentioned but the reader has a cunt, so do with that what you will

tags: ambiguous relationship, p in v, mermaid sex, small moment of dubcon, oviposition, mer!Dick Grayson, wc: 2.5k words

@whistle1whistle (I know it’s been over two months, but just in case you were still interested <3)

I have nothing to say for myself just enjoy

•─────⋅☾⊱♰⊰☽⋅─────•

 “Do mers have sex?” Dick looked up from the beads he was threading. He was lying on the rocky shore, halfway pulled out of the water, fins and tails still submerged in the clear tide pool. 

The sun shone behind you, warm against your back and shoulders, keeping the water a comfortable temperature. It was midday but the tide pool was roughly a dozen miles away from the public beach so it was deserted, not a soul around aside from the two of you.

“Umm, yes?”

“Huh,” you offered him more beads as you uncrossed your legs, dipping them into the water. 

“You sound surprised.”

“I mean I guess I just expected you to reproduce like fish, you know?”

“Should I be offended?” Dick snorted as he handed you a particularly beautiful pearl—you accepted it gratefully. 

“You said I looked like a horse when we first met.”

 It had been a while since you’d first met—back when you’d first started surfing, one miscalculation had you drowning in a riptide. 

To this day you knew that you wouldn’t be here without him. 

It had been easy to keep your mouth shut about how you’d survived—mysteriously washed up in a cove just a couple of miles from the main beach, people chalked it up to luck. 

Luck had a funny tail and pretty eyes. 

 “I still think you look like a horse.”

“Well I think you look like a dick.”

“Oh haha,” you ducked as his tail flicked up, spraying you with ocean water, “You’re so funny. You could even say you’re horsing around.”

You froze. 

Glared at him. 

You kicked water in his direction, but he just laughed, showing off sharp pearly white teeth. 

“I actually hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

Dick slid over to you, abandoning the waistbeads he was threading, resting his arms on your lap instead. His hands were so careful as they held onto your thighs, carefully not to let sharp claws sink into soft malleable skin. 

You shivered at the feeling of wet skin pressed against your own. 

“You know,” he said softly, “I could show you.”

“Show me?” you echoed as you ran your hand through his hair—it looked unfairly luscious and dark for somebody who spent most of his time in salt water. 

“How mers have sex.”

“It’s not like sharks is it?” you teased, but the curiosity was still there—mers weren’t mammalian creatures but they weren’t fish either. 

They were an odd in-between that had never been studied. 

And you never wanted to study them—but that didn’t mean it didn’t leave you wondering.

“Nothing like that,” he laughed as he moved his hands to push himself out of the pool, his face hovering just inches away from yours—water cascaded down his form, leaving his tan skin glistening softly in the sun. “It can’t be that different from humans, right?”

“Well I couldn’t tell you,” you said softly as you cupped his face, brushing your thumb along his bottom lip, watching as they parted softly for you. “I’ve never had sex with a mer.”

“Never had sex with a human either,” he breathed against your thumb. You hummed, pulling your thumb away just enough to see the entirety of his pretty face again.  

You gently guided him away from you, just enough so you’d have the space to pull your shirt or shorts off and part your thighs for him. 

You heard him inhale softly. 

“Why is it so far back?” he asked after a moment and a surprised laugh slipped from your mouth. 

“What do you mean?”

“Well it’s just-” You moaned softly as cold fingers brushed against your folds, pet them carefully, parted them to reveal your opening. “It’s like, right under you.”

“Yeah, it is,” you laughed again, softer this time—given a little more time to process his confusion, it became endearing. He sounded almost concerned. “Do you like it?”

“Can I taste it?” he asked as he looked up at you through dark wet lashes while he sank back down into the water, between your knees. “Would that feel good?”

“Yeah,” you swallowed as you parted your legs further, “You can taste. Just… watch the teeth?”

Dick chuckled softly as he grabbed your thighs, pushing them open a little further to lay his eyes on his food. 

“I won’t bite,” he promised. He gently grazed his teeth along the inside of your thigh, making you shiver, but he held strong as you flinched. 

Oh fuck.

You were well and truly at his mercy. 

 You leaned back on your hands as you watched him sit between your thighs. He tugged you a little closer to the edge before licking a long stripe up your slit. 

“Mmh!” Your head dropped forward as he continued to softly lap at you, curious and searching. 

His tongue was so mobile it made your toes curl. You were panting before you realised it, half-aborted motions to roll your hips against his tongue. 

He devoured you as you grew wet, just as eager as he was exploratory. His tongue prodded your entrance, making you moan softly, muffling the rest of your sounds in your hand as he pushed it further. 

Your eyes rolled back and you keened as you were stretched out slowly on his tongue, with nowhere to run but further onto his tongue. 

“Dick,” you moaned, “So close, so-”

He pulled back, just enough to suck and lick at your clit. In retrospect you were glad your little corner of the beach was empty for the way you screamed, clutching Dick’s hair until you finally came all over his face, soaking him in your pleasure. 

He pulled away from you, recognising your trembling for the overstimulation that it had become. 

“You taste good,” he said before licking his lips and holy shit, that had been inside of you.

You don’t think you had ever really acknowledged how disproportionately long and thin it had been. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, furrowing his brow as he reached up to cup your face. You recovered, shaking your head before leaning your cheek into his palm. 

“Yes,” you smiled, “Fine. Great in fact, thank you.”

Dick huffed as he brushed his thumb along your cheekbone. 

“Didn’t realise humans got so wet,” he teased as he looked down between your legs. 

“Do mers not get wet?” the question sounded idiotic as soon as you said but thankfully Dick didn’t actually comment. 

“Less so,” he hummed as he let his hand fall away before gently helping you a little further down closer to the water. “More like…”

He grabbed your hand, guiding it down to the soft underside of his tail. You could feel where the skin softened just the slightest bit, where there was a little give. 

Trailing your fingers over the spot had Dick panting, pressing his head against your shoulder. You gasped when your finger accidentally slipped into his slit, warm and sticky as Dick squirmed. 

You watched his body, watched the slow roll of his hips as he urged your fingers to explore just a little further. 

“Does this hurt?” you asked softly, watching him shake his head as you dragged your fingers across the opening, that most definitely wasn’t there before. 

“No,” he shook his head, shaking droplets from his wet hair. “Here, just-”

He guided your fingers, keeping your movements slow until you were kindly coaxing his cock out from his slit. 

“Holy shit,” you breathed as you loosely fisted him, watching the way he shivered and moaned. It was so warm, so unlike his skin which was cold to the touch. 

It didn’t look human in the slightest, in fact you’d be concerned if somebody’s cock pulled towards the same shade of blue as Dick’s did—it tapered towards the tip too, which fascinated you.

He caught your wrist, looking up at you with wide, teary eyes.

“Give me a second,” he pleaded, and you released him almost immediately, “Sorry, I’m just sensitive-”

“No, it’s okay,” you said, “You’re really pretty—it just surprised me. Sorry, I don’t know where I expected it to be.” 

“Where else would it go?” Dick chuckled as he brushed his nose along your jaw, kissing tender skin softly. 

“I dunno,” you mumbled, feeling a little warm from embarrassment and lust, “Humans just have it… like, out.”

“Always?” You nodded as you looked down, gaze flicking between him and his dick. “You can touch me now if you want.”

“Do all mers self-lubricate?” Your fingers brushed against his tip, gauging his reaction before properly wrapping your hand around him. 

“Yeah,” he swallowed as he nodded, his breathing deepening slightly as you began to move again. 

“Generous.”

Dick laughed and pulled you a little closer to the water, until your hips were level, “I’m more concerned about the fact that humans just always have their dicks out—what if somebody attacks them?”

“I-” you blinked at him in disbelief before falling into a fit of giggles. 

“Or it gets caught on something?”

“We wear clothes!”

“Still sounds terrifying.”

“Rest assured, most people have intact dick and balls.”

“Human balls are external too?”

You lost your grip as you laughed into his shoulder, letting an absolutely distraught merman hold you. 

“How are you not extinct?”

“Don’t worry about it,” you smiled, cupping his face with your clean hand, bringing the other to your lips—you licked it clean, slowly, savouring Dick’s arousal. “Just fuck me?”

His eyes followed your tongue as you licked yourself clean and a grin etched across his face. 

“Yeah, baby, I can do that.”

 The water was nice around your legs as you were slowly lowered closer to Dick. 

He dragged his cock through your folds, making you instinctively buck your hips in return—he kissed your temple, wrapped his arms around your body. 

“Ready?”

You nodded, burying your face in his neck as he finally pushed into your wet pussy. 

You moaned softly, cunt gently spasming around his large cock, struggling to accept his morphology—it was thicker, longer, more intrusive than anything your poor fuckhole was meant to handle—it tickled against your cervix, making you moan and tremble, as his cock squirmed in you, determined to push his thin tip into your tight opening.

“Okay?”

“You’re so much bigger than you look,” you mumbled between breaths. You eventually pulled away a little to look up at him. “Okay, I’m good.”

The beginnings of movement were slow at first, like he was taking his time discovering your body too, petting your thighs, his eyes focused on your glistening pussy, fascinated.

“You’re so warm,” he mumbled softly as he undulated his hips, water softly sweeping across your body as he rocked into you, thrusting his cock in and out of you over and over again, stretching you out, carving a space out for himself. He brushed his fingers along the bump in your belly, fascinated every time he made it return, ignoring how you moaned and babbled for him.

“Are you all so soft?”

You looked up at him, slightly dazed and flustered.

“I’m-” you panted as you tried to find words, but he shifted his hips, just enough for you to reach heaven for moment, “Dick… fuck, you’re-”

Your eyes rolled back slightly as he increased his pace, the sound of wet skin on scales echoing as he bounced you on his cock, smearing fluids everywhere. You reached down to touch your own clit, moaning his name loudly, rocking back against him as his dick bullied itself deeper and deeper into you.

“You’re so gorgeous,” Dick mumbled as he gripped your waist, petting your sides, cold hands dimpling your skin—hesitantly, he replaced your fingers on your clit with his own, making you keen and whine like a bitch in heat.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you breathed as he rubbed your clit, his hips slamming into you faster and faster until you were squirting all over him, drenching his scales in your cum, making him gasp in elated surprise.

He didn’t stop fucking you as he reached his fingers up to taste them, long tongue slipping between sharp teeth to lick your slick off his skin before he was shoving his tongue down your throat instead, forcing your now limp, overworked body to accept his throbbing cock.

In the back of your mind, you wondered if it had been a mistake, underestimating how long he could actually fuck you for. Until you passed out? Your body twitched softly in his grasp, quickly working its way back to an orgasm, his cock squirming like it had a mind of its own, swelling and throbbing.

“Dick,” you mumbled as you panted, flustered and exhausted, staring up at him as he stared where your body connected.

“I’m here, love, right here.”

He slammed into your hips a couple more times before he buried himself as deep into your pussy as possible, the narrow tip of his cock nestled past your cervix, just in the opening of your womb—it was wildly uncomfortable but not yet painfully.

 You simply breathed as you waited for Dick, to finish, pull away, call it a day and disappear back into the ocean, when you felt it—his cock swelled a little more before a viscous liquid pearled from his cock to be deposited into your bare womb, like thick syrup. You heard him grunt before his cock swelled again and the facts finally slotted into place.

Eggs.

He was laying clutches of eggs in your warm body, slowly stuffing your body with tiny mer eggs, no bigger than a pearl no doubt. The small bulge in your tummy grew, until it was firm and near painful, your body stuffed full of hundreds of little eggs—you ran your fingers across your skin, feeling the little bumps when you pressed down.

“Feel so full,” you mumbled as you dropped your head but Dick caught it before kissing your face kindly, your nose, cheeks, lids—he was so soft in his affection, you almost teared up. He treated you as if you had been his lifelong love, his cherished lover, like you were the moon and the stars and the entire night sky and he couldn’t love you any more. He cradled you against his cold body but by that point, you had stopped shivering, the sex still lingering, tingling and warm in your limbs.

“Shh, you did great. You were perfect.”

“Are they… are they gonna grow?” you mumbled as you tucked your face against his neck, staring down at your stuffed belly. You felt him shake his head, small droplets scattering across your shoulders.

“Can’t fertilise them,” he said, almost dejectedly, as if mad his own body couldn’t fulfil more than what it had grown to do. Part of you wondered what that truly meant, the other, bigger part of you simply too tired to care at that point, full and satiated and on the brink of sleep. “You can’t fall asleep here.”

Dick shook your shoulder gently, laughing as you grumbled and glared at him. 

“At least get back on the rocks so you can dry off properly.”

You grumbled more but agreed, slipping off his cock and letting him help you out of the pool, sinking onto the sun-warm rocks. 

“Wake me up when the sun starts to set.”

“Sure thing, love,” a cool hand brushed over your forehead, “Rest. I’m not going anywhere.”

 (“So, it wasn’t that different, right?”

“The eggs were definitely a surprise.”

“Oops—probably should have figured.”)

 •─────⋅☾⊱♰⊰☽⋅─────•

I think mers are ovoviviparous, but one party lays eggs into a second party, and then a third fertilises them—why did I come up with such a complex system? Because I get to make the rules to my silly little fantasy world—anyway, that’s what’s happening here

Hope you enjoyed this nonsense, here’s Jason’s monsterfucker fic (werewolf) and here’s my masterlist along with my wips list <3 (requests are currently closed as I work through my current projects)

[buckets-and-trees]

Viking Steve stirring from sleep because of a tickling sensation. His first thought is that maybe you're trying to slip away, but you're there, soundly asleep and snuggled to him naked and sated. It takes him a moment to realize... that an orange kitten is trying to climb over him to get to you 🤭

Fierce Affirming Sight of Sunlight

Characters/Pairings: Viking King Steve Rogers x curvy Female!Reader Word Count: 1.7k

Content/Warnings: this one is soft dark; newly established relationship; kidnapped wife; use of pet name (little wife)

Notes: Don't ask me how it happened, but somehow we ended up with no smut here.

Previous Part | Series ↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

The tickling sensation at his ribs drags Steven from the depths of sleep like a fish caught on a hook. His arm instinctively tightens around the warm body nestled against him, his warrior's reflexes responding before his mind fully awakens. For a heartbeat, he thinks you're trying to slip away—to escape the fate he's carved for you with his sword and his body.

But no. You remain curled against him, your breathing deep and even, your naked form pressed to his beneath the furs. In sleep, your face holds none of the wariness that shadows it in waking hours. Something in him warms at the sight. You look peaceful. Claimed. His.

The tickling comes again, more insistent this time. Steven glances down to find tiny orange paws kneading at his side, needle-sharp claws innocently pricking at him, the tiny kitten not knowing the minuscule pain of its barbs. 

The kitten mews softly, its tiny body vibrating with determination as it attempts to scale the mountain of Steven's torso. Dark blue eyes fix on you with singular purpose, ignoring the warrior king it's using as a stepping stone. 

"Determined little beast," Steven mutters, watching as the kitten wobbles precariously on his ribs. The creature had been part of his traditional wedding gift to you—kittens to bring fertility and protection to the household. He hadn't expected one to choose you so quickly, much less invade his bedchamber before dawn. 

The kitten's paws slip on Steven's skin, and it digs its claws in to prevent a fall. Steven winces but doesn't move to dislodge the tiny creature. Instead, he watches with grudging fascination as it continues its journey, finally reaching his chest where it pauses to consider the best placement to curl up next to you before crawling into the crook of your elbow and curling into a tiny ball. 

Steven resists the urge to remove the intruder. The ancient traditions say that a cat choosing its mistress is a sign from the goddess Freya herself—a blessing on the marriage. He's not a superstitious man, but neither is he foolish enough to reject a favorable omen. 

The faint gray light of pre-dawn filters through the leaded glass windows, casting long shadows across the chamber. Outside, his fortress is beginning to stir—servants kindling fires, warriors preparing for morning training, fishermen heading to their boats. His kingdom awakens, unaware that their king lies watching his new queen sleep. 

You stir slightly, your brow furrowing as if troubled by dreams. Your hand moves unconsciously to cup the kitten, fingers tangling in its soft fur. The creature responds with a purr disproportionately loud for its tiny size.

Steven studies your face in repose. He's seen countless beautiful women in his raids across distant shores—some he's taken to his bed, others he's passed over, none he's brought home. Until you. You are different. There's a fire in you, a resilience that withstood his violence. You bend but don't break. 

Steven reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from your face with calloused fingers that have ended countless lives. The gesture is practical, not tender—he wants to see you clearly, to examine what he's claimed. He catalogs your features like territory conquered: the curve of your cheek, the fullness of your lips still slightly swollen from his kisses, the flutter of your eyelashes against your skin. 

You are a valuable acquisition, he reminds himself. A trophy and a necessity. His people need a queen, and he needs sons. The unexpected satisfaction he finds in your company is merely a fortunate circumstance.

He shifts away carefully, disentangling himself without waking you. The kitten opens one eye in mild protest but doesn't move from its place against your warmth. Smart creature.

The cold stone floor greets his bare feet as he rises, muscles flexing against the morning chill. There's work to be done—a kingdom doesn't run itself while its ruler lingers in bed, regardless of the temptation beside him.

Steven dresses efficiently, fingers working the familiar patterns of laces and buckles. His wedding night indulgences these three days since he married you before his people must give way to his other duties. The southern villages report Saxon raids. The shipbuilders await his inspection on their newest vessels. The council of elders has been patient with his marriage celebrations, but they expect their king to return to matters of state.

He glances back at you, still peaceful in sleep, the orange kitten curled against you like a tiny guardian. The sight stirs something in him he cannot name—something beyond mere possession or lust. 

He shakes the feeling away with a scowl. Sentiment is a weakness he cannot afford. 

Steven buckles his sword belt with practiced movements, the familiar weight of steel at his hip reassuring. He is a warrior first, a king second, and a husband third. The order must remain clear in his mind. 

As he reaches for the door, a small sound stops him. The rustling of furs, a faint intake of breath. He turns to find you watching him through half-lidded eyes, the morning light casting shadows across your face. The orange kitten stretches against you, its tiny paws flexing before settling back into the crook of your arm.

"You're leaving," you murmur, your voice still thick with sleep. 

Steven pauses, hand on the door latch. "I have duties," he says, his tone measured, revealing nothing of his earlier thoughts. "A king's work begins early."

You sit up slowly, the furs falling away to expose your bare shoulders, marked with the evidence of his passion from the night before. The sight stirs his blood, tempting him to return to bed, to delay his duties for one more hour of claiming you. 

"What am I to do today?" you ask, and he notes how you've already learned not to question whether you may leave the fortress, but only what your role entails. 

"Helga will attend you," he replies. "Today is soon enough for you to begin learning your duties as queen.”

"What duties?" you ask, your voice stronger now as sleep recedes. 

Steven studies you, taking in the way you hold yourself—dignity wrapped around you like armor despite your nakedness. His queen, indeed. His instincts served him well in choosing you. Even stripped of everything, you maintain a certain grace that both pleases and challenges him. 

"You will oversee the household servants. Learn our customs. Begin to understand our laws." He moves back toward the bed, drawn despite himself. "And you will join me at the evening meal in the great hall. My people should see their queen at my side." 

The kitten mews insistently, pawing at your hand for attention. You absently stroke its fur, and Steven finds his eyes tracking the movement of your fingers, remembering how they felt against his skin last night. 

"I know nothing of your customs," you say quietly. "Your people will see my ignorance." 

"Then you will learn quickly." 

"I'm not afraid of their judgment," you say, meeting his gaze with unexpected boldness. "But I would not bring shame to my position."

Steven’s hand reaches out, fingers curling beneath your chin and tilting your face up. The touch is not gentle, but neither does it hold the bruising force of his battlefield grip. It is the touch of a king to his property—firm, expectant, absolute.

"You adapted well to my bed," he says, voice low with remembered pleasure. "You will adapt to this too." 

Your cheeks flush at his words, but you don't lower your gaze. This small defiance pleases him more than complete submission would have. A broken queen would be of no use to him or his kingdom. 

"Helga has served three queens before you. She will guide you well." He approaches the bed, looming over you. "You have spirit, little bride. Channel it toward becoming the queen my people deserve." 

He bends down, claiming your mouth in a kiss that is both a reminder and a promise. His hand cups the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your sleep-tousled hair. When he pulls away, your lips are parted, your breath coming faster. 

"Tonight," he says, the single word heavy with meaning. 

The orange kitten chooses that moment to pounce on his hand, tiny teeth nipping playfully at his knuckles. Steven glances at the minuscule beast with a mixture of irritation and begrudging amusement. The creature has no idea it's attacking the most feared warrior in the northern lands. 

"It seems your guardian has claimed you already," he observes, detaching the kitten's claws from his skin. "The wise women will say it's a blessing from Freya."

"Do you believe that?" you ask, curiosity evident in your voice. 

Steven considers the question. "I believe in what I can touch with my hands and cut with my sword," he says finally. "But I've lived long enough to know there are forces beyond our understanding." He strokes the kitten's tiny head with one finger. "Whether divine or not, the creatures are useful. They keep the rats from the grain stores." 

He straightens, resuming his kingly bearing. "Name it if you wish. It's yours to care for now, little wife." 

With that, he turns and strides toward the door, his movement fluid and predatory even in the simple act of crossing the chamber. At the threshold, he pauses, glancing back at you over his shoulder.

"Remember," he says, his voice carrying the unmistakable authority of command, "you are no longer a village maiden. You are my queen. Carry yourself accordingly." 

The door closes behind him with a heavy thud, leaving you alone with the orange kitten and the lingering scent of him on your skin. 

His body remembers the warmth of your flesh pressed against his, the softness of your skin beneath his calloused hands, and though he knows the business of this day will make the sun move quickly, he is eager for nightfall and the moment he will drag you back to his bed and ease somewhat the insatiable hunger he has for your body. 

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

NEXT PART: Come Down from Battle

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!e

[neuropteran]

GUIDE TO THE STUDY OF FISHES || David Starr Jordan

[smutmind]

Retroactive Pt. 2 ft. Wonyoung

Read PT. 1 HERE

The library buzzed with soft clicks, page turns, and the tension of too much caffeine and too little time.

You usually avoided crowds, even quiet ones. But today, the spider inside your blood purred. It liked attention. You let it.

She sat across from you, Wonyoung. Long legs tucked into wide denim, her puffer jacket the color of candy and cropped just enough to tease a sliver of midriff. Underneath, a tight ribbed top hugged her chest like it had been painted on. Her look was clean, cute—almost innocent—but her eyes told you she noticed the way you watched her.

You’d watched her for weeks. Never said a word.

Today, you did.

“You stuck on the equations?”

She looked up, blinking like she hadn’t expected you to speak. “Yeah. It’s brutal. Thermodynamics is kicking my ass.”

You smirked. “Come over tonight. I’ll show you how I study.”

Her lips parted. “You serious?”

You held her gaze. “Deadly.”

That night, she knocked soft. Still in her jeans and crop top, jacket gone. Her hair down. Lips glossed. She smelled like clean shampoo and something sugary.

You let her in.

Inside, the room buzzed with quiet heat. She perched on the couch like it might bite.

“Is this where we study?”

“It’s where I test things.”

She tilted her head, mock-serious. “What kind of things?”

“Your limits.”

Her laugh was nervous, but her cheeks flushed pink. You stepped closer. Her breath hitched.

“You want me to be bad?” she asked.

“Only if you want to be good at it.”

You kissed her. She melted fast, fingers clutching your hoodie, mouth hungry and sweet. The couch groaned as you straddled her thighs.

She broke the kiss to whisper, “I’ve never done this with someone watching.”

Your brow furrowed. “Watching?”

She fished something from her tote—a silk sleep mask.

“I brought this. It helps me concentrate when I study,” she said with a grin, cheeks pink. “Put it on me?”

You took it. Slipped it over her eyes.

Her breathing deepened.

“I like not seeing. It makes everything feel... sharper.”

You slid her top off, slow. Her breasts were full, bare, nipples already stiff. She squirmed beneath your touch, the blindfold making her react to every graze like it was fire.

“God, your skin’s soft,” you murmured.

You kissed down her chest, tongue tracing each rise, each peak, until she moaned softly.

Her jeans took work, but she lifted her hips, letting you peel them down. Her panties were cotton, simple white, damp at the center.

You pressed your mouth to her thigh.

“You feel this more without seeing, don’t you?”

She nodded. “Everything’s louder in my head.”

You dragged your tongue up her slit, slow and deep. She gasped.

“Oh my god.”

You circled her clit, tongue flicking light then firm. Her thighs clenched. She whimpered.

“Fuck—your mouth feels so good. I can’t even think.”

“Good. Don’t think. Just feel.”

You pushed two fingers inside her. She arched.

“Fuck! Yes—yes—”

She came fast, shivering, crying out. The blindfold stayed on

You slid up, kissed her neck, whispered, “I’m not done.”

You stripped fast. Her fingers reached, eager and clumsy, guided only by touch. She ran her hand along your cock, tracing it slowly like she needed to memorize it.

“God,” she whispered, “You’re so hard… so thick. I want it now.”

You leaned in, breath hot against her cheek. “Then beg.”

She hesitated, then exhaled. “Please. Put that fat dick in me. I want to feel everything.”

You turned her gently, bent her over the couch, her ass arched perfectly, trembling slightly. You grabbed her wrists and brought them behind her back, tying them loosely with her own top.

You lined yourself up, dragged your cock through her soaked folds. She whimpered.

“Still okay, my little cumslut?”

She nodded frantically. “Yes. Please. I need it.”

You pushed into her slow and deep. Her mouth opened in a silent cry.

“Fuck—you feel huge,” she gasped.

You groaned, hips rolling forward. Her tight heat clung to you, pulling you deeper with every inch.

“God, you’re tight. So wet. You were made for this.”

She moaned loud, back arching as you bottomed out.

“Don’t stop,” she begged. “Fill me—fuck me like you mean it.”

You gripped her hips and started thrusting. Deep, firm strokes that made her cry out. Her ass bounced into every thrust, her body jolting under you.

“You like being fucked like this?” you growled.

“Yes! Oh my god, yes—harder!”

You slammed into her, pace quickening, the wet slap of skin on skin loud and filthy. She gasped every time you bottomed out.

“Please—pull my hair. Use me—just use me!”

You grabbed her ponytail, pulled. Her moan turned feral. She came suddenly, hard, her legs shaking as she screamed your name, convulsing around your cock.

You didn’t stop. You fucked her through it, each thrust drawing another helpless whimper.

“Fuck—I’m gonna cum,” you hissed.

“Cum inside me,” she panted. “Fill me. I want it.”

With a final thrust, you came hard, buried to the hilt, groaning into her neck as your release surged through you.

She went limp beneath you, wrists still tied, breath ragged.

You untied her gently. She turned, eyes still covered, smiling.

“That was... distracting.”

You kissed her shoulder. “Still passed.” to be continued

[montereybayaquarium]

We’re nerding out about a new research paper 📄 and celebrating California’s marine protected area network! 🐋

Did you know there’s a network of 124 ecologically connected marine protected areas along the California coast? A recent study spearheaded by the National Center for Ecological Analysis and Synthesis shows that California’s MPA network is successful at conserving marine fish populations across sandy beach, kelp forest, shallow reef, and deep reef ecosystems throughout the State! This paper, published in Conservation Biology, was led by our research scientist, Joshua Smith, formerly a postdoctoral researcher at NCEAS. 

We’re grateful for the long-term monitoring data that made this research possible and our state partners’ dedication to using the best available science to guide the adaptive management of the MPA network. Click this link to learn more!

[barbies1shots]

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 WEEK1: AIZAWA SHOUTA !<3

kinks! TENEACLES/APHRODISIACS - HYBRID AU !

being a scientist and having to take care of different creatures is one thing, and personally wanting to care for a creature is another. you were a caregiver in a laboratory, one who takes daily vitals of all your specimen and patients, who assures that they are as comfortable as possible while living in a man made, white borne institute.

one of those specimen was Aizawa Shouta. an interesting hybrid, mixed with octopus and human. he was captured when he got tangled in left over fishing line and seen by other humans. Aizawa was... interesting and incredibly challenging to try and subdue. his strong tentacles made it almost impossible to get close, and it seemed, to other scientists, that the hybrid was intelligent, something they had never seen before. he was intelligent enough for others to want to split his head apart and study the interactions in his brain.

surely enough, Aizawa is a rare and incredible specimen. one that needs high security and watched 24/7.

you sat your clipboard down before shifting your attention to the hybrid on the other side of glass wall. Aizawa has always interested you, his heavy and dark eyes drawed you in. especially his stuble smirks and grins he made when you tripped up on something or when he threatened to kill you as soon as you stepped foot into his enclosure. you walked closer, your eyes on his body.

"How do we feel about check ups today?"

your voice traveled through the glass wall with little effort and you saw a twitch in one of his tentacles, indicating that he was listening to you and he glanced toward you. his expression darkened a bit, like your presence genuinely ruined his day.

you analyzed his enclosure, a large space with a cot in one corner, a heater, and mini pool in another to help keep him some what moist. it was nothing like how he had it before he was captured.

you tilted your head, wondering what to do.

"Don't attack me or ill have to subdue you, Aizawa."

you finally suggested. you were going to go in there and check his vitals, his bp, eye, ear and mouth wellness, and take a blood sample. you didnt catch his snicker or when his eyes lit up a small bit.

he didnt answer so you gathered your clipboard and other items before heading over to press the button that opened his door. a moment or two passes before his door opened, and you walked through. getting hit with the humidity of the room you waved your hand around.

his dark eyes never left your movements since you first spoke to him. he sat on his cot in the far corner of the room. he watched as you entered the room with a confidence that he wanted to knock down.

you came closer, avoiding odd puddles of water, and walking deeper and deeper into his territory. with each step your scent drove him mad, your voice made his head ring and he wanted nothing more than to shut you the fuck up.

his attention was diverted back once you gestured to give you his arm. he stared for a moment... then two before lifting a buff around up for you to wrap the cuff around his upper arm. you did and waited for it to tighten before taking his bp. you looked away from his arm to write down his readings. not noticing a shift in his demeanor or a shift in one of his tentacles.

you sat your clipboard back down on his cot and turned to take the cuff off his arm. you looked at his face and he was already looking at you, it starled you so you looked away to grab your mini flashlight but suddenly one of his tentacles wrapped around your calf, catching you off guard.

your face was then touched by a smaller, more lithe tentacle, guiding your face toward his. the air between the two of you thickened intensely. his heated gaze captured your nervous one and it made him smirk.

he tilted his head as he regarded your suddenly nervous form. then the smaller tentacle guided your face closer to his, just a hair away. you waited with a bated breath, waiting for him to lean in kiss you. to take your breath away.

"Coming in here was your first mistake, Baby."

he murmured lowly, his breath fanning your lips. he hid a mocking grin when he pressed his lips into yours. the tentacle guiding down your jaw to your chin to tilt upwards, and he nipped at your lower lip to open up for him.

you did with a needy whine and he licked into your mouth. his tongue was slimy and long. it licked your teeth before making its way into your gummy cheeks, licking up your saliva there. he was practically licking you inside, he licked at your tongue before his tongue inched into the back of your throat.

you gagged and pulled away to catch your breath. he watched you, unfazed as he waited. he then pressed forward, the tentacle on your calf rising to your thigh as another copied. his hands found your hips to pull you into him and he leaned down to run his tongue along your neck.

you felt so hot, hot to the point where it was difficult to breathe. each lick Aizawa delivered made your blood tingle from under your skin and heat began to pool in your lower abdomen. wetting your cunt from inside and out. another tentacle began tugging at your shirt before it lifted your shirt off your body.

he grinned into your neck, satisfied with the results of his plan.

- 𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃

Aizawa watched from his spot in the corner of the room as you were suspended in the air, just a few feet above the floor with both your holes stuffed. he watched you tremble around a thick tentacle that presses deep, into your cervix and choke around another thats feeding you more and more of his yummy saliva. getting you hot and wanting for more.

you couldnt think straight, his saliva made all rational thoughts leave and replace them with him. just him. he watched as your thighs, held by a tentacle, jerked when the tentacle in your purposely pressed into your g-spot and slid to graze your cervix. he watched your hands paw at the tentacle down your throat.

he raised a hand and pressed it into your tummy, right below your belly button, and felt the firm tip of his tentacle. he chuckled under his breath when you erupted in squeals, your back arching with a loud and drawn out whine as you squirted over his limb.

he ceased his fucking and retreated the tentacle from your throat, and you turned your head to bury your face in his chest.

"Pleasepleaseplease, I just need you- can't take it anymore-"

you begged and begged for just him. not his tentacles but for him. for his hands to caress your body, for his breath to fan your skin, and for his dick to be punching your g-spot. he hid his grin with a lick of his lips and sighed out, like you annoyed him.

and he never said anything to you, only that you messed up. hes wanted you as his little treasure since you introduced yourself how ever many months ago. he wanted you to shiver and twitch around him, like you couldnt control yourself when he presented his tentacles to you. he didnt let you have his cock, his cock a sudden reward. but you didnt know that.

you wanted him to like you like you like him, like a lover. but he never liked humans to begin with. he thought humans were the most invasive and unnatural species to exist, so why would he genuinely care for one? your work said to never mix personal feelings with work. now, you are Aizawa Shouta's little treasure toy for his entertainment.

@aizawasbarb

an: i need this man in my literal guts before i end it all. thank you.

[mahalachives]

Part 9: The Rise of the High Lady of Autumn

Pairing: Azriel x F!Reader

Genre: angst, romcom, humor, fish out of water reader, canon (ish)

Summary: Murdered after a late-night study session in the modern world, you awaken in Prythian—still yourself, but with Fae features and the infamous title of Beron’s cold-hearted and ruthless daughter.

Then, fate snaps the mating bond into place between you and the shadowsinger, Azriel—who rejects it so fiercely, even the magic recoils.

You died a healer. You woke up a villain. Now fate’s mated you to who wants nothing to do with either—you’ll prove them all wrong, one heartbeat at a time.

Between Two Fires - Masterlist

The wind rushed past, cold against your tear-streaked face as Azriel's wings cut through darkness. His arms formed an unbreakable cage around you, keeping you pressed against the steady beat of his heart.

Below, the world stretched in shadow-painted patches: forests giving way to hills, plains to mountains, all rushing by as he flew with desperate speed.

You couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.

Eris was captured. Your safe haven in Dawn Court had crumbled in moments.

"It's my fault," you whispered, the words torn away by wind. "Beron wants me."

Azriel's arms tightened fractionally. "No." The word vibrated through his chest, against your cheek. "Beron sealed his fate the moment he betrayed you. What happens now was always coming."

The charm between your bodies pulsed with shared warmth, fire and shadow interwoven. It offered comfort where words failed, a silent promise that transcended the chaos below.

When the most imposing mountain range you'd ever seen loomed ahead, Azriel banked sharply.

You closed your eyes against vertigo, burying your face in his leathers. He smelled of night-chilled stone and cedar, of safety and danger in equal measure.

"Look," he commanded softly, his breath warm against your ear.

You opened your eyes.

And there it was.

Velaris. The City of Starlight.

Nestled between mountains and sea, it glowed with a light that owed nothing to the sun. Instead, thousands of lamps, pearl and gold and silver, cast their glow across buildings that somehow managed to be both ancient and alive.

A river cut through its heart, midnight blue and glittering with reflected stars. Bridges arched gracefully across the water, each one uniquely beautiful.

In this moment, suspended between sky and earth, you understood something profound: beauty could exist alongside terror. Light could persist through darkness. Perhaps this was what the bond had been trying to teach you all along.

"Home," Azriel offered, the word rife with meaning.

It wasn't a demand or expectation, merely an invitation. A possibility.

He circled lower, wings extended to catch thermal currents as he guided you toward a house built into the side of a mountain.

A balcony extended outward like an offering hand, glowing with warm light that spilled from tall windows.

"The House of Wind," he explained. "Where the Inner Circle gathers."

The mention of his family sent anxiety coiling through you. The bond reacted instantly, tightening between you as golden light briefly illuminated your joined bodies.

Azriel landed with practiced precision, wings folding with mechanical efficiency as he set you carefully on your feet. Your legs wobbled, unaccustomed to solid ground after hours of flight.

His scarred hand steadied you, the touch brief but grounding.

His eyes, normally warm when they looked at you, turned to ice as they shifted toward the waiting figures. "They're here."

The glass doors opened. A male of such devastating beauty it seemed almost cruel stepped onto the balcony. Violet eyes flickered between you and Azriel, noting the proximity, the lingering touch.

Rhysand's power rolling off him in midnight waves, stars glittering within that darkness like predator eyes. Yet there was wisdom there too, ancient and considering.

"Az," he greeted, voice cultured and carefully neutral. "I see your mission was successful."

Something in his tone made your spine stiffen.

Not hostile, precisely, but measured. Assessing.

"High Lord," you responded before Azriel could speak, straightening to your full height despite your exhaustion. "Thank you for your hospitality."

Rhysand's eyebrows rose slightly, surprise flickering across those perfect features. "Lady of Autumn. Welcome to Velaris."

Behind him, others appeared. Feyre and beside her, Cassian, his wings tucked loosely against his broad back.

And then, a golden-haired female, beautiful in ways that transcended conventional prettiness. Her eyes assessed you with such cold hostility it felt like a physical blow.

Morrigan. The cousin who had once been promised to Eris in marriage, before he'd left her bleeding at the border between their courts.

Your brother's victim.

The air thickened with tension as her gaze slid from you to Azriel, noting how he'd positioned himself half a step ahead of you, wings still partially extended in unconscious protection.

"What is she doing here?" Mor demanded, voice sharp enough to cut. "We discussed this, Rhys."

Rhysand's expression tightened fractionally. "Mor..."

"No," she interrupted, her beautiful face contorted with a fury that seemed to transform her from within. "This is Velaris. Our sanctuary. Our home. And you bring Autumn Court royalty here?"

Azriel didn't speak. Didn't warn.

His shadows simply expanded, darkness slithering across the balcony floor toward Mor like living things with purpose, with intent. The temperature plummeted so rapidly that frost crystals formed on the railing beside you.

"Az," Cassian said, voice low with warning.

Azriel's face remained perfectly expressionless, but his shadows darkened, swallowing nearby lamps with cold precision. When he finally spoke, his voice carried none of the gentle cadence he'd used with you. Each word fell like a shard of ice.

"She is under my protection."

Four words. Simple. Final.

Mor's eyebrows rose in disbelief. "We're talking about Beron's daughter. Eris's sister. Have you forgotten..."

"I forget nothing." Azriel's interruption was soft yet somehow more threatening than any shout. His shadows coiled tighter, their edges hardening into something closer to blades than mist. "Nor do I need reminding of my own experiences, Morrigan."

The use of her full name, not the casual "Mor" of five centuries' friendship, fell like a blow between them. Something fractured in the air, invisible yet undeniable.

The bond between you flared in response to the building tension, golden light not just briefly visible beneath your skin but radiating actual warmth that pushed back against the frost his shadows had created. It was like standing in a ray of winter sunlight, your joined magics creating a balance neither could achieve alone.

"I don't expect welcome," you said quietly, meeting Mor's hostile gaze despite the instinct to retreat. "Only temporary sanctuary."

"Well, you won't find it here," Morrigan replied, her voice cold as Winter Court frost. "Not as long as I have any say."

Feyre stepped forward, diplomatic mask firmly in place. "Perhaps we should continue this discussion inside. Our guest has traveled far under difficult circumstances."

"Our guest," Morrigan repeated with venomous emphasis, "shouldn't be here at all."

The charm against your chest burned painfully hot as Azriel moved, not toward Mor but toward you. His body shifted until he stood between you and the others, a physical barrier of muscle and wings and shadow.

"She is my mate," he said, each word precise as a blade strike. "That should be enough for you, for all of you."

The declaration fell into stunned silence. Even Rhysand seemed momentarily at a loss for words. His violet eyes widened fractionally, power momentarily faltering around him as the implications registered.

In that silence, you felt something shift within the shadowsinger beside you. A weight lifting, perhaps.

"Mate or not," Mor said, recovering first, "she's still Beron's daughter. Still Eris's sister. Or have you forgotten what Autumn Court nobility is capable of?"

Azriel didn't turn to face her, his body remaining a shield between you and the others. His wings flared slightly, an unconscious display of aggression that made even Cassian's hand drift toward his weapon.

"You know nothing about her," he said, voice midnight given sound. "Nothing about what she's endured or survived."

Cassian shifted uncomfortably, the movement drawing your eye. The general's expression held none of Mor's hostility. Instead, he watched the exchange with something approaching concern, recognition flickering in his eyes.

"Az," Cassian said quietly, "maybe now isn't the time..."

"There is no better time," Azriel cut him off, his normally controlled voice edged with emotion. "Before assumptions become actions."

Ember and Sizzle materialized on your shoulders, sensing your distress. Their tiny flame forms brightened defensively, casting warm, pink light across Azriel's shadowed wings.

In their appearance, you understood something about magic you hadn't before. It answered to emotion as much as to will. Perhaps that was why the bond had formed in the first place, answering to something beyond conscious choice.

Rhysand's expression shifted subtly as he studied you with renewed interest.

Feyre moved closer to her mate, her own gaze thoughtful. She slipped her hand into Rhysand's, a silent communication passing between them. As High Lady, she would understand better than anyone what it meant to be bonded to a powerful male, to have that bond form against all expectations.

"She can't stay here," Morrigan insisted, crossing her arms. "I won't have it."

Something cold and resolute settled in your chest.

The truth was simple. You didn't belong here. You couldn't heal in a place where your very presence caused others pain.

"She's right," you said, the words falling into sudden silence. "I shouldn't be here."

Azriel turned to you then, shock evident in his expression, his shadows momentarily dispersing with his surprise. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I won't stay where I'm not wanted," you replied, voice steady despite the pain radiating through the bond.

"Where would you go?" Feyre asked, genuine concern in her voice. She, of all of them, had once been the outsider, the human in a world of immortals.

"Somewhere else," you answered simply. "Somewhere new."

"Alone?" Cassian's brow furrowed.

"If necessary." You lifted your chin, refusing to bend beneath the weight of Morrigan's hatred. "I've survived worse."

Azriel's shadows exploded outward, dark tendrils lashing the night air. The temperature on the balcony plummeted until breath fogged before faces. Even Rhysand took an involuntary step back, momentarily stunned by the ferocity of Azriel's reaction.

"You won't go alone," he growled, the words vibrating with conviction. "Wherever you go, I go."

The declaration stunned everyone into silence. Even Mor's hostility faltered, replaced by disbelief.

Your heart stuttered painfully in your chest. The bond between you blazed golden-bright beneath your skin, responding to the absoluteness of his choice. Through that connection, you felt what he felt, centuries of isolation crashing against the terrifying freedom of choice. Five hundred years of darkness giving way to a light he'd never believed himself worthy of claiming.

A choice made not out of duty or obligation, but something infinitely rarer. Free will.

"Az," Rhysand began carefully, "think about what you're saying."

But there was something beyond caution in Rhysand's voice now, something like understanding. His gaze flickered to Feyre, a silent acknowledgment passing between them. He, too, had once chosen his mate over everything else.

Azriel turned to face his High Lord fully, his body shifting to stand beside you, equals, not protector and protected.

"I have thought," Azriel replied, his voice colder than you had ever heard it. Gone was the shadowsinger who had flown with you through the night. In his place stood a warrior hewn from winter frost and ancient darkness. "For five centuries, I've served the Night Court. I've spilled blood and shadow without complaint or hesitation."

His wings snapped fully open, an intimidation display that made even Cassian take an instinctive step back. His shadows formed patterns of such complexity and rage that they hurt the eye to follow.

"But I tell you now, clearly, so there can be no misunderstanding." His gaze swept the gathered circle, lingering longest on Mor. "If the choice is between my mate and my court, I choose her. Every time. Without hesitation or regret."

The words fell like a thunderclap. Mor's face drained of color. Rhysand's expression remained carefully controlled, but something like pain flickered in those violet eyes, the understanding of a High Lord who might lose not just his spymaster but his brother.

Your body went completely still, breath caught in your lungs. Five centuries of brotherhood. Five centuries of loyalty. Five centuries of shared battles and blood and nightmares. And he would walk away from it all, for you.

The bond between you vibrated with the magnitude of his choice, golden light spilling from beneath your skin, illuminating the night around you both. It wasn't just light; it was truth made visible. Undeniable. Absolute. The warmth it generated seemed to push back against the chill, creating a pocket of heat around you both, as if the magic itself rebelled against the coldness of potential separation.

"No one is asking you to choose, brother," Rhysand said, voice deceptively calm despite the power now coiling around him like a storm waiting to break. His eyes, though, betrayed deeper emotion, the memory of his own sacrifice for Feyre shadowing his features. "There are other solutions. We can find another place within Night Court territory..."

"No," you interrupted, your decision solidifying with each passing moment. "This is your sanctuary. Your safe place." Your eyes met Mor's, acknowledging her pain without minimizing it. "Some wounds can't heal in the presence of what caused them. I understand that better than most."

"You don't have to leave," Feyre insisted, stepping forward. "Mor doesn't speak for all of us." She, perhaps alone among them, fully understood what it meant to be separated from a mate.

"But she speaks truth," you replied. "And I respect that more than false welcome."

You looked at Azriel, heart pounding against your ribs. "You don't have to come with me. This is your family. Your home."

Azriel's scarred hand found yours, cool fingers slipping between your warm ones with careful deliberation. "You are my home now," he said simply.

Through the bond, his emotions crashed into you, raw and unfettered: centuries of silent longing, of watching others find connection while he remained in darkness. The terrible, wonderful freedom of finally choosing something for himself. The fear of unknown pathways balanced against the certainty of what he'd found in you.

Not out of obligation. Not out of duty. But out of choice.

Cassian moved forward, genuine alarm in his features. "Az, think about this. Five centuries together. We're brothers."

Azriel's gaze shifted to Cassian, something almost like regret flickering briefly in those hazel depths before ice reclaimed them. "And brothers understand when one must follow his own path," he replied, though the slight roughness in his voice betrayed the cost of his choice. "This isn't goodbye, Cassian. Just... a different road."

"Where will you go?" Rhysand asked, power now visibly swirling around him, tiny stars coalescing and fading within the darkness that clung to his skin.

"West," Azriel answered after a moment. "Beyond Prythian's borders. Beyond the reach of courts and politics."

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with finality. Rhysand's face remained impassive, but his eyes, those star-flecked violet eyes, revealed the depth of his shock. Centuries of brotherhood, of shared battles and blood and loyalty, suspended in this single, fragile moment.

"I won't command you to stay," Rhysand finally said, each word weighed and measured. "I never would. But I ask you, as your High Lord and your friend, to reconsider."

Though his tone remained controlled, Rhysand's power betrayed his turmoil, stars burning brighter, darkness swirling more intensely. He understood the choice Azriel faced, had made similar sacrifices himself, yet still struggled with the reality of losing his shadowsinger.

Azriel's expression remained coldly resolute,"I've made my choice, Rhys. As you once made yours for Feyre."

The comparison wasn't lost on any of them. Rhysand had once risked everything, including his own life, for his mate. The parallel hung between them, uncomfortable but undeniable.

Morrigan stepped forward, her earlier hostility tempered by dawning realization. "You would really leave? For her?"

"Not just for her," Azriel corrected quietly, his shadows calming as they settled around you both. "For myself as well. For what we might become together, without the weight of past sins and obligations."

The admission stole your breath. This wasn't just about protection or duty. This was about something far more profound, a future neither of you had dared imagine possible. The knowledge of it settled in your chest like a stone, heavy with potential and terror in equal measure.

"At least wait until morning," Feyre urged. "Rest. Eat. Make this decision with clear heads."

Before you could answer, a sudden tug pulled at your awareness, a sensation like blood calling to blood. Your head snapped toward the city streets below, an instinct more primal than thought drawing your attention.

Chaos erupted below a heartbeat later. Shouting rose from the streets of Velaris, the sounds of panic reaching even the lofty heights of the House of Wind.

Rhysand was at the balcony's edge in an instant, power rolling off him in midnight waves as he scanned the city below. Cassian and Feyre flanked him, their own magic rising in response to potential threat.

"What is it?" Morrigan asked, moving forward despite her earlier hostility.

"Something's wrong," you whispered, the familial connection pulling at you with increasing urgency. "Someone's here. Someone of my blood."

Azriel's shadows stretched outward, tasting the air, gathering information beyond normal senses. His expression shifted from confusion to grim determination as they confirmed what your blood already knew.

"Lucien," he said, shadows confirming what his eyes could now see. "He's wounded."

You pushed past him to the balcony's edge, eyes straining to see through darkness.

There, in the street below, stood your brother. His clothing was torn and bloody, his hair matted with what could only be more blood. But he was alive, standing proud despite obvious injury.

"Lucien," you whispered, relief and fear warring within you.

Azriel's hand found yours, scarred fingers twining with your own. "I'll take you to him," he said, voice rough with shared concern.

As he gathered you in his arms and launched from the balcony, you caught a glimpse of the Inner Circle's faces, shock, concern, and in Mor's expression, something complicated that couldn't quite eclipse her earlier rejection.

The shadowsinger carried you down toward your brother with swift purpose, his wings creating eddies in the night air.

Landing lightly beside Lucien, Azriel set you carefully on your feet. Your knees nearly buckled as you took in the full extent of your brother's injuries, a deep gash across his forehead, burns along his arms, a limp that spoke of damage to his right leg.

"What happened?" you demanded, moving to your brother's side. "Where's Eris?"

Lucien's mismatched eyes were haunted, the mechanical one whirring erratically. "I couldn't get to him in time," he said, voice ragged with exhaustion and grief. "Beron caught him organizing the rebellion. He..." Lucien's voice broke. "He's torturing him. Using him as an example."

Horror flooded through you, cold and paralyzing. "No," you whispered. "No, no, no..."

"I tried," Lucien continued, the words tearing from his throat. "Mother above, I tried to reach him. But Beron's guards were everywhere. I barely escaped with my life."

Cassian landed beside you, having followed from the House of Wind. His face hardened as he took in Lucien's condition and his news.

"We need to get you to a healer," Cassian said, military precision taking over. "Then we plan our next move."

"There is no next move," Lucien replied, his voice hollow. "Beron has sealed the borders of Autumn Court. Every entry point is guarded by his elite. He's sent a message to all High Lords, any interference will be considered an act of war."

"And the rebellion?" Azriel asked quietly.

"Still fighting," Lucien confirmed, though his expression held little hope. "But with Eris captured... their leadership is in chaos. Beron is systematically hunting down anyone connected to the resistance."

The implications settled over you like a physical weight. Eris, your eldest brother who had risked everything to help you escape, was now paying the price for his defiance. The brother who had always seemed so untouchable, so invulnerable, was at Beron's mercy.

And Beron had none.

"We have to do something," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "We can't just leave him there."

Azriel's shadows coiled tighter around you, as if trying to shield you from a truth too painful to bear. "We won't abandon him," he promised, the gentleness in his voice a stark contrast to the coldness he'd shown his Inner Circle moments before. "I promise you that."

"But we need a plan," Cassian added, his battle-trained mind already working through scenarios. "Not a suicide mission."

You glanced back at the House of Wind, where Rhysand and Feyre still watched from the balcony. Morrigan had disappeared back inside.

"We still need to leave," you said quietly to Azriel. "But not until we've done everything possible for Eris."

"We'll find a way," Azriel agreed, his shadows swirling protectively around both you and Lucien. "Then we go."

Lucien's gaze shifted between you and Azriel, confusion evident in his mismatched eyes. "Go? Go where?"

"Somewhere new," you said simply. "The Night Court isn't the right place for me. For us."

Understanding dawned in Lucien's tired face. "Mor," he guessed, accurately reading the situation. "She's still blinded by the past."

"She has reason," you acknowledged, refusing to villainize someone whose pain was so clearly genuine. "And I won't heal in a place where my presence causes others to suffer."

Lucien's gaze shifted to Azriel, assessment clear in that mechanical eye. "And you? You would leave everything for my sister? Your court? Your High Lord? The family you've served for centuries?"

Azriel's expression remained neutral, but his shadows curled possessively around your joined hands. "I would."

The words shimmered between you, a truth so profound it left you breathless. The realization of what this male was offering, not just protection, not just loyalty, but a future built on mutual choice rather than obligation or duty, made your heart pound against your ribs.

"We stay until we've done everything we can for Eris," you said, your decision made. "Then we find our own path."

Lucien nodded slowly, acceptance settling in his weary features. "I understand. More than most."

The healing center of Velaris melded practicality with comfort in ways that spoke to the Night Court's character. Stone walls, softened by tapestries in deep midnight blue, captured and reflected the perpetual night of the city. Windows stood open to the cool air, carrying the distant hum of city life and the faint scent of salt from the nearby sea. Rooms glowed with starlight captured in floating glass orbs, their light gentle enough for healing but bright enough for precision work.

The air carried the distinctive scent of healing herbs: night jasmine to induce restful sleep, crushed moonberries for pain, and the sharp tang of wintermint for clarity of mind. Beneath it all lingered the subtle sweetness of healing magic itself, like honey dissolved in water.

Healers, quiet and efficient in midnight-blue robes embroidered with silver stars, had immediately taken charge of Lucien, guiding him to a treatment room where they now worked on his injuries with methodical precision. Their hands moved with the confidence of those who had mended far worse wounds than his.

You waited outside, pacing the smooth stone floor. Each step echoed softly in the quiet corridor, marking time like a heartbeat. Azriel stood motionless by the window, his shadows stretching periodically down the hallway, gathering information, monitoring for threats. His stillness made your restlessness all the more pronounced.

The door at the end of the hallway opened, admitting a slender female you had seen.

Elain Archeron.

"Where is he?" she asked, voice melodic yet urgent. "Is he..."

"He's being treated now," you answered, instinctively stepping forward.

Elain. Lucien's mate.

The female whose face appeared in his rare, unguarded moments, whose name he sometimes spoke in his sleep. The female who had sent warning, created diversion, saved Lucien's life.

Azriel's shadows maintained their steady patrol, neither reacting to her presence nor acknowledging any shared history. His face remained calm, completely unperturbed, as if greeting a casual acquaintance rather than someone with whom he might have once shared deeper connection.

"You helped him escape," you said softly to Elain.

Elain's gaze finally focused on you fully, wariness evident in her posture. Her fingers twisted a small silver ring with nervous energy. "You're his sister. The Lady of Autumn."

"Just his sister," you corrected automatically. "Nothing else matters right now."

Her eyes narrowed slightly, assessing you with unexpected sharpness. Then, apparently satisfied with whatever she saw, she nodded once. "He called for you. In my visions. Before they happened."

The words sent a shiver down your spine. "Visions?"

"I'm a Seer," she explained simply, no pride or apology in the statement. Just fact. "I See what's coming. Sometimes. Not always clearly. Not always in time." Her gaze drifted to the treatment room door, guilt shadowing her features. "Not soon enough for Eris."

Azriel's shadows curled inward at the mention of Eris, growing denser, almost defensive. "You did what you could," he said.

Elain looked at him fully for the first time, her expression complicated. "Az," she acknowledged, something like resignation briefly crossing her features at his professional demeanor.

Before any of you could say more, the treatment room door opened. A healer stepped out, bowing formally to Elain.

"He's asking for you," she said simply, stepping aside.

Elain moved forward, then hesitated, glancing back at you. "Will you come? He needs his family too."

The unexpected inclusion startled you. You looked to Azriel, whose shadows had gone utterly still, as if holding their breath. He nodded once, a tiny movement that nonetheless conveyed complete support for whatever you chose.

"Of course," you said, stepping forward to follow Elain into the room.

Lucien lay on a bed of midnight blue, his injuries already partially healed. The gash on his forehead had closed, leaving behind a thin red line that would fade to silver. The burns on his arms were covered in a translucent green salve that smelled of mint and something sweeter, like crushed berries. His mechanical eye had been removed for repair, the empty socket covered with a patch of dark silk.

His remaining eye widened at the sight of you and Elain together. Surprise, then something like wonder, crossed his features. Beneath it, you caught the flash of vulnerability, the momentary disbelief that his mate and his sister would stand together at his bedside.

"My two guardian angels," he said, voice rough with exhaustion but touched with genuine amusement. "Come to ensure I don't slip away?"

Elain moved to his bedside without hesitation, her hand finding his with practiced familiarity. The moment they touched, a barely perceptible sigh escaped him, his body relaxing as if a hidden tension had finally released. "You're not going anywhere," she said, the dreamy quality entirely gone from her voice. In its place was steel, determination, a will that seemed at odds with her delicate appearance.

His eye never left her face, drinking in her presence as if storing it against future drought. The nakedness of his need was almost painful to witness, a male so thoroughly claimed by the mating bond that even the presence of others couldn't mask it.

You approached from the other side, relief making your movements unsteady. "The healers say you'll recover fully."

"They always say that," Lucien replied with a weak smile, finally tearing his gaze from Elain. "Makes the patients feel better." His gaze shifted to Azriel, who had remained by the door, shadows wrapped tight around him. "They're treating me better than I expected, Shadowsinger. Your doing?"

Azriel's face revealed nothing, but his shadows briefly formed a pattern that might have been confirmation. "The Night Court respects loyalty to family," he said quietly. "Even when that family belongs to Autumn."

Lucien's eye narrowed, studying Azriel with unnerving intensity. The mechanical gold eye, temporarily removed, would have been whirring with calculation.

Lucien's expression sobered. "We need to act quickly. Beron won't keep him alive indefinitely."

"We need a plan," you agreed, anxiety clenching your stomach at the thought of Eris in Beron's clutches. The bond with Azriel flared briefly, responding to your distress with golden warmth that pushed back against the cold fear. "A way to reach him."

"I can help with that," Elain said, her dreamy voice returning, eyes going slightly unfocused. "I've Seen a path. Through shadows and flame. A way beneath mountains where guards don't look."

Azriel straightened, interest sharpening his features. "What did you See, exactly?"

Elain's gaze turned inward, focusing on something none of you could perceive. "A tunnel. Ancient. Forgotten. It runs beneath the border mountains between Night and Autumn. It emerges in a grove where the trees burn eternally without being consumed."

Recognition flashed across Lucien's face. "The Sacred Grove. It's less than a mile from the Autumn Court palace."

"How did you know about this tunnel?" Azriel asked Elain, his voice remaining professionally curious rather than personally invested.

Elain's eyes refocused, meeting his with unexpected directness. "I Saw it after you left the House of Wind. When I knew what you'd chosen." She shrugged lightly, acceptance rather than hurt shaping her features. "The Cauldron shows me what's needed, Az. Not what's wanted."

The atmosphere remained calm, without the charged tension of unresolved feelings. Azriel's shadows continued their steady vigilance, neither reaching for Elain nor recoiling from her. Whatever history lay between them seemed settled, at least on his part.

Lucien watched this exchange with careful neutrality, though his fingers tightened slightly around Elain's. The movement was subtle, possessive yet insecure. A male who had found his mate but still feared losing her, even to a male who clearly had no interest.

"This tunnel," you interjected, "can it get us to Eris?"

"Yes," Elain said, attention returning to you. "But not all of us. Two, at most. More would draw attention."

"I'll go," Azriel said immediately, shadows coiling with deadly purpose.

"Me too," you added, the decision requiring no thought. "He's my brother."

"You can't," Lucien protested, struggling to sit up. "Beron wants you most of all. If he captures you..."

"He won't," Azriel interrupted, his voice midnight-cold and absolute. "I won't allow it."

The conviction in his voice silenced Lucien's objections. The scarred male exchanged a long look with Elain, some silent communication passing between them.

"When?" you asked.

"Tomorrow night," Elain answered, certainty in her voice. "When the moon is highest. The guards change shifts. There's a gap in their rotation, seven minutes when the eastern dungeon corridor is unwatched."

"How do you know that?" Azriel asked, shadows stretching toward her as if testing the truth of her words.

"I Saw it," she replied simply.

The finality in her voice sent a chill down your spine. Azriel's shadows recoiled slightly, then settled into watchful stillness.

"Then we leave tomorrow night," you said, decision made. "And afterward..."

"You go your own way," Elain finished for you, no judgment in her tone. "West, beyond Prythian's borders."

Lucien's eye widened, realization dawning. "You're leaving the Night Court?"

"I'm not welcome here," you said simply.

The bond's golden light briefly shimmered beneath your skin as you spoke, carrying warmth and certainty despite the unknown path ahead. In that moment, you realized that "home" was no longer a place for you, but a connection. A bond not forced by fate but chosen in defiance of it.

"And I go where she goes," Azriel added, voice softening when he looked at you despite the distance he maintained from the others.

A complicated series of emotions crossed Lucien's face. "I understand," he finally said, gaze lingering on Elain. "Sometimes the place you're meant to be isn't where others think you belong."

Elain's hand tightened on his, an unspoken acknowledgment of his words. "I'll draw you a map," she said to Azriel. "Of what I've Seen. The tunnel entrance, the guards' positions, the cell where they're keeping Eris."

Azriel nodded, gratitude softening his severe features. "Thank you, Elain."

She met his gaze directly, simple kindness in her eyes. "Be happy, Az," she said quietly. "That's all any of us ever wanted for you."

The words struck him visibly, shadows briefly dispersing in surprise before gathering closer than before. He didn't respond, but his eyes flickered to you before returning to her, answer enough.

The bond burned beneath your skin, molten gold tracing veins of fire through your borrowed body as you walked the streets of Velaris.

Each pulse echoed the question that had haunted you since waking in this world. Which life is truly mine?

The Night Court's famed city of starlight unfurled around you in painful, breathtaking beauty. Artists captured moonlight on canvas beneath silver-starred streetlamps. Music spilled from taverns like liquid joy, mingling with laughter and the scent of cinnamon and sea salt. Couples strolled arm-in-arm, their faces illuminated by faelights hovering like captured stars.

Too beautiful. Too perfect. A dream you'd never dared imagine.

"Are you cold?" Azriel's voice slipped through your thoughts, quiet as shadow. He walked beside you, wings tucked tight, shoulders angled to shield you from curious stares without touching you.

You shook your head, not trusting your voice. The golden thread of the bond twisted tighter as another wave of panic crashed through you.

Eris in chains. Lucien fighting alone. Beron's flames consuming all you'd begun to care for.

Azriel's shadows reached toward you before retreating at your rigid posture. You pretended not to notice the hurt that flashed across his face when you stepped further away.

"Just ahead," he said, gesturing toward a townhouse nestled between two larger buildings. Three stories of pale stone with midnight-blue shutters, a small balcony dripping with night-blooming jasmine. "Rhys and Feyre arranged it. Privacy until..."

He didn't finish. Until you left. Until he abandoned everything for you. Until you made choices that would shatter one world or another.

You nodded and walked ahead, climbing the few steps without waiting. The scent of jasmine clung to your clothes as you passed beneath the flowering vines, sweet and foreign and heartbreaking.

Inside, the townhouse breathed quiet elegance—plush furniture in midnight blues and silvers, windows strategically placed to capture moonlight, walls adorned with paintings of star-strewn skies. A fire burned in the hearth, casting dancing shadows across the polished wood floor.

Too much. Too real.

The flames reminded you of Eris. Of his face when he'd declared rebellion against Beron. Of what your father must be doing to him now.

Not your father, you reminded yourself. Not your blood. Not your world.

Azriel stood in the doorway, shadows darker than the night outside wreathing his powerful frame. His face remained carefully blank, but his shadows betrayed him, curling into agitated patterns that revealed his concern.

"There are two bedrooms upstairs," he said, voice carefully neutral despite the golden light flickering beneath his skin whenever the bond pulsed. "You can choose whichever you prefer."

You moved toward the stairs without answering. Each step felt like wading through water, your limbs heavy with exhaustion and fear.

At the landing, you paused, throat tight with words you couldn't say.

Don't throw your life away for me. Don't sacrifice everything for someone who doesn't belong here. Don't care for me—please, don't care.

"I need to rest," you managed, the words hollow.

"Of course." The shadows around him shuddered with something like despair.

You turned away, entering the nearest bedroom and closing the door with a soft click that somehow felt deafening in the silence.

Alone at last, you sagged against the door, sliding to the floor as exhaustion claimed you. Ember and Sizzle materialized in twin pops of flame, immediately nuzzling against your trembling hands.

"What am I doing?" you whispered, voice breaking. "He's giving up everything for someone who can't stay. Someone with a body lying in a hospital across worlds, family keeping vigil, machines beeping out the rhythm of a life half-lived."

The flame bunnies chirped softly, climbing into your lap, their tiny warmth both comfort and burden. Hadn't they, too, become real? Hadn't this body, this magic, this life begun to feel more substantial than the ghostly memories of a human existence?

You pushed yourself up and crossed to the bed, not bothering to change out of travel-worn clothes. Sleep claimed you almost instantly, dragging you into dreams of hospitals and beeping monitors and sobbing aunts who had long since given up hope.

You woke drenched in sweat, heart pounding against your ribs with enough force to hurt. In your dream, Eris had been screaming your name as Beron's flames consumed him, the scent of burning flesh so vivid you gagged.

The room was pitch black, moonlight long since faded. The city below slumbered, only occasional lights visible in distant windows.

Decision crystallized in your chest, cold and final. You couldn't wait until tomorrow. Not with Eris suffering at Beron's hands. Not with Azriel preparing to throw away five centuries of brotherhood, of family, of purpose—for a female he barely knew.

For an imposter in a body not her own.

You dressed silently, strapping on the knife Lucien had pressed into your hands before you'd left the healing center. The blade thrummed with old magic, protection spells etched into its hilt.

Ember and Sizzle watched from the bed, unusually still, their tiny flame ears laid flat against their heads.

"Stay with him," you whispered. "I need to do this alone."

Your palm curled around the silver charm Azriel had given you.

Break it and I'll come to you, across any distance.

You removed it carefully, placing it on the bedside table. You wouldn't drag him into this. Wouldn't be responsible for another sacrifice.

You eased the door open, heart in your throat, and nearly collapsed at the sight that greeted you.

Azriel.

Sitting on the floor outside your room, back against the wall. His magnificent wings were folded tight against his spine, shadows wrapped around him like a living blanket against the chill.

Not sleeping—you doubted he ever truly slept—but guarding.

Waiting.

His head snapped up at your appearance, and the naked emotion in his eyes stole your breath.

Concern, yes, but something deeper. Something that made the bond sing gold and fire between you.

Shadows writhed around him, betraying his agitation even as his face remained carefully neutral. Several tendrils reached toward you before he called them back with visible effort.

"You're leaving." Not a question. His voice, velvet darkness wrapped around steel, betrayed nothing of his feelings.

"I have to try," you admitted, unable to lie to that piercing gaze. "For Eris."

"Alone?" The word carried more emotion than any outburst could have.

"Yes." You moved to step around him, refusing to acknowledge how the bond screamed against the distance you insisted on maintaining.

Azriel rose in a single fluid motion that reminded you what he was—warrior, predator, death on silent wings. He blocked your path without touching you, his body a wall of night and shadow.

"You'll die," he said. The starkness of it, the absolute certainty, sent ice down your spine.

"Better me than him." You straightened, meeting his gaze despite the effort it cost. "Better me than you."

Something fierce flashed across his face, breaking through that careful mask of control. "That's not your choice to make."

"And throwing away your life for mine isn't yours," you countered, frustration finally cracking your careful indifference. "Five centuries with the Night Court, with family who loves you, and you'd walk away for what? A broken bond with someone who isn't even supposed to be here?"

His expression shifted, surprise briefly visible before his shadows receded slightly.

"Is that what this is about?" The gentleness in his voice threatened to shatter you. "You think I don't know what I'm choosing?"

"I think you're making a sacrifice you'll regret for the rest of your immortal life," you said, forcing yourself to hold his gaze despite the pain it caused. "And I can't let you do that."

"Let me?" A ghost of a smile touched his lips, though his eyes remained grave. "I've been making my own choices for five hundred years."

The words sent heat curling through your veins, unwelcome and undeniable. The bond flared in response, golden light briefly visible beneath your skin, beneath his, a betrayal of bodies despite minds' protestations.

"Come downstairs," he said, soft as night breeze. "Please. Before we both do something we'll regret."

The request was reasonable enough that you found yourself nodding, following him to the small sitting room on the main floor.

Shadows settled into corners as you both sat on the same couch, a careful distance between you that somehow felt both too great and not nearly enough.

The silence stretched, alive with all you couldn't say.

"Why have you been shutting me out?" he finally asked, directness catching you off-guard.

You stared at your hands, at the borrowed skin with its too-smooth texture, its too-perfect nails, its too-bright veins of gold that danced beneath the surface like trapped sunlight.

"Because this isn't real," you whispered. "None of it."

"It feels real to me," he replied, the simplicity of it cutting deeper than arguments ever could.

"It's not," you insisted, looking up at last. "This bond, this world, this body—none of it belongs to me. And I can't... I can't let you destroy your life for an illusion."

His scarred hand moved slightly closer, not quite touching yours. Even that small movement sent the bond into a frenzy of golden heat beneath your skin.

"What if it's not an illusion?" he asked, voice dropping lower. "What if this is precisely where we're both meant to be?"

The words struck closer to your secret fear than you'd thought possible.

What if he was right? What if the hospital room was the dream, and this—this magic, this bond, this male whose mere presence eased an ache you hadn't known you carried—was your truth?

"I don't belong here," you said, throat tightening around the words. "My body—my real body—is waiting for me to come home."

Understanding dawned in his eyes, followed by compassion so genuine it hurt to witness. "The hospital. The human world."

You nodded, tears threatening. "I can't stay here, Azriel. No matter how much I might..." Want to. Belong to you. Need you. "I have family waiting. A life."

"And you think I'm following you out of obligation?" The question was gentle, offering understanding where you'd expected hurt. "Out of some misguided sense of duty to the mating bond?"

"Aren't you?"

His shadows stilled completely—a rare occurrence that drew your attention more effectively than any shout could have.

"I have spent five centuries in darkness," he said, voice so low you had to lean closer to hear, to breathe in his scent of night-chilled stone and cedar. "Five centuries as weapon and warning, as the nightmare that keeps enemies at bay. Five centuries watching others find connections I believed I could never have."

His eyes, when they met yours, contained such vulnerability that your breath caught. The golden light beneath his skin pulsed in time with your heartbeat, the bond singing recognition between your bodies even as your minds fought its pull.

"I thought I loved Mor once," he continued, the confession clearly costing him. "Then Elain. But it was always the idea of love that drew me. The possibility of light. Not the females themselves."

His scarred fingers traced patterns on the cushion between you, not quite touching you, but close enough that you could feel the coolness radiating from his skin.

"With you, it's different," he said, voice roughened with emotion. "From the moment the bond snapped into place, even as I rejected it, I knew. This wasn't just magic. This wasn't just fate. This was recognition."

"Of what?" The question escaped before you could stop it.

His shadows stirred, curling into shapes that reflected his words—wings and flames dancing together, darkness and light intertwined.

"Of the only person who's ever seen me," he replied, each word carefully chosen, heavy with significance. "Not the shadowsinger. Not the spymaster. Not the weapon." His voice dropped lower. "When you look at me, your eyes don't reflect centuries of blood and darkness. They show me something I thought I'd lost long ago."

"What?" you whispered, unable to look away from the raw emotion in his gaze.

"Possibility," he said simply. One word that contained worlds.

His shadows curled toward you with heartbreaking hesitancy, stopping just short of contact. "I'm not following you out of duty or obligation. I'm following you because for the first time in five hundred years, I've found something that's mine alone. Not given by Rhysand. Not shared with Cassian. Not demanded by war."

"I can't give you what you want," you finally said, each word a shard of glass in your throat. "I can't stay here, Azriel. I can't be your mate. Not permanently."

"Why?" His voice remained gentle despite the pain that flashed across his beautiful face.

"Because I don't belong to this world," you whispered. "This body isn't mine. This life isn't mine. And someday—somehow—I have to find my way back home."

His scarred hand finally reached across the distance between you, not grasping, simply offering. "What if this is home? What if that human girl is the dream, and this is your reality?"

The question struck deeper than you'd expected, touching the fear that had haunted you since waking in this fae body.

What if he was right? What if the hospital was the illusion, and this strange, magical world was where you truly belonged?

"I don't know," you admitted, the confession leaving you raw. "I don't know which is real anymore."

"They both are," he said, shadows forming shapes that looked like doorways, like bridges between worlds. "And whichever you choose, I'll respect it. Even if it means losing you."

The words hung between you, heavy with sincerity. This wasn't just about the bond anymore. This was about choice—his and yours. About making decisions with open eyes and full awareness of the consequences.

"Why would you do that?" you asked, voice breaking. "Why would you leave everything for someone who might not stay?"

His scarred fingers extended further, an invitation without pressure. "Because some moments are worth an eternity of loss."

Your heart stuttered in your chest, the bond responding with a flare of golden warmth that momentarily eclipsed all doubt, all fear. This male who had known only duty and shadow for centuries was offering you something no one in either of your lives had ever given: complete freedom to choose your own fate, without expectation or demand.

His shadows brushed your wrist, cool as night air, gentle as a whisper. "I would rather know you for a single heartbeat than live an eternity wondering what might have been."

The bond between you shimmered, visible now as golden threads spanning the distance between your bodies, delicate as spider's silk but stronger than steel. Each breath you took made them glow brighter, a constellation of shared possibility.

"Tomorrow we rescue Eris," you finally said, pulling your hand back despite the bond's protest. "After that... I don't know. I don't know what happens next."

Azriel nodded, accepting your withdrawal without question. His shadows retreated, curling back around his shoulders in patterns that spoke of restraint, of patience, of understanding beyond what you'd thought possible.

"One day at a time, then." He spoke the words like a promise.

"One day at a time," you agreed, rising from the couch. Your legs felt unsteady beneath you, the weight of his truths, of your fears, threatening to pull you under.

He stood as well, shadows gathering around him like a living cloak. "Would you prefer I remain downstairs tonight?"

There was no judgment in the question, no hurt, only simple respect for your boundaries. The consideration—so at odds with the fearsome reputation that preceded him—made your throat tighten with emotions you weren't ready to name.

"You don't have to sit outside my door," you said quietly, the bond aching as you forced distance between you. "But... I wouldn't mind knowing you were nearby."

The admission cost you, revealed more than you'd intended, but you couldn't bring yourself to regret it when understanding flashed in his eyes, followed by something that might have been hope.

"I'll be here if you need me," he promised, shadows reaching toward you one last time before he pulled them back. "Always."

You nodded once, then turned toward the stairs, unable to bear the weight of his gaze any longer.

In your borrowed bedroom, you sank onto the edge of the bed, Ember and Sizzle immediately materializing to nudge against your trembling hands.

"What am I doing?" you whispered to them, the question you couldn't ask Azriel. "What am I going to do?"

The flame bunnies had no answers, only warm comfort as they curled against you, tiny embers of promise in a night that seemed endless.

Outside your door, shadows whispered quiet vigilance, a promise kept without words. Downstairs, the shadowsinger of the Night Court—who had offered you his scarred heart without demanding yours in return—waited patiently for a decision you weren't sure you could make.

And in another world, separated by barriers of reality itself, machines beeped a steady rhythm beside a hospital bed where a body lay suspended between life and death, while family members whispered, "Please come home."

Two lives. Two worlds. Two hearts beating across an impossible divide.

The bond pulsed once more, golden light briefly illuminating the darkness of your room, carrying with it the echo of his words: Some moments are worth an eternity of loss.

Tomorrow, you would rescue Eris. Tomorrow, you would fight for family—chosen and given and made. Beyond that lay choices that terrified and tempted in equal measure.

You closed your eyes, the weight of worlds pressing against your chest.

One heartbeat at a time.

The High Lords converged on Velaris like gathering storm clouds.

The emergency conclave had been called by Rhysand after news of Beron's actions spread across Prythian. War loomed on the horizon, and even ancient enemies now sought common ground against Autumn Court's growing madness.

You stood on the balcony of the townhouse, watching as entourages made their way through the streets below. Each High Lord had brought a small contingent, enough to demonstrate power without appearing threatening. The air itself seemed to thicken with magic as they passed, a tangible pressure against your skin.

"Are you certain you want to attend?" Azriel asked from the doorway, his voice quiet. His shadows curled restlessly near the railing but never touched you.

You didn't turn. "I need to be there," you replied, fingers whitening as they gripped the cold stone. "For Eris."

Azriel said nothing more, but his presence shifted closer, a silent offering of strength.

The River House had been transformed for the gathering. The central chamber now held an enormous circular table, each seat marked with the sigil of a different court. Rhysand and Feyre stood at the entrance, greeting each arrival with careful diplomacy.

You entered with Azriel at your side, his presence a cold comfort as curious gazes tracked your movement. His shadows remained tightly controlled, but you could feel the tension radiating from him, a predator walking willingly into enemy territory.

Tarquin of Summer Court nodded politely as you passed, sea-salt scent clinging to his turquoise robes. Helion of Day Court studied you with scholarly interest, golden eyes missing nothing beneath his crown of light. Kallias of Winter Court remained expressionless, his silver-white hair contrasting sharply with his midnight blue attire.

Something strange fluttered in your chest at the sight of him, not recognition but a sudden chill that traced your spine despite the warmth of the room. You swallowed hard, attributing the feeling to general anxiety about the meeting.

The discussions began with Rhysand outlining the situation in Autumn Court, his voice measured despite the rage that occasionally flashed in his violet eyes. The rebellion, Eris's capture, Beron's increasingly erratic behavior. Maps were spread across the table, territories marked in colored ink.

"Winter Court has intelligence suggesting Beron has moved Eris to the eastern dungeons," Kallias was saying, his voice crystalline and sharp as ice. "Our late Lord Kieraven provided similar information before his death in the war with Hybern."

The name hit you like a physical blow.

Kieraven.

Your vision blurred at the edges, the room suddenly too bright, too hot. Your heartbeat accelerated, a fluttering bird trapped in your chest. Something about that name made your skin crawl, though you couldn't place why. Your fingers curled into fists beneath the table, nails cutting into your palms.

"These dungeons have access points through the servant corridors," another Winter Court advisor added, pointing to the map with fingers that seemed too long, too pale.

A phantom sensation of cold hands gripping your wrists flashed through your body. Your throat tightened as if invisible fingers pressed against it.

Beside you, Azriel shifted slightly in his seat.

To anyone else, the movement would appear negligible, a simple adjustment of posture. But you felt his attention sharpen, felt his shadows condense beneath the table, pooling around your feet in silent vigilance. His face remained impassive, yet something in his eyes had changed, a dangerous awareness that hadn't been there moments before.

"Are you well?" Tarquin asked from across the table, sea-glass eyes noting your pallor.

"Yes," you managed, though your voice sounded thin even to your own ears. "Just concerned for my brother."

The meeting continued, but you felt increasingly detached, a strange buzzing filling your head. Whenever your gaze drifted toward the Winter Court contingent, unease rippled through you, gooseflesh rising on your arms. You deliberately looked away, focusing instead on the maps spread across the table, tracing the familiar outlines of Autumn Court territories.

Azriel remained silent throughout, his contributions limited to precise tactical observations when directly addressed. But his attention never wavered from you, from the cold sweat beading at your temples, from the minute tremors in your hands that you tried to hide.

"The eastern corridor has twelve guards stationed at regular intervals," the Winter Court representative continued, "but there are passages between guard rotations where..."

Thirteen.

The thought came unbidden, bewildering in its certainty. There were thirteen.

"...where infiltration would be possible with proper timing."

When the Winter Court advisor mentioned "corridors in the eastern wing," your stomach twisted violently. Without warning, tears sprang to your eyes, though you had no idea why. The scent of frost and blood filled your nostrils, a memory that couldn't be yours.

Stone walls. Cold floor. Hands holding you down.

"The structure of these dungeons suggests a weakness in the northwestern corner," Kallias added, his pale finger tracing a path on the map.

Voices whispering things that couldn't be forgotten. Pain beyond naming.

You blinked back tears furiously, refusing to show weakness in front of these powerful beings. But Azriel noticed, of course he did. Nothing escaped the shadowsinger's attention, especially not concerning you.

His hand found yours beneath the table, scarred fingers wrapping around your trembling ones. A touch so light it might have been imagined, yet anchoring you to the present. His face remained distant, focused on the maps, but his thumb traced a small circle against your wrist, steadying your frantic pulse.

"Each rotation changes at midnight," the Winter Court advisor was saying. His voice seemed to come from far away, distorted as if through water. "Which gives a window of approximately seven minutes..."

Seven minutes. Seven minutes where no one came. Seven minutes of desperate hope before the eighth male arrived.

The room began to spin, colors bleeding into one another. Your lungs couldn't seem to draw enough air, each breath shallow and insufficient. The bond beneath your skin pulsed erratically, your borrowed Fae body remembering what your human mind could not.

When you tried to speak, your throat closed. Panic rose without explanation, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps. The room seemed to shrink around you, the voices of the High Lords becoming distant and indistinct.

A single tear escaped despite your efforts, tracking silently down your cheek.

Azriel was on his feet in an instant, his movement so smooth it seemed he'd simply materialized standing. His shadows flared around him, tendrils whipping in patterns that spoke of deadly intent, though his face remained controlled.

"My lady requires air," he announced, his voice giving no room for question or challenge. "Continue without us."

Before anyone could object, he had gathered you into his arms. Not gently, not tenderly, but with efficient, impersonal precision that would appear as duty rather than concern to watching eyes. His wings unfurled as he strode toward the balcony, his face a mask of cold indifference that belied the protective fury radiating from him.

"My apologies for the interruption," he said to Rhysand, his tone suggesting anything but remorse. "We'll return shortly."

Then you were airborne, the cool night air rushing past as Azriel carried you away from the River House. Your body trembled against his, tears flowing freely now though you still couldn't understand why.

"I don't know what's happening to me," you whispered against his chest, embarrassment and confusion warring within you. "I don't know why I'm reacting this way."

Azriel said nothing, his silence almost comforting as he flew through the darkness. The city fell away beneath you as he climbed higher, banking toward a sheer cliff face that towered over Velaris. Stars scattered across the vast expanse of night sky, cold and distant as ancient memories.

He landed on a small ledge invisible from below. A tiny flat space carved into the rock, overlooking the entire city and the sea beyond. A single bench made of polished stone sat against the cliff wall, worn smooth from centuries of use. The air here smelled of wild thyme and night jasmine, undisturbed by the scents of the city below.

"No one knows about this place," he said, setting you carefully on the bench. "Not even Cassian or Rhys." The admission hung in the air between you, significant in its rarity.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to stop the trembling that seemed to come from somewhere deep within. "I'm sorry for disrupting the meeting. I don't understand what came over me."

Azriel moved to the ledge's edge, wings partially extended as if ready for flight. His shadows swirled in agitated patterns around him, occasionally forming shapes that looked almost like protective shields before dissolving back into formless dark.

"You have nothing to apologize for," he said, his voice softer than you'd ever heard it.

"I do," you insisted, wiping at tears that wouldn't stop. "Breaking down like this when Eris needs us to be strong, to be focused..."

Azriel turned to face you, and the expression in his eyes made you fall silent. Not tenderness or concern, but something darker, more knowing. His shadows quieted, gathering close to his body as if containing secrets too dangerous to share.

"The body remembers what the mind forgets," he said, each word carefully chosen. "Sometimes it warns us of dangers we don't consciously recognize."

You shook your head, confusion only deepening. "What are you talking about? I've never even met these people before."

Azriel didn't answer directly. His gaze shifted to the city below, to the River House where the conclave continued without you. "The Winter Court," he said finally, voice so low you had to strain to hear it. "Your reaction wasn't without cause."

"I don't understand," you whispered, another tear sliding down your cheek.

He moved to sit beside you, not touching, a precise distance maintained between your bodies. His shadows, however, encircled you both, creating a barrier between you and the rest of the world. The scent of night-chilled stone and cedar enveloped you, bringing strange comfort.

"You're safe here," he said, voice gentle despite its underlying steel. "No one can reach you. No one can hurt you."

The words should have been comforting. Instead, they made you cry harder, great gulping sobs that seemed to rise from some hidden well of grief you hadn't known existed. Your body remembered something your mind could not access, a trauma buried beneath layers of magic and dimensional walls.

"Why do I feel like this?" you gasped between sobs. "Why does it hurt when I don't even know what's hurting me?"

Azriel remained silent for a long moment, his shadows shifting restlessly. When he finally spoke, his voice was carefully controlled. "Some wounds run deeper than memory."

You turned to face him fully, frustration cutting through your tears. "Stop speaking in riddles. Tell me what you know."

His eyes met yours, ancient and knowing and filled with a darkness that made you shiver. "I can't," he said softly. "This is something you must discover for yourself, when you're ready."

The bond between you pulsed, golden light briefly visible beneath both your skins. It thrummed with truth, with connection deeper than conscious thought.

"Your human life," Azriel continued carefully, "and this Fae existence... they're more connected than you know."

Before you could press further, he removed his outer leathers and draped it around your shoulders. The leather was still warm from his body, carrying his scent. The weight of it was grounding, pulling you back from the edge of panic.

"For now," he continued, "just know that your reactions are valid. That what you feel is real, even if you don't understand why."

The certainty in his voice gave you pause. There was more to this, much more, than he was saying. But the gentleness underlying his cold exterior suggested whatever knowledge he held was being withheld out of protection, not cruelty.

"Will you tell me someday?" you asked, pulling his jacket tighter around you.

"When you're ready to hear it," he promised, shadows briefly touching your hand before retreating. "Not before."

After a long while, when your tears had finally subsided, you found yourself leaning against him despite your earlier resolve to maintain distance. His body tensed momentarily at the contact, then relaxed, one arm coming around you with cautious precision.

You both sat in silence, watching the stars reflect on the distant sea. The panic had receded, leaving exhaustion in its wake. The night air carried the salt scent of the ocean mixed with the wild herbs growing in crevices of the cliff face.

"I sometimes think about what life would be like," you whispered into the night, voice raw from tears, "if I stayed in Prythian."

The moment the words left your lips, the entire world seemed to still. Even the wind paused, holding its breath with you.

Azriel's body went rigid against yours, but his arm remained, a steady anchor around your shoulders. His shadows, ever-moving, froze in mid-air like fractured pieces of night. The only sound between you was the soft rhythm of his breathing, more careful now, more measured.

"Tell me," you continued, heart hammering against your ribs, "if you could choose any life for us, what would it be?"

The question hung between you, fragile as spun glass.

For several heartbeats, he didn't move, didn't speak. Then his shadows pulled tight around his body, as if he were gathering parts of himself that had never been exposed to light.

"Not here," he finally said, voice so low you felt it more than heard it, rough-edged with longing he'd never allowed himself to voice. "Not in Velaris or any court."

You tilted your face to study his profile, severe and beautiful against the backdrop of stars. "Where then?"

He swallowed, the movement visible in the strong column of his throat.

"There's a place..." He faltered, then began again. "Beyond the western mountains. Past Illyrian territory."

His voice softened into something you'd never heard from him before, something almost reverent. "A valley hidden between two peaks where the snow never falls too heavily and the summers are mild."

As he spoke, his shadows formed shapes you could almost recognize. Mountain peaks. Pine trees. A lake surface rippled by gentle wind.

"No High Lords," he continued, something in his voice breaking open. "No war. Just forest and mountains and a lake clear enough to see the stars reflected in its depths."

Your breath caught. "It sounds beautiful."

"I found it centuries ago," he admitted, the confession weighted with significance. "During a mission for Rhys. I've never told anyone about it." The words that followed were quieter still.

The knowledge settled in your chest, a precious gift. This wasn't simply a fantasy he was spinning; this was a secret he had kept, a dream he had nurtured in solitude for centuries.

"Why not?"

His eyes remained fixed on the horizon, as if he could see this valley even now, waiting beyond the darkness. "Because some sanctuaries must remain untouched." His voice dropped further. "Because some dreams are too fragile to share."

The bond between you pulsed, golden and warm, as if in recognition of truth freely given.

"Would we have a house there?" you asked, allowing yourself to fall into this impossible future.

"A cabin," he corrected softly. "Built of pine and stone. Simple but strong."

He hesitated, then added in a voice that made your heart crack open. "Windows facing the sunrise."

"With a porch," you added, your own voice thick with emotion. "Where we could watch thunderstorms rolling across the mountains."

His shadows stirred, curling toward you before retreating. "Yes," he agreed. "And space behind it for a garden, if you wanted one."

"I would," you whispered, the vision so vivid you could almost feel soil beneath your fingernails. "Herbs and vegetables. Maybe wildflowers. Things that heal and feed and bring beauty."

You closed your eyes, imagination carrying you further into this shared dream. "What would we do there? So far from everything?"

"Live," he said softly.

The word hung between you, heavy with all it contained. No wars. No courts. No duty. No pain. Just existence without the weight of the world on your shoulders. Without the pressure of a bond neither of you had asked for. Without the pull of another world where machines kept a body breathing while you inhabited this one.

"No missions," you murmured. "No courts summoning you away."

His arm tightened fractionally around you. "No more shadows used as weapons," he said, voice roughened with longing that cut you to the bone. "Just shadows as they were meant to be, cast by trees and mountains and ordinary things."

Something tight in your chest unraveled at his words. This wasn't merely a dream of escape. This was his deepest yearning—to be defined not by his power or utility, but by simple humanity.

"Ember and Sizzle would love it," you said, thinking of your flame bunnies exploring forest trails.

A sound escaped him—so close to a laugh it made your heart stumble. "They'd terrorize the local wildlife," he replied.

"I'd want coffee," you said, surprising yourself with the mundane desire.

Azriel turned his face toward you then, his expression softer than you'd ever seen it. "I'd find a way to get it for you," he promised. The certainty in his voice made something within you ache. "Whatever it takes."

"I'd bring other things too," you continued, warming to the idea. "Music. Books. Ridiculous holiday traditions that would make no sense to you."

His brow lifted slightly. "Like what?"

"Christmas trees," you said, smiling despite the tears still drying on your cheeks. "Bringing an entire pine tree inside the house and covering it with shiny objects. For no logical reason whatsoever."

His brow furrowed. "That sounds... hazardous. Especially with your flame bunnies."

The laugh that escaped you was unexpected, bright and clean in the night air. "It is! People's houses catch fire all the time. But we do it anyway because it's beautiful."

Something shifted in his expression as he watched you laugh—a softening, a wonder, as if he'd just witnessed something rare and precious. His shadows reached toward you, hesitant, almost shy.

"Tell me more," he said, voice hushed with quiet hunger. "About these strange human traditions."

"We'd have movie nights," you said, leaning into him. "Which would be impossible without electricity, but let's pretend. We'd huddle under blankets and watch stories play out on a screen."

"I don't understand what that means," he admitted. The honesty in his face, the genuine desire to know this part of you, made your throat tight with emotion.

"It doesn't matter," you whispered. "I'd find other stories to share. We'd make our own traditions."

His eyes held yours, something unspoken passing between you. The bond thrummed, golden threads weaving tighter with each heartbeat.

"Would we have children?" you asked, the question slipping out before courage failed you.

Azriel went completely still, even his breathing suspended. For a terrible moment, you thought you'd shattered everything with that single question.

Then his arm tightened around you, so subtly you might have imagined it if not for the way his shadows trembled, forming and reforming shapes that looked suspiciously like tiny winged figures near your joined hands.

"Would you want them?" he asked, voice controlled to the point of breaking.

"Yes," you admitted, the word falling like a stone into still water. "Two, I think. A boy and a girl."

"With wings?" he asked, the question barely audible.

You turned to face him fully, heart in your throat at the vulnerability in his expression. "Of course with wings," you said fiercely. "Beautiful wings like their father's."

His breath caught, the small sound devastating in its honesty. His hand found yours, scarred fingers intertwining with your own as if they'd always belonged there.

"And your fire," he said, voice rough with emotion. "Your courage. Your heart."

The bond between you blazed, golden light spilling from beneath your skin to illuminate the darkness around you. His shadows didn't recoil from the light but danced with it, twining together in patterns that spoke of possibility.

"They'd be free," you whispered, the realization settling bone-deep. "No courts claiming them. No ancient grudges to inherit. Just mountains and forests and stars."

"I'd teach them to fly," Azriel said, voice breaking on the final word. "Among the peaks at sunrise."

You could see it so clearly—his powerful hands steady on small backs, his fierce protectiveness tempered with patience as tiny wings learned to catch the wind.

"I'd teach them stories from both worlds," you said, tears gathering again. "So they'd understand where they came from. Who they are."

"They'd know peace," he said, the word like a prayer on his lips. "True peace."

You both fell silent, the shared vision suspended between you—so vivid, so beautiful, so achingly out of reach. The cabin in the valley. The children with wings. The life built on choice rather than duty or obligation.

Yet for the first time, you found yourself wondering which world truly felt like home. The human one, with its beeping monitors and grieving family? Or this one, with its magic and pain and the possibility of a valley beyond the mountains?

"It's a beautiful dream," you finally said, unable to keep the longing from your voice.

Azriel shifted, turning to face you fully. "It doesn't have to be just a dream," he said, and for the first time in all your encounters, you heard naked pleading in his voice—an emotion you'd never expected from the controlled, deadly shadowsinger.

When you looked up, what you saw stole your breath. Azriel—the Night Court's most feared assassin, the male who had witnessed five centuries of darkness without flinching—had tears in his eyes. Not falling, not yet, but there, shimmering in the starlight like diamonds.

"Azriel," you whispered, reaching up without thinking to touch his face.

He caught your hand with his scarred one, pressing your palm against his cheek in a gesture so vulnerable it fractured something essential inside you. His skin was cool beneath your touch, but warming rapidly. The bond between you pulsed, a heartbeat shared across bodies and worlds.

"Whatever you choose," he said, each word weighted with centuries of solitude, "know that the cabin waits. Whether in a month or a century." His voice faltered. "Whether we go together or—"

The words died in his throat, but you heard them nonetheless.

"Or I return to my world," you completed for him, the possibility that had always stood between you.

He nodded once, barely perceptible. But his eyes, those ancient, haunted eyes that had witnessed centuries of darkness, held yours with unflinching courage.

"Either way," he said, "I wanted you to know. That somewhere, there is a place that belongs to us alone. Without courts or duty or pain."

The first tear fell then, tracing a silver path down his scarred cheek and onto your joined hands.

The bond between you flared, golden light spilling from your joined hands, illuminating your faces in the darkness. Not a chain binding you together, but a bridge between worlds, between possibilities.

"Thank you," you whispered, voice breaking. "For showing me this. For letting me see."

His only response was to draw you against him, wings unfurling to create a private sanctuary around you both. Against your cheek, you felt the steady rhythm of his heart, its beat perfectly synchronized with your own.

Tomorrow would bring danger—Eris's rescue, confrontation with Beron, an uncertain future beyond. But for now, cradled against the shadowsinger's chest while his rare tears mingled with your own, you allowed yourself to hold that impossible dream close.

The cabin in the valley. The children with wings. The life beyond the courts.

A dream, perhaps.

But with the golden bond pulsing beneath your skin, the solid warmth of his body against yours, the scent of night-chilled stone and cedar surrounding you, the human world of beeping monitors and grieving family seemed increasingly distant. Like a half-remembered dream fading with the dawn.

For the first time since waking in this borrowed Fae body, you felt something settle inside you. Not certainty, not yet. But possibility. Hope.

Home.

Which was real? Which was home?

For the first time, you weren't certain you knew the answer.

The golden bond thrummed beneath your skin as you woke, an urgent pulse matching your heartbeat. Outside, Velaris slept under indigo skies, last stars fading as dawn approached.

Perfect timing. Perfect silence.

You dressed in shadow, fingers finding Lucien's enchanted blade without looking. Its weight at your hip felt both foreign and familiar, like muscle memory that didn't belong to you.

Ember and Sizzle materialized at your feet, tiny flame bodies flickering with anxiety. They sensed your intentions without words. You pressed a finger to your lips, and they quieted, though pink embers sparked with protest.

"Stay," you whispered, stroking each once. "Wait for him to return."

They settled on the windowsill, sentinels against the pale horizon, their glow dimmed to near-invisibility.

Downstairs, the townhouse held its breath. Azriel's jacket hung by the door, night-chilled stone and cedar wrapping around you as you slipped it over your shoulders. One last comfort before what must be done.

Your fingers found the silver charm at your throat, his parting gift. Break it and I'll come to you, across any distance. You placed it on the small table, a note beneath in your hurried hand.

Forgive me.

Three heartbeats later, Velaris's pre-dawn streets enveloped you. The rising sun gilded rooftops with the same golden light that pulsed beneath your skin, a warning you ignored.

What you planned was foolish. Suicidal, even.

Going alone to rescue Eris when the combined might of multiple courts had organized for tomorrow. But another day meant more torture for your brother. Another day risked Azriel's life for your family's conflict.

Another day meant facing him with the truth. That you planned to return to your world. That his dream of a cabin in the valley, of children with wings and your shared future, would remain just that, a dream.

Between one step and the next, reality fractured.

The hospital room blurred over Velaris's cobblestones. Your aunt's face, tear-stained and haggard, superimposed over dawn-touched buildings.

"The doctors say it's time to consider letting you go," her voice echoed, "but I can't. I just can't."

You stumbled, shoulder striking stone. A passing Night Court citizen glanced with concern, but your forced smile sent them on their way.

The winnowing point beckoned from the edge of the city, a place to bend reality and step directly into Autumn's territory. You'd memorized it from the war maps, burned it into your mind while the High Lords plotted.

But first came the hardest part.

In an alcove away from prying eyes, you pressed your hand to your chest. The bond pulsed steadily, familiar as breathing. A constant presence anchoring you to this world, to him.

"I can't let you suffer when I go," you whispered to no one, to him, to yourself. Golden light spilled between your fingers. "It would destroy you."

Better a clean break. Better mercy than slow torment.

"I release you."

The golden light flared, blinding.

"I sever this bond, not out of hatred but mercy."

Pain lanced through your chest, not external but from within, like ribs cracking outward.

"Not out of rejection..."

Your knees struck cobblestones.

"...but protection."

Tears blurred your vision, golden light pulsing erratically.

"I reject this bond." The words tasted like ash and iron. "I reject it so you may be free when I am gone."

Something inside you tore, not muscle or bone but something essential, something primal. Your vision whited out, breath stolen.

"I reject it because..." a gasping sob interrupted, "...because I love you."

The golden light pulsed once more, then dimmed. The connection that had hummed between you since that first moment in the Autumn Court didn't vanish but receded, like music heard underwater, distorted, distant, muffled.

Cold swept through spaces where warmth had lived. Hollowness echoed where completeness had dwelled. Your hand pressed against your sternum, searching for the familiar pulse, finding only silence.

You dragged yourself upright, swaying. The world felt wrong, off-balance. You'd grown so accustomed to the bond's weight that its absence left you lightweight, untethered.

No time for mourning.

Dawn broke fully now, spilling gold across the city. Soon Azriel would return. Soon he'd find the charm. Soon he'd feel the muted bond and know.

The winnowing point shimmered as you approached. Your magic felt diminished without the bond's amplification, but determination burned hotter than power. You gathered what remained, world dissolving around you.

Reality reassembled. Endless autumn spread before you, trees burning with color that never faded, crimson and gold leaves against a perpetual sunset sky.

You stepped forward, then stumbled as another merged memory hit, hospital corridors overlaid with forest paths. Medical staff around your bed, discussing options, timelines, prognoses. "Irreversible" floated through the air as your doctor shook his head.

"Not yet," you gasped, forcing clarity. "I'm not finished here."

The castle loomed in the distance, Beron's ancestral seat. Eastern dungeons, according to intelligence. Servant passages with specific guard rotations.

You moved toward it, staying to shadows, avoiding patrolled roads. The spice-and-smoke scent of autumn wrapped around you, so different from Velaris's salt-touched breeze. Yet something in you recognized it, a distant familiarity you refused to acknowledge.

Spires pierced a blood-orange sky as you approached. Your body ducked beneath a low archway without conscious decision, hands finding servant passages your mind shouldn't know existed. Stone whispered beneath your fingers, hidden doors responding to touches that felt both foreign and instinctive.

Memory flashed, running these same passages as a child, hiding from brothers who sought to torment, servants who sought to tame.

Not your memory. Not your life.

You pushed it away.

The first guard appeared at the dungeon approach, young, barely more than a boy, bored with his assignment. His eyes widened at sight of you, recognition blooming.

"My lady," he breathed, dropping to one knee. "We were told you were..."

Your hand found his forehead before he finished, sleep spell springing to your lips without thought or practice. He slumped forward, consciousness fleeing.

The magic drained you more than it should have. Without the bond's strength flowing through you, your powers were diminished, hollowed. You leaned against stone, breath ragged.

"Just a little further," you told yourself, pushing away.

The main dungeon entrance waited ahead, an iron door carved with moving flame patterns. Two alert guards stood before it, hands on weapons.

You couldn't risk another sleep spell. Not when Eris waited beyond, not when escape would demand whatever magic remained. You drew Lucien's blade instead, its enchanted edge catching torchlight.

Then you stepped into view.

"My lady," one gasped, shock evident. "Lord Beron said..."

"Lord Beron says many things." Your voice emerged colder than you'd ever heard it, a tone that didn't belong to you but to the body you inhabited, the cruelty cultivated over centuries.

Both guards hesitated, confusion and fear battling across their features. They'd been trained to obey the High Lord, but generations of instinct told them to defer to the Lady of Autumn.

You exploited that hesitation, moving with deadly grace you'd never possessed in your human life. The blade found the first guard's throat, not killing, but promising.

"Open the door," you commanded the second, "or watch your companion bleed."

He fumbled with keys, fear making him clumsy. The heavy door swung open with a groan of metal, revealing a staircase spiraling into darkness.

"Down," you ordered, pushing the first guard ahead while keeping the second at blade-point.

The stairs descended endlessly, air growing colder, damper with each step. Blood and fear-scent thickened as you descended, your stomach knotting with dread.

At the bottom waited another door, this one reinforced with both iron and magic.

You studied the symbols carved into its surface, pulsing with malevolent energy. Following instinct that wasn't yours, you pressed your palm against the center where Beron's sigil burned brightest.

Fire erupted beneath your hand, searing your palm. You gritted your teeth, refusing to pull away as the sigil flared once, recognized something in you, then faded to ash. The door swung open.

You turned to them, fire of the Autumn Court burning in your eyes. "Leave," you commanded.

They fled, taking the stairs two at a time.

The chamber beyond was lit by a single brazier, shadows dancing across stained stone. The air reeked of blood and burned flesh, of bile and sweat and despair.

And there, chained to the far wall, hung Eris.

Your breath caught. You'd prepared yourself for injury, for pain. Not for this.

The once-handsome face swollen beyond recognition. His right arm hung at an unnatural angle, broken in multiple places. Blood had dried in rusty streaks down his chest and legs. The stench of infection and charred flesh made your eyes water.

His breathing came in wet, labored gasps. Each inhale bubbled with what might be blood in his lungs.

"Eris," you whispered, rushing forward.

At your voice, his head lifted slightly. One eye, the only one not swollen shut, focused on you with effort.

"You... fool," he croaked, each word a struggle. "Trap."

"I'm getting you out," you said, examining the chains that bound him.

His laugh was a broken thing, dry as autumn leaves. "Sister... you need to..."

You reached for the chains, examining the enchanted metal. "I need to get you out of here."

"Be careful," he warned, words slurring. "Spelled to..."

You pressed Lucien's blade against the lock before he finished. The enchanted metal glowed briefly, then clicked open. Eris slumped forward as the chains released, his weight falling against you.

"Can't walk," he mumbled against your shoulder. "Ankle... shattered."

"Then I'll carry you," you replied, though you had no idea how you'd manage it without the bond's strength.

Before you could figure out a solution, slow clapping echoed through the chamber.

You whirled, pushing Eris behind you as best you could while drawing your blade.

Beron stood in the doorway, flame crown burning atop his head. Behind him, a dozen guards filled the stairway, weapons drawn.

"How touching," the High Lord of Autumn said, voice like silk over steel. "The wayward daughter returns for her traitorous brother."

"Father," you acknowledged, keeping your blade steady despite the fear coursing through you.

Beron studied you, head tilting slightly. "But you're not really my daughter anymore, are you?"

A chill ran down your spine.

Beron circled you slowly, flames dancing at his fingertips. "My daughter was cruel. Calculating. Vicious." His eyes narrowed. "She would never have risked herself for anyone, least of all Eris."

The way he said it, not with anger but something like baffled wonder, unnerved you more than rage would have.

"I'm not her," you said flatly. "I never claimed to be."

"And yet..." Beron's voice softened unexpectedly, "...you opened the sigil door. Only the power of the High Lord can do that."

Something in his expression shifted, a flicker of recognition that made your heart stutter.

"I remember when you were born," he said, each word deliberate. "So small. The first female born to Autumn in three centuries."

"Stop it," you snapped. "These mind games won't work."

A memory flashed unbidden, sitting on Beron's knee as a child, watching in wonder as he formed fire animals in his palm.

You shook your head violently. "Those aren't my memories."

"You don't want them to be," Beron corrected. His flame crown dimmed slightly as he studied you. "But they are yours. As is this body. As is this court."

"I have a family," you insisted. "A life waiting for me."

"And yet you're here." Beron gestured to the dungeon around you. "Risking everything for a brother who would have let you die without a second thought."

"He's lying," Eris rasped from behind you, somehow finding strength to stand straighter. "Tell her, Beron."

"Tell me what?" you repeated, unwillingly drawn into the conversation.

"After Winter Court," Eris said, each word costing him. "Thirteen nobles. Left you for dead."

Beron's jaw tightened. "Ancient history. Diplomatic matters."

"Not... diplomatic," Eris forced out, blood speckling his lips with the effort. "Assault. Torture. Abandonment."

Ice flooded your veins as another memory surfaced, cold hands on your skin. Laughter echoing off stone walls.

Pain beyond imagining.

"No," you whispered, the blade trembling in your grasp. "That's not... I'm not..."

"Your soul fractured that night," Eris continued, each word a blade between your ribs. "Split in two. Half fled to another world."

"That's not possible," you said, but your voice lacked conviction.

Because it made sense. It explained everything, the foreign memories, the body that felt both alien and familiar, the life in another world that seemed increasingly distant.

"My little flame," Beron said, and the childhood endearment struck like a physical blow. "I made you into something terrible because I had to. The courts would have devoured you otherwise."

Another memory, Beron teaching you to hurt servants, to hide weakness, to cultivate cruelty as armor.

"You were so gentle as a child," he continued, something like regret coloring his tone. "I remember how you wept when you accidentally burned a butterfly. How you tried to heal it with your fingers."

The memory crashed through your defenses, the orange butterfly, its wings blackened by your untrained magic. The desperate attempt to save it, tiny hands cupping its broken body.

"Stop," you begged, but the memories kept coming.

Beron took a step toward you. For an instant, his face transformed, not the cruel High Lord but the father who'd once lifted you to his shoulders. "I wasn't there when Winter took you. I thought... I thought it was politics. By the time I realized..."

"It was too late," you finished, the words rising from somewhere deep inside. "I was already torn apart..."

Beron nodded, something like pain flashing across his features. "Your mother warned me. She said making you cruel would destroy what made you special. I didn't listen."

The blade wavered in your hand, your voice breaking. "You left me to them. You let them..."

"I didn't know what they planned," Beron said, but his eyes slid away from yours. The lie sat heavy between you.

"You knew," Eris snarled, finding strength from somewhere deep inside. Blood trickled from his mouth with each word. "You knew and did nothing. Then covered it all up."

"You understand nothing of ruling," Beron snapped, anger flaring. "Sacrifices must be made. Alliances preserved."

"I was your daughter," you whispered, the truth of it settling into your bones. "Your only daughter."

Something in Beron's face cracked then, a glimpse of the father beneath the High Lord's mask. "Yes," he admitted. "And I failed you."

The words hung in the air between you, unexpected in their sincerity.

For a heartbeat, silence reigned.

Then Eris moved.

It happened so fast you barely registered it. Eris, who moments ago could barely stand, lunged forward with hidden strength. Something flashed in his hand, a small blade concealed somewhere on his broken body.

It struck Beron in the chest, driving deep. Directly into his heart.

Beron's eyes widened in shock, his gaze locked with Eris's. "Son?" he gasped, blood bubbling at his lips.

"For her," Eris whispered, holding his father's gaze without flinching. "For what you let happen."

Beron's flame crown sputtered, then flared blindingly bright. Power, ancient and terrible, erupted from his body as he collapsed. It swirled like a living tornado, seeking its new vessel.

Eris fell to his knees, arms outstretched, face lifted to receive what had been promised him for centuries, the High Lord's power.

But the magic had other ideas.

It swirled around Eris, examined him, then veered sharply toward you. Golden fire engulfed you, lifting you from the ground as it poured into your chest, your veins, your very soul.

You whimpered as centuries of power and knowledge invaded your body, not just magic but memory, history, duty.

The fractured pieces of yourself collided, human and Fae, present and past, nurse and Lady of Autumn.

When the transfer ended, you collapsed beside Beron's motionless form. The High Lord of Autumn was dead. His power now resided in you.

"No," you whispered, staring at your hands where flames now danced unbidden. "No, this isn't right."

Eris stared at you in shock, his face drained of what little color remained.

"It chose you," he said, disbelief evident. "The magic recognized its own."

Around you, the guards had fallen to their knees, recognizing their new High Lady in the same moment you did.

"I didn't want this," you said, tears streaming down your face. "I'm not supposed to be here. I'm supposed to be..."

But where were you supposed to be?

The hospital room seemed like a distant dream now, your human life fading like mist in morning sun. This, the flames dancing at your fingertips, the memories flooding back, the fractured soul finally reunited, this was real.

"Long live the High Lady of Autumn," Eris said, bowing his head despite his injuries. "My sister. My High Lady."

Fire danced across your skin, responding to emotions too complex to name. You weren't just who you'd been in that hospital bed. You weren't just the cruel Lady of Autumn from before.

You were both. You were neither.

You were something new entirely, forged in trauma, tempered by two lives, crowned in fire.

And somewhere deep inside, beneath the shock and grief and power, a small voice whispered.

This is who you were always meant to be.

Author's Note: I could apologize for the emotional damage... but let’s not lie to each other. You came here willingly. 😌🔥 Beron’s toast (literally), your girl’s a High Lady, and Azriel is one "where is she?!" away from emotionally combusting in a corner. Buckle up. It only gets worse better from here.

💌 Thanks for reading, crying, and mentally punching Beron with me. Now the real questions: Will our girl embrace her inner fire queen or sprint back to her coma body like it’s the last bus home? Will Azriel survive this emotional rollercoaster without setting something (or someone) on fire? Will Eris finally get a nap?

Stay tuned. I have no idea either. 😇

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[flaresemily]

If it's okay can I please ask for a yandere Poseidon with a female darling that he kidnaps but she is obedient and quiet because she knows escaping is not an option so she might as well accept it and she tries not to make him angry

If any of you saw this one it means that I'm starting to take request randomly from my inbox so congratulations to the one who requested this you got this first~ probably because I got an idea on what to write~

ℙ𝕠𝕤𝕖𝕚𝕕𝕠𝕟 𝕩 𝔻𝕒𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘 ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣

It all happened at 'love at first sight'. You were a human. Just a normal human. You like to study about the sea. You love the animals there.

You even have a fish tank at home for some of the aquatic animals. While you were on a vacation near a beach wearing your sundress and a cute hat. You were looking at the ocean like it's where you truly belongs.

"y/n! We're going to swim around you coming?" Ask one of your friend. "Wait for me! I go fetch my sunscreen!" Your friends nodded and quickly run to the water.

As for Poseidon, someone reported to him that they saw some humans trying to have fun at his 'house'. He was furious because he knows they will polluted his dear ocean/sea.

Thus, while you were applying your sunscreen you didn't notice the very big wave that came towards you and your friends. They were so focused on what they were doing until it was too late.

Screaming here and there from your friends as you try to save them but fail. Sadly the wave hits you and you hits your head on a rock. Typical love story.

As you were in and out of your own consciousness. A group of dolphins swim to you and circle you before guiding you to Poseidon.

As they arrive he was mad at the dolphins but not forever.

"why did you bring a mortal here?" He ask them.

They just swim to him happily and swim away. Thus, he took you in while smirking. No one knows what the dolphins said to him.

𝘈 𝘧𝘦𝘸 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳

You wake up with a headache. Then realize that your head was bandaged and you were wearing some kind of nightgown.

Then when you try to sit a hand quickly pull you back down. You were shocked. You slowly turn around and behold you saw the most beautiful man who has blonde hair with a beautiful face. You were blushing.

Then, the man open his eye and damn!! You are melting! That deep blue eyes. 'I think I just fall in love' you thought.

He caresses your cheeks and smiles yes smiles. 'goddamn it!! It just make me fall harder!!' your heart is beating fast.

"who are you?" You ask him after collecting some courage. "Your husband" he replied.

"eh--"

As quickly as you said that. As quickly as you guys got married. And when you realize you. It's your first night together with him as newlyweds. You are still in dazed. (Who wouldn't)

"a-ah I never got your name?" He carries you towards the bathroom. "Poseidon that's my name" you nodded as you let him carry you to the bathroom. (What you guys did in there is up to u 🤨 sus moment)

𝘈 𝘧𝘦𝘸 𝘥𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳

You notice how some of the male workers has gone missing. Yes you're not stupid to realize that it was Poseidon doing. How you know?

Simple you were talking to the butler the other days and then just now a maid reported to you that the butler had resigned. Coincidence?

Here's another situation. You were talking to the chef about your craving as you were talking and laughing Poseidon walked past both of you and the chef trembled. He quickly excused himself. That's not all the next day you heard the chef got eaten by a shark!! How cruel is that!! Coincidence? I THINK NO!

So thus, you test this theory. You ask a certain 'someone' to pretend as a male worker and talk to you happily. As Poseidon notices your eyes widen. You were getting touchy with that workers.

Then, the butler lean closer to you from his point of view it looks like he's kissing you.

His face darkens and he quickly throws his trident towards the male. What shocked him the most is that the male manages to capture the trident even before it can hit him. "Now now lord Poseidon~" the male chuckle. He recognized that voice.

"Hermes...what are you doing here.." he walk towards him. "Aunty here was wondering about the Olympus"

"absolutely no! She won't go there I forbid her from going!" Hermes just shook his head.

"uncle...if you keep aunty in the dark it only worsen her mental health. I'm speaking from experience." Hermes reply (hint ii 🫣)

"you know nothi--"

"I still regret it uncle... it's because of me she's crazy. All because of obsession." He add and walk away disappearing into the shadows. You just tilt your head. "Poseidon?"

You call to him softly catching his attention.

He lead you away while still glaring at nothing.

You pout and jump to hug his neck. He quickly catches you. "What is it" he ask.

"sorry I promise I won't do it again..." You hug him. "....why don't you run away from me" the sudden question freeze you.

"well you see no matter where I run you always find me right? So what's the point" he was shock.

"is that why you never intended to run away?" You nodded at his answer.

He softly kisses you and smiles genuinely. "Thank you for accepting me....y/n" you smile and hug him again happily.

"you remember my name! Yay"

He just shook his head and carry you to the dining room.

The End